Some of my readers know that among other design related jobs I’ve tried my luck as fashion designer, so far with quite gratifying results. I have a keen eye for how and what people choose to wear because beyond textiles, patterns, textures and colours, this is the most valuable material I work with. I design stuff people would love to put on and gladly put out when well accompanied.
Clothing is the expression of the intimate self; it’s a language that tells a whole story and this narrative changes with every choice we make. But not all garments are fashion, for them to be considered as such the individual that design and/or wear them must have style, and such a trait is of utter peculiar nature and certainly not a given thing. Either you’re born with it or you work really hard during many years to educate your taste, developing and polishing it.
Regardless of where the style sense may come from, one thing is sure: when our reason for dressing becomes less about that curating process of carefully editing and selecting the best possible look for the day and more about feeling validated, then true style is null and void.
A few days ago I couldn’t help but feel sorry, second-hand embarrassed for Mr Trump’s current wife. So much money, so many resources available and there was not one person who had faced the tiger and dared to say that the impact of an attire depends on the canvas, on how one’s unique personality highlights from a given background in an effortless, unforgettable and appropriate manner. Environment over formulae people.
Nothing against the flawless Ralph Laurent’s two-pieces cashmere ensemble Melania wore for the US presidential inauguration ceremony, but it was totally out of place. This was Washington DC for heaven’s sake not a noble wedding in Newbury. Her outfit made evident how narcissistic and blindsided this new regime can be. It so reminded me Hans Christian Andersen’s tale “The Emperor’s New Clothes”.
Mrs Trump’s stylists should’ve known better, they should’ve counted on Michelle’s beautiful open arms. It was a no brainer guys, that guess wouldn’t have been so far fetched, would it? But the new US administration wanted to convey a precise message in powder blue leather gloves. Jackie Kennedy? C’mon, really? JK was not a lingerie model, she was a natural, an icon with brains that not only oozed style but redefined the concept.
The whole mise en place can only be described as an unfortunate mixture of faux pas, as genuine and legitimate as the jewels in the crown of the new emperor.
She dressed up 60s; Mad Man behaving 50s.