“I feel that I am keyed into the female consciousness,” says Tom Ford.
Say what you will about his originality, but you can’t accuse Tom Ford of lacking in the self-confidence department. Or the gauche, grandiose, borderline psychotic department.
Anywho, in the new issue of New York, discusses all things Tom, including his adoration by women in Asia, his penchant for painting things black and his vague association with Andy Warhol.
“One night, I was sitting in my room at Weinstein dormitory, thinking, God, please let someone knock on the door, because I was so lonely,” he says. “Then this nice guy from my art-history class in this cute little blazer came in, and he asked if I wanted to go to a party. Andy Warhol was at the party, and he took us to Studio 54—wow. Even today, I still start shaking when I hear Donna Summer, because it’s the music of my coming of age. Every party I have, if I’m not careful, I end up putting that music on and whirling some girl around the dance floor.”
Why is it that he only talks about women, even though he’s been in a gay relationship for years?