This is a dizzying sight. The clutches in particular are stunning. True, it is hard to walk into Hermes with four grand to drop on six cubic-inches of craftsmanship and not walk out with a masterpiece. But nevertheless.
It is hard work to make uninspired pieces fit into an artful whole. It’s even harder to deconstruct pieces of art and arrange them on your person in such a way that their very qualities disintegrate to look like nothing more than peculiar pieces of garbage. Well, meet the Hampton frat crowd, god knows what dark pit they’ve all escaped from on the last days of summer. Their rare talent consists in finding a way to make their Missoni look like Mandee-meets-the-Dress-Barn. It is hard work. It’s styling in reverse. Picking just the hue that is most adverse to their complexion, the cut most unflattering to their curves or absence thereof (skinny ones in poofy, shapeless Westwoods, fat ones in Alaia second-skin), cover it all up in body glitter and fake tan: their Gabbana looks like a chinese knock-off of the Gap that died a long time ago on a Loehman’s sale rack.
Man, is it that hard?
If your only job in life is to spend money on looking good, and that you dispose of boundless amounts of money, access and time to do so, there should be a punishment for what you’re being allowed to display. You obviously read the magazines, at least twice a week, when you go get your hair, nails and other dead tissue maintenance done. They’ve already mixed-and-matched it in at least decent-looking outfits, is it that hard to follow? At the very least you should look like a tasteless copycat but, by Jove, what you do to Guesquière should be punishable by the Supreme Court.
Well, sadly it turns out, style can’t always make money and the other ominous adage seems to be true as well.
There should be a fashion permit to restrict access to nice items to the only customers that can prove they will put them to good use. Coco is cracking her whip inside her grave. Snooki is taking notes. The flogging team has yet a lot of work and if I could only bear to stay in this infested land for long enough, I would surely buy the bartending staff a round at the end of the night. Don’t they ever get a gold star.