Bibliostyle: Green Ball Gowns in Catherynne M. Valente’s ‘Radiance’


Above: Pamella Roland Spring 2016

Our yuletide green had been knitted out of jute and wire and shredded dresses by the Udolpho triplets, those wanton Martian contortionists and-as I had discovered- wanted counterfeiters., from Guan Yu. Each of the nine women aboard had donated a green gown to the effort. We whirled away under Cythera’s lime spangled flapper-fringes, Harper Ibbott’s hunting cloak, every girl’s bright emerald and olive hoopskirts cut and ruched into garlands. We were a strange lot, the Obolus cargo, some famous, most not, all vibrating with the things we did not tell each other.

  • from Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente


Above: Sally LaPointe Pre-Fall 2016


Above: Pamella Roland Fall 2016


Above: Jenny Packham Fall 2016


Above: Toga Fall 2016


Above: Monique Lhuillier Fall 2016


Above: Hellessy Fall 2016


Above: Jenny Packham Spring 2016

Bibliostyle: The Electrical Field by Kerri Sakamoto


Above: Kate Spade New York Resort 2017


Above: Leonard Resort 2017

It must have been those colours she wore, like flower bursts, that convinced the neighbours she was the real thing, fro Japan. While I had my quiet browns and navies. On one or two occasions I saw hakujin men slow down on the street just to watch her, to try to catch her eye. A true Japanese lady from a samurai family.


Above: Valentino Resort 2017


Above: Roksanda Resort 2017


Above: Fashion East Spring 2016

That was what she told me, her lowly lady-in-waiting. That was what I was, but I didn’t mind. The Saitos were samurai too, but I kept that to myself, letting her have her moment. I knew what it meant to her, for all her nonchalance. That day, she wore a cherry-red scarf at her neck, less fine than her usual style–tie-dyed by her daughter, by Kimiko, she told me. There were rings inside rings on it, all bleeding into the centre, staining the white parts. It seemed to trick my eyes, the rings heaving with tremors, and I couldn’t decide whether the red was staining a white piece of cloth, or the white was bleaching out the red.

– from The Electical Field by Kerri Sakamoto


Above: Tsumori Chisato Spring 2016


Above: Vanessa Bruno Spring 2016

Makeup, Magic, & Daring: Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente

‘Do you think I am a fool, Masha? All this time, and you speak to me as though I were a flighty pinprick of a girl. I am a magician! Did you never think, even once, that I loved lipstick and rouge for more than their color alone? […] Cosmetics are an extension of the will. Why do you think all men paint themselves when they go to fight? When I paint my eyes to match my soup, it is not because I have nothing better to do than worry over trifles. It says, I belong here, and you will not deny me.’


Above: Sacai Fall 2016

“But I will say to you: Blue is for cruel bargains; green is for daring what you oughtn’t; violet is for brute force.”


Above: Vika Gazinskaya Fall 2016


Above: Vivienne Westwood Red Label Spring 2016

“I will say to you: Coral coaxes, pink insists; red compels. I will say to you: You are dear to me as attar of roses. Please do not get eaten.”


Above: Tibi Spring 2016


Above: Stella McCartney Fall 2016


Above: Alberta Feretti Limited Edition Spring 2016 Couture



All from Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente


Bibliostyle: Catherynne M. Valente’s “Radiance”



Above: Trussardi Fall 2015

The window stayed shut. The door swung open and a pair of long, long legs slid out. Legs like a pilgrimage. Silver stockings, pumpkin pumps, suit green as the salads I haven’t seen in years. Her scarf was a scrap of silk the same colour as the Talbot, disappearing down her cleavage–which, I’m happy to report, was both substantial and on display. The dame didn’t even get out. She leaned her elbows on her knees and plunked her sweet little face down into her hands. She was tall, but delicately built, like a moth. She had rouge on, but not a slut brand. The expensive stuff. The kind that comes in colours with names. The kind that comes from home. From Earth, where you can make anything as easy as tripping and falling. Lipstick to match her shoes. Eyelashes as long as my thumb, tipped in a soft fuchsia fringe. Nails to match her big violet eyes. I bet she had the shade done up special–the nails or the eyes; I wouldn’t know which. A classy piece by any measure. She smelled like accounts receivable. She looked like old money. The kind of money that can ship a Talbot all the way to the outer planets without chipping the paint.

  • From Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente


Above: Missoni Fall 2015


Above: Miu Miu Pre-Fall 2016


Above: Versace Resort 2016


Above: Mary Katrantzou Pre-Fall 2016


Above: Rosie Assoulin Resort 2016


Above: Camilla and Marc Pre-Fall 2016

Bibliostyle: Middlemarch by George Eliot


Above: Creatures of Comfort Spring 2016


Above: Trussardi, Spring 2016


Above: Zero + Maria Cornejo Spring 2016


Above: Opening Ceremony Spring 2016


Above: Hellessy Spring 2016


Above: Celine Spring 2016

When the drawing-room door opened and Dorothea entered, there was a sort of contrast not infrequent in the country life when the habits of the different ranks were less blent than now. Let those who know, tell us exactly what stuff it was that Dorothea wore in those days of mild autumn–that thin white woollen stuff soft to the touch and soft tot he eye. It always seemed to have been lately washed, and to smell of the sweet hedges–was always i the shape of a pelisse with sleeves hanging all out of the fashion. Yet if she had entered before a still audience as Imogen or Cato’s daughter, the dress might have seemed right enough: the grace and dignity were in her limbs and neck; and about her simply parted hair and candid eyes in a large round poke which was then in the fate of women, seemed no more odd as a head-dress than the gold trencher we call a halo […]

LuisaBeccaria_spring2016_blueAbove: Luisa Beccaria Spring 2016

marchesa_fall 2016_blue

Above: Marchesa Fall 2016

The gentleman was too much occupied with the presence of the one woman to reflect on the contrast between the two– a contrast that would certainly have been striking to a calm observer. They were both tall, and their eyes were on a level; but imagine Rosamond’s infantine blondness and wondrous crown of hair-plaits, with her pale-blue dress of a fit and fashion so perfect that no dressmaker could look at it without emotion, a large embroidered collar which it was to be hoped all beholders would know the price of, her small hands duly set off with rings, and that controlled self-consciousness of manner which is the expensive substitute for simplicity.

  • from Middlemarch by George Eliot


Above: Jenny Packham Pre-Fall 2016


Above: Monique Lhullier Pre-Fall 2016


Above: Guo Pei Spring 2016 Haute Couture


Above: Vionnet Spring 2016

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