Growing up with literally no exposure to fashion, my parents loathed the "girly" magazines, claiming there was nothing worth reading in them (which may or may not have been true). My father especially would take great pains to condemn them, and I think quite enjoyed making up elaborate stories to instruct us on the horrors of superficiality. In fact, I spent a good 5 years of my childhood believing that lipstick was actually created from bat poop, painstakingly gathered from the bottoms of caves by villages in far away lands, only to be shipped to us idiot americans to wear on our mouths.
I forget how I first stumbled across it, undoubtedly holed away in my high school studio at some ungodly hour of the night, but the first video of a runway show I'd ever seen, I immediately fell in love with. It was Ann Demeulemeester Spring 2009. But what really got me hooked on fashion as an art form, and was the seed for my passion for it to this day was James Jean for Prada.
An illustrator of epic, heartbreakingly awesome talent, paired with Miuccia who is insightful, wry and so fully and strongly nothing but herself, moreso than any other designer. It was a divine match, and created beautiful beautiful pieces.
(Click to see the whole mural, it's enormous!)
One of my favorite details is how all of the monsters speak in these Rothko-esque Prada color scheme blocks. I would love to be able to express myself that way, imagine the brilliant incomprehensible conversations.
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