No time to be a supermodel
Since I haven’t the time or the inclination or the offers to be a supermodel, you will often find me reflecting on their lifestyles while I sit nibbling from a large bowl of sour grapes.
I suspect that the supers experience time differently. And who can blame them? Their calendars have only two seasons instead of the four we were mistakenly raised to recognise.
Fashionistas have effectively erased, nay, it was decisively dispensed with, the undue importance we’ve given all these millennia to the trifling differences between spring and summer.
What’s in a season? And what’s the big deal about quibbling over when autumn ends and winter kicks in? It’s a fine seamless line. Leaves fall and snow falls, why split hair? So in the name of God and Gucci, who are getting increasingly difficult to tell apart, let’s cut the crud and instead focus on the defining colours of the season, since we all know that that’s what it’s all about.
The Guccian calendar tolerates only two seasons: Spring/Summer, and Autumn/Winter. Rumour has it that the Minimalists are up in arms against even this admirable economy of the equinoxes, and would prefer that the calendar be further focused, for streamlining is everything.
Fashion lingo A worried fashion editor confessed, under condition of anonymity that , in the near future, we may know the seasons as Sheath/Shift/Sundress in Vague Violet-ish tones, or (when the season that we in our uninformed past knew as winter arrives), Tuxedos and Trenchcoats in Cool Blues/ Unfriendly Greys.
We will send out invitations to ask people over on the fourth of Flirty-Frothy in Foolish Fuchsia, or make a dentist’s appointment for the last week of Tapered Silhouettes in Tint of Tapioca. I think once the novelty wears off, this will be highly inconvenient.
Of raindrops and more So I’ve decided I’m going to have a word with Tarun Tahiliani and Rohit Bal (a printed word to their website it will have to be, since they haven’t the remotest idea that I exist). Really the Indian fashion fraternity should rally around in support of the snubbed seasons, and in fact, add a few that are distinctly our own.
Here are some suggestions: monsoon-summer, summer-summer, seriously-summer, summer, don’tblink-it’s- winter. So as I spit out an acrid grape pip, I get it.
Yes: I think supermodels measure out their lives in model years, roughly defined as the distance a model travels in a vacuum in one mean and vicious fashion season, which is approximately one hundred and 20 steps plus three pirouettes per minute, or I-don’t-get-outof-bed-for-less-than $10,000-a-day, whichever comes first.
“I don’t get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day I really love that .” line. For me, it ranks up there with ‘I came, I saw, I conquered’, or ‘I’m a little teapot, short and stout.’” I once tried it on my editor, adjusting for currency “I don’t get out of bed for less than Rs 10,000 a day,” I said. “Well good night then. Sweet dreams,” he said.