Tag: dress

Mirror, Mirror

If you're looking for infinity, you'll find it harnessed on the third floor in Dover Street Market. Hedi Slimane's Saint Laurent collection – menswear, womenswear and accessories – is reflected to the hilt in a cabinet of dress-up geometry.

Appropriating techniques and materials from French Art Deco with Bauhaus influence, repetitive vitrines are constructed in poli mirror, brass and extra clear mirror, playing the House code of silver and gold in unison. It's the ultimate frame for Slimane's youth quake tailoring, leather jackets, suspended Paris heels and blue jeans, an item Monsieur Yves Saint Laurent had great regard for, quoting, "They have expression, modesty, sex appeal, simplicity – all I hope for in my clothes". This installation remains equally as potent empty of the ritualistic wardrobe.

It's not the first time Slimane has exhibited at Rei Kawakubo's original concept store, however, as the creative showcased his F System furniture project back in 2007, a series of artisan crafted loveseats and tables transposed – and disrupted – from historical silhouettes in stainless steel and ebony.

Mayfair's the hotspot where the impetus of other eras meets the future, it seems. All those mirrors make sure the romance bounces the right way.

After The Weeknd

theweeknd

On “Enemy”, the first new song from The Weeknd this year outside of the three bonus tracks on his recent mixtape compilation Trilogy, Abel Tesfaye sings: “Cause the least I deserve is no conversation / I been working all week / I’d rather be your enemy / Then any friend you think I would be.” It finds the anonymous, disturbingly non-autonomous women (or is it the same woman?) that Tesfaye stalks in his songs finally completing their subjugation to dumb accessory. It’s the inevitable culmination of a narrative arc that’s seen him slide from ecstasy to detachment via depravity as, conversely, he’s risen from the internet’s fringe to mainstream validation.

But where does he go from here? In becoming music’s embodiment of Steve McQueen's Shame - the smirking sex addict desperate to expel his frozen feelings in bed yet painfully aware it’s but a momentary release from the emotional intimacy he cannot engage in - has he painted himself into a corner? As the desire gets cruder and the fantasies darker, the boredom kicks swifter when all you’re doing is chasing that first high.

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