Christian Dior
To the cantering hooves of some fantastic fashion beast (I'm guessing, at the very least, a Dior unicorn), models fidgeted their way down the kind of staircase now only evident in old Audrey Hepburn films. Cinched at the waist and booted in black leather, they tottered around in outfits so lifted from a bygone era, it was shocking. One is used to a few influences here and there on the catwalk, but to truss models up in costumes so reminiscent of the decade which really made Dior was bold. These were nothing short of amazing; red dressage coats topped off with a bouffant hair-do to rival Winehouse made way for debutants with more than a hint of Antoinette about them. Later, crushed velvet and the disheveled remnants of a perm added an obscure dollop of the 1980s in the cataclysmic mix. And then came the frock; not just any frock, but THE frock. You know, the one your great granny only got to pull out of the dressing up box at a photoshoot not too far removed from an oil painting? Only a few fashion greats I've been witness to have really been brave enough to dabble with the old fashioned contortions of crinolines and corsetry. So the show was a bit schizophrenic, but the few consistents were ones I could give a firm thumbs up to; BIG statement teased backcombed hair, fabulous diamonds and an attitude to kill. Red is most definitely back, smeared across lips and painted on talons. Elbows out, hips back, Cartier on. My God, it was fabulous. And just when I thought I'd peaked and met couture perfection, Galliano came galloping out in an equestrian suit, spanking his fashion fillies with a riding crop. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Chanel
If anything shows the decreasing circular gambit of the fashion seasons, it is the juxtaposition between this and the SS 10 Chanel show. Gone were the hay bales, the quirky clogs and the toe tappingly good Lily Allen; enter cyber Chanel, so cold and crisp and sterile I felt afraid to move out of place, despite being at a safe distance in my London flat. Everything was just so intimidatingly perfect as Lagerfeld wielded his Chanel clones about the catwalk with all the effortless maneuvers you'd expect from a couture God. Traditional tweed suits were hacked into metallic trimmed culottes, all available in a tantalizing array of ice cream pastels. To my delight, hosiery still held a dominant role, with a heavy sheen coating limbs with such gloss they looked bionic. Lagerfeld hailed the comeback of the bow, positioned coquettishly at the forefront of the girls hair in a much more stern and sensible manner than we've seen in the oversexed adverts directed by soft porn enthusiast, Tom Ford. Sequined collars and beaded hems gave austerity the much needed middle finger, as capes cocooned models in couture triumphs. But it wasn't for me; the colours were too fay and sickly for my liking, and while I have pined to snuggle up to Lagerfeld in a moment of Chanel self pity, reassurance would have come with the steely rustle of tin foil and cellophane. Does this mean I'm falling out of love with Chanel? Heavens no, my affair with Chanel is a long and fantastical one, where I give give give all my money and Chanel takes takes takesall my money. By next week, I shall be sculpting my hair into a predictably squiffy heart in homage to the couture house. Oh, it's far from over.
Givenchy
Now, I'm used to a fair bit of nudity in the fashion world; it thrives off sex, a commodity universally sold. But what was overtly cheeky about the Givenchy show was the use of fabrics, for those that successfully covered up the model's modesty seemed to stop abruptly and deliberately at the navel. It seemed to say, "Why, of course you can cover flesh with beautiful fabric, but why not go sheer? Oh, LOOK... nipple!". Like I said, this was not a message I was adverse to, I just found it rather amusing, but I'll stop talking about nipples now before this post goes all lesbianic... Sculpture and texture really made the show, from feathers to spherical hats, and oversized sequins to frou frou frills. Whorish red lips and sooty eyes revived goth once more, with net overlaid dresses looking devilishly sexy. What can only be described as jade and purple disco suits stole the show, but midnight blue, black and cream provided an equally tempting palette. Pretty.
ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF WWW.CATWALKING.COM
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