rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Il pleut, il mouille, c'est la f�te de la grenouille

It�s raining today. I�m sitting here in sweater, scarf and hat eventhough the heater is on.

Terence is in the kitchen making lunch. One of the many reasons he so dearly loves France is that hot lunches are the norm there. He is un tr�s grand fan of the hot lunch. It can be as meager as soup or a grilled sandwich; it doesn�t really matter. If it�s warm and savory, he gets very excited. From the crackling and spattering I hear, I believe he�s preparing a tortilla espa�ola. I should get over there and make a salad but I�m glued to my chair. For no reason other than laziness.

I previewed some of the Fall 2003 RTW collections online last night and today. It�s too soon for me to issue judgements about the big guns, but I will pronounce Luella Bartley�s collection absolute rubbish. In my not-so-humble opinion. Apart from a few decent coats, the show was not fashion design; it was merely fashion assemblage. It seems like she looked at a bunch of photos of 1980s street styles, and just copied them. Ripped up 501s with white shirts, Vans and black coats? Black leggings with chunky white socks and creepers? What exactly did she �design�? I call it Abject Flashback.

I mean, I know she�s not the first to blur the line between designing and styling, it�s been happening for a while now. But I�m getting bored. Every current designer mines the past; the clever ones add or subtract elements, infusing their work with some bit of the contemporary that makes not only interesting clothes, but also interesting commentaries on the cut-and-paste, sampladelic world we live in.

Anyway.

Enough about that.

Le d�jeuner est pr�t. � table.

1:01 p.m. - 2003-02-11

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