The colors were like a peacock, and indeed, it's what Mr. and Mrs. Falguni & Shane called their line - Peacock Couture. I wanted to know if this couple from India had ever run across Colonel Brandon, however, no sooner had I made it within speaking distance when we were whisked off to see a show by The Lady Muse.
Wigless footmen with ill-fitted pants were goose-stepping on stage, looking quite serious, wearing the type of brocade one might find on the most expensive of draperies. The lady has a great sense of humour, and I shall write to our brother Edward to order several for his staff.
Over a few days, we were subjected to crashing music, more mourning outfits, ruffians, ragamuffins, and notables hopelessly trying to avoid notice. The models were thin and without adequate bosom to fill the decolletage of many of the fashions.
Despite their rather wispy and waiflike appearance, Miss Fong assured me the models are indeed, paid. On the last day, we saw a tribe of women with very large lips with hair left to dry, wearing nothing but undergarments.
Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week is, to say without exaggeration, the most democratic of events. For all the improprieties, the people were open, and most eager to make an impression. Fortunately, I met the erudite sartorialist Sir Tim Gunn. While not partaking in the free DHL cookies, Sir Tim could be overheard telling everyone to "make it work."
I will write again. I have a large number of cards and papers for free body treatments I received at the event. Despite proper judgment, I hope to go again. Though changed by this event, I remain your sister, -J.A.
Photo of a Modern-Day Jane Austen by Theo Westenberg; All Other Photos courtesy of Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week
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