A True Yunatic
Grace Jones didn’t walk into culture – she ripped a hole in it and danced through wearing a metal corset and a knowing smirk. Raised herself through disco clubs, Paris runways and wild-eyed nightclubs where the freaks felt free – Grace is what happens when someone says no to boring forever.
She’s a model who turned herself into living sculpture. A singer who growled lullabies. An actress who made villains look polite. She’s grace in name, hurricane in essence and chaos with cheekbones.
The Inner Child
Grace never grew out of play – she just grew into it louder. Whether hula-hooping on stage at 60 or turning fashion into sculpture, she keeps her inner child wide awake and fully dressed in avant-garde armor. She doesn’t perform to impress – she performs to express, to feel, to explore. That’s her inner child: not innocent, but limitless. Forever curious, forever daring.
“I never asked to be normal. I’ve tried and it’s boring.” – Grace Jones
Tribbles
Grace’s legacy is scattered with brilliant Tribbles – moments, albums, visuals that changed the game. Here are a few:
- Nightclubbing (01981): A genre-bending masterpiece blending dub, funk, new wave and cool defiance.
- Slave to the Rhythm (01985): A concept album turned sonic sculpture. Every version a rebirth.
- Hurricane (02008): A return that was anything but quiet – personal, powerful, raw. Yugi Karl’s all-time favorite and rightly so.
- Live performances: Not concerts, but rituals – choreographed chaos, draped in shadow and gold.
- Her image (with Jean-Paul Goude): More than fashion – it was architecture of identity.
Every Tribble she creates is a bold, visual, emotional event. A mix of elegance and eruption.
“I’m not a clone. I’m an artist. Being different is what makes me, me.” – Grace Jones
Connected with the Yuniverse
Grace doesn’t “relate” to the universe. She wrestles it, flirts with it and then wears it as a headpiece. She is cosmic. Her rhythm is tidal. Her presence? Meteoric. She doesn’t ask the universe for permission – she just shows up in it, glowing, growling, laughing. The universe has no choice but to keep up.
Spiritual
Not in a sit-cross-legged-and-chant way (though she could do that, stunningly). She’s spiritual like volcanoes, like lightning. She’s a sermon in sequins. A hymn in heels. Her body is her altar, her voice is her drum and her entire life is a ritual of radical selfhood.
Grace Jones is not a vibe – she’s a full-on cosmic event, making sure the universe is never, ever boring again.