Friday, 26 November 2010


Oh happy days. The Spring Summer shows were a riot of camp and it makes me so happy to see Phoebe Philo's Beige dictatorship (more on that later) give way to a parade of no-messing zing-ding-a-ling colours. In some cases it feels like designers are pulling a bit of a fast one on all those smug Chloe-Coated fashion editors, giving them something totally vulgar to chew on knowing they have to swallow it with a smile. It's all much more Anna Del Russo than Anna Wintour, and thank god for that. It's Friday night, it's Top Of The Pops...

This is my favourite Miu Miu collection in years. I can't be doing with all that twee lace and ruffley rubbish that usually comes with the Miu Miu tag, but this stuff is just genius. Super luxe textiles in acids and metallics, printed and pleated silk dresses in awkward lengths and shapes with boxy leather jackets plonked on top. The leather is my best bit - the amazing colours and cut out appliqued shapes (hearts, snakes, peacocks, swans...) The jackets look like they could be dead stock, found boxed away in the basement of Dollywood's souvenir shop. I've been saying for aaages that Porter Wagoner style Nudie Suits are going to be the next big thing, and I've been frantically rummaging the novelty rails in Beyond Retro to no avail. As I probably won't be able to afford any of these Miu Miu beauties, I'll have to keep searching, but for now I'll be keeping warm at the thought of Anna Del Russo rocking this gold number, with matching custom made gold metallic leather stetson, boots and gun holsters. Pow wow pizazz yee-haw.

I was short sighted enough to overlook this collection the day it walked (I blame being temporarily blinded by the Miu Miu metallic nudie suits.) It's very different to their previous shows, but if you pay attention the Rodarte philosophy can be seen in every fold and stitch. Not a fan of beige, it's surprising how much I adore this rhapsody in brown. Every type of brown - biscuits rich tea to bourbon. Not just the colour, but the very texture and starched rigidity of woodchip wallpaper. I feel like the Mulleavy sisters travelled back in time to 1990, to my Nana's sitting room in an ex-council house in Widnes. Tea time to be specific - and with a photoshop pipette type tool they sucked up all the muted shades of leftover 1970's chic. The fake exposed brick around the calor gas heater (an ochre beige), the golden brown swirly thick pile carpet, the cloudy brown glass teacup holding ashy-hued PG tips tinted pale tan with sterilised milk. And sat amongst all that brown, holding the biscuits; a blue and white china cake plate (printed with indistinguishable exotic landscapes. My Nan didn't go in for that much foreign stuff but those plated provided a perfect touch of after school escapism.)

Femme Fresh! I never thought she had a sense of humour but Stella McCartney's SS11 presentation is hillare. What starts as a collection of perfectly lovely milkshake pink, dark blue denim and crisp white - neatly pressed tailored separates (not really breaking out of the box, but really well executed) ... suddenly gives way to the most hideous (but amazing?) print I have ever seen. To quote myself from another article: A citrus print so on the knife edge between chic and lemon pledge- If you were given a sample of the fabric you could easily mistake it for the PVC tablecloth printed with fruit and veg, sold by the metre in poundshops nationwide.

Oh GAWWWD this is just the best. The best hair of all time. I am booked in with the fabulous Sami Knight next week to recreate this using a bucket of peroxide and 12 types of Crazy Colour. Meadham Kirchhoff are the most exciting designers working in London right now. Their stiff as a board glitter t-shirts over chiffon for AW10 was amazing and for SS11 they have really pushed their aesthetic further. The work is a noisy bricolage of folk art, riot grrrl and religious ceremony. Layered colourful lace, hand painted leather and silk dresses all piled on top of each other made for an iconic catwalk show, that when undressed would leave piles and piles of ultra-desirable frocks. The separate pieces are rich in handwork and beautiful details (trims, embroidery, rough ruffles, lots of frayed and burnt edges.) When everything is expertly thrown together, with the my-little-pony-riot-grrrl hair and messy make up - it goes beyond a fashion show. The effect is overwhelming and the garments are so "authentic" (and made with such conviction) its more poetry than fashion. They are walking fanzines, teenage diaries - covered in glitter stickers, Courtney Love lyrics, painted in chipping metallic nail polish and punctuated with angsty biro pen swirls. Looking at the first exit I can smell cheap rose oil, candle wax and I can hear the opening riff of Violet.

Bananarama. This season Prada is totally bonkers. Who would have thought nurse tunics / surgical scrubs would look so major covered in bananas and primary coloured baroque curls. Doing exactly what Prada does the best - Miuccia has taken something ugly, naff and unsellable; and made it over as the most lusted after thing of the season. The costume like ruffles at the bottom of the skirts and dresses make a really weird shape, especially paired with the oversized short sleeved shirts. I hope the rich bitches who can afford this shit put it together in a fun way. It would be a shame to water it down. There's not much more to say except for those men's platform shoes - LUST.

ZING zing zing went my heartstrings. Have there ever been more perfect colour harmonies? Trousers like tents and paper bag waists and gigantic plains of proud colour. The men's collection was almost as nice too. Divine.

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