Like...damn.
I want, I want, I want. But incoherent babbling aside; I surprised. Normally, for me, surprise is a bad thing when it comes to the offerings from fashion houses. This is not so much because of change, as I love to be pleasantly surprised...but often they're not the pleasant kind. Departures often spell disasters. Jacobs' sense of sex is nothing entirely new (think even of his fronting his own fragrance campaign) but the Louis Vuitton shows of late have been tailored and boxy. Now we have a similar era as the inspiration once more but expressed differently. This isn't the formal lady of the forties, this is the sex kitten that was hiding beneath. Think screen sirens; think rolling around on top of a piano; think luxurious fabrics lying against, and slipping down, bare skin.
Enough of a mind-picture? Have some actual pictures!
And PS: Maybe the entire pj look is not quite the ticket but underwear as outwear done tastefully is always perfect.
(All images from vogue.co.uk)
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