Happiness is to be found when in pursuit of it, in the soothed expectation, on the way, not only upon the arrival. Accepting detours, just going the way, which is anyhow not this obvious to anyone.
Thomas Bettinelli

Happiness is just a hairflip away.
Chris Crocker


"The way the system works now, you see the clothes, within an hour or so they're online, the world sees them. They don't get to a store for six months. The next week, young celebrity girls are wearing them on red carpets. They're in every magazine. The customer is bored with those clothes by the time they get to the store. They're overexposed, you're tired of them, they've lost their freshness".
Tom Ford


Philipp Plein

You could just about see the gold-leafed tower of Fondazione Prada through the tangle of wrecked cars -including two Rolls-Royces- that littered the Porta Romana rail yard that was Philipp Plein's show space. "Maybe one day there will be a Fondazione Plein", he said backstage : "If I have so much money from my shareholders that I don't know where to put it". Iconoclast or crass ? That depends where you're coming from. For sure, though, the German designer has shouldered his way inside the gates of Milan fashion week through force of ambition and serial entrepreneurialism. His shoe business alone has gone from nothing to €60 million per annum in four years. But this season's big-budget (€2 million) production was the idea, he said, of his girlfriend. It was Mad Max meets The Fast and the Furious. First a team of silver mohawked motorcyclists raced around the rail-yard wrecks, followed by two gold-sprayed BMWs that burnt rubber and skidded on two wheels down one side of the catwalk before one of them was set on fire and pursued by a New York police car. Got that ? Then Tyga got out of one and started rapping as the "hip-rock" collection was finally revealed. This was an in-your-face amalgam of hyper-stylized punk gear and hyper-stylized sportswear. So there were studded hoodies under studded bikers lined with PP-customized band-patch logos. A black biker was worn over a shredded scoop-neck tee and black track pants painted white with hashtags, "RICH A$$" and the fundamental unmentionable. A stud-lapelled jacket was worn over a tee-shirt painted with a Spinal Tap-worthy album cover image of an epically bosomed, big-haired woman with massive shoulder pads and a facemask. The sneakers were strapped and studded high-tops in silver, black, and white. Biker pants and shorts rubbed along with varsity jackets and skinny eveningwear, all heartily Plein-ed. Backstage, the author of this potently chaotic show said : "Hip-hop artists have started to dress like rock stars. They have the tattoos, the leather jackets. Back in the day there was Ice-T's Body Count -now I think that is the mood of today". At the finale a monster truck crunched its way down the cars on the catwalk, and Philipp Plein took his bow standing on the back of one of the motorcycles. Outside on the street, hundreds of thugs were waiting to come in and party. You don't see anything like this anywhere else.

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