Got my butt off the couch and went for 3 miles today!! 🎉🎉🎉
Saw another turtle/tortoise on the way.
Also developed a new exercise routine that I’m going to make myself stick to because my current one is inconsistent and unpredictable (and also lazy). Spoiler alert, it involves joining the “5 am club” 😉
Well, let’s take a look at what we’re dealing with here:
Upon first look, one might think that Miles is sort of turtle-y looking fellow (and he’s even likened himself to one) with gangly limbs and a freaklicious snuggle-tooth.
Kinda goofballish, really, looking like a lovechild for Paul McCartny and Liam Gallagher.
I’ll admit, there’s something rather…ethereal about him. Hear me out. While not conventionally handsome, the camera seems to love him, and he has the most interesting bone structure. There are many sides to Miles Kane, I believe, and one of my favourites is the sensitive Pisces, the dreamer, the lover:
It makes me think of basset hound puppies and cups of tea and floral curtains, cigarettes left to burn in the ashtray, old acoustics, tinny strings, squeaky frets, and a little giggle every now and then as he makes lewd rhyming couplets and encourages you to clap your hands along with his music.
Now, don’t let that fool you. Beneath the scales, a wild and cunning beast lurks, the barracuda that will definitely eat the basset hound. Miles is sorta like an optical illusion - given the right angle, and a certain amount of facial hair, there’s just this underground sketchy gypsy-like vibe I get from him, like he’s the guy your cousin’s girlfriend buys her cocaine from and yeah, you’ve partied with him once or twice, but you kept your distance cuz he was kinda fucking scary but in a crazy hot way:
He looks like the kind of guy who will bring a knife to a gun fight and be the only one standing after it all goes down, or who might like you to punch him in the mouth before you kiss him just so he can taste his own blood.
I do not necessarily base someone’s sex appeal on looks alone - that would make me quite shallow, wouldn’t it? So lets focus on a few of Miles’ other attributes, such as his incredible energy, and the fact that he’s a fucking rockstar:
“Oh what? Why yes, that IS my first name in lights.”
“Oh, and that? That’s me last name. Because I’m a FUCKING Superstar. Me boyfriend even said so. The little diamond *grin*.”
That’s right, Miles Kane is such a mother fucking badass rockstar that he has his fucking name in LIGHTS. He’s into this, he’s living it, breathing it, eating it, smoking it
fucking OWNING it, and he does it all with incredible stage presence. I’d pay my last dollar to see Miles Kane perform live. Have you seen the video for Inhaler? Go watch. It’s okay. I’ll wait. Am I right?? That man was BORN to shake spaces with his energy.
He’s raised the pig, butchered it (at his mum’s shop, yeah?), wrapped up the bacon and brought it home in THOSE white jeans, people, and he does it all with STYLE.
Which brings me to my next point: I love Miles’ fashion risks. He pushes the envelope, shows up in leopard print and leather pants, plaid suits, paisley shirts, and he does it all so effortlessly, as if he’s all, “Wot, this? Nah, la, just threw it on, wha’ever.”
Fuck you, Miles. We all know whose magic Al’s referring to in a cheetah print coat.
I fucking go APESHIT for his shirts, okay? I get ugly ass shirts into the store where I work and I put them into two piles: those that Miles would wear, and those that he wouldn’t be caught dead in. Miles fucking Kane slays me with his wardrobe choices, his style, his attitude, his swagger, and of course, his most precious accessory: