Unrequited purchases, now that I have felt. The pain of not purchasing the Dior Homme Mary Janes still burns my heart on a regular basis, the lack of a Van Noten scarf aches my cold neck each change of season and as for the Margiela bag much coveted in l’Éclaireur, well, let's not even go there. The agony is too much bear at times and the need for Tanqueray is as imperative as Nurofen to a Champagne hangover.
Each season gives me this pain, this unrequited purchase. Sometimes simply out of financial reach (Van Noten scarves), or designs being unproduced (Dior shoes), whatever the reason, the pain is still felt and the tears still shed and the bottom of the Tanqueray bottle is reached. However, for the first time the unrequited purchase for spring/summer 11 is not a garment, nor shoes nor scarf nor coat (even Yves Saint Laurent), but a feature.
Cosmetics for men is always a rough road, the debacle of Gaultier maquillage was truly epic; black eye liner is one for parties only (and often I'm the only one sporting the Alice Cooper look), and lets not even go into waxing, plucking and tanning. Was that a gin hangover or the idea of such making me heave? But as I perused the collections on Style.com, what should I see but gold lips at Thom Browne? Bright, 24-carat gold (cold?) lips that simply screamed luxury; the collection was his usual slim tailoring, gym-time me thinks, but the lips, my god the lips! At first they look like patent lipstick applied heavily à la Bette Davis in the 40s but when zoomed in, gold leaf – yes, gold leaf – Midas blessed each model and they looked like Croesus.
The genius of the gold lips is that they made even the thinnest of lips look full, never collagen-enhanced, simply pouted and many times has a pout been required for an outfit, the Pilate genius of artisan-inspired shorts with brothel creepers (S/S08) required the pout; any Lanvin or Balenciaga should be worn with a pout, and a good rich fox fur should be sported with a pout as PETA chase you down Sloane Street. And just consider it, gold lips, oh the decadence, the luxury, the self-importance one would feel, and if couture doesn't make you feel important then what's the point, I say. Go to Primani rather than Armani. Gold embellishments have the power to give you confidence wherever you are; slap some Van Cleef and Arpels on my wrists and fingers and I can take on the Taliban, put a Sobrani between my lips and no amount of chavs can stop the strut. However, the problem starts there.
One can't simply slip on some Crocs (did I just say that?) and pop to the local hobby shop and buy any old gold leaf, slap it on and head to Dalston as I just might do at Halloween. This is an embellishment of the utmost luxury and decadence, galerie de beouf, 1776 seulement. An aesthetic that treads the couture/costume line so carefully that away from the catwalk, pre-Robespierre French aristocracy becomes the worst form of costume – it becomes drag! Gaultier all over again, or even worse, GAY regulars with plucked/drawn eyebrows and some vicious D&G bag with an overabundance of chain draped on the elbow.
It has to be done with a deft hand and my valet is recovering from the small pox. It needs Cartier gold leaf and they won't reply to my earnest emails. Versailles is having a refit and so all soirées are cancelled; even the fallback of Studio 54 has closed for good.
So until all these obstacles have been overcome, to do so would require Pierre Hardy high tops that don't come in my size, I shall have to settle on the normal lips blessed with and let it become the unrequited purchase of spring/summer 2011, there are more fish in the sea and another bottle of Tanqueray in the freezer.
I wanted those Mary Janes, too, but where oh where could they be found?
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