The Paris shows ended Sunday, and everyone was wishing they had ended with the Lanvin show. It was so lovely and uplifting; I'll tell you more about it in my upcoming story. But suffice it to say that everyone would have headed home in a good mood. But no, there was the Louis Vuitton show. All that money and that mega store on the Champs Elysee and still there was chaos and disorganization at the entrance. By the time the doors opened for the 7:30 p.m. show it was already 8 p.m., and well, that just didn't bode well. For anyone who has forgotten, Marc Jacobs is the Louis Vuitton designer and he has, shall we say, a habit of being a tad tardy.
Anyway, by the time we all got seated and settled it was about 8:30. And then we proceeded to sit and wait. For a while it wasn't so bad. I watched Courtney Love sitting across the runway defying all the rules and lighting up a cigarette. Some Vuitton employee ran around fetching water for Sophie Dahl. Victoria Beckham posed for a photo with a little girl and actually smiled -- or perhaps it was just hiccup. Still, she was nice about it all. Kanye West turned up again and frankly he has become so ubiquitous at the shows that I was thinking about asking him if he'd like to contribute to this blog.
Then things started to turn ugly. It was about 8:45. There was another show scheduled for 8:30. The photographers were booing and jeering. The audience was rumbling. Bernard Arnault, the head honcho of LVMH, which owns Vuitton, appeared to be scowling as he was speaking into his cell phone and then text messaging. Finally, the show started. And basically, it looked exactly like the Marc Jacobs show did in New York except with more handbags.
At the end, Marc marched out for his bows and when he got to the end of the runway and turned to walk back, he suddenly twisted his head around and stuck out his tongue like Michael Jordan going in for a slam dunk. His focus? It appeared to be International Herald Tribune fashion writer Suzy Menkes who had had the audacity to publicly express some degree of irritation that the show for his signature line in New York last month had started more than two hours late. Suzy, of course, behaved like a professional. She did not stick out her tongue back.
Yes, it has come to this. Really. Schoolyard taunts -- in front of his boss. Geeze. Shall we all light a candle for Marc?
Aside from my new Dries Van Noten dress, my favorite little discovery in Paris has been the rental bike system. It works a bit like Zip cars. You rent a bike from one location -- essentially a bike rack lined with cycles -- ride it wherever you want to and then deposit it at another rack somewhere else in the city. You pay using a credit card or a pre-paid debit card. I've seen people all over town riding around on these little ecru-colored bicycles. How healthy. How green. How nifty. Oh, how I wish I'd been able to hop a bike to a fashion show, but I can't peddle that fast. Of course, they don't wear bike helmets in this town, which strikes me as a bad idea since you're riding in the middle of traffic. Perhaps Parisian drivers are kinder to cyclists?
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