Fancy agents in big cities speak of platforms most reverently. And ominously. “Get a platform,” they say, “then we can talk.”
When I hear the word, the brothers Gibb begin to play and Vinnie Barbarino, in a white polyester suit, begins to scissor across a dance floor fractured by shards of light scattered from the spinning mirrored ball above.
A platform is a shoe. Even by modern definitions.