A perfume called Rancid....

August 25^th – Forgive me for writing this, but I’ve never really understood the fashion industry. You? Bet I’m in the minority and have completely missed the point of it all, as this blurb will testify.

Thing is, I find it even more shallow and out of touch with the real world than the pop music industry. Everything made has a limited shelf-life as the season’s new creations overtake the last season’s must-haves that are now so out of fashion that to wear them is to commit haute-couture suicide. Only if you can keep them pristine for 50 years will they come back into fashion again but by then, if you’re anything like me, you’ll probably be the same size as a medium-fed elephant seal and probably move like one as well, so that’ll diminish your ability to wear the latest 8-inch heeled Jimmy Choos; so much for the recirculation of clothing. Then there’s the actual clothing.

Now, I know it’s a catwalk exhibition that’s as much pure theatre as a performance as Hamlet or Road, but, here’s the thing. We know the stage play is pretend; not intended to represent the real world except through our own experience and understanding, through our own empathy with the character on display; and how do the totally uninitiated know? ‘Cos the clue’s in the title; stage play. With a fashion extravaganza we are lacking that intellectual disclaimer that allows us, the one’s who struggle to understand it in the first place, to lock on to the playground sensibility the spectacle projects. As it is, we’re treated to costumes which beggar belief worn by skeletal models that seem to have some difficulty in walking. I know on thing for sure, if a prospective date of mine turned up in anything resembling those outfits I’d suggest either;

a) a change of clothes,

b) a change of venue (to somewhere darker) or

c) a change of date.

OK, so the clothes worn at the various fashion house shows are meant to be representative of the forthcoming fashions that will be available in the high-street clothing outlets later in the year…so, why can’t we see the models wearing those? I mean, are they going to be so shite as to not deserve the time and trouble of the effete ones? After all, these fashions are modelled on what the fashion houses say are the new colours, cuts, accessories, whatever, so what’s so wrong with reflections of their own work?

OK, I’ll give you that the old, established houses (Chalayan, Gaultier, Largerfeld, Cardin, Clark, et al) have walked the live coals of public ridicule and managed to keep relevant and now, but their achievements are being cheapened by the roll-call of footballer’s wives, soap-stars and general slebs who, it would seem, haven’t really arrived until they’ve got their own fashion line, perfume or shoe chain; Debbie from Eastenders or Molly from Corrie simply have to have it.

In an effort to continue the pedigree of fashion talent which slebs are secretly endowed with (?) on this day in 2007, Lisa Origliasso launched her Veronicas fashion line in Australia. Now, I have to admit that I’d never heard of her, her fashion release or her apparent jack-of-all-trades life until I researched this bit of fluff of mine. It seems in her remarkably short life (29 years) she has distinguished herself as a singer, songwriter, actor and fashion designer; quite enough for several people’s lifetimes let alone one lady. Her resume reads like something from the pages of The Incredibles: performing at five years old, three albums by her teenage times, actor at 16, several bands, US tour, several million dollars to the good, time out for blues and C&W research, animal charity pioneers, political involvement… Blimey. Oh, for the talent and time. Would seem that launching a fashion label was something she could knock off in a lunch break…and my guess is that time limit would be unworthy of my time spent; saucer of milk anyone?