Carlie Wong. Photo by Mike Campbell.
It only takes three to make a trend, so when we spotted that third pair of Converse (yes, sneakers) in the tents yesterday, we knew exhaustion was en vogue. Hump day at L’Oreal Fashion Week had us practically mainlining caffeine to fend off fashion fatigue. By evening, even the most eagle-eyed weight watchers were too tired to resist sugar-high slices of tiramisu cake in the media lounge.
One too many of those highs, however, and we’ll have to give up dreaming of wearing Carlie Wong‘s (very) little black dresses and low-backed, scandalously high-slitted gowns. The 23-year-old Project Runway also-ran, who isn’t exactly mini herself, prompted blogger debate about big girls who design for skinny girls: is it wishful thinking? Force of habit? Social stigma? And when the clothes are so covetable, do we care?
Photo by Pierredb on Flickr.
When fashion isn’t art, it’s advertising: Beautifully Canadian, an all-fur collection sponsored by (well, duh) the Fur Council of Canada. The guestlist to this dead animal zoo was closely guarded, and security included a real live police officer (as opposed to the usual doormen at Fashion Week, some of whom look more like retired male models—not that we’re complaining). We were hoping for a wild protest, but either that police officer was working overtime, or animal-rights activists were feeling as blah as we are: the only picket signs were on the runway and read FUR IS GREEN. If the fur actually had been green, it would have stirred hotter controversy.
The fur was faux at Comrags, but the clothes could have passed for genuine 1940s articles: there were tweed skirt suits (puffed shoulders, nipped waists) and twill drill dresses, vintage prints and wool plaids, and a few crepe dresses worthy of a silent film star. The Comrags woman (probably your mom, and that’s not a joke) will be pleased.
Photo by Darryl Natale.
Andy The-Anh opened his show with a baker’s dozen of biscuit- and cream-coloured ensembles: elegant pantsuits with knit shawls, dresses tea-length and tailored or long and flowing, a butter-soft wool coat over skinny satin pants. Perhaps to relieve the beige boredom, a perplexing sort of adornment was introduced: half fur or wool collar, half huge-gemmed necklace, one hundred per cent ugly. Next came chocolate brown satin and charcoal brocade, worked into more of the same, followed by an unfortunate foray into teal chiffon—70s ruffled blouses, a strapless frock in last spring’s egg shape—after which a simple navy silk gown was refreshingly classic. The final ballgown was an enchanted forest green, its voluminous skirt fully sheer under the lights, giving us a welcome glimpse of sex appeal after all the tasteful monotony.
David Dixon. Photos by James Dawson.
At the end of a “long and arduous day full of constant demands,” David Dixon knows how you feel, or so the liner notes to his show would have you believe. A master at laser-tailoring, he’s never believed in shortcuts, and this collection was about “taking the long way home.” Inspired by nature, his exquisite tree-print jacquard jackets (jacquets?), appliqued chiffon dresses, and whisper-soft knits had a sedating effect indeed.
But when it was all over, we still wanted to take the fastest taxi down Queen West.