It is mega-annoying when Blogger craps out in the middle of a post and there you are, with the links and the prose and the thoughts in your head--all vapor.
Here are some interesting links to funeral news and obits of YSL. All mention Proust and it’s almost as if Proust died again with him.
And now my own insignificant story. A newspaper article (most likely the NY Times) mentioned Laurent’s pumping new vigor into the Safari Suit. I remember I had one (not the designer’s) way back when. I put one on a character in The Shadow Warriors, in fact.
But this week, on a dark, rainy day, I pulled a linen safari blouse out of the ironing. Yes, readers, I am one of a handful of females who still iron. Napkins, handkerchiefs, towels, a few articles of clothing, and what have you.
The safari shirt/blouse is a bitch to iron with all the epaulet straps and garbage, but it’s kind of cool. Imagine my surprise (no, you absolutely cannot) when I saw in that newspaper article that in 2008 (this year!!!!) and 2007 (last year!!!) big name designers had touted safari clothing again, under the influence of YSL.
Which meant my long-in-the-tooth blouse was Au Courant. Who knew? So you may catch a glimpse of me flitting around Boston in black slacks and a safari blouse, or pale silk slacks and a safari blouse or even black jeans and a safari blouse.
And I am reading Proust again. After a month of thrillers and what have you, mostly written at third grade level (I am not making this up), Proust with his long sinuous sentences and subtle observations is a culture shock.