Thursday, October 4, 2007

Balenciaga RTW S/S 08

pictures from style.com


I got a look at the infamous S/S 08 Balanciaga collection yesterday. Of course fashion writers and editors are wetting themselves over this collection. Many are calling it fresh, innovative, well constructed, and very daring. It does look different from any other collection. However, what bugs me about it is that it's supposed to be Ready to Wear.

It sort of reminded me of those old back order McCall's prom dress patterns you see at Wal-Mart, looking all neglected because it's got puffy sleeves and is from 1992. Maybe it was the floral print that was throwing it off for me. Though the designs were beautifully beaded and made of silk, those floral patterns made the designs hard to swallow for me. I think it was Anna Sui that said visualizing everything in black makes people understand a design better, but I tried to envision Ghesquiere's gladiator-like ensembles in black and they still looked odd. Maybe these designs are just too foreign for my feeble little mind to "get". I mean, didn't people think Coco Chanel was crazy when she showed everyone the revolutionary sack dress? Weren't people pretty peeved about The New Look? Or the Marc Jacobs F/W 05 collection that helped kick start the volume craze?
Of course the there is a fine line between "mad cool revolutionary crazy" and "weird nerdy crazy". But as I kept looking at these designs, I began to wonder how us common plebians would even approach wearing these clothes. Possibly a bright yellow blouse with the blue and yellow floral skirt? As I thought about it more and more, it began to haunt me like a David Lynch movie. At first you're all "wtf did I just see?" Then as you keep thinking about it, you begin to analyze everything you just saw. You then start to seeing something interesting and want to watch it again and again.

However, I'm still on the fence. Check back with me next year when I'm wearing the hell out of puffy sleeves and looking like a flower garden just threw up on me. Kelly Kapowski, eat your heart out.

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