Even the brief attire, the hat, was ill-chosen.
He had the frog’s-eye view and loved to photograph
women as a rule but in his other medium
of words he later wrote: once you have met Bardot,
the true symbol of sex and liberation then
nothing else will do’, Bardot had allure, such a
sweet, demure beauty with her choucroute hairstyle,
her bikinis, her so-low necks and her gingham.
Taking pictures of this would-be Brigitte,
a cheapskate’s shallow imitation, he wondered
was this to be an unappealing Valentine
for some young stud or was she forced, coerced
skin and bone, into such an unflattering
pose, this sad young thing who left nothing with
him but an oddly sour taste in his mouth.