Beauty is quite a mysterious thing. There was a time when it had to be synonymous with perfection; it was an Ideal. We had almost forgotten that the Ideal could also be altered. And had to be.
It never was that fixed, rigid unbending thing; it is the constantly changing horizon. And perfection? Ah, nowadays perfection takes a backseat to movement. Beauty: all kinds.
We catch a glimpse of these beauties in silhouettes striding forth, blithely unafraid of paradox, of unexpected alliances — on the contrary. Kalós as the Greeks used to say.
Using that same term, they pretended to confound the beautiful and the good. Physical splendour and moral grandeur. The Greeks always had a good sense of humor — of the clairvoyant kind.
Our metamorphoses have become our new idealism, our only beauty. He watches her dress. Organdy and leather. Light, powerful. When she puts it on, her hand beckons to a new horizon. Whisper sweet nothings in my ear? Let us stroll under a Bubinga pink sky, into dusk.
Whisper sweet nothings in my ear? Laisse-moi tranquille.
IMAGE CREDITS – RUNWAY: © 2019 Jean Francois José
Hermès © Copyright 2019