Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Pouf Happens

Once upon a pouf a baby was born in Arles, France.  

The baby, who was named Christian Lacroix, grew up dreaming of the insouciant swagger of a matador.  His red cape fluttering in the arena.  A woman in a high black lace mantilla watches her lover, the matador, cross himself before lunging at the bull.  

He dreamt of  guardian angels and the Macarena, the Virgin of Seville in her halo headdress and layers of veils and precious jewels.

He dreamt of caravans of flamenco dancers in their colorful silks and gypsies.

Christian Lacroix's dreams were realized in the haute couture houses of Paris: snug black velvet jackets like a matadors embroidered with gold thread by Lesage, petticoats and taffeta, duchesse satin, black lace.  

In what would turn out to be his final couture show in the Fall of 2009 the embroiderers, the seamstresses the milliners and shoe makers all donated their skills to that last show.  In the finale, the bride, was a tribute to the Macarena.

But before that final look, in the exuberant days of the pouf that he had created for the House of Patou and then left to open his own haute couture house under his own name, he created a line called Luxe.  The line was introduced at Bergdorf Goodman three months after the debut of his first couture collection and prices were a bargain at $9,000 (You know.  It is all relative.)  

We have three dresses which I believe are from this debut collection and one has already sold.  Bring on the pouf, the petticoats, the lace and the flowers:


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