Ta daaaa! Here we are in London, cozied up in a taxi watching the pounds tick away on the meter. Between the huge blockade in the city yesterday and the impassable bike race today, it’s been hell getting from one show to another.
But nothing too bad. The atmosphere here is totally awesome, totally happy, and so totally refreshing that everything is a-ok, even a quick storm between sun shines.
The New York fashion week was a little too luke-warm, a little too polite, too sensible, a little too perfectly manicured. So after finally get to london, finding a hint of craziness, some bad taste, fake fur, a few perms, chipped nail-polish and sex wear, I find it’s all done me me some good.
Sex wear? C’mon Garance, what are you talking about?
I dunno. I just invented it. When I took this girl’s picture above (I have a little memory problem right now. I forget everyone’s name. You think I need to start eating sushi again?), I asked her where she got her dress, and she said to me, “Soho Sex Shop!”
Me : Okay, c’mon. You don’t have to make fun of me.
Her : Okay. Mark Fast.”
Me : Ah, there ya go!
Her : No but seriously, I’m telling you: Soho Sex Shop! I swear!
Well so yeah, I dunno. Maybe I’ll go take a look tomorrow? If I come back with a rabbit, it’ll be Mark Fast’s fault, ha!
Sex, fun & rock ‘n roll. Smile, sex and sun. This new sexy, super body-conscious fashion makes us do bizarre things. Soho Sex Shops, no need to thank me : this one’s on me! And on top of that, it’s made with a smile.
Translation : Tim Sullivan