Pieces

Harrods

Oh the luxury, I feel like I’m gliding through each department as if I were walking through times zones. I sound so cheesy but I can’t describe how superlative the shop is.

Kurt Geiger, Crockett & Jones, Tom ford, Ermenegildo Zegna, are the striking designer’s for men’s shoes 

The aroma of perfume clouts my face, and the array of foreigners gallivanting around as if this were their flea market, is a vision of bewildering madness.

An Alexander McQueen clutch bag grabs my attention which reminds me of the Rimmel advert with Kate moss. I feel almost embarrassed by not carrying the emerald green bag that dictates the label of being the luxurious, affluent shopper. Walking empty handed, I wander about the store, a lonely, pitiful window shopper longing to own what the shop possess.

Can I help says a friendly sales assistant full of smiles, I look up, paste a wishful smile on my face thinking, ‘yes, yes I want everything’, an answer ‘’I’m fine thanks just browsing “.

just a piece

Christian Dior

The image maker

This little old lady so small and timid, but as vigilant as the morning bird. Her hair, dark as coal, full and lustrous; fallen in a deep wave all the way down her back.

Her presence was very heavy, as was her musky coated perfume. It lingered a few moments as she glided past you, indulging you in her senses before it journeyed on to the next entanglement of gathered bodies.

On her arm laid a fixation, so precious to her and as old as the day she was born.

Its preciseness was not to be missed; it held an aurora of its own. Setting a trade mark in its owner’s possession but stood tall and proud, if left to its own devices.

Its statement is its label. That brand for a luxury spender, carefree with no cash flow interruptions. The little old dark haired lady carried an item that took her on lunch dates, dinners with her daughter and meetings with clients.

Christian Dior, an image maker, a story teller. 

New material

Ive been away for a little while but it hasn't been in vain. Here's a few pieces I'd like to share.

 A mystical affair of Alexander McQueen’s A/W 01 collection

A numinous affair

By Mimi Brown

One of my beloved fashion shows of all time was the Alexander McQueen’s 2001 A/W show. The show was crammed with a collaboration of dark and sinister context, which consistently throughout, captivated and intrigued my viewing pleasure. The clown-face painted models and their theatrical whisked cone shaped hair styles, all contributed to this scary-go-round ordeal.

A mystifying darkness covers the stage; above, a swirl of orange light lingers on top of the models, and flickers of blue electric lights pierces through the stage. The setting is devious, a sacrifice to an after hours Halloween special. The stage is garlanded by a haunted house, dispersing a foreboding chain of clown face painted models with beehive hair, producing a modish reconstruction of a night with The Adam’s Family.

A slave to the ambiance, a model trails across the stage dragging a skeleton of a death gripping victim; while the other enslaved mindless models dance within the shelter of the creepy merry-go-round, eerily spinning in the centre of the stage.

Playing in the background is a soft chilling melody injected with a few strings of guitar, heavy breathing and a devilish laughter.

The sophistication of the evening dresses are entrancing; they are a dance of silks’, chiffon; mesh netting, lace and heavy embroidery. Their cut gives definition and clings to the body creating a supreme womanly elegance. A floor length pallid apple-green dress, bonded with a chiffon embellished cape, floats around the stage; captivating the fervently surveying spectators, bringing in a touch of light to this ominous and dark collection.