The first time I ever heard of Amy Winehouse was during a 2007 San Diego trip. My mom and I had flown out to see my brother and he asked us to pick him up a copy of Rolling Stone Magazine. On the cover, was a woman with a huge beehive, tattoos, and extreme cat-eye makeup. I was intrigued.
Fast forward to when I downloaded her album. My ears were in love. The more I learned about this artist, the more I felt about her music. She was troubled, she had demons, and she was human. She could sing like no other current artist I had heard at the time. I was instantly an Amy Winehouse fan.
This is a photo of myself and my very best friend Bob dressed as Pete Doherty and Amy for Halloween in 2008. The people I worked with started noticing that I was a fan of Amy. I can see why many didn't understand my attraction to her — the tabloids only covered the worst of the worst and attempted to overshadow her talent with her personal life. I admired her voice (something that I do not have) and her style. She had a look and she owned it — a bit retro, a bit girly, and a bit gritty.
Everyone knows that Amy suffered from depression and drug and alcohol addiction. I personally have not struggled with these issues nor am I close to anyone who has suffered, but I felt empathy for her. We all watched her fall so very low. I was excited when Fred Perry announced their FP x AW line last year. I love Fred Perry products, so it added to my excitement that she was teaming up with them.
The news was reporting that she was recovering. Images were surfacing where she looked healthy. Fans were excited at the idea of more music. She was modeling her own clothes for Fred Perry and looking as beautiful as ever.
Today while writing my Beloved Weekly post, I refreshed my Tumblr Dashboard and noticed that someone mentioned the troubled star's death. I hoped that it was yet another Twitter hoax, but I Googled her name, and my heart sank. I think when I told Geoff that my voice even shook a bit. I've mentioned it before, but I don't connect with celebrities much. Amy, though, was different. She was only three years older than me. I was rooting for her to get better. I wanted her to be the miracle story of recovery.
This is me speaking not as a fashion blogger nor a blogger of cute things nor a photographer. This is me speaking as a young woman who so desperately wants everything in the world to be beautiful and happy. Amy's young death is yet another reminder of something that so many people have told me throughout the years — don't take your talents for granted. Don't throw away your opportunities.
Amy Winehouse, 1983-2011
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