Writing a negative review about a resort collection is a bit like responding to a glossy invite sent by a 21-year old fashion PR inten with a note included, something along the lines of, ‘No thanks,” before pausing as your concentration slips, your fashion brain disrupted by your overworked radiator, struggling to stay alive following yet another brutal North East deep freeze.
“No thanks,” you continue, “I’ve really enjoyed this 10-month long New York winter and don’t think I need to hop on a plane to Miami/France/Spain anywhere for an all-expenses paid junket to sip my body weight in champagne and snap two dozen Instagram pics of pretty non-models, all while basking in the 100-degree, balmy heat,” you conclude, as you sit, huddled over your laptop in your shoebox apartment, gazing wistfully at the closet of summer flirty dresses and strappy heels you’ll be able to wear for approximately 45 days.
Writing a bad review about a resort collection is unofficially a breach of conduct which will indefinitely result in you being banned from attending another one.
Case in point: Dior’s Resort 2016 collection, which unfolded at Pierre Cardin’s Palais Bulles on the lovely French Riviera, a nice place to stop over before meeting up with your celeb acting pals in Cannes.The 12,900 square-foot residence – designed by Hungarian architect Antti Lovag and constructed between 1975 and 1989 – sits on the Cote d’Azur holiday hideout of Pierre Cardin, aptly named, “Palais Bulles.”
While most NY fashion folk were happy to just hop on a plane and escape the seemingly endless winter and its accompanying overload of professional sport, Dior softened the blow for those acclimatizing to a normal, livable temperature, with an overload of free swag.
Guests rocked up to the Hotel Majestic Barriere Cannes to a welcome bounty consisting of spffiy shades, panama hats, Dior beauty products and fresh peonies to boot – just in case your pale, ghost-like New York skin takes a day or so to adjust before allowing you to brave the outdoors to smell some real ones.
In case anyone started to remember they were actually there for work, Dior quickly intervened, providing pre-show entertainment by way of some pétanque, a French leisure favorite and relative of the better-known Italian game bocce. “Lessons came courtesy of appropriately dapper tutors,” one attendee commented on her Instagram feed “reporting” of the event, following which she popped a couple of bocce balls into her bag as a souvenir of her “crazy-busy” work trip, where she “met sexy men with foreign accents!” In Cannes? Who would have thought…
Exhausted from the corporate grind, our said fashionista pulled-up stumps by the hotel’s infinity pool, texting her assistant instructions for her to attend the actual Dior show and populate her Instagram feed’s daily quota requirements.
For those that attended Dior’s offering for resort 2016, they were treated to a feast of pastel pink and bold yellow patterns, splashed across flirty summer dresses, while mesh white tops were teamed with structured minis, as part of what played out like a mash-up of ladylike-yet-modern silhouettes, courtesy of Belgian fashion designer Raf Simons.
Model Vanessa Moody tweeted, “Just arrived in Paris on Sunday morning after two days of work in NYC, and now off to my Dior fitting via motorbike,” proving that for these hard-working models, there are no summer Fridays. And most definitely no rest for the wicked.
“Finished with my fitting in Paris, back to the airport, and already landed in Nice for Dior Cruise. Excited for my first time in the south of France,” she continued, “My office for the next 48 hours. Forward my calls to the pool.”
The only other profession where you get to ‘work’ by the beach is if you’re a 45-year old overweight day trader hiding out in the Canary Islands to catch a tax break, while at the same time housing your assets in a bullet-proof location away from the grubby paws of your two ex-wives.
Back at Dior, models sauntered through chopped, oversized terracotta bulbs, which looked like the wayward sunburnt cousin of Meatpacking’s Maritime Hotel. Except that, unlike the Maratime’s ship-inspired portholes, which overlook the dreamy façade of Ninth Ave. and the New York City Housing Authority visage beyond, Dior’s front yard for the day was the Bay of Cannes, palm trees, blue skies, sparkling water and all.
Knitted tennis dresses and laser-cut skirts were taken from day to night with the addition of black, pointed ankle booties, while chic pantsuits were given an ‘Amal Clooney on vacation’ vibe via leather flip-flops, an upgrade from your hostel days wearing the Haviana kind.
Closing the day’s work celebration of everything fashion, summer and everyones’ favorite luxury vacation spot, Cannes, was a bout of fireworks, heard by everyone but one fashion editor, yes that one still held captive in her apartment in ‘wintery mix’ New York, that one that wrote a bad review, about a resort collection, that one winter, onetime, ever.
