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MY WARHOL

Collier Schorr

JON VOIGHT IS WALKING ACROSS PARK AVENUE. “HEY JOE,” someone says, kind of low, like Jimi Hendrix, but shy, too—“Hey Joe Buck.” Jon Voight, who is Joe Buck, is slouching toward a voice. The voice, which is lyrical, has come from the streetlights and the flowerbeds and the island between the avenues, and Jon turns his head of bright hair back and forth before settling on which way to direct his sloping gait.

In his new Berluti di Parigi boots, Joe Buck is, according to James Leo Herlihy, who chose them, “six foot one and life was different.” Of course, it goes without saying that the boots are a disaster, but they do help advertise the rise between his thighs. On the heels of his boots he can tilt and bow his legs, making his authenticity, well, authentic, whether as a cowboy, an actor, or a trick.

Cowboy boots in New York City look right only on an outsider, a visitor who doesn’t know any

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