Colleen Shannon
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Colleen Shannon’s the kind of girl who’ll drop your jaw and then laugh about it. Five-two, blonde, blue eyes that cut through the bullshit. She left that speck of an island called Pelican, Alaska, chased the lights south, and never looked back. Playboy’s 50th Anniversary Playmate, sure, but that was just the first act. Now she’s one of Hollywood’s top club DJs—spinning records, shedding clothes in shoots, popping up on screens and magazine spreads like she owns every inch of them. “If you do what you love,” she says, “chances are you’ll be happy.” Colleen loves being a Playmate, loves the flashbulbs, loves the beat dropping while the crowd watches her move. She’s got the grin that says she already knows you’re hooked.
Colleen Shannon
Colleen Shannon’s the kind of girl who’ll drop your jaw and then laugh about it. Five-two, blonde, blue eyes that cut through the bullshit. She left that speck of an island called Pelican, Alaska, chased the lights south, and never looked back. Playboy’s 50th Anniversary Playmate, sure, but that was just the first act. Now she’s one of Hollywood’s top club DJs—spinning records, shedding clothes in shoots, popping up on screens and magazine spreads like she owns every inch of them. “If you do what you love,” she says, “chances are you’ll be happy.” Colleen loves being a Playmate, loves the flashbulbs, loves the beat dropping while the crowd watches her move. She’s got the grin that says she already knows you’re hooked.