But what defines the It-ness of an It moment, a perky little irregularity, a way of moving that makes this weekend's model? Below supermodel heights, down in the arena of interesting-looking girls whom key photographers like - and fashion photographers are fantastically sexualised creatures, most straight, the gay ones hyper-gay, all able to make a girl's reputation in a minute - it's all down to a little something. Many are called but few chosen.
These two girls in front of the mirror are in the Nivea CareGloss & Shine commercial. And the one the camera loves has a very current outfit involving fringed denim and fishnets, But the other one's saying, "Why doesn't he notice me?" And the girl the camera loves, the one with the temporary It, looks intently in the mirror and says "I've no idea" in a way that suggests she might be rather upper class too, as she puts on her Nivea lipgloss. "It's the gloss that gets you noticed," they say. Not any ordinary solid-colour tarty lipstick, not any careful first-date neutral lip-gloss, but a special second-generation tinted one, "with a delicate soft-brown tint". But it isn't really the soft-brown tint that does it. Nor even the fringey denim the stylist brought in. It's her, with her pale skin and clever flipped brown hair - so absolutely not a straightened blonde - and all her disingenuous confidence. And her way of saying things.
If I was echt fashion folk, I'd know who she is and what she's done. I'm not and I don't, but I do know she's got a little It, on which the entire memorability of this commercial rests - something for women to think it's a look worth getting, and for men, as an afterthought, to notice. But whether the little It can grow into a big one that runs for more than two seasons and gets her a part opposite Ewan or Jude, I'm afraid I've no idea.Reuse content