When I was eight, my schoolteacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.
“Jerry Hall”, I replied with confidence.
“Do you mean you want to be a model?”, she asked with a confused expression on her face.
“No. I want to be Jerry Hall”.
While this was a strange – and obviously impossible – life ambition, I loved her. I thought she was the coolest person in the world. I would leaf through my mum’s magazines and stare in awe at photographs of Jerry; her mix of Hollywood glamour and rock ‘n’ roll swagger struck a chord with me. I had never seen anyone like her and I definitely wanted to be like her when I grew up.
Now that I have grown up, I have many style icons but the Texan beauty reigns supreme. She has glided her way through the decades, rarely putting a foot wrong in the style stakes. Her skirts have got longer and her hair has got shorter but she still knows how to rock leopard print with aplomb. She’s 59 and, quite frankly, she owns it. But. And it’s a big but. Three weeks ago she made a shock announcement: she’s going to marry Rupert Murdoch.
What. The. Fuck?
This is the woman who shared an apartment with Grace Jones. In Paris. She was Andy Warhol’s muse and everyone from Helmut Newton to David Bailey wanted to photograph her. While Jerry was spending the 1970s dating famous rock stars and partying at Studio 54 with the likes of Blondie and Pat Cleveland, Rupert Murdoch was expanding his media conglomerate.
Back then they lived in different worlds. One was cool and one was definitely not. Now their worlds have come together and the unlikely duo are an item. So what does this mean for my first ever style icon? Can she be Mrs Murdoch and keep her fashionista crown in place?
I think she can. Even married to Rupert Murdoch, I think Jerry Hall will always be cool. I mean, he’s never going to have the moves like Jagger but considering how much trouble those moves caused, that’s probably part of the appeal.