Kouture Kings [Pt 2]

No.

No, I don't want to talk about last night's 'epic, OMG-worthy' Gossip Girl episode. IT WASN'T EPIC OR OMG-WORTHY. The biggest 'surprise' was, essentially, how disjointed and far-fetched the plot line has become. Blair has turned away from her signature sarcastic wit and conniving games with the Basshole only to be received by God and Dan Humphrey?!? BLAIR.

I BORROWED THIS WEAVE FROM VANESSA.

If someone had told me during the first season that Waldorf would eventually morph into a pathetic, confused moper, forgo Chuck based on some outlandish End of the Affair-like pact with God, and then run off to DAN after her cluster-eff wedding to a stroke-surviving Prince I would have hurled a yogourt at their head with Herculean force. That will nevvvvverrr happpppen, you idiot.

Is that a yogurt on your head or ...  I CAN'T EVEN JOKE.

But, yeeeah. It did. The 100th episode could have been something so magical; like a Jenny Humphrey Salem style stake-burning. Alas... it wasn't. The only on-screen burn came in the form of explosive - sometimes verbal, sometimes literal - diarrhea. Today, I must bid you farewell, Gossip Girl... We had a good run.  I hereby promise to never discuss this show again unless her and Chuck run off together to have adorable Brunello Cucinelli-clad offspring.

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Back to Paris..

Elie Saab's girls twirled along the runway in the cotton-candy version of couture. Dresses appeared floor-length and thigh-bearing (more cocktail dresses at the Oscars, please!?) in pastel tones, as sparkly and intricately decorated as ever. It takes a couture master to produce heavily embellished gowns that still appear so light and ethereal. Saab may be predictable, yet red carpet stompers (and Will's Wife) need gowns; and these are really, really, tooth-achingly pretty. 

For those that prefer gold-plated grillz to lollipop induced cavities, Givenchy's Riccardo Tisci is your man. I think this was the smallest haute couture collection to be shown in Paris this season - coming in at a modest ten pieces - but, couture collections should be small. This is special shit!!!! 35+ looks is a little too RTW for a body of work that often takes months to handcraft. 

BALL SO HARD MOTHERFUCKERS WANNA FIND ME.

The work the Givenchy atelier put into these pieces is truly astonishing; a crocodile skin and embroidered silk gown (bottom left) took 350 hours to make. THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY HOURS. That's like, 35 soul-crushing, noose-knotting Gossip Girl episodes. SORRY. Sorry. 

It's fascinating the way Tisci has taken the stalwarts of couture - embellishments, embroidery, encrusted jewelry - and transformed them from predictable to incredibly modern. I commend him for breathing new life into the genre, designing with a powerful, no-shit-accepted woman in mind oh, you know.. kinda like the old, bitchy Blair. I CAN'T STOP.

Accessories included monstrous, sparkly nose rings and disc-sized earrings, that appear heavy enough to pull your lobes looooow - reeeeally saggily, super low. Like GG ratings low. Use with caution.

What Givenchy lacks in tulle constructed ball gowns, Tisci makes up for with fancy frocks for badass tricks. Romantic armour, if you will. 

Let's end with a house that is very near and dear to my heart: Valentino. You've heard me wax poetic about my love for the work of both Garavani and the Piccioli/Chiuri team before, but their ability to express meaning and culture through their collections is often unparalleled. 

The clothes evoke a wistful feeling, harkening back to a 19th century era. I can easily imagine these babies on a pre-Queen Marie Antoinette. High, ruffled collars, layers of lace and organza, languid floral prints so elegantly muted you dream of wearing them while frolicking barefoot in the fields surrounding Versailles. Piccioli and Chiuri have stripped down the stuffy couture fluff to reveal a fresh fluidity; an impeccably detailed, blithe simplicity. 

Not to be upstaged by Tisci and Givenchy, the Valentino atelier revealed that handwork on one dress clocked in at 800 hours; another at 1000 hours; another at 1500 hours!! The designers have remarkable vision, yes, but it is the atelier's work and painstaking attention to detail that make haute couture so damn scrumptious. 

If the couture alone isn't enough to get your loins a-fluttering, the lace and satin-printed smoking slippers will make you fall in love. For those tired of the trend after last summer's leopard saturated market, these babies offer a fresh, re-envisioned choice.  They appear comfortable, delicate and special; an ideal shoe for Spring. Expect to see these pups at Zara in a few months.

And it's here that we say goodbye to couture for another six months. It's been fun.

I love you, Gossip Girl couture. Always have, always will.

Follow the insanity on Twitter @CWICW or, you know, send me erotic love letters: crazywithitcrazierwithout@gmail.com.

Kouture Kings

Chickens, if you're anything like me, you have been wishing that the hours will fly by as quickly as possible today. Every daylight minute feels excruciatingly slllooow. Every second that ticks by only inflates the severe anxiety that is wreaking havoc on your precious insides. THE WAIT IS UNBEARABLE.

The wait for what, you are asking?

Come on, really? You HONESTLY don't know what I'm about to say?

Tonight is the Gossip Girl royal wedding.... Or, as I refer to it: the 100th episode of The Greatest Show Of Our Time. And although GG and I haven't always enjoyed the most stable, committed relationship - I admit I drifted casually in and out of seasons 3 and 4 - I will certainly be fast-fowarding through the episode for C+B moments watching tonight as Blair attempts to marry Louis, runaway-brides-it to Dan, and leads a heartbroken Chuck to remove his Brioni tuxedo jacket, fold it, and lay it gently down on Park Avenue before violently catapulting himself in front of a moving Lincoln town car.

Seriously, though... Lonely Boy and the homage to Diana Ross growing like an unruly Chia pet on his head is almost too much for me to bear. If Blair doesn't run to Chuck begging him to be with her, I will jump in front of rolling wheels alongside him. THAT WILL BE IT, GG. THE END OF OUR NON-EXCLUSIVE, UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP. And, believe me: I will go on to have many, many more of these damaged trysts. You, however, will not.

Or, maybe you will? It appears I'm not the only chemically unbalanced freak FAN rooting for the couple.  Remember the cRaZy fan reaction I spotted last May? There are actual organized groups ganging together to tweet riot the show. I am fucking serious. This is a thing.

If this revelation has you running to Twitter to hashtag SAVECHUCKANDBLAIR or DIEGGWRITERS considering how the youth of today will make it out of teenagedom alive, fear not, lovers. I have a remedy for you. An offering that will not only heat your undercarriages, but also melt your Gossip Girl - hell, ALL your - nervous woes. Think of this as fashun prozac; the valiant sartorial valium. It is, of course, a detailed look at the most marvellous of shows: couture, in all it's dreamy, intricate glory.

Let's kick it off with the King of Kouture with a K, none other than the Kaiser himself. Chanel welcomed guests to an elaborate set that mimicked the inside of an airplane. The design even included Champagne-laden, modernist designed bar carts, because, as with life, clothes are also infinitely more appreciated whilst obliterated off your ass.

 Once aptly lubricated, guests witnessed a parade of models strutting down the aisle decked out in 150 shades of blue and several shades of crazy. Those electrocuted, bird lady coifs?!? YES, PLEASE. Herr Lagerfeld provided this explanation for his decision to show all blue garments: "anything but the blues.. I don't have the blues." Wait, so... what? Why is it blue?! Karl is making a lot of money. Karl is happy. Who cares! 

The collection is a throwback to the 60's, jet-set era, seen through Chanel-tinted glasses; modern and streamlined silhouettes that incorporated the detailed craftmanship of couture (embellishment! pailettes! sequined tights!) with the androgynous touch of Coco (low slung, crotch-grabbing pockets on otherwise extraordinarily ladylike couture!). 

If I was asked to describe it in fashion terms, maybe I would say something succinct and highly revolutionary like: Pan Am meets Sean John meets My Little Pony. TOTALLY, RIGHT?! That's why they pay me nothing the big bucks!! Badass. 

We move onward to Giambattista Valli - or as the Missoni/Brandolini/Niarchos/Santo Domingo girls call him - Giamba. In true crazy form, I wholeheartedly endorse this nickname for two reasons. 1) Nothing tickles my fancy as devilishly as a good nickname, and 2) Giamba makes the talented, Italian designer sound like a classic Gipsy Kings track. Nothing - not even couture - fires up the heat in my loins like these Andalucian casanovas. 

Moving back to the clothes: 

OMG DO YOU LOVE THIS?! THIS COLLECTION IS EVERYTHING. I AM DYING. I LIVE AND DIE AND RESURRECT BACK TO LIFE BECAUSE OF LOVE LIKE JESUS CHRIST.

In all seriousness, I am making an effort to reduce my usage of superlatives, because if I hear another girl remark "I DIE I LOVE I DIE," I really will impale her with a large salami (as you can see, my love for exaggeration has come nowhere near extinction). 

Nevertheless, I really did love Valli's work. It struck a remarkable balance between a youthful, jaunty playfulness and classic, extravagant haute couture. Pieces from this collection could work equally well on women of all ages - Nonna, Mama and Sorella. He's keeping it in the family, like any good Italian boy would. Ew Prow. 

Next we have Christian Dior. The house that has yet to find a permanent replacement for their fallen circus leader, Galliano. Until then, the impetus to deliver dazzling collections has landed on Bill Gaytten's lean shoulders.

Kids, that's one heavy fashun anvil. No poor mothereffer should have to carry that burden without a smidgen of job security!!! Someone get this dude a contract... or at the very least, some health insurance. He looks as if he's had a messy accident in his slim cut trousers. I don't envy him one bit.

Considering his last go at couture was a bit of a disaster (remember the CLOWNS!?! Shudder), it is crystal clear he has resolved to keep ruffles firmly unfeathered - metaphorically, at least. This is a ladylike throwback to Christian Dior's New Look with a slight bit of flourish and x-ray deviousness. 

Charlize Theron will eat this collection up like crack-coated candy. If I was a real lady, I would probably love it equally as much. But, since that will never happen, I'M NOT QUITE THERE YET, there's only one thing for me to say: there are turban headbands. Turbands. Consider me sold.

This collection is like the vanilla cupcake of fashion. Whenever I order make cupcakes for people, I make sure to include vanilla because everyone kinda likes it even though they fucking LOOOOVE red velvet or chocolate or apple or whatever. But you don't always know for sure what people will LOOOOVE. So, you go with vanilla. Vanilla is a safe bet. Delicious enough. Not too much of an indulgence. Editors, buyers and critics are served vanilla and sated; Gaytten will live to see another design day.

Hopefully, so will Chuck Bass. AND SO WILL YOU. Because, tomorrow, we delve into part two of this life-changing couture exploration.

Until then, you know you want to punch love me.

Follow the insanity on Twitter @CWICW or, you know, send me erotic love letters: crazywithitcrazierwithout@gmail.com.