Honestly, I’m completely bemused by this show. I don’t know what to think. Probably because this show was such a mess, kungfu style. A tragic eclectic mix. 1960s centrifuged with Oriental touches. As much as a genius Galliano is, he had a major brain fart right here. Fool, all the colours and patterns and sequins and shininess – shades on, UV protection, you’ll need it. The hair and the sunglasses were so 1960s but for some reason, they drew my brain to The Great Gatsby. Totally wrong era, but every girl just reminded me of Daisy. I hated her, her and her gaudiness. That’s what this damn show was, gaudy. Like that godawful boa–like trim, from the craft store, hot glued on as a last–minute decision. A lot of the detailing, like the embroidery was gorgeous but could you have noticed that if you were blind? Maybe they have colours in Braille. The prints too, a few were absolutely stunning, but you were blinded by all the other million things going on in that outfit. The shoes were great, inspired by Japanese sandals. But then what the fuck, the jewelry? Karl Lagerfeld went to Canal Street for his accessories. John Galliano was running low on funds so he went to a ghetto–fab Asian store (read: tacky–ass pieces of shit). You could wear a huge choker with matching bangles and head thing if you were sporting a bedsheet. Balance, huh. Not with a painfully heinous gold snakeskin coat and skirt. The models were pretty fugz0rz too. The hair and the makeup. Poor Aggy Deyn and that awful blonde wig. Cheap blonde wig too, from the Wigporium, on sale, buy one get one free (hmm, oddly enough, this seems to be the scrimp–and–pinch of all shows – Galliano went bargain hunting). Everyone just looked bored and embarrassed, kind of like, oh please get me out of here. The Teapot Dome of their careers, this show. One girl looked like Janice Dickinson, except not ready–to–flip–you–off Janice, more like ennui–ed and “I have a stick up my ass”. Near the end, a few of the gowns, like the ivory one and the yellow banana plantain one, were satisfactory, but that’s all. And that’s only because the models weren’t overloaded and the gowns were minimalist. Galliano popped out at the end and I didn’t scream. But I did ask him for some Pepto–Bismol for my indigestion and paracetamol for my awful headache.
Natski
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