Brad Pitt equals which number?

I saw it this morning.

Was I impressed?  Quite frankly, no!

When I heard earlier this year that Brad Pitt was to front the new campaign for No.5 (not "Chanel no.5 - but that is a whole other story and discussion...) - I was shocked.  How audacious!  How clever, how revolutionary!  Go, CHANEL... a very powerful move, indeed.

However, the results came through - and all I saw was pretentious drivel, with Pitt coming across like an elitist "tosser".  A friend of mine has carefully said she can't wait to be besieged on counter by "morons who will come in to ask for the men's No.5 with Brad Pitt..."  Enough said!

If you are yet to be convinced, log onto YouTube and see for yourself.  Your thoughts and opinions would be gladly welcomed.

"It's not a journey. Every journey ends, but we go on," Brad utters huskily.

"The world turns, but we turn with it. Plans disappear, dreams take over, but wherever I go, there you are."

Such drivel, if ever I heard it.  What on Earth Have CHANEL done here?  Once again, they are very clever little boffins.  No matter what our opinion - they are very smart in Paris.  They have created yet another publicity coup that will have us all talking.

No matter what: love or hate the ad, it will bring us all to our knees, as it will consume many a conversation the world over - from men to women; gay or straight; Chanel connoisseur and neophyte...

Maybe Mademoiselle was beyond plucky and intelligent  - she was truly a visionary!  Although, she will never be my Miuccia!

Check it out for yourself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGs4CjeJiJQ 

What is their defence: The Devil made them do it?!!?

This morning seemed like any other beautiful Tuesday morning...  I was in bed, getting ready to awaken from my slumber when the phone rang.  As I was chatting with Marzy, Paloma's Godfather, I was briefly interrupted by a text message that sent shivers running through my core.

My girlfriend Loz had messaged me with a disturbing comment: OMG, Prada in Sydney, not good love...  I instantly reacted by thinking the impossible: bad service?  To which she replied: Store ram-raided last night!

The scene of the crime: such brazen violence should
 not be shown on television, EVER!

For the Love of Goodness and style, what the hell is up with people?  Do we need to desecrate the innocent temples of chic to validate people's idiocy and criminal intent?  What has PRADA done, other than send a message of style and beauty around the world?

Although, secretly I am thrilled that they chose PRADA, when they could've chosen other brands...

I love PRADA... pure and simple!

However, I am worried about how these innocent pieces of beauty are faring, kidnapped, unable to voice their thoughts.  To be worn by bogans wearing GUESS? and totally undeserving of their bounty...

All I can say is that these pathetic losers, the scum of the earth need to be brought to justice - and then some!  Let us deal with these savages, one by one.

Perhaps we need to ram-raid their tenements, and also throw them into shark-infested waters!

Stand up with me and be counted:  DO NOT CONDONE THE VIOLENCE AGAINST HIGH-FASHION!  SAVE PRADA FROM THESE UNDESERVING MORONS!

IF YOU SEE SOMETHING, CALL THE (FASHION) POLICE, AND CRIME STOPPERS!

The scene of the Crime, as Forensic Police
are now involved in the mission of discovery.

What will their defence be?  The Devil made them do it?  The Devil Wears Prada, so should our ugly wives?

What next:  THe SCUMBAGS wear Prada, and they work for BOGUE magazine?

Seriously... I am not a happy camper today!

Please find these bastards and do away with them....

Also, stay tuned for my round-up of my best and worst shows from the recent collections in Paris and Milan...

Don't even get me started on the arrogant car-crash that is Hedi Slimane at SLP?  What happened to the icon of YSL?  Lanvin cross-references... Alber must be smirking with the justice that is long overdue him... but that is a whole other post....!

For now, it is ciao...

Stay PRADA-licious, PRADA-loving and always PRADA-TRUE!

Miuccia loves you - and so do I!

Bisous, Gougou. x.

La vie est belle

Following the decisions made only a fortnight ago, I am basking in the luminous glow of self-realisation. I did it!

New career. Simon Does, Gougou Says will be a primary focus in the journey of evolution.

A new love. The Good Doctor.

A new bag. PRADA or a speedy Bandolière by Louis? Many choices to be made.

A sporty approach. A sporty new collection for the Cruise Season by Miuccia. Milan is in full bloom.

The glamour of relaxed and languid tailoring reminiscent of track and field, draped and expressed as only the Mistress of the Italian Moda could create.

Many wonderful choices. One wonderful statement. Life is Beautiful. La vie est belle. La vita è bella.

In anyone's language, it is a simple truth.

All I need now is a note of iris in my parfum.

Any suggestions?

The little boy from Oran

Today, as I left home first thing this morning, many things played on my mind: don't be late for your flight. Lock the doors. Is the iron switched off?

Today is the first of August. As I locked the door of my house behind me, the date echoed with its power and clear message... This is Yves Saint Laurent's birthday.

Although the house founded over fifty years ago still reigns with its own level of supremacy, it is his touch that will forever be longed for.

The humble boy from the Algerian town of Oran.

The bespectacled youth. The tortured soul. The genius. The derided and misunderstood.

The leader. The innovator. The political activist, albeit unwittingly.

The House of Love. One word. One power - LOVE.

In the rarefied world of the couture his sense of genius has stood triumphant. The final guardian of a lost age sadly left us a little over four years ago.

His legacy remains clearly all around us... The safari suit. The tuxedo for women (aptly named "Le Smoking").

The original scion of the sexuality and undertones of carnal, illicit desire of the 1970s.

A man who breathed his art, and exhaled almost a sense of palpable insanity so crystalline and lucid in its creative magnitude... We are left wondering who the truly sane were.

After all, aren't we (all) just a chemical reaction from madness?

The inimitable Suzy Menkes of the International Herald Tribune proudly declared in 1993 that "...if all the world was to lose the references of popular culture and history, and yet we were to maintain the works of Yves Saint Laurent, future generations would know where the world stood in terms of history and culture. From women's liberation to sexual equality and revolution, art and culture..."

Pierre Bergé the Scorpio, the fearless brains behind the business and longtime partner in business and life with the Angelic Schoolboy also poignantly is quoted as saying: I don't know that fashion is an art... But he IS an artist..!

Van Gogh, Braque, Picasso, The hippie trail, sexual desire, masculine design and lifestyle, Segovia. Just some of the influences that have defined styles of the times.

Ah, our beloved Yves Saint Laurent. How we celebrate the towering genius that IS you, a loving, sensitive, yet eternal flame to burn in our minds.

Your sense of impeccable design, matched only by your sheer force of creative passion.

We thank you on your special day for having enriched this world. After all, my idol Miuccia Prada wore your couture to student rallies and demonstrations in Milan.

Aside from yourself, who else would have created the wardrobe that interwove such diametrically opposed strains of political trains of thought?

May you watch over the house that bears your name. May you influence the world's style once more, from the radiantly lit and sacred space you find yourself in.

Happy Birthday to the man that fell in love with a city, claimed its name, and lived life with a love of beauty and freedom.

Many happy returns, forever.

You are missed and loved, and I dedicate a few words to your memory.

Tearfully yours,

Gougou.

X
X
X
X

What a difference a day makes...

A Melburnian winter. The most perfect of all seasons. Contrasts compete for our attention. Sunny, cloudless skies carelessly intermingle with freezing cold winds.

Rain falls of its own volition. Either masses of it, or discreet little showers.

Either way, one cannot escape the climatically-induced changes to dressing and living in this Magnificent "Ville".

Melbourne. Pleasure to all of the senses. A fashionista's dream. A cultural force.

A place where hopefully only very few (fashion-related) faux-pas are made.

By its very definition, this is a city that defines the style of the Antipodean outlook. Only Wellington can begin to compare. (That is a whole other story)

Sitting here on this rainy weekend, I cannot believe just how simple our pleasures are. Sitting at Tucci Brown in Brighton, and yesterday at Manakish in Elsternwick- I was stirred by the beauty of the breeze flying... My FENDI shawl billowing, and my fragrance permeating the air. Until I remembered, winter brings out the the ferals.

Like some tribe known to totally exist of a sense of primeval "style".

The ferals have a way of making themselves known wherever they may hail from. Bad hair, mis-matched foundation, and a genuine sense of judgement (you read that correctly) for anyone who embraces chic.

More to the point, maybe it is because I accessorise with high-end pieces from the prèt-a-porter féminin... Either way, I couldn't care less for what those philistines have to say or think... After all, I don't wear a scrunchy in my hair.

Ultimately, Judgy-Wudgy was a bear. And this Judgy-Wudgy frankly, doesn't care!

Lana can't sing live... Who cares?

When I think of he empowered elements of the défilé, there is quite simply nothing that makes the experience as truly wonderful as the soundtrack.

From the halcyon days of the 1980s when Yves Saint Laurent sent models down he runway to the best of Frey's "The Heat Is On" - bare-breasted, one shouldered togas... There was no turning back.

Music had become the quintessential entrée into the world of the rarefied Salons du Mode.

If I could, I would sit down and rationalise my top 1,000 songs of the shows. Soundtracks have become a ubiquitous part of the Fashion Universe.

Lana del Rey features quite strongly on my list. From the flowing, dark and dangerous BORN TO DIE, to the sexual undertones of OFF TO THE RACES.

She knows how to evoke the various incarnations personified by the designers themselves. DIET MOUNTAIN DEW transforms me into a Denizen of PRADA's 2012 Spring-Summer collection.

ABC's perennially chic début album THE LEXICON OF LOVE arguably won the title of the greatest album of the 80s, as voted by SKY magazine. Melodies equally at home in the long-gone boys' clubs of the 50's... Slickness, lyrics of enchantment, the battles of the sexes in Love. This album couldn't do any wrong.

Even THE LOOK OF LOVE received a major makeover in 1990. This track fed my soul, my desire to design, and perfected by strut, as styled by feel of the times.

Saint Etienne's classic remake of Young's classic ONLY LOVE CAN BREAK YOUR HEART graced the runways of Lagerfeld, post Inès de la Fressange for Chanel.

Ah, soundtracks. They maketh the mood of the collection come to life.

Who are we entrusting the future of recording the world of fashionable music for posterity? We must try - are future generations were aware of how things really were?

Until then, I will feel many moments. Especially the eternal sense of chic that emanates from LOVE IS A STRANGER.

Strutting through life, many will ask: WHO'S THAT GIRL!

Girl? Wrong? Who's that Gougou?
A queen?

A king?

A stalwart of individuality?

A protector of a bygone era, lived with passion?

Or, all of the above?

There is no accounting for taste, style or image.

Only the truth can be accepted. Style is mutably immutable. Only those open to themselves can understand that change is as obvious as we choose to make it, if at all.

Until next we speak, listen to Paloma. Respect. Miuccia. Dream of Patrizio. Love PRADA, and desire to understand what I am talking about.

Bisous.

Gougou, x.

Ps, Simon may not say, but I think where Dior is concerned: Simons says!

Just ask Raf.

Aren't we going to love his work even more than ever now?

Can anyone beat her?

Contentious issues are the order of the day. At this stage, I intend to set the cat amongst the pigeons by declaring a statement of such magnitude, its repercussions will be felt for a long time to come.

I

Am

About

To

Declare

The

BEST

WALK

On

The

Défilé.

Yes. I said it. I am throwing caution to the wind, speaking my mind, and not holding back! This issue is so central to who I am, how I think. What I feel. How my life is motivated, or perhaps what dominates my life.

I am going to make a statement. I must back it up with nothing short of conviction.

Who? Is she famous? Is it a past face... A star in the making? A current champion of the boards?

From which collection does the mention pertain to? Am I going to jump on the Miuccia bandwagon, or not at all...?

Hmmm, should I say it? Hold my peace?

................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................. Award goes to Maria-Carla Boscono in the miu miu Fall 2011 collection.

Her stride, her presence, her innate sense of ownership. That show was hers, for a reason.

Move over Parisiennes, the Italians are here.

No wonder Miuccia chose her to open the show.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwB21kp7HwA&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Until next time,

Bisous, Gougou. X.

We don't need another hero.... We don't need to know the way know the way home

... What we want is life beyond the Thunderdome.

So sang Tina Turner in Mad Max 3 in 1985. I remember watching the movie at the Greater Union Cinemas on Russell Street.

I had just turned thirteen. It was school holidays. My friend Wayne de Kretser had invited me to go and see the film with him.

There was I. Year eight at school. Movies with a friend and my sister. Deep down, the whole
post-apocalyptic theme took over and made me feel rather uncomfortable. After all, this was the mid 1980s, threat of Nuclear War was always at the foremost thought.

No matter where we turned. The East was unfavourable. The West was on heightened alert. Thatcherism and Reaganism were the order of the day.

Harriet Hubbard-Ayer still existed on the Australian market. Arden and Rubinstein still maintained their own standing, so to speak.

Anyway, back from my meandering direction (talk about a "tangent") - I was there watching a movie that made me feel uncomfortable.

Nearly three decades later, I was watching the Fall-Winter 2012 collection by PRADA.

I was struck by many thoughts. George -and-Mildred-meets-mad-Max-3- with a dash of 70s wallpaper thrown in.

Although the maquillage has been at best described as Avatar-inspired. It is a most powerful collection to review. To view. To enjoy.

The jury is still out with me. I watch it, and still feel scared. I also revel in the ability of this collection to restore my sense of youth. A sense of spirit and discovery that leaves me feeling younger and reborn. A collection that challenges my cerebral comfort zones.

Ultimately, I am totally honest in saying that I love the fact that again, as always. Miuccia takes the "ho-hum" and turns the pedestrian into the bastion of chic.

How does she do it, and still find time to slide from her office, into a world of homemade pasta? Oh, and yes... Whilst wearing a skirt.

How, indeed. I ask you.

Spare a thought for the others out there, in the land of Moda.

As I put finger to keyboard, the laboratory of the Paris Couture is taking place. Exploding into the visual world of the consumer. The sybarite. The connoisseur. The skeptic. The neophyte. The humble. The interested, and above all, the concerned.

Raf Simons' debut at the August Maison Dior will leave us all (hopefully) wanting more.

Can Jil Sander make things work at her eponymous label, where she has not been visible for many a season?

Only time will tell.

Until then.

Stay couture-loving. Stay chic. Never compromise on humility. Be original. Love beauty. Scorn dishonesty. Celebrate individuality.

And, ALWAYS LOVE PRADA... No matter what may be going through our minds.

My my my... Miuccia.

Until next time. Until the next place. You never know what Simon will do, after all, it is I who says.

Until then, bisous.

Gougou, x.

What a difference a day makes...

A Melburnian winter. The most perfect of all seasons. Contrasts compete for our attention. Sunny, cloudless skies carelessly intermingle with freezing cold winds.

Rain falls of its own volition. Either masses of it, or discreet little showers.

Either way, one cannot escape the climatically-induced changes to dressing and living in this Magnificent "Ville".

Melbourne. Pleasure to all of the senses. A fashionista's dream. A cultural force.

A place where hopefully only very few (fashion-related) faux-pas are made.

By its very definition, this is a city that defines the style of the Antipodean outlook. Only Wellington can begin to compare. (That is a whole other story)

Sitting here on this rainy weekend, I cannot believe just how simple our pleasures are. Sitting at Tucci Brown in Brighton, and yesterday at Manakish in Elsternwick- I was stirred by the beauty of the breeze flying... My FENDI shawl billowing, and my fragrance permeating the air. Until I remembered, winter brings out the the ferals.

Like some tribe known to totally exist of a sense of primeval "style".

The ferals have a way of making themselves known wherever they may hail from. Bad hair, mid-matched foundation, and a genuine sense of judgement (you read that correctly) for anyone who embraces chic.

More to the point, maybe it is because I accessorise with high-end pieces from the <>. Either way, I couldn't care less for what those philistines have to say or think... After all, I don't wear a scrunchy in my hair.

Ultimately, Judgy-Wudgy was a bear. And this Judgy-Wudgy frankly, doesn't care!

My other bags are PRADA

It is wonderful when people use their sense of humour to really make a message stand out.

After a day at work that was challenging, draining and empowering (not the normal combination, I know...). things needed to get better....

I was told to come over to the marketing side of the partition, and was given a wonderful little gift. The simple pleasure and beauty of a card that made me smile with joy.

A gift that had thought put into it, that even Paloma and Co. would appreciate. I was touched, laughing and very impressed.

Why yes, my other bags are PRADA, Dior. Louis. Balenciaga. Ferragamo. Chanel. GianFranco Ferré. FENDI. miu miu - and then some.

Ultimately my other bag is "me". A warm, funny vessel filled with love, tenderness, zaniness and a spirit beyond the material.

People are the ultimate bag. Not "baggage", but rather an accessory filled with wonderful tidbits and idiosyncrasies to be unveiled, worshipped and pleased. (like when you find a $100 note at the bottom of your bag and wondered how it got there to begin with....)

I could patiently unearth, revere and devour one's soul over a period of time.
Yes... love, sensuality and discovery are identical to opening the compartments of a new bag or purse. One by one, each part clicks into place... A story unfolds and the smile really takes hold of you. From within, all the way out - illuminating one and all.

It is true that My other bags are PRADA. However, do the other bags also know that they only belong to one Gougou?

Let's hope that they do!

Until next time, ensure you increase your uptake of Fabulosity Tablets to at least 10,000 milligrams per day.

You deserve it.

Stay wonderful, stay chic. Be unique.

Love PRADA, even if your other bags aren't!

Gougou, x.

Hey... I just met you... And this is crazy.

What can I say? What a week! What a day! What a life. This has truly been an amazing week. A celebration of beauty and of life.

Not only did I turn forty. I was blessed enough to experience some amazingly warm, open and exceptional gestures of love. From PRADA to Vuitton, great books, gorgeous fragrances and also most importantly... Great company.

Getting older is a celebration that awakens one's journey. I love the fact that I am embracing change, whilst steadfastly refusing to compromise my goals and values.

As such, we need to look at what is going on around us. Chic is a concept that we should never let go of. We should ways embrace it, revere it and never be punished, or made to feel any lesser because of it.

Case in point. Last night. After a long day at work, I accepted an offer from a gentleman friend of mine for a casual dinner on Chapel Street. Wow! Now THERE was an experience.

It was the first time we were to meet, and very impromptu was the plan. So, many thoughts buzzed through my mind: should I go home and change? Should I leave Paloma at home?

The answer: a resounding "no". why should I?

In the end, I asked for him to reserve a table for three. (Paloma was not about to miss out.). So he did. Paloma won out and charmed Mr. Wow-factor. He loved the story of how Tessuto transformed a small "shop" into a global Empire. (Being a clever businessman, he couldn't help but be entranced by the superb acumen of Miuccia and Patrizio.)

The food was delicious, the company utterly witty and sublime. His humour, laughter and larger-than-life personality made my friend (let's call him Mr. Wow-factor) just glow.

Fabulously entertaining stories and gorgeous moments of shared laugher dominated. The end result, SUPER!

The evening for me was topped only by a few things: conversation about my favourite topic in the world (PRADA) and its history.

Secondly, the genuine interest Mr. Wow-factor showed. (In Modern history... Or more to the point "PRADA history....")

Thirdly, child abuse. Yes, that is right.

As we were enjoying our meal, a young lass walked in with her "boyfriend" (he of the tribe of the "Pooves"...). He was carrying a Gucci pochette on a belt. (too lovely to be classed as a bum bag.). The said piece of Gucci was being carried like a clutch bag, and close to the chest.

Honey. Man up. You are dying hold a girl's bag. Just DO it!!!!

Anyway... his female companion was toting along a large Galleria (Saffiano) in the most magnificent soft beige tone I have ever seen.

Naturally, my PRADA-radar kicked in, and I could sense its presence a mile away.

The young lady in question sat for coffee on a table for four, and placed her Galleria on the floor....!

I wasn't coping.

As shortness of breath kicked in, I had to say something. So, I had to ask her why she placed her beloved on the ground, when there were two perfectly good chairs not being used. Her response: it had little feet, do the ground won't matter.

When I probed further , it was becoming apparent that she didn't wish to appear ostentatious.

I explained that the quality of PRADA cannot be treated with such contempt. Imaginable or otherwise.

Ultimately. The simple lines of the Galleria have become the ubiquitous "staple" of PRADA. Much like the Neverfull, the Speedy and the Pochette Accessoires have to Vuitton.

Unlike the Speedy et. al., the Galleria exists in such a wonderful array colours, finishes, sizes and general fabulosity.

It is the Génifique of handbags. Just as the Youth Activator has recruited millions of loyal skin care addicts to Lancôme - the Galleria is the most potent, addictive, desirable and loved recruitment tool for PRADA.

D, last night's lovely Lass received a veritable history lesson on PRADA, and will always revere her baby, never yo leave her on the floor again.

Paloma was chuffed. Mr. Wow-factor had a twinkle in his eye, and I tingled with the joy that only a goodwill gesture for the "children of chic" (bags) can only bring.

All in all, a wonderful night....

Which goes to show, that even Café Sienna was able to rise above its questionable (hyper-casual) image, and maintain a sense of style.

Now, if I could take the rest of its (female) patrons away from, You "GUESSed" it...!

Hmmm.... Maybe one day.

Until Next time,

Gougou, x.

Perfection doesn't exist. PRADA however does.

What a day. Working insanely today, I was blessed and touched by a gesture of complete beauty and warmth.

At the end if the day. One of my wonderful team came up to me and mentioned that she was giving me a little something for my fortieth. I looked into the bag, to be touched.

I noticed two things that stood out aside from the card in the bag. A bottle of Moët et Chandon. And a box....

A textured box that could only mean one thing. A box that spelt luxury, style and an experience of complete and utter pleasure: PRADA.

This Angel touched me in a way that I was not expecting. A PRADA purse awaited me. Pedro and Paloma now have a new little sister. Yet to be named. Hmm, I need to think.


After consulting www.babynames.com.au. I found many beautiful names: Pascale, Paolina, Persephone, Perdita, Petra, Perla... and many more. Struck by her sweetness, I decided to name her Petula. After all, PRADA and Petula (Clark) are both classics.


What is it about PRADA that makes this world an amazing place? Recently whilst in Tasmania, I stumbled upon this article ... Wow! The mere sight of PRADA is enough to convince a police officer to lose total control and to break the law. Yes, people do strange things to win, where Miuccia and her brand are concerned.

Indeed. Enough said.

Quite simply. Without Miuccia P, there is no sense of style. Wake up world. Chanel is a uniform. Dior must start again under the direction of Raf Simons. Let us see what that will bring us. As for my beloved Yves Saint Laurent - I am still shocked and devastated by the news.

Ah, life is indeed beautiful. I turned 40 since first penning this post. My glow of youth comes from acceptance and inner contentment - knowing that wonderful people understand me, accept me and allow me... To be "me"...!

To top off this week of PRADA-inspired loving, I am also now the owner of the Saffiano iPad cover in Fuoco, courtesy of Mishka, Suki and Poca. How can I not love these wonderful women in my life?

My my my... Miuccia...! (Where is Tom Jones when you need him?)

Enough of my incessant rankings for now. I have major posts to work on this week.

Until next time, stay chic.

Gougou, x.

Ampersands and or should I say "&" Cassandre?

What is the world coming to? Retro is everywhere. I call it the "ampersand" approach to style.

Has the world come to the stage where we have to create synthesised elements of homespun chic?

Black&white. Tiger&goat. Sweet&sour

Why not have bitch&mole?

Must we try to make everything sound established, so that it gives it cred?

What ever happened to simply being original? Maybe I could try something; a simple name. Perhaps even one word. Reaaaaaaally!!



All jokes aside, remove the ampersand, use originality. And stand the test of time.

I walked into the

Anyway, whilst I am having a bit of a whine, the recent announcement that has besieged the world's press has entered my train of thought. ("If it ain't broke, don't fix it....")

So, here we go again. What is wrong with the House of Dior? Megalomania seems to be the order of the day in the way that they breed them. Firstly, John Galliano. No-one can deny that he is a genius unlike any other in the world of sartorial creation and re-writing the language of fabric (although he will never be my Miuccia.)

Then, the descent into career Hell takes over. In only a couple of months he was deposed of his throne, and the world no longer discusses him.

Hedi Slimane also brought us many trends that have defined the "sexing" of the male species. Skinny jeans, toned physiques. Men finally becoming aware of their power to seduce through strength, combined with a fragility and vulnerability that belies a youthful force of sensual beauty and sexual strength.


There is no denying that Slimane is talented. However, all he is doing is adding the element of gender-bending, timeless design and sensuality of simplicity that were the hallmarks of Yves Saint Laurent's work.

Slimane, with his slim frame and brooding good looks could easily become the next YSL. However, in coming to the House founded instinctively by Love and the workings of genius over 50 years ago.

This is where the journey ends. For Slimane, a new rocket is about to be launched. He plans to rename the Icon of YSL as Saint Laurent Paris.

From YSL to SLP...? What is the world coming to? The utterance of Monsieur Saint Laurent's initials as a mantra is proof positive of the everlasting signature of modern design. Of history. Of culture.

The most idiotic thing to emerge from this whole scenario is that the classic Cassandre logo will still feature in the brand's imagery.

Would Chanel allow the interlocked C's to be unceremoniously re-branded and Christened as something else?! NEVER...

So, back to SLP. I think it is most ironic that a Dior alumnus is heading up the House that was created by the most famous Dior alumnus ever to have graced the world of design. It is criminal.

Saint Laurent left Dior after his ill treatment in the 60s. He created arguably the most creative, revolutionary and August of the Couture houses.

He then went on to mirror the worlds of Art and Literature. A Proustian character in the modern world. A recluse trapped in a social scene - of which he masterminded. Irony and contradiction his stock in trade.

The humble boy from Oran would rise like a Phoenix to rule the world of Style.

Now the house of YSL will try to imitate the fate of Dior once again. From "Christian Dior" to "Dior Paris". Now, is history set to repeat itself ? Must the house of Dior always try to influence the supreme brilliance of Yves Saint Laurent?

Slimane, how can it work, if the Cassandre logo is to remain? Mm, I wonder.

In conclusion. Leave the classics. Let them be. As for the ampersands. Away with them.

Until next we speak, stay fabulous.
Gougou, x.