Shame On Fashion

 Oh, come on high fashion! There is no sense whatsoever in what I see in "that" fashion magazine that was once a leader in what people put on their backs. Today it is so bizarre and has been for so long, that we no longer expect it to make recommendations for what actually, we wear.  "High" fashion is so high that it doesn't make sense. It is science fiction. Gone are the designers that strove to tell us what makes our bodies appear great in the way the seam lines stream, or the patterns compliment, or the lengths enhance, or the fabrics entertain. Now we have a nudity of sad, skinny girls, yes girls, trodding the ramps in creations that only the richest individuals in the world can afford. If they wanted to. Models' feet are encased in dangerously high platform soles and heels that could be used as gardening tools. Never to meet a floor for longer than fifteen minutes at most. Why? The reason is that no one attends a fashion show to find something for wearing. Fashion shows are circus performances with music, are on sets and have literally, actors and gawking audiences fighting for the favor of a front row, so to be photographed rather than for having anything to do with clothing to don. It is all viewing silliness prancing past with the audience selfy-ing as it happens. I am not being cynical. This as it is.  The reality of pomp and fakery. Chanel, the godess of fashion once, spent her life making women look appropriate and comfortable. She was passionate about fabrics to fit on actual people. She used a stairway in her own business location to carry out her shows in a sane fashion world. But, today, I viewed on line in The Magazine and saw photos of an important fashion event that looked like a science fiction spread. One of the models wore a neck to floor plunge of feathery layers spreading out like a huge, pink Christmas tree. Another model had a screening front, back and side, of metallic gold bar patterning with extensions of ornate grids of gold bent bars, reaching out beyond her body. Her pathetically thin legs below miraculously carried this creation, from one end of the carpet to the other without becoming impaled. Still others wafted huge amounts of flounces and bounces and trains and flaps, all never dared to be worn on a busy sidewalk or party or show. Like, who is kidding who? Why call it a fashion show? It is a circus. Oh, come on high fashion!