poliphilo

I don't understand high fashion. Nothing you see on the catwalk is going to make it onto the high street- more's the pity.

To say I admired the papal mini-skirt costume that Rihanna wore to the Met Gala would be inaccurate. I admire the cheek of it- but not the thing itself. It's striking but ugly. And rather silly. I'm not sure anyone looks good in a mitre- not even il Papa. I read somewhere that the mitre was originated by the priests of Dagon- a fish god disapproved of in the Old Testament- and is supposed to look like a fish's open mouth.

"How do you like my new hat? It honours Dagon. All praise be to him."

"You look like a twat."

"Correction. I look like a fish."

"If you say so."

"I'm going to wear it for the sacrifices this evening."

"People will laugh."

"No they won't."

"Ah well, on your own head be it."

I am reminded of the phantasmagorical ecclesiastical fashion show in Fellini's Roma- which is one of my favourite movies. I wondered how old he was when he made what is essentially a lament for lost youth so I looked it up and found he was fifty- which made me smile. When you're fifty you think you're as old as the hills- but you're not.