Tippin with Vivienne

So there I was, in my Muji jacket, Tuesday socks and 50-dollar Giordano pointys, striding towards Cornwall House.

Vivienne screamed delightedly upon seeing me. (Or was it me?) I was skeptical at first but she let me strode into her huge dresser as we chatted like hungry-for-gossip ladies of old on basically anything under the fashionable sun.

She was without cares. Except the caveat - look but nay touch.

Fashion is a baby I put up and never put down. She said

And she grew up quite horrendously well, didn’t she? I retorted, while continually suppressing my now overwhelming joy and cupping the virtual drool from my near-orgasmic id.

She did not answer. I was wondering if it was because I without tact uttered the word “horrendous” or, her baby was not a she after all.

While we got into some disagreements, I basically took in everything from this woman of working class origin. Her words, her experiences, her creations were like streams of sunlight flowing through my office windows at 7 o’ clock in the morning.

Twenty years of sex, punk and sedition. Of mini-crinis, tartans and that Sheba gown. Of Dior and the metropolitan suit, tailoring and shoes, Nadia and those laurel leafs above her head.

Of her abhorrence against the mediocrity of today’s fashion.

Of the face that is the most erotic of all.

She told me how the past, the history, the culture of old are instrumental in reshaping the textile. For after all, fashion is all about it – twisting, turning, twitching, tacking, tearing, tieing the textile to tremendous extreme.

She went on to touch a red lavish gown she once wore and said, as if she has always been at peace with the creations all around her, “You have a much better life if you wear impressive clothes.”

I smiled in my quiet disagreement as I secretly touched that yellow mustard gown.

I saw her smirk, in a good way – as if knowing what I thought and did.

But not disagreeing.

*************
The VIVIENNE WESTWOOD A Life in Fashion exhibit will be up in ArtisTree in Cornwall House, Taikoo Place, Quarry Bay, Hong Kong from November 28, 2008 to January 31, 2009.

Her collection is an absolution from hell for those who do not think she is ever wearable.

It is beauty of galactic proportions. Of voluptuous offense.
*************

I bade her farewell, resolved in my heart, soul and mind that I can never afford her.

At this, she gave me the face, with the letters V and W written on it.

And we laughed.