blame it on the moon, that is the “white moon rising” moniker of australian label, lover’s, last collection for my sudden, wanton bohemianism. anything remotely hippie or doily-like would normally have me running for the hills, but of late the victorian-influenced, prim-yet-arch looks from this cult fashion label have me swooning. i want all of them, the lacy bodysuits/dresses, the slinky maillots, the liberty prints & ruffles that will no doubt resurface in a couple of months. perhaps i am spellbound. something about them is quite the nod to late 60s british rock and roll, like if i throw on one of the dresses i could channel jean shrimpton on the arm of terence stamp (& trim enough off the dress to fashion a mantilla).
there’s something very editorial, subversive and brooke shields in pretty baby about them, too, or like their target demographic is a girl wanting to look like an extra for the wicker man, the original version not the botched thing with nicholas cage. right now, i just might be that girl & something this girly will definitely call for some wry juxtaposition, say an ld tuttle giger-bootie. i love these kinds of looks that can go really soft with sandals once warmer weather comes but can be thrown over wool tights with boots or mary janes, a lot of eye liner and an oversized, bulky coat that belies the flimsy layer beneath. they blithely say, i’m with the band. pic of the designers–who cite everyone and everything from antonioni, public enemy, the kills, bob dylan, robert johnson, woody allen, etc– immediately below from refinery 29, all else lover, except the pics of terence and jean (getty images and terry o’neill)