It may or may not be a sign…

4 Mar

… but Sargent’s portrait of Madame X, much discussed when Manolo introduced it as a token of non-messy-layers icon, was on Peter Copping mood board when he draw Nina Riccci’s last collection.

(Did you know that Manolo?)

And let me tell you, my little shrimps that this collection kicks some serious ass. Lost in a sea of depressingly well cut goth attires that suggest that Paris’ Fashion Week is turning into a slightly upstyled version of some underground vampire flick (and if that’s not depressing, I don’t know what will be), Ricci’s collection shines as a nostalgic sospiro in very modern times.

The first look is a manifesto:

Do you see the twist?

The trendy orange is softened enough to look like a memory, but the real subversion is in the cargo pockets. Improbably nice. Does she hide a gun in this clutch?

Ophelia with Hamlet pants.

I am all for these pleated pants that are everywhere. In particular when matched with flowery girly stuff.

Nymphea depths in the skirt

Lots to love here: the belt, the shoes, and OMG the sleeeeeves…

I see dots. And Uma Thurman should definitely wear this.

Delight in disorder, and an extremely well organised disorder if you ask me.

Executive Romance

A very exact measure of power dressing into a melancholic recipe, crystal hard, silk soft. I get some faint notes of manga.

Deconstructing the tweed

Here again, a cleverly orchestrated contrast between modernism and nostalgia.

And two details (between many others) made me smile:

Exceedingly nice laced boots with fur

Remember Mademoiselle Rivière of Ingres?


Obviously, the hats were absolutely the dog’s doggy parts. Look:

A hat. In fur.

One Response to “It may or may not be a sign…”

  1. With the few notable exceptions, and for the variety of the reasons, this was one of the most depressing Paris fashion weeks ever.

    The Manolo cannot decide if the Galliano meltdown has tainted everything, or if he would have felt the same way without the drama trauma.

    P.S. Darling Lady, you remain, as always, the wind beneath the wings of the Manolo

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