Thursday, October 20, 2011

Givenchy Couture Autumn/Winter 2010. 

Slender build, a mysterious guise -- the 37-year old former Central Saint Martins graduate has spearheaded Givenchy since taking over Julian MacDonald at the helm in 2005. Italian born-and-bred (looks like we have a recurring theme) Riccardo Tisci has been gradually raking my attachment towards the Givenchy house, primarily for his dexterity in developing conceptual realms -- where the Givenchy girl could well be an extension of an extraterrestrial being or a pious Catholic saint, or even a sample of the modern, grunged-up streetstyle powerhouse. Every season his sartorial creations veer from one end of the spectrum to another, and to me the concoction of his unpredictability yet pared down by signature touches that scream Givenchy.. renders me aflutter before every showing.

Givenchy Resort 2011.

The best part of my devotion towards the creative genius is witnessing the ones suspect of his prematurely-judged talent morph into reviewers that end up waxing lyrical on his structured ideas and distinctive style. From the doom and gloom end of the color palette to making bleached-out whites his favorite, Tisci guards his audiences' anticipation with care. I love the softness that has seeped in through his collections throughout the years; alongside the interspersion of romance and piety in between. It feels like a needed growth, albeit unbeknownst to me if it is headed towards the mainstream -- but it's a nice change.

Givenchy Spring/Summer 2012.

Not a month ago Riccardo Tisci was rumored to be shortlisted to replace the infamous John Galliano at Dior (you all know the story) along with Marc Jacobs, Haider Ackermann and the likes. With Suzy Menkes' reiteration that it will indeed be Marc Jacobs, a wave of relief undoubtedly hit me. Tisci, to me, is perfectly in place.

Who is your favorite designer?

Thursday, August 18, 2011


collage, self-made; images via The Fashion Spot

Helmut Newton dubs her a fashion maniac. Tommy Ton worships her existence. Everyone else just unknowingly become ardent spectators of her dedication to become a walking piece of art. Of Italian descent, she currently champions Vogue Nippon and articulates her unyielding passion for sartorial things with monthly editorials that she styles; the undertone of it being prominently avant-garde elegance. Anna was quoted to have said,
"It's true, clothes are like a disease for me. I collect them, maybe I'll wear them just once but I have to own them. I have 4000 pair of shoes. My entire house is a closet, I even invaded part of the kitchen and the basement . When you enter my house is like going into Barneys because everything is tagged and enveloped in a maniacal way. My true weakness is jewelry because I think that it makes a difference in an outfit. And since I come from the south of Italy when I was a little kid I used to look upon Barese women and I wanted to wear jewelry like them."
The Italian has lived vicariously through the fashion industry and she never escaped her series of repercussions. She is not everyone's cup of tea. To me, there is nothing in this world that can stifle her passion in forming visual art through clothing-- she is a fashion catalyst, the epitome of an icon (who else wears 6" vertiginous heels in their 50's and can still walk like a seasoned runway model?) and she probably holds the rightful throne in the Iconic Women in Fashion hall-of-fame (at least, in mine.)

Monday, July 4, 2011


One of my favorite go-to summer collections.
images via

One fine day I was lounging around in my mint-colored bedroom, occupying whatever space that was not conquered by either haphazardly stacked paper, glossy magazines or clothes that doubled as makeshift rugs. It was by accident that I stumbled upon a bunch of stapled articles-- in which I passionately deliberated on how Alexander Wang's model-off-duty chic was destined to be the modern day staple, on how the Proenza Schouler duo of Jack and Lazaro were gifts from God to the world.. amongst other rambles.

In between the lines my heart recollected an arcane kind of joy. The marriage of what I love the most: fashion (insert eye-roll here) and writing. I did not envision to be the next Cathy Horyn, nor a female version of the infamous Derek Blasberg but my words have always flowed endlessly when it comes to sartorial matters. Writing about pailletés, organzas or (God forbid) clogs felt rather natural. I have yet to decide if it was the estrogen or just me. Here I am, in hopes to revive the love affair I had for decrypting sartorial collections into a carefully-worded personal rant. Hello.