The beginning of a weekly fashion post? Perhaps.

It was pointed out to me that fashion commentators don't like the way Johnny Depp dresses. I not only like Depp's taste in fashion; I enjoy it. He's playful. Besides, who can possibly trust experts when they call anyone wearing the the following montrosity the "best dressed of the week":


Click on the above link and you'll find page after page of bad fashion and bad judgment. I'm not writing this to be catty - I have no motive for that.

I was under the impression that high fashion had lost its taste years ago. I discovered yesterday, after spending hours perusing the web, that this is not true. There are plenty of extremely talented and creative designers out there. But that's not what the public sees. We are generally bombarded (just by standing in line at the market) with photos of celebrities on the red carpet and the comments about them. Did you know that Angelina Jolie wore a dress backwards last week? Of course, now her stylist is saying that it was intentional. That's fine with me. When I saw the photo, I thought it likely it was thought out (though I like it better with the front in the front), but in my book, anyone who has the balls to play with the designer's clothes deserves some positive credit.

But I'm missing the point of the sport of celebrity style watching entirely! It's to see who looks bad, not good. The sport involves finding the big fashion faux pax, whether it's wearing something backwards or wearing something that shows off a dreaded tummy, wearing an inappropriately revealing outfit when one should be covering up a less-than-perfect body, or covering up a body when one should be revealing it. In spite of all the hours of exercise, stylists, and surgery, finding the flaws in these god-like celebrities is sport for the jealous. And judging from the website that I linked to in the first paragraph, one needs absolutely no taste at all to participate in this sport.

If we take the celebrities out of the style equation, we are left with an abundance of great fashion design. Unfortunately, if we took the celebrities out of the equation, the designers would go out of business. But it's too bad, in my opinion, that these highly talented designers clothes, the cream of the crop, are seen only on the catwalk. Then they get pared down until they are almost devoid of their originality. And in order to satisfy the needs of how celebrities have to dress, the emphasis morphs from artistry to "does it make her look hot?" Celebrities who dare to dress too far out of the norm are setting themselves up for at least an afternoon of sniping.

The latest Dior Haute Couture line is extraordinary. One would expect to find dresses like this on exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I doubt we'll see any on the red carpet, but I'm glad I saw them on the runway (online, of course). Here's my favorite, which has no practical use whatsoever:

You should see a side view of this dress! I saw one a few days ago, but even after hours of searching the web, I couldn't find it again. To see the entire collection, go to Vogue's website.

I adore high fashion. When I was in college, I bought Vogue, W, and many European fashion magazines whose names I have no memory of. I've always loved historical costume; why not enjoy haute couture? Yet, this hobby was one that had its pitfalls. I felt lousy about being so short (I'm only five feet tall) and being so poor. But that didn't stop me entirely. I could sew, and I wore many of my own creations. I wondered why I didn't go to Fashion Institute of Technology, instead of regular art school, but I never persued that thought any further, which, in retrospect, was a shame. I much prefer fabric and fiber to paint. But the fashion world nearly repulses me. Any endeavor that depends on the whims of the rich to stay alive is one that I don't want to be a part of.

And that is a thought that deserves a whole post of its own.

Meanwhile, I did find an outfit that I would wear:

It would be a muddy mess by the time I walked from my house to the general store, but if I get an invitation to some major event, I think I'll give John Paul Gaultier a call.

On second thought, that John Galliano for Dior red dress would be great for me. It would hide all my tattoos. It's a good thing I won't have any reason to have to make up my mind.

One more reason I don't like celebrity scents (with long afterthought about aging)

I haven't tried Dianne Brill's perfume. I just received a sample. Here's the thing: I don't want to like it. Isn't that awful?

Reason #1. Just read the first sentence of the ad copy:

Diane Brill's lifetime up to this moment provides the inspiration for her signature fragrance.

I am not a stickler about the English language, but honestly, with all the money that goes into developing perfumes and cosmetics, don't you think that this opening salvo could have been better written?

It's such a badly written sentence. I don't know why it sticks in my craw so much. It's causing all sorts of snarky responses in me. What if they left out "up to this moment"? Thus; Diane Brill's lifetime provides the inspiration for her signature fragrance. That's a perfectly good sentence. I suppose it sounds like she's dead. Ah. That's why someone threw that "up to this moment" bit in there. I see it now.

Okay. I'll let that one slide.

But wait, here's sentence #3: Dianne Brill's Perfume is the essence of Ms. Brill's philsophy, which is to deliver a feeling.

This stuff reads like the bad English put out by Japanese companies. Ms. Brill's company is not in this category. What's up with their writers?

As to that philosophy, yeah, I agree. It's really good to want to deliver a feeling. What feeling exactly are we talking about? I suppose it doesn't matter.

Oh sorry. There is a next line, so the question will be answered.

The feeling that you get when you open a present of lingerie, jewelry or exquisite bonbons.

That was it. What feeling is that? It depends, doesn't it? If someone gave me one of those S-shaped diamond necklaces, I'd be speechless and stupefied. Well, that's not exactly a feeling, is it? What if a stranger gave me a diamond engagement ring? I might be scared. If I received a gift of lingerie from a relative, I'd be shocked. Bonbons? Does anyone give bonbons as a gift? Well, I like those Lindt chocolates with hazelnuts inside. I suppose they are bonbons, so if I got some of those, I'd be pleased.

Ms. Brill, am I to believe I will feel all the emotions of a lifetime by wearing your perfume. That is what you mean, right?

Somehow, I think not.

Dianne Brill was the nightlife queen in the early 80's club scene. I remember liking her some, only because she wasn't thin and seemed to be totally okay with that. I was rather saddened to see, that on her website, she gave up being an proud big woman a while back.

I will try the perfume. Oh, how I want to hate it!

Photo note: Diane Brill and Elvira
Bobby Sheehan, 1977-82 (unspecified)

Addendum: I felt a bit disturbed after posting this. It was the photograph that created this uneasy (queasy?) feeling that I have. The black and white photograph above reminds me how innocent "we" were thirty or so years ago. Elvira was someone who was fake. Look at her, how truly fake she is. It's a fun fake, like Dianne Brill or Amy Winehouse's bouffants. And Diane B. back then? Honestly, I love her weight. She looks like a real person, all dressed up and having fun.

Go over to Dianne Brill's website (link above) and look at the photographs of her today. Oh, sure, she "looks good." No, I'll disagree with that statement. It's creepy for someone to look younger at middle-age than they did when they were twenty-something.

Last night, I watched the original CSI for the first time in at least a year. The woman who plays Katherine, whatever her name is, looks younger than when the show started. I watched her forehead during the entire episode. Did it move? Not really. Botox strikes again. So much for having models of good looking older women.

When I was a teenager and my mother started her flipping-out-over-I'm getting-old-and-undesirable phase, watching the changes in her were upsetting. I thought I was just a selfish little brat, wanting my mom to stay the same. In retrospect, I think there is some of that in there, but there was a larger issue. I wanted to see her grow old gracefully, for then I'd know I could do it too. I would have also been less worried about her mental state, but that's another story. I basically missed the last year of my mother's life because of her face lift. She didn't want me to see her until she was all healed.

I kid around about how I'd like to get a chin job, a neck resurfacing, a bit of surgery on my lower belly (and if I think about it, a whole host of other places). Heck, I don't have kids. Why should I be a decent role model? But why should I care at all? This is my body. It's falling apart, both on the outside and the inside. Gravity takes it course, as it should. My grandmother's boobs hung so low that they rested on the top of her apron waistband. That was what grandmothers looked like in my mind. There was something almost reassuring about it.

Why do we have to look perpetually young? Greater minds than I have asked that. I've read about this subject in so many places, yet not one person has written about why the youth standard has become so imperative right now. Maybe it's those aging baby boomers. They were in love with their youth and don't want to give it up. I think that may be part of it, but it certainly isn't the whole thing.

I want to admire old crones, women with creped skin and white hair. Why should any of us spend our whole lives worrying about what we look like?

It's odd. I didn't think I'd be someone susceptible to this. I never thought I was attractive and certainly didn't use my looks, such as they were, to any advantage. Youth was never an advantage to me, anyway. I "suffered" from the opposite problem of many. I actually looked too young for a good amount of my adult life. It was hard to get people to take me seriously. I looked like I was a high school student until I was in my late thirties.

What is the standard? It's Miss America, still, after all these years. That age is neither too young nor too old. Let's call it the perpetual 29. That sounds about right.