The songwriter was a special talent even as a teenager, and his soulful voice will be desperately missed I cried when I heard the news. I have loved the subject of this week’s Crush column since I was four years old, when his jeans and fringed leather made me understand that style is something for everyone – you only need the panache to carry it off. George Michael, gone far too soon at the age of 53, had panache in spades. I remember that Faith was the first time I _really_ saw him, and it was enough to fall in love: the designer stubble, the stonewash jeans (that I begged my mother to buy me when we were next at M&S), that thick wavy hair, the easy smile. He was beautiful. I knew I was going to marry George Michael. He had started life like me, the child of an immigrant (Greek Cypriot for him; Nigerian for me), but George was obviously special. His songwriting, already notable when he was a teenager, still awes me (“Guilty feet have got no rhythm”). And his voice was so soulful, full of a yearning I appreciate more and more. Continue reading...
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