A constellation of glittering light sat below bottom lashes at Chanel, textured like tiny nonpareils, so delicate that the word angelic was called to mind — impressive considering such detailing sat under a halo of spiked hair that was decidedly more punk than heavenly. But where heavenly was concerned, look no further than Valentino where the opening number lifted forward like fog, or upward like a cloud, painted in nothing more than the notes of a song. Heaven was also apparent at Giamba–
JK guys. LOL.
We could wax poetic on couture for the next forty five hours of your life. We could go full Shakespeare-HAM all up in this bitch until your eyes bleed and your brain hurts and you’re writhing around on the floor yelling “PLEASE MAKE IT STOP! NO MORE SIMILES OR METAPHORS, NO MORE PICTURE-PAINTING VIA WORDS.”
But we won’t do that to you. We like you guys, we like hanging out with you, and we really wouldn’t want to end our friendship all because Leandra and I couldn’t shut up about chiffon.
Besides, you’re observant. You can see for yourself that Valentino has the hand-sewn capability to break your heart five ways to Dallas, and that Maison Martin Margiela was just like, Fuck sleeves, man, EYEBALLS are the new sleeves.
I don’t have the proper words to describe the ethereality at Vionnet (other than “ethereality”) and the only way to explain how the floral appliquéd vines reaching up from green silk at Giambattista Valli made me feel is: qwerhgfaQW3E17SCAV@Q35#z!!!!!!!!!
Sometimes the best thing you can do is to look, so let’s just absorb the spectacularity of these collections with every open pore we can rally. And let’s do it with music, so that our ears are part of the experience as well. Fingers, you’ll do the clicking, and taste, since you also need in on the visceral game, let’s find you a Bloody Mary. Because it is Saturday after all.
And for heaven’s sake, this is Couture.
Images via Vogue, The Cut & Style.com