“Let’s start her in something fabulous,” says Edward Enninful, British Vogue’s editor-in-chief, as if there were any other option. We are here for Lady Gaga’s Vogue fitting, of course. I even spot some Elizabethan-style ruffs. “She’s 10 minutes out,” says a handsome security person, popping his head around the door, as a phalanx of assistants move silently about a fabulous, temporary, shimmering grotto of couture.įreshly delivered from the shows in Paris and Venice, there are rails of Valentino silks in electric amethyst and fuchsia, inky black Schiaparelli velvet bracketed by gleaming gold, serious Chanel brocade, polar-white Louis Vuitton knits, headpieces fashioned from metal, leather and feathers, a hundred pairs of heels in every height, and table upon table of rainbow scarves, gloves and jewels. In a windowless studio in Chelsea, Manhattan, the pink marabou trim on an ankle boot is fluttering expectantly in the breeze from an electric fan.
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