Chanel from the Inside

This morning I offered a small snack in the form of impressions of what was yesterday evening parade of High Couture from Chanel: an experience halfway between fantasy and reality.

Everything is more or less as one imagines that the adrenaline seems to not go and nothing to impress more; but the voltage rises Yes Yes, and a lot, because when grooms which accommodated guests send shut up and sit down; When the spotlights are turned on and starts playing the music, you realize that that you’ve seen or you have counted elsewhere exists. It’s true.

Giovanna, Carine, or free trade, or Dasha Zukova (I had forgotten mention it) or Lauren Santo Domingo they are a mirage.

That they are as is. That they breathe and squander fashion and that called parallel universe High seam inhabited by infinite class ladies and huge heritage is so true as others.

And most importantly, that this Lord of surly pose and endian aires called Karl Lagerfeld, is not a puppet: is a man of stoic ways (and high heels to as Farruquito), drunkard’s fame, which loves to be the center of attention.

Promise: it is not stale. If you see a camera, not never turn face.
Poses, smiles his way (I guess that with eyes behind his glasses), and is happy to be known. Almost as delighted as we are other.

Because Karl is much Karl and they will say what they want from it, but it is a powerful Lord of fashion and a great teacher in the arts of the paraphernalia that surrounds it.

The collection for next winter, as always: sober, Classic, clean lines but with touches that reminded that cruise presented in London and which rendered subtle tribute to Amy Winehouse.

The classic suit jacket It is the epicenter of everything: survives, is transformed, but remains and returns in its version to the knee and with French sleeve blazer.

Carine Roitfeld, who came to the parade sheathed in a suit of Givenchy and with a body of lace, embodied the premonition of what was to come: stockings, headpiece, & skirts on lace.

Aires of twenty, thirty years (jackets as outputs of the great depression) and forty (absolute austerity) day, and night, where deconstructed dresses.

The coattails win in volume, and appear glitters which only had pronounced timidly before dropping the Sun version of metallic lamé.

The rest is history; drinks, canapés, beautiful people wanting to drink free without losing his composure, and servant umbrella in hand and first-time observer.

We hope to repeat a thousand times more.

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