Live, expect to witness Toomey and her comrade DJ Kitty in full-blown pop-brat mode. They’ll no doubt be donned in Buffalo platforms and lingerie, occasionally handing out condoms after the show with hand-written messages. Better safe than sorry. “I don’t know,” Toomey wonders when I probe about the tampon obsession. “I wanted to take something that’s a staple thing that every woman uses, that’s clearly an image of being a woman, and just make it less taboo — [to] make it this playful thing. I remember reading something about a Lily Allen song [in which she says the word] ‘period’. Radio 1 wouldn’t play her. I remember thinking, ‘That’s so bullshit, are we scared of periods or something? I’m just going to start throwing tampons at people.’ I think my favourite reactions are from the guys. I did a show in Leeds and then I threw them all out, then this old guy came up to me and was like, ‘Is it heavy-flow?’ That was just brilliant.”

Already been to a GIRLI show? You’ve heard “ASBOys” then, Toomey’s second single that starts like an M.I.A.-esque call to arms. Think war-beat drums and harmonised off-key chants, in which she comes for every London wasteman you’ve ever hated. It’s been four months since the track’s release, which means there’s new music on the horizon. “I’m so desperate to release everything at once, but I’ve been told that’s not a good idea,” Toomey sighs. I’ve been promised a single and an EP in the near future, but when I press for more details, the singer exclaims: “Oh, fuck! I need a title!”

She’s been busy in those four months though, taking part in Louby McLoughlin’s project OKgrl, a cyber-stylised fashion and music platform, and stylist Kylie Griffith’s GRL PWR — a female-only arts collective. And don’t forget about GIRLI.fm, Toomey’s hectic spoof radio show that she hosted from her “mum’s wardrobe” and includes (faked) interviews with Britney, the Spice Girls and Skepta. “I did it with my friend and collaborator Ian Watt,” she explains of the film and songs rips she used to compile her “conversations”. “We’re probably going to get sued mega!” “If you ever get a week free, you should make another one,” I enthuse.Toomey agrees, but between shopping for pink, recording her next (hopefully) polarising track and stocking up on a lifetime’s supply of tampons, I think she just might not have time.

Photography: Megan Eagles

Fashion: Toni-Blaze Ibekwe

Words: Lily Walker

With thanks to God’s Own Junkyard

“The fans”, as he refers to them, are very important to Cameron Dallas. It shows: he spends a large amount of his time engaging with them – be it on Twitter or at MAGCON, a meet-and-greet convention for social media kids.“MAGCON gives fans the opportunity to talk to us, to have a conversation and really get to know us on a deeper level,” Dallas explains. His Twitter is peppered with fan retweets and replies, and he’s even created his own trending hashtag #followmecam to encourage fans to tweet at him for a chance to be followed by their crush.“Without my fans I wouldn’t be anything,” he observes. “I mean they give me what I have, so I kind of have to give them what they deserve and more, you know?”

Without prompting, Dallas launches into a wild-eyed yarn involving thousands of screaming followers chasing him down the streets of Manhattan, only to be mistakenly thrown against a wall by an undercover policeman. It wasn’t a lone incident: during Milan Men’s Fashion Week this January, there was a mob scene outside the Park Hyatt hotel, where Dallas was staying, of such magnitude that it launched a state of emergency in the city. So what is it about Dallas that causes such uproar? I wonder how he defines himself. “I definitely wear a lot of different hats…” Dallas muses.“ I don’t even know what I would call myself, maybe an ‘influencer’?” His publicist interjects boldly with “Probably Cameron Dallas!” They both LOL. “I mean, I’m very into what I do for my fans, I’m very into marketing and coming up with campaign ideas, all that stuff is really fun for me,” Dallas continues. “I’ve done acting, I’ve done music — I have kind of done everything.”

He’s kind of right. Just three years out of high school and Dallas has not only gained a monumental social following and won three Teen Choice awards, he’s starred in as many films, most notably 2014’s Expelled, a Feris Bueller’s Day Off-esque flick where he fittingly plays a high school prankster. He’s also released a single, “She Bad”, complete with Drake-style lyrics (“She a good girl, but you know she bad though/ Just keep shaking that thing for me”). Next, Dallas plans to conquer the fashion industry and he’s already part-way there, if a front row seat at the Calvin Klein men’s show in Milan is anything to go by.And with a following like Dallas’s, what brand would turn him down?

Despite Cameron Dallas’s adorable Brat Pack looks, it’s his instinctive understanding of the platforms he dominates — combined with a natural penchant for self-promotion — that makes him stand apart from the hundreds of thousands of genetically-blessed teenagers trying their hardest to #breaktheinternet. If anyone’s going to succeed, our money is on Dallas.

It’s 12:54PM on a drizzly Tuesday in New York. Hari Nef, 23, has a pair of “really sparkly and gaudy” Jimmy Choo shoes stashed under her chair. She’s going to wear them to her go-see with Marc Jacobs in an hour. “He just followed me on Instagram,” she says, in a mock stage whisper.The shoes — a gift from the SAG awards two days ago — stand next to a cold-carrier from Juice Press. It will be her first NewYork FashionWeek since becoming the first trans woman to sign internationally with IMGWorldwide.

“I used to do runway for my friends,” she explains. Amongst her “friends”, count HBA’s Shayne Oliver, Adam Selman and deviant design duo Eckhaus Latta. Hari met with Jacobs’ team two and a half years ago. “When I was a child. When they had me in from Instagram. Now the prodigal daughter returns!” As if on cue, a stocky, bearded man in a black-and-red checked flannel shirt hastily lunges across the East Village cafe. “I loved you in Transparent,” he blurts out, already retreating, as if suddenly wary of the full-frontal effect of Nef ’s lily-white, pillow-lipped visage. Or maybe just aware that he has left his laptop unattended. “Thank you so much. Really!” she says, craning around so that her fleeing fan can catch the sincere, surprised smile playing across her face. She turns to me, shrugs, deadpan: “That was a plant.”

Nef is wearing an outfit she posted on Instagram seven days ago: this season’s Gucci floral-print crêpe de chine cape shirt flung open, clavicles out, grade-school tattoo choker on display. And four large animal Gucci rings from her show in Milan last week: “I have two more at home but six is just too much,” she sighs. As for permanent accessories, she has two tattoos: “Hailey” in the crook of her arm (“This is what my name would have been had I been assigned fe- male at birth”) and the chemical number of the oestrogen she injects each week.

I might not have noticed that she’d worn this outfit before, except for the fact that Vogue wrote an entire blog post about the selfie, praising her casual embrace of the “deliciously fusty wallpaper” pattern. Nef hasn’t bothered with its grosgrain tie today or the matching pantsuit that she wore with this outfit in November, rather famously posting a picture from “the women’s potty @whitehouse” to the cool 66.1k fans that follow her every move on Instagram.

I’m reminded of a diary of Miami Basel she published in Adult magazine when she was 21, and still a student at Columbia: “I felt elegant and well. I looked like a severe and special occasion… I’m gorgeous! I organise my body.” The words seem truer every day. Nef has that effortless model glow: no split ends, no visible pores, no make-up. I enjoy Nef ’s off-duty style largely because it is frequently, even obstinately, an index of her mind and mood. “I always come back to Carrie Bradshaw,”says Nef, smiling slyly. “I feel like she dressed in a way that was not occasion-appropriate, but would always comment on the occasion. She was always interpolating her point of view.” I distinctly remember when Nef wore an XXL hoodie to a Purple dinner this year. “I don’t like dressing against my mood,” she explains, laughing. She isn’t going to wear a “black dress and a fur chubby” just because she’s at a fashion dinner.