The first thing your eye lands on is the smile. A blonde woman leans in close, red lipstick, dark-rimmed eyes with a slick of pale blue shadow, and she is looking directly at you with an expression that is equal parts flirtation and dare. Her right hand is raised beside her face, and she is snapping a powder-blue surgical glove down over her fingers.

That single gesture, half medical, half suggestive, is the whole joke of Enema of the State compressed into one photograph. The woman is dressed as a nurse: crisp white lab coat, a little cap perched in her teased hair, and beneath the open coat a red lace bra. On the left breast of the coat sits an oval badge reading blink-182, so that even the costume carries branding.

Nothing here is actually shown, and nothing needs to be. The whole picture runs on suggestion, luring you in before you have even heard a note. Who the woman is, why the glove is there at all, and how a first-time photographer's afternoon became one of the defining pictures of its era are stories the frame keeps to itself.