Not Just Another Style Crush

I think it's safe to say we've all experienced a shallow style crush at some point in our lives, no? Like a one night stand they never last and never run too deep. It's simply fast and fickle burning lust, the novelty soon dries up and fades into oblivion.Leaving you with memory loss, 'err what? Already waaaay over it-next style crush please!'
Hence why I must clarify that Alison Mosshart is not just another style crush, I'm not out just to steal all the threads in her wardrobe or seek Mosshart fashion style images from google. All these things are invalid.Remember this is no stupid style crush (though I do admire Alison's fierce collection of gold boots and leopard print), I've been an obsessive Alison fan (some would say unhealthy. My mate txt me once late at night to tell me Alison Mosshart was in Vogue-I'd stopped buying Vogue as it was becoming boring for a short time. I chucked on some PJ's and hit the local 24-7 Tesco, raided the magazine shelf ripped through and discarded all the other glossy pages just to read the Vogue feature on Mosshart. Is this unhealthy behaviour? I don't know you tell me?), ever since I bumped into this ickle two piece band in some shit hole bar in Brighton: while taking shelter and avoiding a random and violent freak storm I've been obsessed like never before with the epic front woman.

I stood in the corner like a drowned rat sipping cola, gazing out the window annoyed with myself for not feeling in the mood to paint annoyed with myself for making certain bad decisions. When I hear these haunting vocals repeat- farewell my black balloon, before ripping into another more up tempo filled tune. I pushed my way forward through the crowd all high as a kite stoned out their heads,not much appealing to me being t-total!Finally I could see to match the face with the voice, to those heart breaking, frank and positive lyrics.This woman hidden behind long black hair,thrashing out her soul across the floor (there were no toilets at this venue yet alone a stage), I was so overwhelmed by the whole experience I gasped out loud while all the others which surrounded me just played it cool sucking in on a joint or two.The freak storm had gone as quickly as it arrived.I couldn't bring myself to exit, as the shy girl with long jet black hair, red skinny jeans and gold boots finished her set all I could do was stare. In awe I now realise.Before I caught my train home I had to get a name to put to the music to the unashamed woman who had stood up in front of strangers pouring her heart out over the guitar with such almighty guts.
Being the reserved, awkward individual I am I had to think about whether to interrupt these artists or not?This decision making took me 20 minutes and two pints of cola before I could gain the courage to investigate..."I could have wrote those words, you know the words in your song I mean, that sounds daft I know that sounds daft, er errm hmm what's your name-only I caught this gig by accident."
Bloody cool introduction I'm sure you'd agree? This is why I'm not in a band.
Not expecting any answer (I never speak loud enough), the woman stops doing what shes doing, "I'm Alison were the Kills, thanks!"
A fan was born, and now reborn all over again as at long last I have access to the new Dead Weather album I cannot stop singing 'Die by the drop', and in tribute to the almost mystical Mosshart I'm rocking leopard print mohair...though in all honesty, not rocking it quite like Alison would, another reason why I'm not in a band!