Et Tu, Christophe?

The keen-eyed sharp dresser, James Tuttle


by James Tuttle

Please welcome a new contributor to PFC, James Tuttle.  He will be dropping in from time to time with a few bons mots and opinions about fashion and lifestyle.

Gentle reader,

I’m taking a short break from watching a riveting episode of Bad Girls Club to share a thought with you.  Well, perhaps a few thoughts.

The most immediate is to dissuade as many as possible from using BGC, as this charming and occasionally violent women’s empowerment show is known to its devotees, as any type of fashion reference. You see, I’ve been in the fashion industry for many years and nearly all of those years have been spent with top designers. Whenever I see a young lady veer toward a selection that is embarrassingly (for her or for me?) too short, too tight or too low and hear her declare that it’s “okay because it’s for the clubs,” I suggest that she go topless and write “SLUT” on her forehead.  How’s that for a declaration?

Don’t get me wrong; I’m all for “sexy” but that can be better accomplished with a bare back in a high-necked, long sleeved gown.  It doesn’t have to involve every possible inch of skin, even if the young lady is in exquisite physical condition.  Unfortunately, they rarely are, even in L.A.  I should also mention that my morning commute often takes me past an array of Santa Monica Boulevard’s black trannie hookers before I reach Beverly Hills, and I find that they really give me a sense of perspective on the whole matter of just how much is too much.

On the left: Kate Hudson's back. Seriously sexy. On the right: Jennavacia from BGC's front. Seriously something else.

But enough about me.  First, Galliano’s supremely stupid pro-Hitler gaffe (in the Marais of all places!) landed him rightfully in the global Dog House. This fall from grace was especially hard to watch after his couture collection for Dior, based on the work of French fashion illustrator René Gruau, brought tears to my eyes and made me fall in love with the drama of it all a little bit more.  Where are we to draw the line between the artist and his work?  Hitchcock was a sadistic prick and I still love his films.  Picasso was a serial womanizer and a sadistic prick and people still pay millions for his paintings.