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


feat. Konstantin Quandt

Heaven and hell. This Trussardi presentation was held on the terrace of the Pinacoteca di Brera in Milan and soundtracked to live and truly exquisite ivory-tinkling (Mozart, don't you know) by a member of the city's conservatoire. So, heaven. The clothes, mostly, were 100% super-desirable boho iterations of softened Italianate artistic-aristo (but a bit bourgeois, too) menswear tropes. So, more heaven. The presentation, however, although passionately executed and sincerely curated by Gaia Trussardi -absolutely the chicest artistic director at Milan's menswear Fashion Week- was of a murkier flavor. The nut graf of it was this : between a series of mirrored walls on either side of the balconies a series of actors played out various archetype roles. The first fellow wore a beautiful raspberry deconstructed woven herringbone suit with a track pant above a vibrantly printed silk shirt and bellowed. The second stared at himself self-involvedly in a mirror while moaning about something. The third wore python jeggings and a long suede coat with a purple neckerchief and paced up and down, cackling. At this point Trussardi wafted over and explained : "It's about the theme of identity, madness, split personality, narcissism. But not the theme of craziness. All of us. I wanted to create this performance of different stereotypes". Patiently she educated visitors that she had been inspired by Luigi Pirandello's examination of the mask, subjectivity and objectivity : it was about who we are and how we present ourselves. Frankly that was way over the head of anyone who simply enjoyed the clothes while trying not to interact with the interactive performance. A preacher railed against capitalism in a coated linen robe-manteau. A boxer fought with himself, meaningfully, in a silk short suit printed with a masked face. A woman who was conflicted about her gender negotiated with a chair and the mirrors in a green linen pinstripe double-breasted suit. A narcissistic hip-hop artist -so like, totally unreal- yelled into a mirror about how fabulous he was in a blue and red Henley striped suit imprinted with that face. The next fellow was in a terrible state, curled up like a fetus and kissing the mirror, but his look was good in woven suiting with silver buttons and neoprene detailing and double-monk-strapped crocodile shoes. And so it went on. Harking back to that preacher though, it was tempting to throw Trussardi a curveball : isn't there irony in presenting an anticapitalist in a several-thousand-euro ensemble ? "Ah", she replied, "but it's all about contradiction". Brava to Gaia for being such an accomplished author of her story. Less tortuously, some of the clothes were objectively worthy of being the subject of your attention.

I'm reading: Trussardi
feat. Konstantin Quandt
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