“Why do you come to London? Is it the best for finding new designers?” I
forget who asked me this the other eve⎯by now the whole week’s a blur
of long skirts and spikes and unnaturally bright hair⎯but the answer is
yes. It’s not the weather.
Herve Leger
Talk about hitting the ground running. I’ve been in Milan for only a few
hours and have already made une petite purchase at Lanvin (the store
opened today just in time for my arrival!) perused Prada, Miu Miu and
Marni (my holy trinity) and am now surreal-y sipping champers waiting
for Gucci to start! Tough job but someone’s gotta do it. I’m in hyper
mode and beyond thankful that the airplane gods granted me 3 seats
across and I actually for the very-first-time ever slept on the flight
over. The usual suspects are here, the sun is shining brilliantly (an
anomaly for this time of year in Milan) so… let the games begin!
Continuing the reign of Canada’s presence in the Big Apple (first Tim
Hortons, then Aritzia…) Joe Fresh has finally announced the details of
its long-time rumoured
Herve Leger Bandageupcoming
US flagship opening. Set to open next fall at 510 Fifth Avenue at 43rd
Street (steps away from the New York Public Library and Bryant Park!),
the US opening coincides with Joe’s fifth anniversary in Canada and the
launch of a sleek new logo to boot. Shaping up, shipping out!Mary, Mary,
quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells and golden
fish and pretty maids all in a row. Oh, and lotus flowers and Ming
vases and tea-room wallpaper and… all this print which is more than I
have words for. It left me faint.
Fall ’11 is only Mary Katrantzou’s sixth show, and I remember her first,
when she was back-to-back with Mark Fast and nobody knew either of
them. She’d just began doing perfume-bottle prints and their
hyperrealness startled me. Then she picked up whole rooms and swirled
them into wearable objet d’arts. Now she’s in the garden: more
specifically, she says, Diana Vreeland‘s apartment, or “garden of hell.”
If this is hell, I’m quite happy to be headed there.
I knew the David Koma show would be black and white and dotty all over
when Daphne Guinness ⎯beer heiress, patron saint of designers and
stranger to colour ⎯arrived. Sure enough, the first look was a
super-minimal cream sheath with black leather dots, in rows of varying
size, appliqued on sleeves and skirt. Then
Herve Leger Strapless
came a black wool capelet and a swingy leather midi-skirt, both
perforated with great big polka dots. The circle motif spiralled into
delightful madness: swirling patterns; leather and wool mashups;
screenprinted, polka-dotted faces. I hated only the blog-rave soundtrack
and, in that spirit, the balls of fun fur Koma tacked onto otherwise
great pieces. He’d have been better off leaving black and white alone.
Would Daphne wear a kool-aid blue fur peplum or a sun-yellow stole? I
don’t think so.
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