Manolo says, you must go look at this posting from the Coveted. It is based on last week’s article in the New York Times about the lack of black models on the runways of this seasons New York fashion week shows.
Here is the excerpt from the Times.
Of the 101 shows and presentations posted on Style.com during the New York runway season, which ended a month ago, more than a third employed no black models, according to Women’s Wear Daily. Most of the others used just one or two. When the fashion caravan moved to London, Paris and Milan, the most influential shows — from Prada to Jil Sander to Balenciaga to Chloé and Chanel — made it appear as if someone had hung out a sign reading: No Blacks Need Apply.
The article is quite good and not the little disturbing and depressing, and thus it is well worth the reading.
What Jennine at the Coveted has done is gather together the head shots of the models from the runway shows, and in so doing has dramatically shown that the look of the moment is very pale, young, skinny, and blond. But when has it not always been thus?
Manolo says, this is one of the better fashion-based pranks the Manolo has seen.
Manolo says, here is some of the week’s best writing from the Manolosphere
I hate sock monkeys. I hate them with a burning passion.
It all starts, as things do, with one small misstep, a minor oversight that unwinds balefully into tragic chorus.
I’m still amazed at the expectation that stress and misery are the primary emotions involved in wedding planning.
Francesca always tries to make sure that she has more than one white blouse in her closet.
Somehow it reminds me of a bed that the Dowager Duchess of Cornwall should be climbing into at night, demanding querulously that her servant place a warming brick at her feet, rather than a three year old.
Everytime Michelle Rodriguez hits the clubs and springs headlong into a vodka haze, she faces that age old dilemma of deciding between her two most trusted counsellors.
If plagiarism is a fashion crime, then the fashion detectives has better investigate this suspicious case.
Then there’s the Donald Trump, although why in the name of all that is holy you’d want your precious treasure to resemble that cotton-candy monstrosity of a comb-over I cannot imagine.
Let’s face it, it’s hard to dispel the “all big girls are desperate” myth when confronted with seventy three plus-size stewardesses inviting you to “fly the friendly thighs” in the span of a night