Camila Cabello Goes All In on Indie Sleaze

It’s like this: one day you’re futureless in a town whose climate is officially described as “perma-cloud,” then EUREKA, there is neon, 128 kbps MP3 downloads, ecstasy pills, shutter shades, and an American Apparel store only 90 minutes away. And you’re driving to the city anyway to pick up the pills from some guy’s parents’ basement, because tonight there’s a party—Crystal Castles at Sonotheque. You look the part: gold lamé leggings, tank top with arm holes cut to the ribs, bangs secured to your forehead by a strap of glittering string. It’s 2009 and nothing matters but the music, besides of course the line of graphic tees you’re designing in Photoshop, which is lowkey going to be major. Later that night, eyeballs vibrating, you think you see a UFO streak across the sky.