It is possible that the most extraordinary moment of the fashion week took place on Sunday night thousands of kilometers away from New York parades – sorry, red carpet – at Staples Center in Los Angeles.
Of course I'm talking about the entry of the Cardi B in the Grammys while Venus came out of his clam in the vintage Thierry Mugler (around 1995), his top covered with a tailor and a bustier molding, his stockings in black velvet which exploded. pink satin abalone frame around its size inlaid with pearls.
It was a bit absurd and a bit implausible and profound in the realm of the costume. (She then switched to another vintage Mugler, a white dress on the shoulder with a bangs up on the floor, to be able to go on stage and accept her Grammy for the best rap album.) But as a image of the female power coming into his, it was impossible to miss.
Sometimes you just have to get out of your shell.
In addition to Janelle Monáe's mini-dress and fluttering square hat, which recalled that red carpet fashion was at its peak, it was a question of making very personal statements when the garment on the red carpet was unshakeable. performative instead of protection.
In the middle of a fashion week in New York, Telfar aside, has been remarkably quiet and, now that the film world seems to have effectively exchanged self-actualization for the economic security of brand marketing, it should be remembered.
Even if Lady Gaga, the provocative old dress, seems to be angry in the acceptability of the Oscar high. Was it only 2011 when she entered the Grammys in a translucent egg? It went from there to the underestimated Saint Laurent column in eight years.
It's a trip, sort of, and that's probably his choice, that's the goal. If she wants to define herself in terms of big screen instead of meat dresses, that's her prerogative. Even though the encrusted jewelry unit she wore bore the title "Shallow," which hinted at some of the looks of yesteryear, made me miss out on more breathtaking moments.
Nevertheless, if there is something to remember from Grammy fashion, it is the range of styles on display at a party that finally puts women in the forefront.
In addition to Post Malone in his pink costume covered with rhinestone stars and Leon Bridges in his custom-made mustard covered with personal totems, the men who were make their way during the Hollywood awards season, have been relatively restricted. (See: Drake in his black turtleneck and cashmere coat Tom Ford See also: Donald Glover, who won a Grammy but did not even come.) Women, however, did their own thing. Sisters, dress as they want.
We could see it from the beginning, when Michelle obama (Michelle Obama!) Appeared on the scene in Sachin & Babi's silver sequin wrap-over jacket and pants – a partial weave and a combination of relaxation – in the continuity of her escape after visiting the White House / book. She joined the host Alicia Keys, who made a relative euphemism (although she changed clothes several times, but she also had a barefoot moment) in red then in turquoise green and black; Gaga in his money; Jada Pinkett Smith, who made the glamor of yesteryear in Roberto Cavalli feathered; and J. Lo, who made a mystery with a giant white hat – all to celebrate the power of music.
And you can see it in Dolly Parton, which is made of white lace and bright red and perfectly fits his body. In Diana Ross, who made a complete diva in the biggest dress of the night to swallow (she deserved it). In Katy Perry, who made bulbous flounces in Balmain pink (there were a lot), which made her look a little like a hedge and was a little softened (for her). In Miley Cyrus and her tuxedo (Mugler) and the yellow-flowered pantsuit she wore to perform with Dolly (Valentino Couture). In the Coach combination with more than 25 kinds of crystals and sequins that H.E.R. was on the red carpet.
Like them or not, they talked about the fact that music can be the last refuge of the fashion risk taker. It is one of the few industries adjacent to the celebrity to have managed not to go into debt at the machine "ambassador of the house XX"; where clothes always serve the pleasure of celebrity, as opposed to the opposite.
This is, after all, how they should serve us all.