So here's a thing: Sometimes I loathe fashion. Like, I find it incredibly exhausting. But when I love it, I think I love it more than anything.
Whatever. Feel me now - there is a sloped shoulder about to happen (probably eased in via a raglan sleeve). I track it to Raf Simons' last Jil Sander collection.
Anyway. Here is a young Queen Victoria, painted by Franz Xavier Winterhalter:
I hate those shoulders. Aren't they weak? Don't they just scream cowed down-ness, timidity and, well, bad posture? They are not attractive.
Are they back? What is old is new, babe.
Here is Alexander Wang RTW Spring 2013:
Prediction: along with the sloped, rounded shoulders of the mid-19th century, prepare for a V-ish princess waistline (ew, urgh).
p.s. I LOVED the illusion lines of the dresses in Wang's collection:
The Vine have compiled a list of the best and worst celebrities dressed as Cleopatra, apparently apropos of nothing, save the enduring awesomeness of that Ancient Egyptian Pharaoh. Hey, I'm not complaining... well, one complaint: Where is Vivien Leigh as she appeared in Gabriel Pascal's 1945 peplum flick, Caesar and Cleopatra???
I had actually forgotten how stunning the costumes are - that blue headdress!
So here's a weird Vivien Leigh fact: It's well documented that Leigh suffered from mental illness and had a nervous breakdown while shooting the film Elephant Walk in Sri Lanka. But there is a lesser known aspect of the story - in fact, I only know about it because an acquaintance of my father's was in attendance at a dinner to which Leigh was also invited. At some point during the dinner a servant mentioned that in a nearby village an exorcism ritual was taking place. Going against the advice of her host and the servants, Leigh insisted on attending. Apparently she suffered from her breakdown not long after. Creepy, huh?
Apologies for the lack of posts lately but watching the Olympics must take precedence over all other activities. Speaking of which (though not really because I'm sure everyone's done talking about it), how about that Opening Ceremony?! Utter heaven and Jerusalem is currently on repeat on my iPod. Danny Boyle is a genius. I won't even give him a disapproving glare for dating Rosario Dawson. Go on Danny, you've earned your child bride.
And Britain! The following sums up my mood of late perfectly:
Indeed, if I must nitpick (and, of course, I must) I felt like the lack of hat-tipping to Madame Westwood was regrettable. Just think, instead of this yucko number -
Oh well, there's still the Closing Ceremony, I guess.
I will say that I was wee bit baffled by the NHS tribute as the very little I have read about the organisation in the past has not been positive. For a bit of context, back in the day I was properly obsessed with Michael Winterbottom's 2002 film 24 Hour Party People. It's the story of Manchester's music scene in the late-ish 20th century, centering on one of its key figures, Tony Wilson. In 2007 Wilson was refused funding by the NHS for treatment of his kidney cancer. According to this NME story, a bunch of rockstars stepped in to help out but sadly Wilson died in the same year. Interestingly enough, two bands Wilson had formerly managed - New Order and the Happy Mondays - were among those whose music featured during the Opening Ceremony.
Let's just look at this picture of Lebron James fixing Kobe Bryant's tie (Athens, 2008) and reflect on the fact that the Olympics are the greatest thing humanity has accomplished.
Some years ago I attended the pre-formal (or 'prom' to you yanks) drinks of my friend's little sister. It was pretty standard fare - teenagers sipped from glasses filled with about one tablespoon of champagne while their parents looked on, and there were plenty of those wildly awkward group photographs in which tuxedoed boys stand behind their partners in a huge semi-circle, everyone smiling goofily.
The whole thing took place about four years after I had attended my own formal, and I remember feeling faintly annoyed at how much kinder the prevailing fashions were to these girls - none of them were wearing full length skirts and there were no corsets of the kind that always look absurd on 16 year old girls. A youthful silhouette was driving fashion, with Empire waist lines and baby doll (but not Mod) dresses decidedly 'in'. I remember recognising the influence of Nina Ricci's Spring 2006 collection in many of the girls' pretty outfits.
ANYWAY. I don't know why but I was discussing this event with a girlfriend recently and we suddenly recalled one particular girl in attendance who baffled expectations by bringing two male partners. I remember finding this exceptionally amusing at the time, particularly because there was no explanation given. They weren't even a particularly vivacious threesome - the enduring picture I have in my head is of the girl in question seated beneath a tree while her two betuxed escorts stood nearby, none of them speaking.
Another girlfriend who was listening to the story suggested it sounded like something out of a fashion shoot. She's quite right. There are plenty of fashion campaigns in which a woman is accompanied by two men. I can't explain why but it somehow makes for a sexy dynamic.
See further discussion of this image re Cowardly Lion here
Versace Spring 2011 campaign
This may be wishful thinking but don't the women seem strong/ more powerful than the men? Possibly something to do with the fact that the modelling industry is almost entirely a woman's game and so the men are necessarily anonymous?
I have nothing to add to the awesome caption accompanying this photo (taken at Prince William's wedding) of Princess Diana's nieces, Kitty, Amelia and Eliza Spencer, except to say, "Good one, internet."
I had just finished reading the first chapter of Dreaming in French: The Paris Years of Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, Susan Sontag, and Angela Davis when I saw Lana Del Rey's video for "National Anthem".
Maybe it's because I had Jackie on my mind but I feel completely bowled over by the thing.
There is so much stuff to talk about. Stripes and spangled stars, two cars and three kids, vacations and big hair, Ralph Lauren, but especially Tommy Hilfiger, youth and huge money. It's all here.
Amidst all the thoughts about this video I have swirling around in my head, there are a few fashion touchstones I keep coming to.
First, the pink Chanel (via Chez Ninon) suit that the real Mrs Kennedy wore on the day her husband was assassinated. Jackie refused to remove the blood-stained suit for fifteen hours after her husband's death - meaning that she was wearing it when Vice President Johnson was sworn in.
Lady Bird Johnson, who had also been in the motorcade in Dallas, described her predecessor's appearance:
"I looked at her. Mrs. Kennedy's dress was stained with blood. One leg was almost entirely covered with it and her right glove was caked, it was caked with blood - her husband's blood., Somehow that was one of the most poignant sights - that immaculate woman exquisitely dressed, and caked in blood."
It's good that Del Rey stays away from the gore of JFK's assassination, even if a lot of the clip has a Zapruder feel. The closest we get to reenactment is a beautiful short of Lana climbing over the rear of the car, as Jackie herself did, moments after her husband was shot.
I studied JFK's assassination as part of year 11 modern history and as a result have seen the footage of his death several times. Without knowing much about Jackie and John's marriage, apart from the fact of his philandering, I always had a particular understanding of what happened - JFK gets shot in the head and, almost instantly, Jackie is scrambling out of the car, trying to get out of harm's way.
Just a few days before watching the "National Anthem" clip, I learned that I had been quite mistaken. Apparently - and it certainly seems this way when you watch the Zapruder film - Jackie instinctively reached to retrieve a piece of her husband's skull that was blown away by the gunshot. I found myself deeply affected by this revelation and how my misinterpretation of a single gesture could so drastically alter my understanding of the moment and the people in it. It's because of this that I find the shots of Lana on the back of the car - where she seems as though she could be smiling - quite poignant
Del Rey's main look for the clip is GOAT's bell-sleeved Orion dress in a powder blue. (It's actually for sale at a marked-down price here.)
Though the dress is demure, there are hints that things may not be quite what they seem. What should be a string of pearls around her neck turns out to be a necklace of diamonds. If she is Jackie then it's probably Mrs Onassis, not Kennedy.
Then there is Marilyn Monroe's 1962 "Mr President" dress by Jean Louis.
I mean come on. So overtly sexy and risque, it's ridiculous.
And I can't help but think Lana drops the ball on this one:
So half-assed - Marilyn was sewn into hers, after all. The dress works OK in the grainy videoclip footage but seeing the high def pic above is a definite mood killer.
But anyway, as it turns out, Lana is neither a Jackie or a Marilyn, but a Priscilla. Presley, that is. Of course Lana has been rocking this vibe for a while but she becomes Priscilla in this video.
And, thank heavens, Lana's trailer park manicure is still going strong:
I was always intrigued by Lana's nails but it was seeing her make the international hand signal for 'toke it' in her "Born to Die" clip ("... let's got get high"), that sealed the deal. True love. I am utterly flabbergasted by fashion types who criticise those fabulous talons. For me they are by far the most compelling aspect of her entire look.
Though I find Lana's unrelentingly retro style a little tiresome at times, it works perfectly in "National Anthem". Along with the cinematography of the video, we're basically smacked over the head with a sense of misplaced nostalgia. I mean, I wasn't alive in 1963 (of course, neither was Miss Del Rey), so how does this video so effectively invoke in me a sense of mournful longing for the era? Can you miss something you never had?
My mum suggested to me the wordsaudade, a "vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist ... a turning towards the past or towards the future". This seems kind of perfect.
Add to the mix the casting of A$AP as Del Rey's JFK and things get really interesting. For me, as with Bradley Soileau in Lana's previous videos, A$AP is pitch perfect, in that he is a pitch perfect babe.
I'm not sure if the idea or (more to the point) the image of miscegenation is still considered shocking. I do know that 'sexy' is way ahead of 'shocking' in the list of words I'd use to describe Lana and A$AP's interactions in this video. [NB. A$AP has been added to my list of oddly benign rapper names. List already includes Ice Cube, Ice-T and Q-Tip.]
I can only think of one other music video in which a white female singer kisses a black man; Madonna's "Like a Prayer". But while there's basically no attempt to create a sense of romance or even intimacy in "Like a Prayer", the love story of "National Anthem" is remarkably convincing, not least due to Lana's impressive acting skills. The comparison between the two videos ends up seeming a little, shall we say, superficial.
Miscegenation and its representation in film has such a complicated history in the US. I really do love that in this video Del Rey has given us an image so attractive and desirable that you almost forget everything else.
What I really like is how successfully Lana and A$AP portray a spectacularly envy-inducing couple. They Have It All - beautiful boats, cars, houses, friends and kids - but more than that, they're just totally hot for each other. They touch, gaze and kiss like teenagers. When Lana breaks outs some dancehall moves it is unquestionably all for him. All this contributes to intensifying the impact of the final scene of the video, which according to its makers is about the loss of innocence.
The exceptionally
beautiful tableware pictured below is made by Sydney ceramicist Hayden Youlley.
In Youlley's own words The Paper Series is a study in 'lightness, translucency, mimicry and texture'. Hand-casting each piece in porcelain, Youlley displays imagination combined with impressive technical skill - and why not? Dude learned his craft at Sydney's College of Fine Arts.
Now, I don't want to toot my own horn, but as someone who once drunkenly stole a Hayden Youlley cup from the artist himself, I feel uniquely positioned to promote these lovely objects.
The Cup has a quality that makes the owner (ahem...) want to keep grasping long after its contents have been consumed.
Portrait of Doris Day by John Florea, photographed in 1953.
Note Miss Day's very au courant sheer skirt, and pre-Tim Walker pastel pups.
As an aside, Doris Day sings my second-favourite rendition of the song Que Sera, Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be), in Alfred Hitchcock's The Man Who Knew Too Much. The best version is by Sly And The Family Stone.
Don't be sad, Dor. Ain't no shame in being beaten by the best.
The current Resort collection will be Bill Gaytten's last at Dior before Raf Simons takes over. I can only assume he suffered from some kind of brain explosion - that Miu Miu dress was by no means obscure, having appeared on several magazine covers and red carpets.
One can't help but feel for Gaytten. I don't think I've read a single article on him that hasn't contained the phrase 'big shoes to fill'.
But don't let's end on a sour note. The resort collection also included this marvelous confection:
No doubt it will look beautiful on Marion Cotillard.
Is this look a hint of what might have been had Gaytten had more time and less pressure? I don't think so. In fact during his tenure as head designer at Dior, Gaytten created a number of ravishing New Look-waisted ensembles, often incorporating some impressively un-frivolous tulle skirts (like the red one, above). He drew from the Dior archives and displayed the same spooky ability as his predecessors to make sensible women want to cinch their waists and pad their busts. For this alone, he deserves to be more than a footnote in the fashion house's history.
I recently planted some dear little tulip bulbs in my garden (at precisely the wrong time of year, my father has helpfully pointed out) and shortly afterwards was struck by a troubling thought - do I like tulips? Thank heavens for the internet which has reminded me; I do indeed.
House of Worth, "Tulipes Hollandaises", silk and metal cape, 1889, The New York Metropolitan Museum of Art
