Tuesday, February 19, 2008
No, No. Please Don't Design
With apologies to Ms R for paraphrasing one of her post titles, you wanna know my greatest fashion pet peeve? When celebretards decide that just because they've paid their dues taking years of advice from some underweight, over-tanned bobble-headed stylist, they're all of a sudden qualified to leave the cozy nest and design their own line of clothing and accessories.
When, really, they should just stay home.
It always ends badly, proving Moi's Fashion Dictum #456:
Celebretard + Fashion Dabbling = Total Disaster
Just look at the sorry ass state of today's perfume industry. A market that used to be dominated by big, bold chypre/aldehyde/leather frags has been successfully skinkified by a plethora of nose-numbing fruity florals thanks to Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, and Mandy Moore. You know the world as we know it is about to fold when Guerlain, maker of such masterpieces a Mitsouko and L'Heure Bleue, suddenly decides it simply must capture the celebrity-inspired youth culture and puts out a strawberry-infused juice inspired by Hilary Swank.
Instead of doing what we used to do, which is buttoning ourselves up and letting our perfume (think: Caron Tabac Blond and Chanel No. 5) broadcast sex, sex, sex; today, every woman under the age of 80 is trying to rock a Hot Topic crop top, while their perfume says: bite me; I smell like a watermelon.
Still, the perfume industry is the least of my worries. What really has my engine cranked are celebrity clothing designers.
Check out this offering from P. Diddy/Sean John's Fall 2008 Collection.
Now, I ask you: In what universe – gay, straight, or sittin' on the fence – would wearing this outfit not be an occasion for sending the wearer straight to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect $200, just sit your happy ass in there for a bit and think about what your utterly idiotic choice in clothing is going to do to the unsuspecting public?
About the only thing that sweater is good for is smuggling hamsters out of Syria.
How about this?
This sassy lil' number is from Gwen Stefani's Spring 2008 L.A.M.B. collection, which was dominated by, you got it, a naughty school girl theme. With some sequins tossed about here and there to keep the buyers at Neiman's from completely running screaming into the hills. They just got halfway there and said, "Meh, isn't Lindsay Lohan out of rehab by now?"
Look, I know, hell, I understand, that the vast majority of fashion design is about fantasy. It's okay if an outfit says, "If I were a countess slumming on Capri, I'd wear that dress." Or, "If I were a rock star, I'd for sure be purchasing those purple suede thigh high boots." Even, "If I were escaping from Bellevue, then I could see myself merrily skipping out the gates in that bubble skirt and shrunken cardigan."
But there's a big problem if your first thought is, "Wellllllllll, if I were from Mars . . ."
Some celebrities try to distract us by naming their clothing line something totally innocuous and unrelated to their celebrity. Like Jennifer Lopez's Sweetface and JustSweet labels. But she's not fooling Moi. I can sniff out a poorly constructed celebretard knockoff a mile away. With a raging head cold.
You can dress it up in shiny silver and cornea-searing apple green silk, but it's still a freakin' hoodie and tunic dress. And a couple of ho-hum ones at that.
And while I admire Kimora Lee Simmon's for her single minded dedication to grabbing life's gusto with both bejeweled hands (and of course her lucky ducky locking of lips with Djimon Hounsou), her Baby Phat design aesthetic is, to put it kindly, Über Trash on Wheels.
So here's another one of Moi's Fashion Dictums (#674):
The next time your fave celebrity comes along hocking their latest perfume/evening gown/camo cargo pant/bed linen, turn on your heels and walk away. Because, Party People, just as we do not want to go through life smelling like a bowl of fruit salad tossed with a hint of Glade bathroom freshener, neither do we want to look that way, either.