4.18.2010

a simple but respectable Sunday-going-to-church outfit out of a Willa Cather story.

picture from Metmuseum.org

I'm now just feeling an hearty tribute to this cult mirable outfit that celebrates this year its tenth birthday but keeps keeping intact all its qualifying features of brilliance, irreverence and poetry. For those of you currently based in the New Continent I strongly recommend a pilgrimage to admire it at the Met.
Now let me delight you with the touching parabola of the Resurrecting Mattress, told by none less than Miguel himself:

“That was also part of my theme of portraying the streets of New York. Quentin was my neighbor for nine years and I would see him every day eating eggs at that same diner. I always said hi to him but we never talked. It was that kind of feeling you have with people you see all the time—you know them, but you don't need to talk to them. He was my neighbor, about four doors down from me. I used to see him all the time.

“I was sorry to hear Quentin passed away, and I miss seeing him. But one day about two weeks after he died, I was walking home and there was a mattress on the street, and someone told me it was his mattress. So I dragged it into my hallway and started cutting it up, and it gave me and all my friends this terrible rash because it was so old and dirty. And then it became the coat that I used on the runway. I think he would have been very proud to have seen his mattress end up like that.

“At the time the homeless had no ticking, Giuliani kicked it out of the shelters. Like England kicked out Quentin Crisp for the way he was; but I [heart] NY gave him a mattress. A mattress like the one I am now consulting (over) and writing from, remembering . . . a f[—]ing freezing night on Third Street between First and Second Avenues covered by a thin layer of snow. He was lying down on the sidewalk, the bodiless mattress. But with a lot of knowledge, the knowledge of sharing someone’s dream of freedom, something priceless, like the ticking fabric that I was lucky to rescue from conventionalism, trying to bring some light to the memory of my once neighbor.

“I was trying to show the downtown he represented. At the same time, I was trying to show how hard it can be for people who are sleeping in the street. I tried to make a nice, tailored suit with Quentin's mattress, as if somebody slept in it all his life. It was meant as an honor. There was nothing macabre about it. Quentin was elegant and chic"

And now's when we all start sighing with emotion. That's why we love Miguel Adrover, because of his ability to see beauty in rubbish, his fearless financial carelessness, his brave indipendence from fashion system and fashion rules, his daring somehow filthy irresponsibility, the preety way in which he proudly admits he has never heard about Diane Von Furstenberg.

"Sometimes I wore a fringe so deep it obscured the way ahead. This hardly mattered. There were always others to look where I was going." Quentin Crisp


pic from Style.com

Ok, this kind of prophecy just before 9/11 was kind of creepy.

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