It’s been a little over a week since released her latest album, and I have spent hours debating what does and what does not constitute being a so-called Brat. Some of my colleagues think it involves wearing acid-green clothing because the album artwork happens to be acid-green, while others think it means behaving like an ill-mannered child. (Both are wrong.
) To be a brat is to be short on cash but big on sass, snagged tights and black pants. A Brat is someone who looks into the mirrors of a club toilet and sees a dishevelled pop diva staring back. Charli herself has likened this spirit to “ ”.
If a doorman were to shine a torch into her lopsided – she has at this point phased out the Diesel 1DR – he would find expired Rimmel eyeliners and crumpled-up receipts from Sexy Fish and a hand-held electric fan. She slipstreams between the hi-lo, smelling like and burnt clip-ins. A true Brat has – of course – owned the same GHDs since sixth form and is forever in possession of a questionable Uber rating.
She says she has “amazing taste” and her favourite insult is “dumb b****”. And when she gets down she keeps on trucking with a can of Red Bull and Robyn blaring through her AirPods. For an extensive selection of Brat essentials, scroll here.
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