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CHAPTER14
SIMON
I shift in my chair,trying to remain professional. I hate being forced into this situation, judging each of the contestants’ designs. Sure, I’ve got a pen and paper to dutifully write down notes, but it feels like a sham, especially when it comes to Autumn.
How can I judge her designs objectively?
The stage is one I’ve walked a hundred or more times, considering House Corbin has used it for a decade. The lights are bright, meant for showing off the clothing for viewers here and in the photos later.
But the flow of this show will be different from anything we’ve ever done, a sign of the freshness with which we’re approaching this competition. Each designer will have their five designs walk, there will be a two-minute break, and then the next designer’s time begins. The small separation will give people a moment to digest, make notes, and prepare for another style presentation.
As we wait for the show to begin, I listen to the chatter around me. Most of these people are high society by birthright. They’re people who have never had to struggle for a meal in their lives. Even the ones who did work their way up, as designers themselves or industry insiders, have forgotten what that time in their life was like. I’m blessed to have never known struggle but also acutely aware that my life could’ve been so very different, and the seriousness with which these people discuss the latest red carpet fashion is off-putting.
Why aren’t we discussing politics or poverty or anything that’s actually important?
I love fashion. It’s been the foundation on which I was raised. But there’s got to be more to it. It can be a platform for change, for growth... for good in the world. Or at least I would like it to be. Fashion can be fun, but it needs to also mean something.
One day, when I take over House Corbin, I will make that my priority—giving to the world in a way that creates opportunity while simultaneously creating clothing for people to be excited about.
Or it will be my priority if I ever get the chance.
Because even now, as I sit in the House Corbin special seating, I hear whispers about our demise.
“An ancient dinosaur battling the coming meteor,” someone says gleefully. “And we all know how that turned out. Extinction.”
“Right, I mean, give it up already. Nobody under the age of forty would dream of wearing House Corbin.”
Are we that out of touch? Jacqueline certainly doesn’t think so. And while I do agree that some of our more recent collections have read as a bit matronly, fashion for the adult woman is not so different now than it was in years past. Though there is a trend toward skin, skin, and more skin, elegance will always be ageless and in fashion.
Yori is up first, and gentle piano music plays. A model appears, posing at the back of the runway. But not in just any pose. Her legs are wide, her hands on her hips, and her face looking murderous. It’s aggressive, and the dichotomy with the soft music makes my spine twitchy. Her outfit is interesting—black baggy pants tucked into knee-high, lug-soled boots, a sleeveless button-up shirt done to her neck, a kilt-like skirt thing wrapped around her waist, and a thick leather strap tied around her waist several times. I think back to Yori standing nearly nude with delicate chains for clothes at the meet-and-greet and can definitely see how it was the opposite of this. This outfit makes me think her style is gentleman pirate-meets-Highlander, the gender-neutral version.
As the rest of Yori’s collection walks the runway, I’m not sure how it would fit in with House Corbin. While matronly seems a bit harsh, we are known for feminine elegance, and Yori’s work is razor-sharp and hard-edged. And the only thing summery about it was the lack of sleeves, which makes me wonder whether she can work within prescribed guidelines.
During the quick break, I listen to the whispers around me, hearing words like ‘strong and powerful’, but also ‘hard and unapproachable’. Like always, there are split opinions about a collection. Personally, I find it interesting and new, but I guess time will tell. As will Jacqueline, whose opinion is going to matter more than anyone’s.
Up next is Molly’s collection, which I find surprising, having met the woman. In person, she is exuberant and unfiltered to the point of seeming wild, but her clothing is refined, crafted of exquisite fabrics. It’s summery but focused on what a woman would wear on a summer night. There are touches of youthfulness, the dresses a bit short and flirty, but all in all, quite lovely.
“How...bourgeois,” one of the VIPs, a photo editor, says. It’s a common dismissal, as if being from the middle class is an insult. “I wouldn’t wear any of those pieces to dinner, much less somewhere important.”
“It is meant for daily wear, so I doubt Swarovski crystals would be fitting in such a situation,” I point out. “Some customers like to wear clothes that are fun and make them feel good. Things they can actually dance, drink, andlivein, not only be photographed in.” The dig is a bit harsh, but given the sneer on the woman’s face, quite warranted.
“It’s simply so... American,” another woman says, obviously taking the photo editor’s side. I’m not surprised. She hasn’t liked me since I turned down her offer to be my Mrs. Robinson and would likely oppose anything I say.
I chuckle, looking her up and down pointedly. “MadameBernard, I presume you think only French fashion isde rigueur?”
Frankly, the woman who’s insulting Molly’s collection has zero sense of fashion, jamming her body into whatever high-cost label is currently trending. Like today, she’s wearing a full-skirted dress with puff sleeves made from a printed fabric that vaguely looks like a fruit bowl. It’s heavy, horrendous... and is possibly choking off the blood supply to her brain because her only response is a sniff of derision.
“The point of this competition is to tap into a younger audience, those who don’t mind a sense of freedom, who prefer to not be bound by tradition, and who are confident in blazing new paths,” I reply. “For a lot of people, it’s a tremendous positive.”
“Doubtful,” she says.
Before I can comment further, the next collection begins. But I’m still thinking about whatMadameBernard said.
How dare she have the nerve to down-talk fashion when hers is horrible? And the photo editor’s dismissal as well... is this the type of feedback Jacqueline is going to receive? If so, perhaps we are doomed to a future of repeating the same little black dress every year.
Katarina’s group of models look as though they’ve walked straight out of the ’80s and I can see Jacqueline’s approval from here. The tops are tastefully cropped, the shorts squared and loose-legged, and the shoulder pads generous. But there are touches of freshness in the details, like the pleating and styling. The pieces are something I think Jacqueline would’ve worn herself once upon a time, but of course, now she only wears her own designs.
And then it’s Autumn’s turn.
