“I Mean…What?!?” – Abe Gurko

By this phase of Word Fashion Week having seen two million looks from (what seems like) six thousand runways on two million models having sipped eighteen thousand glasses of champagne…phew. I am sure glad I am not a fashion editor or Anna Piaggi…which begs the question…does she still work at Italian Vogue? Anyhoo, doesn’t matter. She needs a nap. My point is: that is a lot of dresses to sift through and surely the eyes must be glazed over and I’d imagine the judgment is questionable by this point. For instance, I see plenty of blunders in such wonderful collections as Yves Saint Laurent or Sonia Rykiel. Most collections I have seen have their boo-boos. Isn’t that what people do to make other pieces look better? Either way you slice it…these editors are tired and need a dose of something to perk them back up. That dose this season in Paris was the Emanuel Ungaro show, Lindsay Lohan’s foray into fashion. It was like the editors were primed to hate this and come on…it wasn’t THAT horrible. OK…it wasn’t brilliant…perhaps slim pickin’s. But the venom that spewed about this show was unprecedented. Where were these horrified editors at the A.F. Vandevorst collection. That was a travesty. Or how about Bless (as in bless this mess), a presentation that was part Cirque du Soleil, part schamteh factory. And when I read good reviews for Bernhard Willhelm’s messy nonsense or kind notes for Vivienne Westwood’s hodgepodge lodge, Rick Owens’ emperors-new-clothes filled collection, Vanessa Bruno’s lace-knee granny things, Gaspard Yurkievich’s unflattering shapes, or Limi Feu’s manzie filled line, Maison Martin Margiela’s crapola, and don’t get me started on Zucca because “refreshing” and “the right dose of cheer” is the last thing I would say about this collection. I could go on, namely about Vionnet. So, you want to hate Ungaro. Go right ahead. But it’s surely not the worst thing on Earth….or at the Paris shows. The other collections I mentioned were…and then some. More tomorrow.