Kinder Aggugini is the sort of favourite designer who comes up with something new each season. What doesn't change is the air of timelessness to his pieces, I'm thinking, as the the sirens in his clothes float by me. To me, his collections are episodes of a story. There is an immortal who once set herself to wander the world, settle into a different way of human life every other decade, seeking knowledge, doing what others do, to experience all the facets so something remains when we're gone.
No deep sadness to it, and no pressure either. It's all just a way of life.
Nowadays, she steps out into the pale daylight of a city somewhere, channelling Fifties French couture, Eighties conceptual Japanese fashion, and Peggy Guggenheim's eccentric style in cashmere and silk, in black, cream, flashes of scarlet and floral print.
She is too beautiful to blend in. You'd think it's the hair and the make-up, but somehow, subconsciously, you know you're wrong. It is the style, the attitude, and the impossible weight and depth of who she is. And where she passes, time stops for a second as the world poses for the snapshot she is taking with her into eternity.