i don't really like kanye west. it's nothing personal (lies: it totally is), i just find it hard to esteem rampant narcissism and daft-punk-degradation in a man. this is perhaps a shame, as i might otherwise find his particular brand of tourettes intriguing and endearing.
suffice to say, i've been fostering a slight grudge since the stomach-turning stronger. so when lisa armstrong's telegraph piece about his debut ss12 collection in paris appeared on my feed this sunny morning:
stick to the day job, kanye: kanye west's debut fashion collection is rap with a capital-c.
i'm not going to pretend i wasn't suffused with a subtle sense of schadenfreude.
by all accounts, west's designs aren't heinous, merely misjudged. armstrong is right: the world does not need another bandage dress. nor another pair of skin-tight metallic jeans that languish in our wardrobes, waiting patiently for the day we magically metamorphosize into ms moss. and fur rucksacks? for summer? is that what i'm going to be taking to tamarama this season? that one is going to be a delight after a bit of saltwater and salt and vinegar get to it.
i think it could be the overlong jeans, the metallics that sing pure bling, or the undisguised penchant for shine-on-shine ensembles, but i can imagine west himself donning a few of his creations before an evening of good ol' fashion mic hijacking. perhaps this is where he went wrong: for womenswear, his offerings are old time, but made for men, maybe it could have been a runway revolution. although, let's be honest: probably not.
all in all, there's nothing too damning - i don't think a smear campaign against such a worthy opponent is a calculated risk the tele is tempted to take. however, if it were me, and my collection was referred to as a "stupendously vacuous enterprise", i'd certainly lay low for a while.
time to alphebetise the mink collection, perhaps.