“I don’t want to blind them, I just want them to blink a little.” -The Emperor’s New Clothes
There is a phenomenon that happens in the creative process whereby something new is created under the guise of ingenuity. Where in reality, the designer has gone bat shit crazy, gives no fucks, and would happily set each garment on fire as it sashayed down the runway faster than a junkie headed to the Methadone clinic. If the creative process of a collection becomes a great love affair, then the runway presentation is the resolution of an ugly divorce. An art thats evolves from a source that is deep in the soul, breaks the heart once its obsessive conception is complete.
I am certain Marc Jacobs wants us to believe, that he truly believes that Dynasty Pumps, glorified granny panties, and gloves an outfit make.
Not convinced, Marc, take it back. Your aesthetic is ever evolving while still telling a consistant story of confidant women accessorized to perfection with striking minimalism in the details.
As I damn his obvious decision to just scrap the top that was intended for Lily McMenamy, I would have given my left arm to witness the, ‘Marc-wants-her-topless-on-the-runway’ conversation. Two days before show time if Marc wants a bitch topless, bitch will be topless.