It's been a while since I've been here and clearly too much has happened that I've missed commenting on. Honestly, the romp through the fashion capitals of the world left me exhausted and just a little dispirited. How much hyperbole can a person stand before going into saccharine shock? I did and it took some time to find my equilibrium. To be blunt, I questioned the value of the subject matter and wasn't convinced that it was the best use of my time. Mommie always said that if you don't have anything good to say then keep your mouth shut. The naughty boy in me can heed that warning for but so long before saying whatever comes to mind. So with that said, I think it's time to blow off a little steam.
I read some fantastic books in the last few weeks. Coco Chanel: The Legend and the Life by Justine Picardie is a tightly strung powerhouse of a book. Between the photographs never before published and the trove of illustrations by Lagerfeld that accompany her dense prose I was up for 2 straight days. So much juice annihilated previous half truths of earlier biographies. The forces behind Chanel's herculean drive are broken down into bite sized pieces. The end result is a portrait of a lonely, woman possessed by a need to create order from chaos and beauty from ashes. Knowledge may be power but more than that I think it's a privilege. Diaghilev: A Life by Sjeng Scheijen is a choice read as well especially because he and Coco were close friends and together they changed the surface of this planet. Like Chanel, Diaghilev was a brilliant manipulator and an unlikely sexual predator. The Anglo Files by Sarah Lyall was absolutely hilarious. An American in London taking the measure of the English is impossible to put down. The humor and insanity of the Brits layed out chapter by chapter explains why they have the Royals and we have Tea Baggers. My only question when all was read and done was,"What happened to Anna and Hamish's senses of humor?". There's nothing better for an existential crisis than a few murder mysteries and a heist book. Ruth Rendell and her alter ego, Barbara Vine can dish it better than most and I happily tucked into: Portobello, The Monster in the Box and The Chimney Sweeper's Boy. Each of them is fantastic. The Art Thief by Noah Charney was filled with simultaneous art thefts across Europe along with brilliant forgeries that stymie Scotland Yard. If only fashion was so multi-layered....
Fiction can only sustain me but for so long and I find myself diving into artist's monographs and magazines. Last month's Harper's was only good for glimpses of Drew Barrymore. She's a beauty that continues to intrigue and delight me. I even get excited when Cover Girl commercials come on just because she's so damn beautiful. She even makes chiffon look glamorous again. Not so Kim Kardashian on this month's W. When did low rent porn become the new high fashion? If this is what Mr.Tonchi has up his sleeve I'll take my chances with Redbook. He'll be transforming W into a Sears catalogue of Anna Dello Russo's closet next. ADR is a new syndrome that there are no drugs for. Like bed bugs, only DDT will eradicate her and that's outlawed at present. Some of you may think my comments on Ms. Dello Russo are the result of sour grapes. Maybe so. Nevertheless, she bothers me and everything she stands for I find suspect and grasping. She may be good for business but I find her act to be woefully flat, bordering on desperate. Her moment came and went with the Vogue Ball.
Enough ranting for one day. I'll be back once I'm situated on a hammock between 2 palm trees in the Florida Keys. That's later tomorrow. I'm excited to get out of here for a little more R and R.
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