From the perspective of the mid-1980s, James Dean’s persona would have taken on almost-mythical layers of significance, his memory merging with the times he was part of; that idealized and nostalgic view of the 1950s. The rebel, the playboy, the hopelessly charming Dean, taken too soon, and adored all the more for his untimely demise, was to become a romanticized emblem of 1950s American culture. Unlike the aforementioned Elvis or Brando, Dean never aged beyond his idealized state. There was nothing but the brief window in which he was celebrated, followed by a prolonged reverence. That Warhol portrayed Dean in this style is all the more poignant for the unique perspective it entails: one celebrity at the outset of a short and young career as seen by a celebrated artist towards the end of his. No longer contemporaries, it’s as if the older Warhol is reminiscing to another time, with the bright colors and blurry memories of his own youth tied completely to his view this departed rebel.