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Lore Mar~1.a.a
• W.
1.ener
___

RUFFLING IT
The ruffled
blouse is
Byron, an uncompromising
aristocrat,
shown here
with two of his ladies.
On the left,
Byron ruffles
with a regal skirt--an
I1VlW
wrap-around
skirt
in
~ure silk taffeta.
Skirt,
$195; black, navy, chocolate.
Escort,
$135; offw~ite, champagne, white,
silver
grey.
On the right,
with Spanish

ruffling
nobility.

Braid is the finishing
touch on this winter's
llllW velvet suit.
Its
name is Castille.
It
is made to be accom_,.- panied by classic
guitar
and roses.
$480.

COVER: A unique, magnificent,
antique Chinese ceremonial
apron,
redesigned
by us to be worn now. Each of its four panels is an
embroidered
dream--an idealization
of birds,
flowers,
hills
and
water in gold and silver
thread.
The figures
gleam like treasure
against
vertical
bars of lapis lazuli
blue and a background of
bright
red--the
Chinese colour of happiness.
The overall
effect
is, indeed,
one of joy.
With it is another happy thing--a
pleated
blouse called
Lightning
(Electricity
cut short)
which we consider
an excellent
Western
complement to the Oriental
look.
It comes in white, champagne,
marine,
and crimson.
$190.

(ANTI-STAR II)
THE WORSTOF IT IS
what the star-cult
does to its devotees.
Let 0 s begin with the stars themselves.
While stardom lasts,
it brings wealth,
power,
and above all status.
The sort of status
no one should have--fawning
adulation.
In
those stars with less integrity,
it creates
conceit--an
arrogant
assumption
of infallibility.
This may spell disaster
for the
star's
work, or whatever he is a star for,
only widening the gap between what he is and
how he is treated.
There is also the trouble
stars must
have in establishing
normal human relationships.
If everyone you meet wants your
signature,
your shirt,
or your small-talk
as a holy relic,
you are unlikely
to get much
in return.
Except dollars.
Designers
have
made fortunes
recently
selling
their initials,
The dollars
count for something.
I
feel less concern for the stars than for the
rest.
To be a non-star
who believes
in stars
is essentially
uncomfortable,
Stardom can
come only to a few; yet the wish for stardom
infects,
to some extent,
nearly everyone.
Here again the star-religion
suffers
by comparison
to the worship of more abstract
deities.
Only madmen wish to be God; more
sober theists,
aware of that impossibility,
are content
to be human. The star-myth
says
we can be demi-gods.
For those who hope,
there is anguish;
for those who have given
up, a lingering
sense of failure,
The wonder is that anything as bad for
people as star-worship
should thrive
as it
does.
I suspect
the answer lies in the fact
that it is worship,
and that its objects
are
ones in which people somehow find it possible
to believe.
We want to believe
that someone
or something is wonderful.
(It's
as though,
in order to strive
for an ideal,
we need the
encouragement
of knowing that someone has
already
achieved it.)
This deep yearning
is
hampered by the dominant metaphysic
of the
industrialized
world in 1977, which is materialistic.
A great many (perhaps a majority)
find it impossible
to believe
in beings who
are the sum of all perfections--but
who lack
bodies.
Stars have bodies;
so we can believe
in them.
Despite this inspirational
function
of
stardom,
it is a pernicious
institution.
The
idea of the demi-god--of
mortal perfection-always tends to corrupt.
The ideals
become
tainted
by the realities
which are supposed
to embody them.
So, let 0 s bring the stars
back to earth.

r

The
Cheek
Night

Essential
to the Renaissance idea of good
living was splendour-unabashed colour,
sparkle,
decoration
of
the body, celebration
of the self.
The
twentieth
century
rebirth
of that
idea is Capulet--a
coat in dazzling
Siamese silk,
with a
detachable
ruffle
to
frame the face or cinch
around the waist as a
a demi-bustle.
A
marriage
of old and
new, splendour
and
flexibility
and
simple pleasure.

$675.