April 27, 2011


  • Tilda Swinton by Craig McDean

    It was my birthday yesterday. 39. Jesus.

    The living room is finally done - or at least as done as these things get. We have a few little things left to sort out, and I'm sure we'll make small changes as we go, but the furniture is in and everything looks lovely. Now it's on to planning the wedding thingy.

    Rachel and my sister and I went looking for dresses again yesterday. (Well, again for me.) This time I decided to go "high end" and look through the selection at the very chi-chi Holt Renfrew disappointment department store. Not only was the selection drab and uninspired, if it wasn't for the price tags I would have thought we were shopping at H&M. Everything was jersey or unlined, there were loose threads everywhere. I picked up one lovely blouse to find the $450 tag hanging just under a label that read "Made in China." Are you f***ing kidding me? 

    I'm not stupid. I work in and around fashion and I have known for quite some time that "designer" is no longer a marker of quality, but only of brand. God bless optimistic shoppers, but "you get what you pay for" is a phrase that belongs in sample stitchery, more aptly replaced with P. T. Barnum's thoughts on the propagation of suckers. Still, I would have hoped that the cogs in Bernard Arnault's Style Borg would have the decency to assemble their sweatshop fare in less notorious locations; they could at least pretend, for the sake of our dignity, they weren't selling cheap goods as luxury at a million percent mark-up.  

    So it looks like we're back to vintage. Or I'll just wear something I already have.

    The latter is looking better every minute. 
    g.