September 22, 2017 |
Somewhere between orgasm and heart attack. This was so mega. OKAY, so you probably know by now that something MAHOOSIVE happened at the end, but we’ll start at the beginning anyway. Sooo. Show opens. Models come down the catwalk in fours. Archive Versace prints galore, a tribute to Gianni Versace, who passed away 20 years ago this year. Leather caps. Glitzy gold studs. Slinky barely-there gowns. A towel head-wrap and matching dressing gown moment. Cowboy leathers. Power shoulders. It was SO good. Like Versace legend, but newer. Gigi. Bella. Kaia. Taylor. Candice. Kendall. New supers. In pairs, or threes. Conjured up visions of Naomi, Claudia, Cindy et al skipping down the runway. Oh WAIT, is that Naomi, Claudia, Cindy et al, the et al being Helena Christensen and Carla Bruni?!?! Atop of boxes, like Grecian goddesses. In gold. And now they’re walking. Strutting. Down the catwalk. It’s a full on Versace fantasy. And what is Versace? Versace is, like the two designers that bear it’s name, Donatella, and Gianni before her: fucking fabulous. *At which point writer passes out and has to be stretchered to vehicle.*
Photographs by Jason Lloyd Evans
