Raf Simon's debut collection at Dior is, frankly, boring. Note: the expressionless editors, bloggers, stylists with their eyes glazed over about to fall into a deep comatose. Another thing that is of concern are the models picked for this show: famished with boney shoulders that look like they're about to dislocate as they walk. So I'm a little disappointed, maybe because my memory of Dior is synonymous to Galliano's reverie of flamboyant-mega-colortastic-mega-arched-eyebrow-models swimming down the runway in gown after gown of impossibly intricate detail and architectured creations: ART. I'm bored of all this minimalism taking over almost all the fashion houses. I mean ok, minimalism is so refreshing and so me. But, Dior is not minimalistic, Dior is a sexy bored wealthy eccentric parisian housewife (a modern marie antoinette) playing dress up. Ugh. This is just Jil Sander's french lovechild, Jil Sander 2.0.
However, if this was another Jil Sander collection I would have said KUDOS. Love the predictability, the comfort of knowing that another collection will not steer too far from the last. I haven't read the critical reception for this Dior collection yet, I don't think I'm alone on this. A hit and miss. Dior is officially cursed. Orphaned. Makes me sad.
Here's a chilltastic picture of Bob.
aka love of my life.
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