I love big sweaters. I definitely like them on me, but I like them even more on a man. It just does it for me. Especially when it’s worn as well as this.
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Fashion is a very organized little world. There are ways and costumes, kings and queens, jesters and princesses, there’s an etiquette, a code, you never can learn it all, and it’s oddly fascinating. Contrary to what we might think, most of the people are delicate and distinguished. It’s fashionable to be detached. But everything is seen, everything is known.
The front row of the runway shows is the be all and end all best place to see the clothes. After the third row, you don’t see the shoes anymore and after the fifth, you’re lucky if you can get a look at the hair styles. The seats up front are coveted. Because they’re also the seats the most seen. You get them with celebrity, through experience or sheer will. They crystallize many dramas and give rise to many wonderful crises of the ego.
This season, the designers for Dolce & Gabbana had a revelation. In talking with clients, they realized their clients spent a lot of time on the internet, were incredibly informed, wanted everything to go quickly and were ready to buy right away. They realized that it was a new age and one need advance with the time.
They decided to open their giant doors to four bloggers.
Voilà. That’s how Tommy, Brian, Scott and I ended up in the cherished front row seats for the D&G and Dolce & Gabbana shows.
It was a really strange feeling, especially because they pulled out a good amount of pomp and circumstance. At the first show, they left four laptops, perfectly lined up in front of our chairs. We were the only ones out of everyone at the show to be entitled to that special treatment. But I never comment on a show during a show and as you know, I only tweet orally, haha.
But although suddenly being catapulted onto the A-list of a prestigious design house is really validating, it’s also really embarrassing. And in this universe of set codes and delicately kept rights-of-passages, it pisses everyone off just a little.
But after all, why not? Except for the fact that after a few seconds and a few cross looks, I don’t think we wanted to be the incarnation of this new age. Stay discrete, do things at my own pace, and keep on caring less where my seat is at a show.
But that’s how it is. And when someone gives you a gift as complicated as this to open, you have to know just how to accept it.
I took the opportunity to see the other side of everything from backstage and the VIP room, where they pamper all the celebrities before the show.
On the wall, a photo of Monica Vitti, signed. I couldn’t resist.
I also wanted to meet Stefano and Demenico. First and foremost, I wanted to thank them, but then I wanted their point of view on this micro-happening. As they were the first to roll out the red carpet for bloggers, I really wanted to know what they thought… I wanted to know if their arms were truly open.
This was before I took into account their incredible charisma. I was won over the second I shook their hands. This is why I’ll never be a journalist: I have absolutely zero objectivity. I asked them a whole bunch of questions, and I definitely liked their fresh answers. Just as I said up top, for them, everything is about the clients. If their clients like the internet, it’s about time for them to get interested as well.
And what they want in the end is to communicate their idea. What they were saying was that it isn’t just a runway show to them, it’s an idea, an inspiration. They like the idea that you can find inspiration for a dress Dolce and buy a vintage one for 2 € at the market. And for them, the internet is the most direct way to communicate their concept.
Just for you, here’s the inspiration wall, found backstage. A beautiful collection and an homage to their beginnings and their “Italianité.”
Oh, and a little glimpse of the gigantic catwalk seen from the VIP room.
and here’s me, in a JOGGING SHIRT, with Stefano and Domenico, happy that I had my crazy-ass fashiony shoes to make up for it.
A moment I really liked just before leaving was the moment where the whole team got together to watch the show. Amazing ambiance, Scott had to pull me by the collar to get me to peel myself away.
And there you go, funny little adventure for me, cute and very interesting at the same time. I was wondering what you’d think of everything. But what I remember most were the lacquered walls, the black lace and red lips, that film-like music. And then the eyes of Sofia.
A wonderful fashion week, it’s like spending a night in a candy shop. Suddenly everything is beautiful, everything is shiny, brilliant colors, people are smiling and… well, it’s irresistible. You totally want to photograph everything.
I keep wanting to take photos of the crazy stuff I hear as well. So many bizarre-o things gets said during fashion weeks.
“Tell me, how’s my hair? Does my hair look editorial? Or just dirty?”
“If my chauffeur isn’t here in 2mn, I’m running to Jeffrey’s to buy some shoes.”
Rah, I feel like I’m living with the script-writers for Gossip Girl. It’s amazing.
Other then that, Garance Doré Studios just got a new memo. There’s a new trend: LEGS. At the Derek Lam show a few hours ago, shorts were transformed into panties, and night-gowns were closer to being really frilly yet sophisticated swimsuits. The idea was this: forget to wear the bottom. Yep yep! Look at Taylor right above. How AWESOME is that trend? And guess what, I went ahead and gave myself to it today. After all, someone needs to donate their body to science.
So I experimented with onlookers’ expressions for you.
When I realized that I have the most elegant pose when I’m shooting…
OH MAN. SHE’S CRAZY!!! That’s what everyone seemed to be saying when they saw me. Yep, I had on a jacket, okay good, a little oversized, with a rather short romper… And everyone had the impression I was wearing nothing underneath. I’m telling you, idea of the century.
Voilà, there’s fashion week for you, it’s a wonderful time where everything is beautiful, everything shiny, and anything goes. A wonderfully joyful time, I love it! I love it. I love it. I love it until the indigestion sets in about a month from now.
In the meantime, show off those legs! You’ll get to hear stuff like this:
“Hey, Garance, you nut! I didn’t even recognize you, and then I recognized your legs!” (Hmmm… Thanks. I’ve got a face too.)
“Hey, Garance! You ok? You forget your pants? (Hmmm… A decent attempt. A little too easy, but a decent attempt.)(I’m really not into it.)(Pffff! what do I care?)
“Hey, Garance! I just totally fell in love with your knees.”
And there you have it! I’m telling you, we’re in for one crazy month! Okay I promise… Today, putting my pants back on. Ha! Big hugs!
And here’s a few photos from the Derek Lam show after the jump, just to prove to you that…
Welcome to London, center of the tropics. Get out the fans. It is splendid outside. SPLENDID!
Yep, splendid weather. Especially for everyone else.* Because I spent all day inside my exhibition space, where I spend most of my days sketching on the walls and drinking lattes. The rest of the time, I’m talking about the balance of colors* with Bob, my printer. And then sometimes, I sneak off to go see my friends and have a coffee.**
Yesterday, I gave myself an hour to go see Yasmin. I simply loved her outfit, her awesome accessories (The sunglasses! The surfboard around her neck! The Bracelets! The to-die-for Acne heels!) I don’t know how she’s able to stay so completely herself and so completely fashionable all while being so completely against the grain. I just don’t know! I don’t know. But then, I thought about it,*** and it has to be something celestial. And then I remembered this photo…
Above all, don’t listen to me. Do the opposite of everything I say. I’m happy, I’m sad, I’m dramatic and sublime, I am everything and its opposite, but I always fall back on my feet. I am I am… I am fashion.
Bah voilà. It’s fashion’s fault. One day she gives me the desire for simplicity and flats, and the next day she’s dazzling me with dizzying thigh-high boots, endless legs, silky harem pants, animal prints to burst out of Noah’s ark and too much becomes exactly what I need, what I love, just like this :
And then I go all Rachel Zoe on her : “Giovanna! No, but you can’t go making your self a giant signet ring with your name on it? You’re out of your mind! That’s so awesome! I gotta get my hands on one of those babies, right now! And these pants… Rah, you going to get me wearing all these prints, I just love them!!! Where did you find them, hmmm? C’mon, who made ‘em, who, who, who?”
“What? Kate moss for TopShop!! Shit, okay. But look at me, I’m about to pass out. You see the distress on my face, here? I’m freaking out! Quick, someone get me a computer. There any left on the site?” Giovanna cracks up at my hysterical little fashion speech.
Calm myself? Chill out? In the middle of a moment of utter post-recession wisdom? Bah, okay. In the end, it depends on where we are. Don’t think I don’t notice when I get those hunger-pains for thigh-highs at four in the morning, a few untimely clicks over at Yoox, some irrepressible shoe urges and the slightly disgraceful desire to copy everything of my favorite stylists.
All that, it’s also got something to do with the force of seeing a whole bunch of shows, loving things, hating things, having no idea what to think of things, having an opinion in general and then finding once again that I’ve understood nothing after reading morning and night the wonderful columns of Suzy Menkes and Cathy Horyn, with whom I’ll always agree, even when they don’t agree with themselves. Okay, in short, I’m OD’ing a little on fashion. I’ve been taken by a fierce fashion fever.
So what? When you catch that care-free bug, it doesn’t control you, no? Outside of that, I have to tell you all about my latest purchase, how it happened and why. Givenchy over at Zara, hmmm, you know, I just had to… and I’m lovin’ it to death.
Bonne journée!
Translation : Tim Padraic Sullivan
Fashion week mornings are not like regular mornings. Usually, up at the same time, I’m in my t-shirt on my couch, steaming cup of tea in hand and working on my computer. Fashion weeks, I’m in the shower, eyes half open, hair in my mouth, in my t-shirt, steaming cup of tea in ha….. ouh merde.
With my cup….. in the shower. Voilà, this is the sort of thing that comes up during fashion weeks.
Oui. These are the mornings the doctors will say that I have been diagnosed with exhaustion, I already have 236 e-mails to write, 12 days of letters to open, my mom, who I have to give a pep-talk to on the other line because she’s been hunting me down for however many days, and I needed to have left 25 minutes ago. And on top of all that, gotta be chic.
But not only chic. Chic-cool-hip-classy-sexy-trendy-without being too much because, well, the times, they are a changin’, and you just can’t exaggerate like you used to.
And of course comfortable. Because even if I, myself, have the tendency to forget it, I take photos. Which means I walk, I move, I bend over, I break my mouth open, and I run… Because I’m always late.
And yet, in this rather sectioned off socio-cultural backgroup (slimness appreciated, scan the outfit north to south, south to north, and there’s that wit that just kills in the early morning (“Oh… Hello… They still haven’t found your bags?”)), what is style? I should have developed the art of putting together the perfect outfit a long time ago.
I’m talking about simple outfits, easy to live-in, with a little detail that brings it all together, beautiful, simple, perfect.
If you see what I’m saying…
Mais non. Not at all. I get out of the shower, still mug in hand, sometimes with some conditioner still in my hair (yeah, that too, happens often enough). I get an idea for a great outfit. I look for the pieces, and then I remember that the southern hemisphere of my outfit is in the laundry. I try to find a different outfit, put some things together, there are a few ohs and a few ahs but nothing is quite as great as my great outfit. So I start trying on everything I have in mind. Nothing goes. I take care to put on a pretty spectacular show, throwing all my clothes to the ceiling around in circles and create the type 5 hysterical atmosphere of the backstage of a runway show (but all by myself.). I’m sweating here. I feel like I need to get back in the shower. Calm yourself. Breathe. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.
I finally hunt down a fine outfit, normal (= boring) and I’m off, but of course, not without forgetting to put make up on, do my hair, and bring all my invites to the runway shows.
Oui, voilà, voilà. All of the daily neglects of the Parisian summed up in a few lines. It’s quite simple in the end.
And yet…
No but look at these girls. Are they not pure chic-cool-hip-classy-sexy-trendy-without being too much? Each one in her own different style. A pair of colorful shoes, a pair of fingerless gloves, or a pair of shorts. For goodness sake, it all make sense, no?
Yesterday, the greatest thing happened to me. I have to tell you all about it. But where to start? Hmmm…. Alors voilà…
Aurora and Viviana are Italian. They are friends and work together and every time I run into them, I fall under the charm of their outfits. Always chic, always fun, often a little rock, with a bit of everything. Some designer stuff, luxury stuff, vintage, but also some Zara, all things i love.
Little by little, we got to talking quite a bit. I think you can see in these photos that these two girls are rays of sunlight. They appeal to my better nature. They told me about a sublime little restaurant in Milan, the Fioraio Bianchi Caffé. Ah. Marvelous.
Okay, in short, two wonderful wonderful girls. And yesterday morning, between a Max Mara show that was breathtakingly dull, and a Dolce and Gabbana show that was outrageously glamourous, we said to each other, hey, why not go get a coffee at 10 Corso Como, where we met up with Scott.
I don’t know if you know just how I curious I get. I love hearing people talking to me about their style, their work. On top of that, Aurora and Viviana have a job that isn’t exactly run-of-the-mill. They’re assistants to Anna Dello Russo.
If you read Scott’s site, you know Anna. Anna is the fashion director of Japanese Vogue. This incredible specimen is always incredibly put together, always sophisticated with a unique allure. Just spectacular. A true rock-star. But really, at least in Japan, quite literally.
Photo : The Sartorialist for Garance Doré (!)
So they’re telling me that the started with an internship, that the admiration that had for Anna started in adolescence. Viviana tells me that it all started with a shoot Anna did in the village she was born in, Bari, where she made all the young people in the village come and help dream up the various shots. To have seen work like this has stayed engrained in Vivian’s memory to this day. She’s just enchanted.
I let myself get filled by these stories, drinking my cappuccino.
And then suddenly, we’re all swept up in a whirlwind. Anna, statuesque in Dolce & Gabbana, she’s got a last minute shopping trip to do. She gives us all warm greetings in the most Italian way. We exchange a few quick words. I have to add here that she loves Scott and his photos. She talks about how fashion changes, that is just wonderful and that he does incredible work, and then she’s gone. We keep on talking with the girls.
I think that is an amazing and important thing to surround yourself with. Between the three of them, it just flows. It’s light and lively and you can just feel it.
They tell me about Anna’s incredible style, her passion for what she calls la muse. Fashion.
And then Anna comes back and honestly, I don’t know if she heard us… But she says to us, “You want to come over to my place? I live two steps away.”
Really, seriously, I’m not messing around here. My heart stopped beating.
