Last November, the world’s first tiger summit in St Petersburg ended with £330m pledged to make the great cat worth more alive than dead. The summit was attended by Vladimir Putin, Wen Jiabao, Leonardo DiCaprio, World Bank chief Robert Zoellick and Naomi Campbell. During the summit, Naomi spoke with the Russian prime minister.

Naomi Campbell: You’re in pretty good physical shape. How do you manage to keep yourself so fit?
Vladimir Putin: Probably the same way you do.

Check out the rest of the interview on British GQ’s website.

i have 200 images of today’s Mugler show. It will take me a couple of days to process them.
Here is just Jason farrer and his freind whose name I have forgotten, Rico & Nicola, and Dario (not in that order).

Born Frédéric Gafner in Geneva in 1969 from parents in dance and photography, Foofwa d’Imobilité studied at the Ecole de Danse de Genève and was a member of the Geneva-based Ballet Junior. He danced professionally with the Stuttgart Ballet in Germany (1987-1990) and with the Merce Cunningham Dance Company, in New-York (1991-1998).
Foofwa has performed as a dancer around the world, notably at the Paris Opera, the Fenice Theater in Venice, Italy, and at the Brooklyn Academy of Music in New York. His work has been presented by The Kitchen, Chez Bushwick and the Baryshnikov Arts Center in New York, the Maison de la Danse and the Biennale de la danse in Lyon, France, and over 40 other cities in Europe.

1996 interview, here.

Here dear. Let’s string you up. Wheel out the air conditionning for us. Cool air and hot tea, buddy. Be dragooning soon, rolling droll to the moon for ice cream cake.

My friend and Novembre contributor Scott Bourne’s and my friend and tattoo artist Michael aka M’ink aka Jack Sparrow’s (tattooed by Dan Sinnes) new ones.

In the picture below, Bella (left), Aaron Schuster (middle) and David Levine (right).

A: Why on earth did you eat that ten dollar bill? It can’t have tasted nice.

B: Don’t be gruff. Anything that falls on the floor is mine. Can I have a cookie now to change my mouth lining flavor? Can I? Can I?

A: What does it mean to be runt of the litter?

B: Stomped on lowest rung. Everyday fear-bath, nonstop bow-down. Wreathed in terror-reek that broadcasts you are last of the last. I don’t like to talk about this stuff…

A: OK. I just gave you a bath. Then you went and rolled in manure.

B: Will you barbeque soon? Will you let me lick the grill when it cools?

A: No, really. How come I get you all nice and clean and you immediately roll in something stinky?

B: Humans don’t get true grooming, which only takes place using the tongue. Toothpaste, mouthwash, and deodorant are what’s “stinky.” Soap’s revolting. Terrible invention. Why have it in your lamplit, carpeted, doorlocked lair? Dung is informative, complex—full of news flashes from the body’s interior. Shit’s an encyclopedia, volumes of urgent correspondence your organs wrote if only you knew how to read. What’s learnt from smelling shampoo? It just causes sneezing, erases articulate fumes. Bulldozes olfactory signposts. Washing is book burning.

A: How come you chew window blinds during thunderstorms?

B: Must break hard things with teeth—bite/ crunch/ tear when scared. Need escape hatch fast. Eat my way out.

A: Well, that makes a certain sort of sense. But why did you roll in the carcass of that dead seal when we took you to the beach at Morro Bay?

B: To transfer ghost-cloak of invisibility, silly. Death-smell lends protection. Winner of ripest warm day decay contest is not challenged by pack peers—billowing putrefaction blasts inspire respect and great kill-pride! Meat rot bouquet is prey-smell’s best medal. What don’t you understand in that?

A: Hmmm. And what motivated you to eat that postcard from Alex and chew up several of my Catholic saint statuettes?

B: Doesn’t make a lick of sense to me. THERE’S THE CAT! GET HIM! (races out of room.)

Text by Amy Gerstler
Image by Vivian Rehberg