Seeing Double

September 14, 2014 29

24 hours later, a speedy hello from the sunny island of Bali.

Before I get too deep into my mountains of re-cap content from this past week and a half of guest buying in New York, I thought I’d hail a speedy hello from the sunny island of Bali. Hello! Indeed, I just roughed the New York – Vancouver – Hong Kong – Bali long-haul to shoot a killer editorial with the ultimate yoga rebel, Tara Stiles, here at the W in Seminyak this afternoon – so watch this space and brace yourselves, people. The word is out that Tara is a superbabe.

Meanwhile, as usual, I’m not dressed for the weather – rather, the air-conditioning. South-east Asia is notorious for its steamy streets and Arctic shopping malls, so in that sense, I can surely be excused for my patched triple denim. The same cannot be said for the wedges. Then again, when you’re vibing Chloé from any season between Spring 2009 and the present dayand you’re effectively lounging on Lana del Rey’s lips, no less,all can be forgiven without too much debate.

Such was the argument behind my installation of this Texan Tuxedo up at Westfield Carindale, anyhow.

I will admit that I would certainly not be preaching this sartorial message if I were writing to you from Ubud or the Gili Islands – both of which I have somehow failed to make the time for in all too many instances working commercial photo jobs between Nusa Dua and Seminyak over the past two years. And, so, we beg the question of that fashion sub-season so awkward, that Paris has taken to calling it Cruise to avoid the misunderstanding of unbridled tackiness for a very particular demographic of ladies who lunch. On a yacht. The size of a small country. Would I finally succumb to the eternal confusion that is The Kaftan? Oddly placed fringes? Culturally inappropriate turbans? Those bizarrely insubstantial strappy leather sandals with a giant ornament between the first two toes and no arch support whatsover?

Never say never – fast forward to my inevitable mid-life crisis at fifty, and I may or may not be sailing around in a lovechild of Cavalli leopard and Stella McCartney citrus. Others would call it disturbing. But, until I make that trip, this is Resort wear.

And I’m not hating it.