Milan Menswear shows Day II
Blogging is ridiculous if you have proper job. Fact. Mood dips as I always get depressed by whole fashion mechanism about now. Viewing clothes for no one to wear or afford feels futile. At Bottega Veneta a dozen identically dressed freezing boys lining a path to their showroom, who shivered in synchronicity. Pure luxury, eh?
Music saved the moment.
Screaming Jay Hawkins also shored morale.
Cinched action cabans with matching pants looked special forces or lux shell suits and, in a good way. I love a good shell suit.
Also Edwardian ‘Drapes’ exhibit new length of evening stance jacket, complete with ‘Nowhere Boy’ quiffs.
Nice one. Get it.
Next met Deigo Della Valle at his Tods gaff. An extraordinarily grand place. He was suitable pleasant too, and it was interesting to note his unfastened oxford button down collar close up. Spezzatura I believe its called: Affected nonchalance.
Salvatore Ferragamo, the Florentine scourge of rodents and reptiles presented us with Gaucho style verve. Haight Ashbury sheerings and sheepskins with riding boots and massive scarves functioned in almost ‘ The Good The Bad and The Ugly’ manner.
Scarves so thick they were demi ponchos.
Oddly mine got delivered via Ferragamo’s PR. She owed be a flavour, and as I forgot to collect it in London she obliged. Is having a poncho delivered by plane excessive?
It’s Hermes. It has tassels.
Still unsure whether to drop the fully blown riding look in Milan, but Ferragamo is tipping the balance.
Love Ferragamo, bringing fashion back in favour.
VW is a proper mentalist. A cardboard city runway and a collection of dishevelled, homeless aristo’s met Dexy’s Midnight Runners in a theatrical shambles, culminating in Viv being wheeled down the runway on a trolley to kiss all the models. An invigorating spectacle.
Prada’s concrete bunker at Via.Fogazaro is where it unravelled a bit. Morrrissey’s ‘I know its going to happen’, a solo fav’, set the scene, while two martini’s before the show put a slide in motion.
Some vintage flavoured men’s prada was shown. Camel and navy knits and tailoring in that thick suiting fabrication that only they do.
Odd women’s exits punctuated the show, and peculiar shrunken cardies on boys, looking like what you’d put an eight year old girl in. I smoked cigars on way home and made a note to rebel.