The fucking cops are fucking keen to fucking keep it fucking clean The fucking chief’s a fucking swine who fucking draws a fucking line at fucking fun and fucking games the fucking kids he fucking blames are nowhere to be fucking found anywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking scene is fucking sad the fucking news is fucking bad the fucking weed is fucking turf the fucking speed is fucking surf the fucking folks are fucking daft don’t make me fucking laugh it fucking hurts to look around everywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pubs are fucking dull the fucking clubs are fucking full of fucking girls and fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed waiting for a fucking cab you fucking stay at fucking home the fucking neighbors fucking moan keep the fucking racket down this is fucking Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pies are fucking old the fucking chips are fucking cold the fucking beer is fucking flat the fucking flats have fucking rats the fucking clocks are fucking wrong the fucking days are fucking long it fucking gets you down- Evidently Chicken Town. (John Cooper Clarke, 1980)
The fucking cops are fucking keen to fucking keep it fucking clean The fucking chief’s a fucking swine who fucking draws a fucking line at fucking fun and fucking games the fucking kids he fucking blames are nowhere to be fucking found anywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking scene is fucking sad the fucking news is fucking bad the fucking weed is fucking turf the fucking speed is fucking surf the fucking folks are fucking daft don’t make me fucking laugh it fucking hurts to look around everywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pubs are fucking dull the fucking clubs are fucking full of fucking girls and fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed waiting for a fucking cab you fucking stay at fucking home the fucking neighbors fucking moan keep the fucking racket down this is fucking Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pies are fucking old the fucking chips are fucking cold the fucking beer is fucking flat the fucking flats have fucking rats the fucking clocks are fucking wrong the fucking days are fucking long it fucking gets you down- Evidently Chicken Town. (John Cooper Clarke, 1980)
The fucking cops are fucking keen to fucking keep it fucking clean The fucking chief’s a fucking swine who fucking draws a fucking line at fucking fun and fucking games the fucking kids he fucking blames are nowhere to be fucking found anywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking scene is fucking sad the fucking news is fucking bad the fucking weed is fucking turf the fucking speed is fucking surf the fucking folks are fucking daft don’t make me fucking laugh it fucking hurts to look around everywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pubs are fucking dull the fucking clubs are fucking full of fucking girls and fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed waiting for a fucking cab you fucking stay at fucking home the fucking neighbors fucking moan keep the fucking racket down this is fucking Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pies are fucking old the fucking chips are fucking cold the fucking beer is fucking flat the fucking flats have fucking rats the fucking clocks are fucking wrong the fucking days are fucking long it fucking gets you down- Evidently Chicken Town. (John Cooper Clarke, 1980)
The fucking cops are fucking keen to fucking keep it fucking clean The fucking chief’s a fucking swine who fucking draws a fucking line at fucking fun and fucking games the fucking kids he fucking blames are nowhere to be fucking found anywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking scene is fucking sad the fucking news is fucking bad the fucking weed is fucking turf the fucking speed is fucking surf the fucking folks are fucking daft don’t make me fucking laugh it fucking hurts to look around everywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pubs are fucking dull the fucking clubs are fucking full of fucking girls and fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed waiting for a fucking cab you fucking stay at fucking home the fucking neighbors fucking moan keep the fucking racket down this is fucking Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pies are fucking old the fucking chips are fucking cold the fucking beer is fucking flat the fucking flats have fucking rats the fucking clocks are fucking wrong the fucking days are fucking long it fucking gets you down- Evidently Chicken Town. (John Cooper Clarke, 1980)
The fucking cops are fucking keen to fucking keep it fucking clean The fucking chief’s a fucking swine who fucking draws a fucking line at fucking fun and fucking games the fucking kids he fucking blames are nowhere to be fucking found anywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking scene is fucking sad the fucking news is fucking bad the fucking weed is fucking turf the fucking speed is fucking surf the fucking folks are fucking daft don’t make me fucking laugh it fucking hurts to look around everywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pubs are fucking dull the fucking clubs are fucking full of fucking girls and fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed waiting for a fucking cab you fucking stay at fucking home the fucking neighbors fucking moan keep the fucking racket down this is fucking Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pies are fucking old the fucking chips are fucking cold the fucking beer is fucking flat the fucking flats have fucking rats the fucking clocks are fucking wrong the fucking days are fucking long it fucking gets you down- Evidently Chicken Town. (John Cooper Clarke, 1980)
The fucking cops are fucking keen to fucking keep it fucking clean The fucking chief’s a fucking swine who fucking draws a fucking line at fucking fun and fucking games the fucking kids he fucking blames are nowhere to be fucking found anywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking scene is fucking sad the fucking news is fucking bad the fucking weed is fucking turf the fucking speed is fucking surf the fucking folks are fucking daft don’t make me fucking laugh it fucking hurts to look around everywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pubs are fucking dull the fucking clubs are fucking full of fucking girls and fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed waiting for a fucking cab you fucking stay at fucking home the fucking neighbors fucking moan keep the fucking racket down this is fucking Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pies are fucking old the fucking chips are fucking cold the fucking beer is fucking flat the fucking flats have fucking rats the fucking clocks are fucking wrong the fucking days are fucking long it fucking gets you down- Evidently Chicken Town. (John Cooper Clarke, 1980)
The fucking cops are fucking keen to fucking keep it fucking clean The fucking chief’s a fucking swine who fucking draws a fucking line at fucking fun and fucking games the fucking kids he fucking blames are nowhere to be fucking found anywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking scene is fucking sad the fucking news is fucking bad the fucking weed is fucking turf the fucking speed is fucking surf the fucking folks are fucking daft don’t make me fucking laugh it fucking hurts to look around everywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pubs are fucking dull the fucking clubs are fucking full of fucking girls and fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed waiting for a fucking cab you fucking stay at fucking home the fucking neighbors fucking moan keep the fucking racket down this is fucking Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pies are fucking old the fucking chips are fucking cold the fucking beer is fucking flat the fucking flats have fucking rats the fucking clocks are fucking wrong the fucking days are fucking long it fucking gets you down- Evidently Chicken Town. (John Cooper Clarke, 1980)
The fucking cops are fucking keen to fucking keep it fucking clean The fucking chief’s a fucking swine who fucking draws a fucking line at fucking fun and fucking games the fucking kids he fucking blames are nowhere to be fucking found anywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking scene is fucking sad the fucking news is fucking bad the fucking weed is fucking turf the fucking speed is fucking surf the fucking folks are fucking daft don’t make me fucking laugh it fucking hurts to look around everywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pubs are fucking dull the fucking clubs are fucking full of fucking girls and fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed waiting for a fucking cab you fucking stay at fucking home the fucking neighbors fucking moan keep the fucking racket down this is fucking Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pies are fucking old the fucking chips are fucking cold the fucking beer is fucking flat the fucking flats have fucking rats the fucking clocks are fucking wrong the fucking days are fucking long it fucking gets you down- Evidently Chicken Town. (John Cooper Clarke, 1980)
The fucking cops are fucking keen to fucking keep it fucking clean The fucking chief’s a fucking swine who fucking draws a fucking line at fucking fun and fucking games the fucking kids he fucking blames are nowhere to be fucking found anywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking scene is fucking sad the fucking news is fucking bad the fucking weed is fucking turf the fucking speed is fucking surf the fucking folks are fucking daft don’t make me fucking laugh it fucking hurts to look around everywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pubs are fucking dull the fucking clubs are fucking full of fucking girls and fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed waiting for a fucking cab you fucking stay at fucking home the fucking neighbors fucking moan keep the fucking racket down this is fucking Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pies are fucking old the fucking chips are fucking cold the fucking beer is fucking flat the fucking flats have fucking rats the fucking clocks are fucking wrong the fucking days are fucking long it fucking gets you down- Evidently Chicken Town. (John Cooper Clarke, 1980)
The fucking cops are fucking keen to fucking keep it fucking clean The fucking chief’s a fucking swine who fucking draws a fucking line at fucking fun and fucking games the fucking kids he fucking blames are nowhere to be fucking found anywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking scene is fucking sad the fucking news is fucking bad the fucking weed is fucking turf the fucking speed is fucking surf the fucking folks are fucking daft don’t make me fucking laugh it fucking hurts to look around everywhere in Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pubs are fucking dull the fucking clubs are fucking full of fucking girls and fucking guys with fucking murder in their eyes a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed waiting for a fucking cab you fucking stay at fucking home the fucking neighbors fucking moan keep the fucking racket down this is fucking Chicken Town. The fucking train is fucking late you fucking wait you fucking wait you’re fucking lost you’re fucking found stuck in fucking Chicken Town. The fucking pies are fucking old the fucking chips are fucking cold the fucking beer is fucking flat the fucking flats have fucking rats the fucking clocks are fucking wrong the fucking days are fucking long it fucking gets you down- Evidently Chicken Town. (John Cooper Clarke, 1980)
I’m not here to change your mind. I’m here to reclaim my voice. In 2018, I stood on stage in Cannes and spoke out against Harvey Weinstein — in the heart of an industry that had protected him for decades, at a time where many were still too afraid to speak. And like clockwork, came the backlash. Just weeks later, as I was grieving the death of my partner Anthony Bourdain, the New York Times published an encrypted email they received claiming I paid off a young man to cover up a sexual assault. A piece written by a food critic — not an investigative journalist. No trial. No charges. No police investigation. Just headlines, that were copy-pasted across the world. Let me be clear: what happened was consensual — by the legal standards of my country. But it took place in a place with very different laws, something I, as a non-American, didn’t fully understand at the time. The timing was devastating. I had just spoken publicly against a powerful man. And suddenly, my story was no longer mine. I lost work. I lost friendships. I lost my name. And then came silence. The kind of silence that doesn’t come just from grief, but from erasure. Others spoke for me, reshaped the facts, and painted me into a villain — without ever hearing me. I was called names I cannot repeat. Not because of what I did, but because I dared to speak. Because I didn’t fit the image of the “perfect victim.” There was no trial. But I was sentenced anyway. This isn’t about redemption. It’s about reclaiming the voice that was stolen from me. They tried to destroy me. But I’m still here. And this time, I am telling the story.
Spring & things, good & bad & sometimes sad
Spring & things, good & bad & sometimes sad
Spring & things, good & bad & sometimes sad
Spring & things, good & bad & sometimes sad
Spring & things, good & bad & sometimes sad
Spring & things, good & bad & sometimes sad
Spring & things, good & bad & sometimes sad
THE ROOM WITH NO CLOCKS She sat still — one leg up on the velvet chair, a blade in her hand, a drink untouched. Walls were gold. Everything else was rusting. He said, “You think you’re the main character?” She didn’t flinch. Just looked up and said, “No. I’m the director.” No chaos, no screaming. Just the sound of her own silence finally making space. She didn’t leave. He ended up in the cutting room floor. — @plico_magazine Photo by @imloppi Styling by @sonyalipio Set design by @flaviamanacorda Make up by @gaiadellaquilamua Hair by @antonio.fidato Production @panoramicstudio Production assistant @robertopalattella @vittodarg Agent @simone.santercole #TheDirector
THE ROOM WITH NO CLOCKS She sat still — one leg up on the velvet chair, a blade in her hand, a drink untouched. Walls were gold. Everything else was rusting. He said, “You think you’re the main character?” She didn’t flinch. Just looked up and said, “No. I’m the director.” No chaos, no screaming. Just the sound of her own silence finally making space. She didn’t leave. He ended up in the cutting room floor. — @plico_magazine Photo by @imloppi Styling by @sonyalipio Set design by @flaviamanacorda Make up by @gaiadellaquilamua Hair by @antonio.fidato Production @panoramicstudio Production assistant @robertopalattella @vittodarg Agent @simone.santercole #TheDirector
THE ROOM WITH NO CLOCKS She sat still — one leg up on the velvet chair, a blade in her hand, a drink untouched. Walls were gold. Everything else was rusting. He said, “You think you’re the main character?” She didn’t flinch. Just looked up and said, “No. I’m the director.” No chaos, no screaming. Just the sound of her own silence finally making space. She didn’t leave. He ended up in the cutting room floor. — @plico_magazine Photo by @imloppi Styling by @sonyalipio Set design by @flaviamanacorda Make up by @gaiadellaquilamua Hair by @antonio.fidato Production @panoramicstudio Production assistant @robertopalattella @vittodarg Agent @simone.santercole #TheDirector
THE ROOM WITH NO CLOCKS She sat still — one leg up on the velvet chair, a blade in her hand, a drink untouched. Walls were gold. Everything else was rusting. He said, “You think you’re the main character?” She didn’t flinch. Just looked up and said, “No. I’m the director.” No chaos, no screaming. Just the sound of her own silence finally making space. She didn’t leave. He ended up in the cutting room floor. — @plico_magazine Photo by @imloppi Styling by @sonyalipio Set design by @flaviamanacorda Make up by @gaiadellaquilamua Hair by @antonio.fidato Production @panoramicstudio Production assistant @robertopalattella @vittodarg Agent @simone.santercole #TheDirector
THE ROOM WITH NO CLOCKS She sat still — one leg up on the velvet chair, a blade in her hand, a drink untouched. Walls were gold. Everything else was rusting. He said, “You think you’re the main character?” She didn’t flinch. Just looked up and said, “No. I’m the director.” No chaos, no screaming. Just the sound of her own silence finally making space. She didn’t leave. He ended up in the cutting room floor. — @plico_magazine Photo by @imloppi Styling by @sonyalipio Set design by @flaviamanacorda Make up by @gaiadellaquilamua Hair by @antonio.fidato Production @panoramicstudio Production assistant @robertopalattella @vittodarg Agent @simone.santercole #TheDirector
RABBITS! Something’s wrong… I wonder who I will be. @plico_magazine presents its debut issue, a dreamlike descent into fear, memory, and transformation. Inspired by Lynch’s Rabbits, this issue lingers where time breaks and identity blurs. Starring @asiaargento, photographed by @imloppi, our second cover features a visionary artist and free spirit whose life and art break every rule blending cinema, music, rebellion, and raw emotion into a deeply and authentic personal vision. Pre Order now on plicomagazine.com Interview by @benjamin_talbot Photographer and Director: Andrea Lamedica @imloppi Photographer assistant: Roberto Palattella @robertopalattella Director of photography: Elisa Fioritto @elisa.fioritto 1 AC: Pietro Gobbi @pietrogobbi_ Stylist: Sonia Alipio @sonyalipio Styling Assistants: Nes Kali @neskalli Margherita Mangani @maagsj Make up artist: Gaia Dellaquila @gaiadellaquilamua Hair stylist: Antonio Fidato @antonio.fidato Set Designer: @flaviamanacorda Production: Panoramic Studio @panoramicstudio
