What the chairman of Valletta 2018 wore at a press conference to announce his support of Mercedes Benz Fashion Week
Published:
May 3, 2014 at 10:39pm
That’s all I needed to see after Mrs Mizzi’s delight in her aviators (see previous post). I can’t even bear to deconstruct this outfit. It’s too painful.
It’s as though he was at the supermarket with his wife on a Saturday morning, then suddenly remembered about this press conference, rushed home, grabbed the first ‘gakketta pulita’ he found (which happened to be that of a waiter at a terrace restaurant on the Italian riviera), threw it over his jumper, thought about changing out of his jeans, said ‘sod it’ but changed out of his trainers instead, then scrambled back into the car.
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Ah, but you missed HIS aviators!
Jason has them hanging wedged in the arse pocket of his jeans. You can just see them in the photo.
You are very observant H.P.
I work in the fashion industry, see. It’s my field. And Jason will soon plant thousand of pansies in it.
Jason seems to labour (pun unintended, I swear) under the impression that “fexxin”, being “cool”, should be “kexwil”. He just doesn’t get it.
Fashion is stylish. Stylish means just that. It doesn’t mean casual. Especially when casual means aspiring preppy. Word of advice for Jase: when you have that body type, you can never carry off casual. Never. You try stylish and you end up doing nerd.
The solution is to go sartorial: style instead of stylish. If I had Jason’s job that morning, I would have worn a suit – possibly a double-breasted chalkstripe – with a pair of women’s knickers as pocket square, as a tribute to the goddesses of the catwalk.
I would have worn a boutonnière made out of shredded banknotes, as a tribute to the transience of it all, and a nod to the snouts in the trough.
I would have been flanked by two supermodels three feet taller than me, and I would have had a magnum of Veuve Clicquot chilling in a silver incense burner, courtesy of Heritage Malta, to emphasise the decadent luxury.
I would have given my little speech glass in hand, then posed for a few snaps alongside the supermodels, à la Joseph Muscat and male admirers, before taking questions, which I would deflect with random quotes from Cocteau.
As Marie Benoît once told me, “It’s all about glamouww, dahling.”
What’s this thing with Maltese men wearing jeans and “zarbun pulit”?
Oh! Is he married?
OMG it still fits. Il-glekk tal-libsa tal-precett still fits. Awesome.
White jacket and white socks – such a fashion no-no. If he doesn’t even know that I dread to think what wonderful ideas he has for V18. Malta would be such a wonderful place if they all kept their place.
Don’t forget Nair’s white shoes, on occasion.
Quite stylish
Popeye thought he was Bogart for a day.