There will never be a day where Beyoncé’s body doesn’t make me at least attempt to swallow my whole fist. HOW IS SHE EVEN REAL? ANSWER: SHE IS NOT. Right now there are rumours flying again about her real age, and to that I say, “How do we measure earth time on an otherworldly creature?” Do we REALLY know the actual ages of Tilda Swinton or Tom Hardy? No, of course we don’t. Queens and Kings are eternal. I suppose we could study fancy science and go on an expedition for ancient time-telling machines (like Swatch Watches), but do we really care? No. We do not. Partially why we don’t care is because women need to stop feeling shame for their age and feeling they have to say they’re 3 or 8 or 400 years younger than they actually are. It doesn’t matter. So. This shoot. I can’t say I’m especially into it. I don’t like the way the American flag looks, even though I was obsessed with Betsy Ross as a child and lost my virginity to a girl in an American flag bikini, and what’s with the rooster? Is it Yoncé’s new pet? What’s its name? Did it wander onto the set & it just felt right to accompany Bey in some of the shots? We don’t know. We may never. That shot on the bike is darling though, and Beyoncé’s torso wrapped in a pastel rainbow one piece has become my REASON FOR LIFE. So, all in all, not bad!