Easy youth, sleazy death

It's the first time, ever, we put some male model taste on this page and, hopelessly, the last. We've been begging for some changes at Vogue Italia, but real ones, revolutions, not click and turn, the page(s). And here we go, on another kind of world, another plunder of what fashion photography used to be, one day above another. Steven, forgive us, that's no time to cut our throats and let blood make rivers out of fleshy veins. How can our eyes survive such a visual robbery, where has innovation gone to, give us the destination, it might be cloudy enough to suit our  scary tastes. Mr Mert, Mr Marcus, send us tickets and we'll all be happy, corrupted and smelling nice.