Fashion Victims by Michael Roberts
The Catty Catalogue of Stylish Casualties
While I was in Miami for Thanksgiving I bought an amazing book of catty fashion poetry and prose by Michael Roberts. From his privileged perch as fashion and style director of Vanity Fair, Roberts has adopted the role of cultural anthropologist carefully identifying and then meticulously deconstructing the strange ‘tribes’ that inhabit the sometimes bizarre but always entertaining world of international fashion. Roberts also put his background in fine art and graphic art to good use representing the various tribes he routinely encounters. As beautiful as his collages are (and they are indeed very beautiful), it is his witty and insightful commentary delivered in a crisp, sharp prose that more than justifies the purchase of this very funny book. Margaret Meade could not have done a better job had she been parachuted into the main tent at Bryant Park herself. Well done Mr. Roberts! I will include a few of them from time to time on my blog.
Has wasted space inside it’s head.
And when it comes to introspection
Prefers a mirror for reflection.
But here, dear readers, we intend
to contemplate the world of trend.
Dissect the egos, greed and lies
That dazzle fashion’s butterflies.
And then in language full of sass
Strip bare the vain, the mean, the crass.
And here’s one I love.
B is for Bimbos
We go to parties, cameras pop.
I look really good, he feels on top.
I wear Alaia short and tight–
He says it helps his appetite.
On opening nights, it’s never boring
while he cuts deals I stand adoring.
He calls me “Babe,” I call him “Winner”
I’m always on his knee at dinner.
The flunkies bow, the waiters fawn–
They think I’m someone big in porn.
He’s buying Burbank–Ain’t life great?
(I love his choice of real estate.)
He told my agent I’ll go far.
I’m thinking “Spielberg.” Me–the star!”
This poem calls to mind images of the “Real” Housewives of Orange County. Oh Bravo–what is happening to you? The Housewives of Atlanta? Really?
See more of the book here.