Was she born a man? A woman? When? 1939? 1941? Where? Saigon? Hong Kong? Singapore? Switzerland? And why is her voice so deep?
Who was/is/will be Amanda Lear?
Questions without answers. Yet there she is – beautiful, vivacious, easy to laugh, rushing to the next party, posing for Salvador Dali, hanging with the Beatles and Stones. She models for prominent designers. She’s a cover girl on fashion magazines.
David Bowie pays for her singing lessons and off she goes to become a big star in France and Germany. A disco queen. A professional muse. She paints canvas. Dali paints her. She poses for Playboy.
So easily bored. Amanda writes songs. She has lovers. She is a gay icon. She doesn’t belong in the 1960s/70s/80s/90s because she has no use for time.
The real Amanda can only be seen by moonlight in a patina of pixie dust, sprinkled by a wayward nymph on her lazy way to nowhere.
The
best mystery enjoys unending immunity.