a Georgian violence of vogue in Prague

the show begins

Georgia is on their way to ushering in a new era for her citizens as they are—as I post this—entering into a new visa-free regime program with the European Union. But they’ve already been coming in in all sorts of different spheres, like in fashion.

A month doesn’t go by where I don't see another article about Georgian fashion designers breaking into the market, whether it's in Vogue magazine, W, or People. Not that I read any of those, I write this only because that’s what I see on Facebook and in fashion, I casually let Facebook memes control my reality. But those articles are out there, nearly all of them titled “Georgia On My Fashion Mind” or some other derivation of the song-title-that-will-never-die. There’s Demna Gvasalia, who recently won a CFDA award, and Avtandil, who apart from being the local oligarchs’ fashion weapon of choice, also has clothing lines on sale across the globe.

baggy is big

Being in such a position as I am, I found my way to a runway walk in the Prague Fashion Week, which featured Irakli Rusadze’s work. Rusadze got a young start making clothes at 13 and debuted at the Georgian Fashion Week in 2010. Since then, he's found his own brand Situationist, which caught some fame when Bella Hadid wore one of his outfits.

Most of his pieces seemed to revolve around baggy coats that were admittedly pretty sharp. A huge step up from the usual Tbilisi fair of puffy ski jackets passed on as prima donna wear anyway. The models wore nothing but the clothes, so I wondered if that’s how Rusadze envisioned women wearing his designs.

red until the start

I didn’t know quite what to expect from the show. We were escorted up an elevator by a skinny fashionista wearing all black, with a black faux-fur cape, and a headset like Madonna might wear at a concert. He brought us up to the third floor of the Kotva building in downtown Prague, which had been re-purposed for this fashion extravaganza, with floors of white light, white walls, and a glowing white desk where they were taking people’s tickets. We had a VIP pass though, so our caped crusader brought us right out to the runway and to our seats. Everything in the actual event space was glowing red, waiting for the event to start.

Hunger is the title of my upcoming book

The runways wove around like a freshly done spaghetti noodle, which is to say, fittingly like a letter in the Georgian alphabet. A single row of stools were on either side, where sat buyers, reporters, and other randomly invited guests like yours truly. We sat down on our stools and I got to have a look at what was happening around me.

people waiting, people walking

People fell into a couple of categories. There were a lot of pretty normal looking people just milling about. I guessed those were mostly journalists or random guests. Then there were people with crazy hair and platform shoes, busy taking hundreds of selfies of themselves to post on their Instagram accounts. I’m going to assume those were bloggers. And then finally, the people in truly expensive clothes that had the sort of skeletal, drawn appearance of the late David Bowie, though with dead, disinterested eyes, eyes that had seen too many atrocities on the bodies of the ill-fitted. Those must have been the buyers.

useful gown for picnics

The red turned to white. The people took their seats. A droning thump of house began. “Relax,” I told myself. The show was about to begin.

I didn’t really know what to expect. Secretly I was hoping for a bunch of Irina Shayk lookalikes wearing only pants. But then what happened was incredible. Something entirely almost not noteworthy. There were moving, robotic mannequins wearing clothes, rolled on out one after the other. Each woman looked gaunt and starved, stomping across the floor as though their next morsel of food depended on it. Their lifeless eyes what becomes of one after years of starvation, drugs, and being stared at by numbers of people until everything becomes a numb sensation, until you become a numb sensation yourself.

They are used as a mannequin is used, it really made no difference if their skin was plastic or flesh.

hospital mode

Piece after piece came about, hanging loosely as any clothes must on such models. What was exceptionally striking was how almost all of the models looked as though they were cast from the same mold, curious clones of an original idea of womanhood.

And then my thought, of how at least I’m told this is the idealization of the woman’s body.

rethinking career choices

It was my first fashion show, so of course I would be shocked by this. But looking around, no one else was. These all were fashion show veterans. They’ve been to so many of these that no doubt they were completely desensitized by the affair. They knew these models weren’t human, they were just models. They didn’t need to sympathize with Bulimia Patient No. 3 or Anorexia Patient No. 12. To them it was all a normalized affair, as it would have been to an SS escorting their own models along for the end of line process. That is possibly an exaggeration, but the process if very much the same.

Eliminate the human standard at any point and we humans can do true wonders to each other. But then, situation normal. The lights dimmed, the music stopped, the cell phones were out and selfies renewed. The model humans and their rags were forgotten in the oncoming deluge of self-obsession, which too, was a normal thing.

#fashion #rantsandraves

a Strasbourg gallery

In the last blog, I talked extensively about Strasbourg, a kind of Venice of Alsace, or an Amsterdam of the South, as some might say. It's a beautiful Alsatian town, filled with an array of medieval and modern that makes for a nice juxtaposition of Germanic and French cultures. A real jewel of the Rhine. Here are some street photos of our last visit:

Le Petite France

Be sure to read the blog and find out more of the beauty of the town.

#gallery #Strasbourg

the fast lane to a misty city

Cathedrale de Notre Dame de Strasbourg

The autobahn seemed to be entirely under construction as we drove through Germany. Normally I enjoy cruising down the highway at maximum speed, zipping past cars as though I were piloting an X-wing making my way past TIE fighters and cannons as I narrow in to destroy the Death Star. But this time, our speed was kept to a minimum most of the time, which wasn't a problem as we had decided to veer off and hit many a country road. But it seems to me I now know the dark truth as to why Merkel wanted so many refugees: she was simply hungry to fix up Germany's highways with cheap labor. Americans should take note as our highways and bridges crumble into something resembling a scene from Mad Max. Finally, though, we were exiting Germany and crossing the Rhine River. It was already dark and we could only see the vague moonlight and street lamps shimmering on the great expanse of water below. The Rhine was one of the most strategic rivers in Europe, holding a range of fortresses since the Roman times, protecting (or not) civilization from Germans in one century or another. Now it’s a peaceful and scenic place, lined with vineyards, forests, and foothills on either side. circles...

Strasbourg cathedral square

We were finally entering Strasbourg, but the highway seemed to make endless concentric circles around the city, winding us closer and closer to our hotel, which was on the edge of the old town. Strasbourg now exists as one of the capitals of Europe - it's the seat of the European Parliament - though far from being a major city in and of itself with less than a million residents. The old town area is the Grand Island (Grand Ile), a huge island created by a network of canals off of the River Ill. Few cities can compare with Strasbourg’s beauty and it is by far one of the most inspiring cities of Europe, with its meandering waterways, weeping willows hanging over narrow streets, riverside walks, charming cafes in hidden courtyards everywhere. And for a city its size, it’s brimming with cultural monuments, from the second tallest Catholic cathedral – Notre Dame de Strasbourg – to a Gothic revivalist Lutheran church, to even the largest mosque in France, something for everyone really. When I first visited Strasbourg, it was after a visit to Paris. I had spent a week in Paris trying to fit everything I could, knowing that I probably would never return. And to be honest, I haven’t looked back since. The city drained me dry of money as though I were a drunk on the Reeperbahn. But after that long week, I had taken the high-speed train to the European capital and looked at France with a new-found respect and wonder. I was happy to go back a second time and this time with my wife, getting to relive the beauties of all the scenes again through her wide-eyed amazement. We were staying at the City Residence, one of the cheaper places in town that was near the train station and a 10-minute walk to the Grand Ile. The hotel was clean enough and each room had a refrigerator and a sink, but we had to unplug the refrigerator due to the noise it made, which sounded like a freight truck was driving through the flat at three in the morning - not an overly pleasant experience after an evening of drinking cheap wine while sitting on the canal. The neighborhood seemed safe enough and had a few Turkish pizza/kebab restaurants to make for cheap eating. I found some of the best pide in my life in that area, hands down better than anything in Turkey. A short walking tour

Place du Marche Gayot

From the hotel, we went down to thePlace Kleber. In summer months it’s home to fountains and in winter, a giant Christmas tree. In mid-Spring though, it was cold and barren with a nice view of Notre Dame’s single tower rising above the short skyline, a feminist obsession in a city of low rise structures. So we used that phallic beacon as a guide and followed it through the winding streets and alleys, until we got to the 12th century Cathedrale Notre Dame de Strasbourg. Until the 18th century, it was the tallest building in the world and is today the sixth tallest church in the world. From its topping, it shone like a gem all the way up and down the Rhine. On a clear day, it can be seen from the Vosges Mountains to the south and from the Black Forest to the north, standing like a great red rose, tall above the city. The interior is equally stunning, with an alter filled with medieval paintings of the apostles joining in the ceremonies. The church is decorated with some truly remarkable stained glass windows as well, which were thankfully removed by the Germans during WWII and thus weren’t hurt by the Allied bombings. The next site we saw was the Place du Marche Gayot, a ridiculously beautiful square surrounded by half-timbered houses and filled with outdoor cafes. This is a good place for lunch, dinner, and drinks and the drinks were surprisingly in the normal price range, not like the areas in directly in front of the cathedral, though this was an infinitely more beautiful and peaceful spot. We came back later that night to visit the tiny bar l’Alchimiste, featuring a tree in the middle of the bar and large cocktails lit with glowsticks. The place could have been better had they been playing more appropriate music than 80s hip-hop, but we all fall short somewhere.

the Lycee International des Pontonniers

We continued our walk past the architecturally stunning Lycee International des Pontonniers and on over to the huge St. Paul Lutheran Church, which stands between two canals as though the plotters were trying to make it at least as visible as their Catholic rival of Notre Dame. From there we walked up the river and chose one of the random boats to have a rest and a coffee, sitting on a shaded bank. There were many inexpensive places moored to the bank and were all ideal rest stops for the budget and non-budget traveler alike.

Le Petite France

We walked up the river stopping to wonder about several small side streets until we finally arrived at the crowning glory of any visit to Strasbourg – Le Petite France. It’s the corner of the city that has truly been frozen in time, filled with huge, white, half-timbered houses, huddling in the early morning mist. The quarter is filled with bridges, restaurants, walkways, and parks, and one could easily spend all day there soaking in the atmosphere. The restaurants cater to travelers of all ilk – you can easily find some pricey French fair, as well as the much cheaper flambees – which are basically huge pizzas made on Armenian lavash.

Ponts Couverts

The last bit of the day we spent at the Museum of Modern Art, which was across from the three towered Ponts Couverts and the covered bridge Barrage Vauban. The museum had a decent collection, which was most notable for my future bathroom tile design by Kandinsky. The best work and most representative artwork though was outside in the shape of a giant, bronze man of shit, as though making the great proclamation that modern art and the rich people who deal in it are shit. The joke’s on someone, indeed.

the value of modern art

#museums #hotels #Strasbourg