We almost never do this at WORN, but Viktor and Rolf’s Spring 2010 collection was just so so so amazing, I can’t help it. The mix of peach, coral, and turquoise with harsh black lines and hints of structured menswear tailoring with billowing bias just blew my mind. Have I mentioned the gravity-defying tulle? I can’t stop watching the video - every time a model turns the corner and you’re hit with this wall of cross-sectioned tulle, my heart beats a little faster. What do you think?
hearts, Serah-Marie

Rachel’s friend Enda invited us to go dancing on a boat. “What should we wear?” we asked. “Whatever you want,” was his reply. “Something waterproof.”

As it turns out, very few of my clothes fall into that category. My old raincoat went into the charity bag this past spring. (It was hardly the sort of thing one would wear dancing anyway.) As I mentally reviewed the contents of my closet, I suddenly remembered a pair of PVC pants I’d acquired in the mid-1990s. Tight, black, and very tapered with lacing up the front, they were classic Le Chateau; cheap and cheerful. I knew they were still in a box somewhere, and I set out to find them. A few minutes later, as I yanked them out from under a stash of vintage fur collars, my next thought was to wonder if, after more than a decade, they would still fit. They did.

I looked at myself in the mirror; not only did they fit, they were surprisingly chic. With a white tank top and red flats, they were just the right mix of current and retro. They were just “new retro” enough to be edgy. Once I was done being pleased with myself for having kept them, I had a very disturbing thought: I had actually become old enough to reference myself – as an adult.

It was always normal to wear things my mother had worn (50s dresses, 60s shoes) or things my sisters had worn (disco-licious), but the clothes in my closet had been – until now – a one-round deal. This everlasting 80s revival doesn’t count either; I was only a teenager and aesthetically unrefined when New Wave was actually new, dressing at the mercy of my parents’ budget and approval. No, I was a grownup when I bought those pants. They were cool then and, somehow, I’d managed to live long enough for them to be cool again.

I am both amused and appalled. Of course, my reflections on the inexorable march of time and the cyclical nature of fashion have been validated, and my packrat tendencies have finally paid off. That’s quite nice. On the other hand, you know, I’m old.

A few days ago I was in the Salvation Army store. I found a fantastic dress – a long-sleeved, scoop-necked, black microfibre jersey thing. It’s exactly the sort of outfit Peter Lindbergh would have photographed for Vogue when I was in University. (It’s the sort of dress I would have bought myself if I could have afforded it – and if I hadn’t thought dresses too girlie by half.) I couldn’t resist trying it on; it looked great. There was nothing to do but pay the six bucks and hurtle headlong into my future – which, it appears, has been hiding in my past all along.

Ha.

So, ’tis the season - the season after the season, that is. ‘Tis the season of awards… and with it, the endless and impossibly subjective rating (and berating) of the Best and Worst Dressed.

I’ll start by saying I have an almost limitless appetite for red-carpet fashion. Glamour is my weakness and I’m fascinated to see the choices made by those with the means to pick and choose. But I have a very hard time with the notion of Best and Worst. It seems to me that the dresses most often picked as “best” are the safest ones, the strapless black sheaths and glowy satin gowns that would flatter a goat. They are lovely, surely, but hardly notable - revealing only that the wearer is competently able to sidestep disaster. It’s the fashion equivalent of knowing how to walk on a sidewalk. Meanwhile, the term “worst” is liberally showered on those who eschew mainstream aesthetic, who take a risk and opt for something more avant garde. If one were to apply those terms to office workers or politicians, perhaps I could see it - but it’s just stupid to talk about fashion that way.

So I seek the lists and devour the images, but find myself railing at the secretly-conservative critics who arbitrarily praise and pan. I think to myself, If I was in charge of that list…

In the Worst Dressed Category… Really?

Mad Men’s January Jones somehow made a Worst Dressed list in this fantastic bit of Versace. I have been staring at it for fifteen minutes trying to figure out where the problem is… Blue on a blonde is almost always striking. The dress is beautifully constructed, and the layer detailing on the front of the skirt is whimsical and flattering. It doesn’t look painted on, which is a nice change - and did anyone notice? There’s a pocket, for heaven’s sakes. Why can’t I ever find a formal gown with a pocket? Top the whole thing off with her Veronica Lake hair and those perfect red lips - the girl is a knockout.

To be honest, Renee Zellweger almost always surprises the hell out of me. She has such an open, friendly, down-home kind of thing happening, I never remember that she’s a total glamourpuss. Although this outfit by Carolina Herrera also made the Worst Dressed, I think it’s divine. It’s a surprising mix of Victorian prim, 40s Hollywood, and Nevada housewife. The simple gold cuffs and clutch are perfect accessories - and 20 points to our Bridget for knowing enough to keep the already highly detailed neckline clear of unnecessary jewellery. It’s a black dress and a classic line, but it’s far from boring. I’m not crazy about the hair, but I won’t go to the mats over it.

What can you say about Cameron Diaz? She’s seems friendly, she looks like she’d be fun to drink with, and she’s got a klutzy kind of charm that makes her appear completely guileless. She’s no fashion plate - but I’ve never gotten the impression she aspires to be one, so that’s that. On first glance I saw this gown by Chanel and thought it was a bit of a mess. The hem is all over the place, there’s some kind of random bow stuck halfway up the thigh, and the asymmetrical top looks like it might have started out as part of another dress altogether. But here’s the thing: It suits her perfectly. It’s adorable and a bit goofy, the neckline (once again, bare of accessories) is charmingly offbeat, the colour should be awful makes her skin glow, and the strange pleating on the bodice could only work on a girl with a boyish figure. Add to it her sweet, tousled hair and low key makeup, and she looks like a beautiful (possibly Swedish) child dressing up in a very pretty bedsheet. How on earth can that be bad?!

Okay, this is not the greatest outfit (designer unknown) I’ve ever seen. Fine, I admit it. But holy crap, people, Glenn Close is over 60 and what she’s wearing is dignified, the lines are clean, and it fits well. This outfit is, though slightly Golden Girls, completely age appropriate and impeccably tailored. 20 points to Glenda Veronica for sidestepping the Grandma’s Cleavage trap. On top of that, the woman is a force. Have you seen Damages? Talent is sexier than anything else. Get off her back.

Laura Dern is a funny duck. She always seems a bit awkward, as though she only just got fitted with a human body and hasn’t quite sussed out what to do with it. Her taste in earrings is dubious, clearly, and she needs to fire her hairdresser immediately. But what on earth is wrong with this dress? It’s fantastic - it’s got a delicate, vintage feel, and the detailing is both understated and complex. It suits her tall, slender figure and the length makes her ankles look damn sexy. Ms. Dern is never going to be a sex kitten - 20 points to her for not pretending to be (which is always a disaster). If this is “worst”, may we all be so lucky.

But this is what we’re calling Best… Right.

Gossip Girl’s Blake Lively made the Best Dressed list in Nina Ricci. Sorry, but (and I usually try to find the upside in everything) this is slightly appalling. It’s too clingy and way to small. (I’m pretty sure I can see the outline of her intestines.) Some dresses look great skin-tight, but there’s something about the fabric here that is (or at least appears) too flimsy to do the job. What’s more, in the battle of Breasts vs. Dress, I can’t tell who’s winning - but I know it’s not a fair fight.

Summing it Up
I’m really not a huge fan of categorizing Best and Worst. I would, for once, like to see the people who make their living doing it take more into account than the flavour of the moment. A great outfit has so much more to do with the person wearing it - do they look confident? Happy? Do they look like they’ve made an effort or tried something new? I adore people like Chloe Sevigny (always willing to take risks) and Isabella Rossellini (who exudes class and confidence from every pore) because they dress to please themselves and reveal part of their personality in doing it. The occasional disaster is a reasonable price to pay for aesthetic integrity. Besides - if you’re willing to get it really wrong, sometimes you’re bound to get it really right. That’s always better than playing it safe.

And now… the best for last…

Drew Barrymore in Galliano for Dior.
She’s had some judgement lapses in the past - but this more than atones.
Eight zillion points for getting it really really right.
Yowza.

We had hoped for 100 people.
Over 200 passed through the door before the night was over.

Most people planned to stay for 1 hour, you know, just to make an appearance.
At least 70% stayed for 5 or more.

The organizers planned for 5 sets of slow dance ballads.
They had to add 2 because no one wanted to stop dancing.

We filled 7 racks with coats.

Everyone showed up wearing 2 shoes.
A whole lot of us ended up wearing 0.

I danced with at least 6 strangers.
I developed 2 inappropriate crushes.
My skirts had 5 layers.
I am singlehandedly responsible for getting my best friend Rachel into 1 red taffeta dress with 0 straps.

Doors were scheduled to close at 2 AM.
I left at 3:45 AM and there were still people on the floor.
Serah Marie got home at 6 AM.

I am 1 very happy girl.
c.b.

FYI: I bought my “fascinator” (a very helpful girl informed me that was the name for the feather creation clipped into my hair) from Shopgirls at 1342 Queen St. W., in the heart of glamourous Parkdale. The shop is a collective that promotes local designers and crafters from Toronto.

(ed note: the fascinator girl was the lovely Stacey May Fowles of Shameless magazine)