We Interrupt This Disaster . . .
Never has the rarefied world of Paris couture seemed as far from reality as this week. As Los Angeles dug itself out of earthquake rubble, designers presented the most costly and exquisite summer clothing money can buy. But they didn’t do it blithely. Oh, no.
Christian Lacroix expressed his sensitivity to the world beyond one-of-a-kind $30,000 dresses in a program note. “In these violent and desperate times, the only salvation lies in sincerity and a total loyalty toward one’s passions,” said the designer most often associated with the conspicuous consumption of the ‘80s. “Couture is my passion.”
Well, escapism is our passion. And admiring the gorgeous dresses pictured in Women’s Wear Daily over a Bloody Mary helped us forget that a brick chimney had fallen on our car.
Karl Lagerfeld kicked things off for Chanel on Saturday in the renovated showrooms beneath the Louvre museum under the appreciative eyes of such fans as Marisa Berenson and model Linda Evangelista’s heartthrob, Kyle MacLachlan. (One British fashion writer, however, was not amused by the peekaboo collection. “The Chanel show was an insult to women and Lagerfeld should not get away with it,” wrote Marion Hume in the Independent. Take that!)
Poor Gianfranco Ferre was derided for reviving that most attractive of fashion constructions--the bustle--at Christian Dior. A newly assertive Pierre Cardin changed the rules by merging summer and fall collections into one show, and newcomer Michel Klein (touted as “only 36”) won plaudits for the simplicity of his Guy Laroche collection from Christian Lacroix.
Not all the news was made on the runway. Oh, no.
The New ‘90s Values: Actress and Chanel Face Carole Bouquet’s new super short, boyish haircut . . . socialite Susan Gutfreund’s downscale Duffle Coat . . . Children (as accessories, being dragged along and displayed prominently) . . . fewer hors d’oeuvres and drinks after the show.
The Oldest Way to Sum Up the Always-Over-the-Top Couture Collections, Courtesy of Associated Press Fashion Writer Suzy Patterson: “You wouldn’t go to the market in these clothes.” Oh, no?
Against All Odds: Sears, Roebuck & Co. will be Brand Central for pop star Phil Collins’ upcoming North American tour. The giant retailer announced Wednesday it will sell clothing and merchandise related to the singer’s 50-city concert tour. “I assume it will include T-shirts and tour jackets,” company spokeswoman Mary Ann O’Rourke said, “but we won’t be able to say exactly until after our meeting Jan. 26.” The tour will begin May 17 in Mexico City.
The Smell of the Greasepaint: By the time power was to restored to most of Los Angeles Monday afternoon, L.A.’s superstar broadcasters had managed to duck into their studios’ makeup and hair departments. But viewers from outlying areas report that seeing a few of these folks without their pancake was scarier than the quake. Hmm . . . is that why Colleen Williams never appeared on camera during KNBC Channel 4’s early afternoon coverage, even though she and Chuck Henry anchored for hours? Seasoned broadcaster Tritia Toyota, however, managed to look like a dewy intern. How’d she do it? Credit a fabulous haircut, simple cashmere turtleneck--oh, and natural beauty.
Casting Call: While stumpy Tonya Harding springs into triple axels, badly fried ponytail bouncing like cotton candy, her swan-necked nemesis, Nancy Kerrigan, glides across the ice in chaste Vera Wang designs. We can’t help but wonder who will play whom in the TV movie. Forgetting about hair color for a moment, can’t you just see Tori Spelling as Kerrigan and a slightly force-fed Shannen Dougherty as Tonya? Can’t you?
The Hype of Los Angeles: Count the promotional references contained in the following 5-inch-by-7-inch invitation: Buzz (the Talk of Los Angeles) and Emporio Armani Express invite you to attend a book party with Shirley Lord, who will read from her new novel “ My Sister’s Keeper “. . . . Books can be purchased on the premises with the American Express Card . . . . Enjoy private shopping downstairs until 9 p.m. Guests will receive an Emporio Armani Passport and a 10% discount. The words Frangelico Liquer float in the lower right-hand corner, tipping us off, perhaps, to the evening’s featured elixir?
Why Anne Rice Doesn’t Write About the Protestant Work Ethic: “That’s exactly what factory managers wanted people to believe at the turn of the century. The whole idea of ‘The Wizard of Oz’ is don’t go to New York and be a dancer, stay right there in Kansas with the pigs, that anything that’s glossy and sensuous and enchanting is going to be a fraud.” Uh, like sucking blood? Rice discusses her penchant for the road less traveled in the new and improved February issue of Vibe. Our favorite feature of all? A tiny pictorial (Page 100) tracing actress Kim Fields’ remarkable evolution from one of “The Facts of Life” to curvy star of “Living Single.” “You go, girl,” says the caption. She sure does.
One-Stop Shopping: Come fall, Los Angeles will go the way of New York when the California Mart showcases local designers’ spring collections under one tent. The California Collections Spring ’95 Preview will be presented Oct. 7-9, announced Denise Cohen Scher, California Mart fashion director, at last week’s Marty Menswear Awards show Downtown. Centralizing the shows should do more than simplify travel for out-of-town buyers and press. If California’s design community puts its considerable clout and vision behind a singular event, perhaps we’ll see a return of the kind of glittery attention L.A. last experienced in the late ‘80s. Stay tuned.
Bringing New Meaning to the Phrase “Fashion Victim”: There’s a reason we don’t trust Mr. Inside Out when it comes to most advice. “Honey, don’t sleep in your clothes . . . again,” he said in his holier-than-thou tone Sunday night. We’d dozed off quite peacefully in our jeans and hiking boots. “Have enough self-respect to change into pajamas.”
Little rebukes like that have a way of getting our attention and--good wife that we occasionally are--our complicity. Guess we were prescient, though, because only a few hours later, didn’t we have to scramble out of our nightie and back into those jeans and boots? Don’t think we didn’t point out this waste of time to Mr. Ouch-I’ve-Got-Glass-In-My-Foot, who, in his defense, always lets us have the last word.
