Here’s Wayne Koestenbaum writing about
Debbie Harry and walking, in My 1980s
& Other Essays (and yes as a matter of fact I do think he’s “exaggerating
or over-interpreting” but that’s OK).
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“Whenever, in
the early years of this already compromised century, I’d see Deborah Harry walk
along Twenty-Third Street, the block we shared, I’d marvel at her solemn,
hieratic pace. She didn’t trudge, march, rush, lope, stroll, or skip. In
billowy pants, she led, slowly, with her hips, as if gliding through water.
(Once, I remember, she wore army fatigues: couture khakis?) She explored with
pilgrim curiosity the spatial zones her body passed through. Each step gestured
acceptance toward the sidewalk; you may think I’m exaggerating or
over-interpreting, but these memories—the sight of Debbie Harry promenading on
Twenty-Third Street—are my possession, and they are not visions that will
disappear, or visions whose meanings I can ignore by pretending that it makes
no difference how a star’s gait seemed momentous and allegorical to a primed
beholder. Harry seemed at home with each step, at home with her feet and her
legs as they maneuvered air and pavement.”
Interestingly, it’s extremely hard to find
decent photographs that show Debbie Harry walking in the street. I’ve done my best. I suspect this is because most photographers
were so entranced by her looks that they simply asked her to stand where she
was and pose, even when in the street, as in the one below. Yep, it’s England, yep it’s a Wimpy Bar.
