I know That was the first thing that came to my mind. It's absoutely tasteless. The collection might work editorial-wise, though.all about hookers
Va-va-va-Vunk! That’s Versace Punk, thank you, coined by the lady herself, and it was fabulous. Fabulous as in chips-all-in, over-the-top, brazen and absolutely, deliciously fearless. However many days into this long fashion season, we’ve seen a little of wonderful, a little of awful and a great deal of the unmemorable pleasant. Sitting in Donatella Versace’s high-gloss white tent (visibility a plus!) watched over by a giant silver Medusa, who wouldn’t delight in the big, black-and-white zebra (or was it tiger?) intarsia mink coat with red-and-black spotted collar worn over black latex corset and jeans? Betcha that one won’t fade into the March 7th blur.
Versace is a house with a storied history and some highly recognizable fashion iconography, punk references included. Yet in a preview on Thursday, Donatella insisted this would be her vunk only. “It’s not reverential,” she said. “I don’t like to look back. I do, but…”
Looking back specifically to any of Gianni’s great moments, to Elizabeth Hurley in safety pins, might have cast a reverential solemnity over this motif. Instead, Donatella kept all the renowned Versace and sex and sizzle and turned it into a there-but-for-the-grace-of-God-goes my daughter that was somehow as charming as it was hot. The heat was everywhere — in the vinyl maillots that served as underpinnings to great overcoats, their peaked collars tipped in crystals; in vinyl jeans, slashed cocktail dresses — some in animal prints commissioned from the Haas Brothers. Perhaps the charm lay in the ridiculousness of the luxurious low-slung vinyl-and-tartan kilts and an animal-spotted mink mini, or in the jet-topped nailhead earrings and bracelets.
One could note the presence of some terrific wearable clothes; “Broken down…” is a typical WWD phrase. But it’s more fun to focus on the glam gowns that fell from halters of densely packed three-inch spikes and the looks trussed in bugle-beaded harnesses, or that when the girls weren’t wearing boots done up with heavy metal, they wore sandals boasting tufts of perky red and yellow fur.
Best, of all, this collection showed the happy result of genuine daring exercised not by a kid with nothing to lose, but by a major designer who could have just looked nuts. Instead — Vabulous. With a V.
Once the Costume Institute at New York's Metropolitan Museum latches on to a theme for its annual exhibition, you'll find that notion gets major traction in fashion. This year, it's punk's turn. There's something of a disconnect in all that ardent youthful disaffection being spun into a museum exhibition, but even in its brief, heady, transcendent moment, punk was turning. Its irresistible, iconoclastic beauty infiltrated the unlikeliest corners of pop culture. Divine safety-pinned into Zandra Rhodes at One Fifth in 1978? That was hardly what Malcolm and Viv had in mind when they dressed the Sex Pistols two years earlier. You can only imagine what they would have made of Elizabeth Hurley trolling up to the premiere of Four Weddings and a Funeral in 1994, pinned into a Versace variant on the punk theme. But hey, however it comes, the house has a history with punk. And Donatella is fashion's original rock chick. So when those two threads were woven together tonight, you got one convincing statement. "Vunk!" she called it. The spiky edge of punk, the slinky sex of Versace.
Like her friend Tom Ford's show in London four nights ago, Donatella's presentation was fearlessly over-the-top. One word: vinyl! Its beyond-the-pale fetish connotations made it ideally unacceptable in the eyes of proto-punks like Siouxsie Sioux. Which made it an ideal cornerstone for Donatella. She herself was wearing vinyl jeans. She said they made her feel sexy. But she was also taken by vinyl's stark contrast with the luxe of cashmere, or the plushness of fur. Such extremes drove the collection: a coat as elongated as a military officer's paired with a pelmet skirt; a sheath of pure white crepe bifurcated by a strip of lethal nails. Spikes and nails and bolts were all over earrings and chokers and bracelets. It was discombobulating to see the hardware of pain reconfigured as a fashion accessory, but that was, after all, what Siouxsie, et al., did back in the day. Reconceptualize! No compromise! Gianni was a master at it. And Donatella has learned. Sometimes, she is hesitant about what she's done, but tonight it felt like she was truly at home with the in-your-face-ness of her collection. And it's enchanting to think that she might have headed off home later on for a good old blast of Slaughter and the Dogs.