awful, I must say_
I went to my first Indian, or as we Brits say, Asian, wedding a couple of weeks ago – I’ve been to a lot of weddings this year – and I was stunned by the assualt of colour, sparkle and artificial flowers. The air was heady with the scent of jasmine and curry, a potent sensory cocktail. It was quite good, if a tad bit sedate.
It was a Muslim wedding so no booze. No sozzled Great Aunts doing the hokey-cokey.
The new Louis Vuitton collection waxes lyrical about Susan Sontang and is a diatribe directed at Good Taste.
Eye-popping. Chinoiserie. Lurex. F*ck the animal prints, let’s go Mach 3 and slap on a veritable glitter ball Zebra on it. Woah, steady on Marc J… It was synthetic glamour – is there any other kind? – and while I find it hard to stomach there is something bonkers-ly brave about the whole proceedings. Note the dodgy 80s style catwalk exits when the models came out in groups and did their turns, hands on hip. And the House of Leonard inspired prints.
(I must give it to Leonard. They keep knocking out their house prints and make no apologies. Pucci, anyone?)
There were moments of beauty, mind you. Note Alek Wek’s gorgeous top and Fortuny-style pants being one. And I quite liked the clownish take on Diane Von Furstenberg – the wrap dress, half chic siren, half Bobo the Clown after a hard night, modelled by Freja Better Behave Yourself. The one-legged animal print Kaftan Jump Suit thingy bob, however… Should those words ever consecutively follow each other?!
Mr Jacobs thinks so.
Worrying for the models must have been all those scratchy fabrics. Imagine the crotch-rub on those!
” MY L.V. KNICKERS
GAVE ME THRUSH!“
Ouch! Anyway, it all reminded me of the Asian wedding, albeit in a more sped-up, hyper-real, lowdown dirty kind of way. LFN
catwalk images http://www.vogue.com,