Laura Craik on the woes of bringing sexy back, panic on the forecourts
of London and a steak too high
Hold on to your titties, girls: the wardrobe malfunction is back. And this time, the cameras are more desperate, salacious and intrusive than ever. No lens is too long, no cab exit too undignified for the paparazzi.
First up, Bond girl Ana de Armas, ‘whose plunging black gown exposed her left nipple while sitting down in her chauffeur-driven exit vehicle’. Don’t you just hate it when that happens? Still, at least she had a chauffeur. Imagine if her tit had fallen out of her dress on the Northern line. Or if she was just walking home.
As the spring/summer 2022 fashion season draws to a close, it’s clear that the catwalks of London, Milan and Paris have decreed that sexy is back. Duh. They weren’t exactly going to give us more sweatpants. Sex sells, and never more are sales needed than now. Still, not everyone is in agreement about what this post-lockdown lasciviousness should look like.
For Miuccia Prada, it’s miniskirts with trains attached, and ‘a language of seduction that always leads back to the body’. For too many designers, it was heels so high the models struggled to walk in them. ‘I hate the sexy I see,’ said Saint Laurent’s Anthony Vaccarello. ‘Everyone can do sexy, but for me it’s not about trying to seduce others. It’s being confident in what you are.’
“The plunging gowns are a liability. The miniskirts
are an invitation. The high heels make it harder to run away”
Unfortunately for women, increasingly, what you are is a target. The plunging gowns are a liability. The miniskirts are an invitation. The high heels make it harder to run away. Women are being offered a wardrobe for all tomorrow’s parties, but in the words of The Velvet Underground, where will she go, and what shall she do when midnight comes around?
She’ll trade her heels for trainers, button her coat up to the top and head home, every nerve in her body firing. She’ll dress for the life she wants, then cover herself up for the life she has.
There is nothing good to say about the fuel shortage, which has seen school buses cancelled, blood deliveries delayed, nurses sleeping on wards and carers unable to see vulnerable patients.
It has also seen people behave in the most selfish of ways, all community spirit evaporating when faced with the prospect of an empty tank. Love thy neighbour? Nah: just punch him in the face. That’s what happened at my local petrol station, queues for which snaked down the road at all hours. Stop. Panic buying. Fuel.
Meanwhile, over in the ‘Na-Na-Na-Na-Na: I’m Richer Than You Are’ corner, Londoners whose wealth hasn’t been annihilated by the pandemic have a fancy new restaurant to go to. Recently opened in Knightsbridge, Nusr-Et bills itself as ‘always prioritising its guests’ comforts and tasty habits’.
Owned by Turkish chef and influencer Salt Bae, the restaurant’s signature tomahawk steak is one tasty habit that is unlikely to become too ingrained, given its £630 price tag. You could buy a lot of petrol with that. Can’t quite stretch to £630? Never mind: a Coke is a snip at £9. As the world crashes, burns and slowly turns vegetarian, it’s almost reassuring to know that there will always be people who lose their shit about expensive steak.
Daniel Craig took daughter Ella to
the Bond premiere; Damon Albarn took daughter Missy to the Versace show.
When a Twitter user called her unpunctuated tweets ‘painful’, Cher replied: ‘As a dyslexic who is followed by scholars, I don’t give a fk how much pain you’re in.’