A fierce young skinhead with a severe platinum crop—barely an inch all over with a slightly longer fringe—sits on the concrete wall outside a grey tower block in South London, the brutalist architecture of post-war council housing dominating the frame. She wears a black bomber jacket covered in sewn-on patches and embroidered details—Trojan Records logo, Union Jack, ska bands, anti-fascist slogans—over a white ribbed tank top. Her look is completed with sta-prest trousers in stone beige, pressed to knife-edge creases, and oxblood red Dr. Martens 8-hole boots polished to a military shine. Thin red braces dangle at her sides, no longer holding up her trousers but worn as a style statement. Her face shows the stark makeup style of the era—heavily darkened brows, dramatic black eyeliner on both upper and lower lids, pale pressed powder foundation, and wine-dark lipstick. She wears multiple silver rings on her fingers and a simple silver chain around her neck. Behind her, washing hangs on balconies, graffiti tags mark the walls, and other working-class youth in various subcultural uniforms loiter in the courtyard below. A parked Lambretta scooter with multiple mirrors and chrome accessories sits nearby, connecting the skinhead revival to its mod roots. Children play football in the background, and the scene captures the reality of British working-class life in the late 1970s—the estates that bred both hardship and fierce pride. The photograph employs the stark social documentary approach, with even midday light creating minimal shadows but maximum clarity, every detail sharp from the texture of the concrete to the individual threads in her jacket patches.
