Archive for April 2008
Here’s a photo of the lovely Behati Prinsloo from the Karl Lagerfeld S/S RTW show. The show took place on October 4, 2006. Behati’s birthday is May 16, 1989. That would make Behati seventeen-years-old in the photo. That’s why I used MS Paint to erase her nipples. The photo is inappropriate.
For the past couple of days I’ve been trying to ignore the onslaught of criticism directed at Vanity Fair and Miley Cyrus. I don’t really understand why everyone is so worried about an arty shot of the teenager in a sheet. I’ve seen worse, including the photo I posted above.
Behati Prinsloo is a gorgeous girl. In interviews, she seems to be wise beyond her years. She once told Fashion Television “I feel like modeling is not for very young girls cause it takes away your childhood.” No kidding.
Where were this child’s parents when she was walking down the runway in a see-through top. Where were her agents? Where was Karl Lagerfeld? Everyone who made a buck off of Behati’s nipples when she did this show should be ashamed of themselves. I’m not going to blame her because she’s a kid — an especially wise kid, but a kid, nonetheless.
When I first saw this photo, I emailed style.com to let them know that it was irresponsible to leave the photo up if they knew the model was under eighteen. They didn’t get back to me, so I emailed a few talk shows. Nobody responded — not even Tyra or Bill O’Reilly.
I figured that this photo should spark a controversy. It didn’t. So why is a model so much different than an actress? Why is Miley Cyrus in a sheet so much more offensive than a different teenager in a transparent top? Janet Jackson’s nipple slip cost CBS a bundle, but Karl Lagerfeld and style.com get off free because Behati Prinsloo is a model? I guess models get what they deserve. They aren’t actresses, after all.
I’m sure this girl is going to have a great life because of modeling. It’s likely that she’ll have opportunities that most of us couldn’t even dream of having. Still, I wonder what she’s going to think in twenty or thirty years when she looks back at this photo and sees herself bare-breasted on a stage with the entire world’s gaze fixed upon her. I can’t imagine that she’s going to be happy with the people who brought her there. And she shouldn’t be.
When I’m watching TV shows like Project Runway, I always get upset when the judges criticize a look for being too much like a costume. Over this past season, my favorite outfit was Chris’ coat trimmed with human hair that got him voted off of the show. It was 100% costume, all right, but what a costume!
It reminded me of the greatest costume/fashion designer of the past couple of decades: Thierry Mugler. Mugler didn’t even try to avoid to the “costume designer” label. His early 90s shows were pure spectacle, and everyone — especially the models — couldn’t have enjoyed them more.
Fashion, however, was about to enter the Calvin Klein era. Between minimalism and so-called “good taste,” there wasn’t a place for someone as dramatic as Mugler in the business. Mugler didn’t help himself adapt to the times, either. As rising stars like Michael Kors took fashion into a decade that will be remembered for wearability, Mugler continued to do what he had always done. It was his undoing.
I read that Mugler is designing costumes and dabbling in other projects nowadays. His collections are also being shown in retrospectives, museum exhibits and online. Style.com recently featured a fascinating slideshow of superhero looks that included a few of Mugler’s most wonderful works. Or if you want to see what all the hype was about, just watch the video for George Michael’s Too Funky. Linda Evangelista, Emma Sjöberg, Estelle Lefébure, Tyra Banks, the hauntingly gorgeous Nadia Auermann, all clad in the most fabulously-unwearable garments imaginable — what more could anyone ask for? This is what the fantasy we call fashion is all about.
If I had to pick the one dress that has influenced fashion the most in the past ten years, it would be this one. John Galliano designed this gown for Christian Dior Haute Couture. The collection was inspired by hobos, and the dress originally was presented on the runway with dangling fake mice and tiny beer cans. Courtney Love cut those off before walking the red carpet at the 2000 Golden Globes in the name of “good taste.”
Love had recently been reinvented for the red carpet. Cleaned-up and looking undeniably gorgeous, she literally made the jaws of the fashion press drop to the ground when she stole the show at a couple of events leading up to this particular red carpet. Jeanne Beker has even cited Love’s appearance at another event in a glorious Versace number as a career-making move. Up to that point, Love wasn’t even on the fashion radar.
And then she showed up wearing this dress. I couldn’t have been more delighted, but the world reacted rather unfavorably. Even W magazine couldn’t decide what to say about the ensemble, calling Love “trashy” on one page, then simultaneously praising Galliano’s collection on another.
But, as the saying goes, hindsight is 20/20. Looking back, this dress basically encapsulated the decade that would follow it. The deconstruction/reconstruction trend, the red carpet craze, the return of Hollywood glamour, the embellishment fad, makeover madness — all of the movements that have defined the ’00s are evident in this one snapshot.
Of course, I wish I could find a better photo of this dress. But it seems to be forgotten by most people, including the people who write about fashion. That’s sort of tragic, because this dress needs to put in a museum for the sake of posterity (maybe it has been, for all I know). It’s an icon.
Many people who write about fashion don’t attempt to understand the garments in the context that they were created and presented. This gorgeous gown was ripped to shreds and put back together again only to be met with mixed reviews by an audience who was mostly unqualified to offer its opinion on the subject. If that statement doesn’t describe this past decade in both fashion and fashion criticism (and Courtney Love’s life, for that matter), I don’t know what does.
Dear Auntie Fashion;
If Zobism is the new Kabbalah, is there a way for me to show off my devotion, like wearing one of those string bracelets?
Wondering in Wiesbaden
Worshipping at the altar of the goddess isn’t about adopting a material symbol to acknowledge your faith. It’s about doing those things that will set you apart from the non-believers, like flossing your teeth, getting a good night’s sleep, eating a healthy diet and exercising regularly. If you follow this path towards true beauty, then fashion becomes the frame that displays the artwork that is you.
You can always spot the Zobist in the crowd, because she stands out like an exquisite flower, blooming in a vast wasteland of trash. Nevertheless, if you want to make a purchase to show your devotion to Zob, I am accepting donations. As the former mortal representation of the goddess, Zob would want me to spend the money on something fabulous to show the world how much you care.
Love and kisses,
Auntie Fashion had another one of her cryptic dreams.
In this one I was visited by the spirit of Zob who told me “If you build it, they will come.” Soon I found myself staring upward at the biggest moose I had ever seen. For a few seconds I couldn’t decide if I had stumbled into the world of David Lynch, or into one of Tim Burton’s films. I was puzzled.
A moment later I was bathed in the glow of a spotlight, and the first few bars of Karen Young’s Hot Shot began to play. Then a seemingly endless runway appeared before me and I looked down to realize that I was wearing Christian Dior Couture. Naturally, I did what any reasonable woman in my present position would do: I got busy.
I sashayed and chantéd like the supermodel I was born to be. I twirled and aswirled so hard that the crowd got dizzy. And I wasn’t just throwing shade. I was giving everyone what they wanted: More of me.
Soon the audience began clapping and cheering, and I had to stop because the catwalk had become littered with red roses, hundred-dollar bills, Cartier boxes and panties. Then my alarm went off.
If I wasn’t the most fabulous woman on the face of the earth I probably would have asked myself “What does it all mean?”, but I already knew. Auntie Fashion needs to start her own “fashion week” to celebrate her beauty, benevolence, and many contributions to gorgeousness.
Since Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, is the only city in the world that doesn’t currently have a fashion week, it’s the logical choice — I can’t imagine why else that giant moose would have been in my dream.
Anyway, mark your calendar, because Moose Jaw Fashion Week is going to make a trip to Paris look as glamorous as a trip to Paris Hilton’s podiatrist. See you in 2012! I have to clear a few things on my calendar first.
I started this blog because I was getting annoyed by everything about fashion. The fashions had become annoying. The fashionista had become annoying. The fashion magazines had become annoying. I didn’t want it to become a bitch-fest, because I’m really not a bitch. I just don’t know how else to get my point across.
Fashion is in a tragic state in 2008. Fashion criticism has been hijacked by so-called style police who believe it’s their mission to ensure that everyone in the world has “good taste.” Frankly, good taste is the most overrated force in the universe. Where’s the fun in fashion nowadays? Where are the clowns who we’ll all remember in ten years? Why is it a crime against style to have a sense of style?
If a woman walked into a room wearing this Jeremy Scott dress, she would probably make everyone in that room grin from ear-to-ear. There’s nothing wrong with that. I could see Sharon Stone donning this dress on the red carpet to poke fun at her own fondness for fur. I could see Pamela Anderson cramming herself and the twins into it for a PETA benefit. I could even see myself wearing it to Wal-Mart to pick up bathroom tissue and cat litter.
However, I could also see the tabloids publishing photos of any woman in this dress on the “What Were They Thinking?” pages. It’s no wonder people are afraid to be themselves when doing so inevitably becomes a reason for others to ridicule them.
Fashion needs to be less about finger-pointing and more about fashion. Style needs to stop being synonymous with “acceptable.” I want to see more from Jeremy Scott and less from TMZ. It shouldn’t be a crime to be more fabulous than everyone else.
Oh, Lauren! You just had to get sent home, didn’t you? At least you got to say “Crap, crap, crap, CoverGirl!” before you left. Maybelline owes you a favor now. I’ll make a couple of calls and see what I can do.
I actually didn’t think Lauren was going home until Tyra handed Whitney her photo on last night’s episode of America’s Next Top Model. For some strange reason, I kept thinking back to CariDee’s CoverGirl commercial in Spanish. Lauren may have been awkward, but CariDee was downright scary — much like Dominique was in her commercial.
Holy Zob! Could Dominique be the surprise winner?
I actually do like Dominique. I laughed out loud when Gai Mattiolo said that she didn’t look “fresh.” The girl has a lot of spirit, though, and she seems to try a lot harder than most of the contestants on this show (she’s this season’s Furonda). And we all know that you can’t spell Tyra without t-r-y and an A for effort! That’s one of the lessons I learned at T-Zone when I infiltrated the camp for a tell-all exposé. The camp counsellors would chain us to our bunks and make us repeat that slogan over and over and over again before our dinner of cold celery broth and the week-old Olive Garden breadsticks they would find at the bottom of Tyra’s tote bag.
Anyway, Dominique gets an A from me. It’ll go well with her X and Y chromosomes. She can start a collection.