this document is taken from www.vogue.com
As Taylor Swift embraces a glamorous new look, the country-pop sensation talks about fame, ambition, and the joys of being on her own.
Taylor Swift is sitting in the front row of the Rodarte spring 2012 ready-to-wear show during New York Fashion Week looking prim, if not chaste, in an ivory-colored confection with long, lacy sleeves, a high neck, and a full-length skirt—a look from Rodarte’s fall collection that was inspired in part by the spirit of the Kansas homestead. It is the sort of getup that treads a fine line between sincerity and irony, between too-literal costume and clever fashion reference. In other words, it takes a girl with a special sort of moxie to wear it without looking like Melissa Sue Anderson from Little House on the Prairie. The fact that Swift is supermodel thin, towers over everyone (at five feet ten she clocks in at well over six feet in platform Miu Mius), and has skin as pale as a gold-rush bride’s—well, let’s just say she falls somewhere on the continuum from fetching to dazzling.
That irony is not Swift’s strong suit makes her triumph all the more satisfying: She is wearing the dress; the dress is not wearing her. Perched here among the professionally blasé, she is all smiley gee-whiz confidence, full of hugs and exclamation points. Strangely enough, her opposite is sitting just two seats down: Rooney Mara, still in Lisbeth Salander mode, wearing all black and looking pale-to-green spooky. An editor sitting nearby jokes that the two could be the good witch and the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz.
As the models begin their procession, it quickly becomes clear that Rodarte, whose bad-witch aesthetic has made the Mulleavy sisters fashion darlings, has moved into Glinda territory. It looks as though they asked their casting director for an army of Taylor Swifts—lithe, pretty blondes with long, wavy hair, but wearing zombie makeup. Indeed, the entire collection—a parade of girly-pretty dresses, skirts, and hand-knit sweaters in a swirl of cornflower blue and sunflower yellow, with a few van Gogh Starry Night prints thrown in for good measure—looks as if it were designed for Swift. “I have never been to a show where I wanted to wear everything,” she says breathlessly.
Afterward, as we plunge into the crush on the street to find Swift’s car and driver, I overhear someone describe the collection as “prom on acid.” It strikes me that Swift herself might be described as all prom and no acid—for a certain audience, her music and her look are stuck in teenage gear. Which is why it comes as a nice surprise to discover just how sharp she is. She is clever and funny and occasionally downright bawdy as we ride around town with a small entourage on this hot fall day, visiting designer showrooms.
Indeed, one of the first things she mentions is the infamous honey-badger clip on YouTube that features a deadpan
obscenity-laced narration. Swift knows every line—though she asks if her cursing can be off the record. She may be edgier than her image suggests, but she is not Courtney Love. She has a deeply ingrained sense of appropriateness. She also knows her audience—and knows that they aren’t ready for her to grow up quite yet.
Tidak ada komentar:
Posting Komentar