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Karl Lagerfeld has never ever been to India. "It really is considerably far more inspiring not to go to spots than to go," he explained right now immediately after a Chanel presentation that spectacularly evoked the sights, smells, and appears of the very last times of the Raj. Alright, Michel Gaubert's sitar-cost-free soundtrack may possibly have been a stretch (until the Raj was rocking to David Lynch's new album), but the towering tiers of fruits, sweets, and flowers that loaded the heart of the place absolutely experienced a sensation of palatial excessive. They ended up circled by a toy educate bearing decanters ofâ¦what was it that maharajas drank? scotch?â¦which rang genuine as a decadent depth, conveying the opinion of a privileged number of actively playing even though empires crumbled. Audio common?
Lagerfeld resisted these kinds of topical insinuations, but he did concede that vogue traditionally tends to appear into its excessively innovative individual during difficult economic times. A perfect moment for him, in other words. And this collection, an annual salute to the work of the craftspeople who make Chanel happen, including the recently passed François Lesage (hence the name, Métiers d'Art), was absolutely a feat of innovative excessive, from the jaw-dropping set, which turned a curved space under the dome of the Grand Palais into a corner of Rajasthan, to the clotted silver embroideries, the gilded laces, the lustrous silks that determined the character of the clothes.
It really is easy to imagine a canny designer making the decision to aim these kinds of shine and glitter at an emergent market feeling its vogue oats (I'm talking about India, BTW), but Lagerfeld's post-show declaration that bling was dated made it clear that he experienced something else on his mind. The theme "Paris-Bombay" was a reminder that Europe's vogue industry has increasingly turned to India to produce extravagantly handworked pieces as it has become prohibitively expensive to make them at home. Lagerfeld's fiendish plan was to flip the equation, so that every little thing that appeared intricately Indian was in fact made by Chanel's ateliers in Paris. That was some sort of tour de pressure.
All that apart, Paris and Bombay blended fantastically in pearl-swagged tweeds, in a uncooked silk tunic above leggings (they ended up in fact sinuously bootlike, so we must almost certainly get in touch with them beggings or loots), in sheer paisleys, or facet-draped asymmetry in ivory silk. The beauty of a lightly peplumed jacket and matching skirt in ivory silk experienced totally nothing at all to do with geography. It was just French stylish. Not every little thing worked there was a queen-of-the-fairies moment that felt like a malfunction of Florence's machine but the sheer prodigious extravagance of the desire planet that Lagerfeld pours onto his catwalk collection immediately after collection permits for the flaw the merest flaw once in a even though.
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