It all feels a little bit Topshop for me. Or Karl Lagerfeld for H&M, way back in 2004.
Designer Karl’s surname was Lagerfelt, but he changed it to Lagerfeld as ‘it sounds more commercial
But my main gripe, aside from the price tags and the fact he served foie gras, is that there is nothing new and fresh here at all. Not one new idea, simply some that have been recycled or reduced, like a particularly pungent chicken stock.
You might wonder how Lagerfeld, who was born in Hamburg in 1938, finds the energy to design yet another brand, given he not only helms Chanel, but also Fendi, and has an interiors line, too.
And herein lies the rub. Why produce such a large collection of more than 70 pieces? I would always prefer a few impeccable staples that have been done really, really well.
I feel Karl or, sorry, KARL, is railing at the constraints at Chanel, where he’s reigned since 1983.
At his couture shows, I have often gazed at the customers in the front row — all of whom have passports that say they are over 60 (showing a photo ID is a requisite as you file into the Palais), but faces that are curiously frozen in time — and wondered how they feel as they look upon the 16-year-olds parading the gamine and the mini and the sheer.
It is an odd, fantastical, delusional dance, and you won’t find that sentence written anywhere else.
My goodness, but then all the other journalists would be forced to return that lovely limited edition iPad!
‘It’s so slim!’ gasped one Parisienne as she was handed hers.
Which just about sums up this whole collection in one.