![]() Rolling Stone Album Review: ‘Femme Fatale’ by Britney Spears “Fuck you, fuck people, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she keeps screaming, her face splotchy and red as she crosses the interminable mall floor, the crowd behind her growing larger and larger. A new card finally goes through, but by then Britney is out the door, leaving her shirt on the ground and replacing it with the red top. Ghalib dashes over to console her, but she’s already spitting, growling, throwing a big bottle of soda on the floor so that it begins to spill underneath the curtain, and then she’s got a box of tissues and is throwing them on top of the wet floor along with piles of discarded merchandise. The 25 Boldest Career Moves in Rock History “Fuck these bitches,” screams Britney, each word ringing out between sobs. One of the girls runs to Britney’s dressing room, explaining the situation through a pink gauze curtain.Ī wail emerges from the cubby - guttural, vile, the kind of base animalistic shriek only heard at a family member’s deathbed. “Please,” begs Ghalib, “get this done quickly.” The card won’t go through, but they keep trying it. The issue is available in the online archive. This article appeared in the Februissue of Rolling Stone. Then she ducks into the dressing room with Ghalib. Britney rifles the racks as the Cure’s “Pictures of You” blasts into the airless pink boutique, grabbing a pink lace dress, a few tight black numbers and a frilly red crop top, the kind of shirt that Britney used to wear all the time at seventeen but isn’t really appropriate for anyone over that age. Only a few kids are in the store, a young girl with her brother and two blondes checking out fake-gold charm bracelets. She cuts through the crowd swiftly, the way she used to when 20,000 adoring fans mobbed her outside a concert, with her paparazzi boyfriend, Adnan Ghalib, trailing behind. In person, Britney is shockingly beautiful - clear skin, ruby lips, a perfectly proportioned twenty-six-year-old porcelain doll with a nasty weave. ![]() “Her legs are actually really skinny,” an adolescent whispers into her Sidekick, as Britney beelines for the Betsey Johnson boutique, pseudo-punk designer of evening dresses and splashy heels worn to suburban high school proms. One moment, shoppers in the Westfield Topanga mall are living in the real world, monotonously selecting a new shade of eye shadow or rubbing perfume on wrists, but upon the rapture of Britney Spears, they are giggling, laughing, orgasmic, already sharing their secret on cell phones. 12, 2021: After 14 years, Britney Spears’ conservatorship has been terminated.Ī pop star at the mall is an eternal cause for happiness, especially on a Sunday afternoon in the Valley. I'm sick of people touching my hair.UPDATE Nov. "It was, you know, 'I just don't want anybody, anybody touching my head. I remember asking here, 'why do you shave your head?' And her answer was a bit weird," the tattooist says. The door opened slowly and a hooded figure walked in the door," she says.īritney demanded a tattoo of another woman's lips to begin with, followed by a small cross.Īnd it was Wynne-Hughes who she chose to confide in about her reasons for shaving her head. "I wasn't sure what was happening, if there was a riot outside and then the flashes came. Now, speaking out for the first time, tattooist Emily Wynne-Hughes recalls hearing "an insane roaring sound outside" as Britney and the paps pulled up. The saddest part though, was Britney's expression as her manic smile gave way to panic and grief when she realised what she'd done.Ĭrestfallen, she fretted that her "mum was going to be p***ed" before moving on to Body and Soul Tattoo studio.
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