Queen B

Louise R stands against a wall of turquoise mosaic tiles with a Greek key border running down one side, the vivid blue grid turning the scene into something between a swimming pool changing room and a pop-art installation. She wears a Budweiser-branded one-piece swimsuit, the iconic red-and-white label stretched across her torso like a billboard, the high-cut sides riding well above her hips and exposing the thick, powerful sweep of her thighs. Her platinum hair hangs in loose waves to her waist, and heavy smoky liner around her green eyes gives her the look of a woman who drinks whatever she wants and answers to nobody. Queen B is brash, brewed strong, and served ice cold.

Louise turns and the camera drops to the rear view: the Budweiser logo wraps her hips, and the swimsuit's high cut frames the broad, sculpted expanse of her bum against the blue tile like a trophy on a shelf. She faces front again, the swimsuit peeled to her waist and then discarded entirely, and the close-up that follows is arresting: her bare breasts filling the frame, heavy and impossibly round, the turquoise grid stretching into soft focus behind her. Her expression is level and unapologetic, her chin tilted upward, every pixel daring you to look away. The Budweiser branding lies crumpled somewhere out of frame, and the only label left is the one Louise wrote herself.