You’re all too kind.
While he finally decided to dress his cast outside the dungeon— and wisely disposed of the awful logo/monogram, it’s all very reductive Mango/Georges Marciano/Amiri staples, with an Alaia corset belt thrown in— doesn’t make it Alaia-esque. I’ll take his teeny-weeny leather bandages anytime, anywhere, anyplace to this sexy-101 nothingness, frankly.
And his only saving grace remains secured: His toned cast of perpetually wet, oiled up, hair slicked back gorgeous playthings. ...And Paloma.