Mashoca feels like a girl that lives somewhere uptown. She always has perfectly manicured red almond nails and a healthy supply of hairspray. And when she leaves the comfort of her suburban enclosure, she lights up a cigarette, gets of at Times Square, and follows the flow. It might not be Studio 54 every Saturday, but she always finds the right place. Mashoca smells bright, ‘happy’. There’s a certain innocence underneath, a sensation that youth is eternal and the world is one big bite, that Saturday nights last forever and the sun will always shine brighter this side of the Brooklyn bridge.
Slightly ambiguous, Mashoca manages to blend the beauty with grittiness.
