the first day I met brando was 11/13/22. it was a photoshoot for rotten muse, syd's fashion brand. he was modeling pieces alongside other models: remy, chryssie, and syd themself. we spent about a couple hours at the studio (unincorporated studios, flasch had the hook-up for a discounted booking rate) before remy drove us all to get gas + mexican food. it wasn't great mexican.
we would meet only three other times (as of right now).
brando's got a band, never sorry. he set up a house show for friends to come out to on 2/2/23. the house? in beverly hills, elizabeth taylor's old pad. the impromptu stage right next to a pool with naked girls swimming around while your favorite party photographers were securing their next tobacco-chic, indiesleaze masterpiece before they inevitably get outed for (allegedly) being a creep to their barely legal models. it's the scene baby, it's how the dice rolls in los angeles.
the next morning (2/3/23), which I don't know how I powered through, I went back to the liz taylor house to tag along with brando to head to the studio off 7th street where he and the band were tracking vocals and instrumentals for the forthcoming ep. I met the other bands members, joey (whom I had talked to briefly at the house show) and rivkah. took a few bts studio pics before I was volunteered to do a pizza run. which mind you, sending the guy who doesn't drive to pick up pizza across the bridge is a gonk move. a < 10 minute trip, had one of them just drove there turned into a near hour with the big guy on the adventure. I took my sweet time, the sunset walk was gorgeous.
I wouldn't see brando again until our @home shoot, 1/13/24. he'd begun dating emma silva (featured in some of these photographs alongside him, the first time I've met her), remade "the room" for charity starring bob fucking odenkirk himself (no one cares about the emmys), moved to los angeles (he'd only been bouncing around from his home in chicago up until recently), ramped up song production—I can go on and on and on about the things this motherfucker has been up to. I mean hell, the day of the shoot we went to this designer clothing rental/retail shop (wild west social house) to pick up threads worth more money than I've made in years, courtesy of emma.
once I meet someone, I can only see the person behind closed doors. the public personas go away, the facades are dropped. when that happens, its easy to forget just how big someone is, or the scope of all they've done and continue to do.
all I can see is the argentinian guy in a punk crop-top posing against a chalkboard. all I can see is the guy who asks me way too many times what's my impression of him. all I can see is the guy who's always on his fucking phone doing big boy business moves. and I fuck with that. I give credit to him, the director, the writer, the producer, the visionary. he stresses himself out trying to juggle this crazy show business life—and that's what I find admirable about him, the effort he puts into it all. the way he manages to pull everything off like a fucking heist. that's the character that I take into account, not some hollywood title instagram clout-chasers tack onto the pedestal they build for him. I hope he knows that's what he should be proud of, not the superficial bullshit of this culture.
