Wednesday, July 7, 2010
I'm the kind of person who would rather go out of the house wearing her ratty old Crocs and a pair of jeans that were around for the Vietnam War, than put makeup on and a nice pair of slacks. That being said, I've always had a fascination with the "Avant-Garde" runway fashions I see on TV and the equally "Avant-Garde" lifestyle that seems to come with them. And is there anything more over-the-top than the fashions that strut down the runway? I'm not talking about the always elegant Chanel, nor even a classic Dior suit, nope, I'm not even referring to Cher's favorite Bill Blass' Bling-extravaganzas (as much as I love them). I'm talking about the spaceship/paint-myself-purple-and-wear-a-koala-on-my-head kind of fashions that we are never likely to see on the next door neighbour-lady, nor your haidresser picking up school supplies at the local Target. I remember watching the old movies where the gentleman would take his lady-friend from salon to salon and lovely unsmiling models would parade in front of them in a private showing, so that she could choose her favorites and have them sent to her apartment, without the distress of the masses jostling her and touching the very clothes she hoped to purchase. (Where ARE these men and why don`t they like me?) It's a lovely vision, one I am never likely to star in (keeping in mind my crocs and jeans comment), but the point of all this is when I think of Haute Couture, I think of Paris. And these images are some that I found when I googled Paris Haute Couture. The "H" on Haute is silent, by the way. Repeat after me "(H)aute couture. We could dress like that if we wanted to.