Last month I did what was supposed to be an introductory post to a store I pass with some regularity here in London, and my utter befuddlement at the tackiness of the garments displayed in the window. My fascination with this shopfront stems largely from its proximity to world-renowned designers within a ridiculously ritzy sector of the city; if this same store were located in hectic, outrageous Camden, say, or far East London, it wouldn’t even catch my eye.
Reactions to the post were mixed; some folks were right with me in awe of the selected accessories and the shop’s rigorous commitment to theme (it was turquoise that week), and others thought I was needlessly harsh. I get the second reaction, really. The sequined number I photographed does look kind of Vegas-fab in the picture, and perhaps I failed to highlight how especially low-rent it appeared in person. It is my intention, with the pictures below, to drive home my original point, but of course feel free to disagree!
The other critique I got was from a concerned reader who worried that publishing my mockery of the store on the internet could lead to unpleasant consequences if the store owners ever caught wind of it. I gave it some thought and decided that a) I won’t be using the name of the store, although I suppose one could locate it if one was in the area and so inclined to traipse about in search of it (but really… why?), so it won’t pop up on an unassuming Google search and b) I love this store.
Seriously, it gives me tremendous pleasure. In a neighborhood of ostentatious wealth and luxury playthings, I am beyond delighted to find this confection in spitting distance of Hermes’ tasteful decor:
It is like a belly-dancing fungal infection of the most thrilling variety. It is glorious! Note how your bedazzled thong would poke tastefully out the back. Do you recall that I mentioned a HEARTS theme from a couple of months ago? Witness this, friends:
It’s a behearted blazer and it is for serious bizness meetings. It comes with a matching, lacey behearted camisole underneath and it basically says, “I will put a stiletto through your eyeball if this property deal does not come through in my favor.” Do you hear me? No? How about now?
Please, just tell me what party you’re attending for which this is appropriate attire. I want to know, because I need to wrangle an invite, especially if there’s an Alice in Wonderland theme and we’ll be drinking Pimm’s.
Now, do you recall the curlicued dress I described in the last post as: “appears to be fabricated from thin polyester and employs more wiring in its avant-garde hoopings than a college production of Peter Pan”? It was hard to revel in it’s glory because black doesn’t lend itself to photographs through glass, but we thankfully have a red pantsuit version now:
I know. Your Joan Collins Halloween costume is flashing before your eyes.
Finally, there was an episode of Sex and the City you might remember, in which Samantha dates a short guy. They get into and argument when she says she doesn’t want to date someone who buys clothes from the boys’ department and he asks, “And where do you shop? The Big N’ Tall Whore Store?”
I HAVE FOUND IT. Samantha would buy this suit, and if I were a skinny supermodel type, I think I could rock this. Picture it: no shirt underneath, breast bones sticking out, perhaps a long necklace, and an androgynous haircut. It would be beyond hot. It could be SWINTON hot, or La Roux hot.
And that is the magic of the HCfSW store. Just when it seems like the biggest, most incomprehensible joke, they have something up in there that makes me pause and think, “I want to wear that in my fantasy life.” Bless it.