PapierblogDigital.Fashion

I remember my year in London (2004) as one consisting of bland food, depressing weather, and uninspired culture (note: London’s culture is different than British culture−in London the British culture is generally diluted by American-wannabeism). Of course, London is a money vacuum, and my experience would have been dramatically different if I hadn’t been a penny-pinching college student (and wasn’t take a full course load−including Econometrics−at the LSE, god, what was I thinking?!).

So, I am a hard sell on the fashion industry’s current British obsession. Sure, I am a big fan of many British designers (Stella McCartney, Luella Bartley, Alice Temperley), and I love many aspects of British culture (the original Office, though the American version is brilliantly adopted to our culture; British musicians, especially Elton John, as I have a thing for gay men; British sarcasm/wit, which is self-explanatory), but when globalization has given so many other non-Western cultures heightened visibility, why retreat to the Old World?


Well, if anyone can infect me with a bit of this Brit-obsession, it would be the Met (I’m an art person, hence the love of fashion). First, I opened my “ever getting closer to full-blown commercialism with Keira Knightly posed in a typical headshot cover” May issue of Vogue to a remarkably well-executed and highly artistic photo editorial (you can view some of it online, it is much better in print–see Vogue, I’m pedaling subscriptions for you, please hire me) of models in the costumes from the Met’s exhibition (why, Vogue, do you bury such amazing content under the veneer of a girl next door celeb on the cover?). This got me itching, especially John Galliano’s Princess Lucretia designs (above, second pic) and Alexander McQueen’s mini-pannier from his 2006 Chess collection (below, far left).

Then, while browsing the pictures of the Gala on Style.com (Vogue-associated), I stumbled across pictures of the actual Anglomania exhibition, which is much more interesting than the self-promoting clusterfuck of celebrities and designers toothily posing for the camera. While the photos are taken in muted lighting and from restricted angles, they nonetheless have piqued my appetite for this feast of fashion delectables.

Unsurprisingly, my favorites (from the photos) are those found in the “Francomania” section of the collection, a take on British designers who adopted the stylings of French couture into their own creations.

Glad I don’t have to drag that around all day.

So this is where Alice Temperley gets her inspiration.

Galliano’s dress looked much more vibrant in the Vogue spread… is the lighting in the Met that bad and the space that small? I’ll judge in person.

Apparently, the Lansdowne Room of the exhibition magically transports people to Chelsea.

The sheer decadence of these couture concoctions is worth a visit to the exhibit, which is now going to take up my upcoming Saturday afternoon. I’ll report back, if I do make it uptown and am able to drag my boyfriend along (so that someone else can play the role of the reluctant).