Tom Ford

Tom Ford is walking away from Gucci. I am beside myself with grief. Ford and some other dude Domenico De Sole who nobody cares about but is the money side of the famous fashion house are leaving because the shareholders, the Louis Vuitton mafia and the dynamic duo cannot come to an agreement about some shareholder bullshit. This is a real tragedy. Tom Ford is a genius. I hate fashion, I hate the fashion industry, I hate the fashionistas, I hate fashion shows, I hate most of the couture culture, but goddamnit – I love clothes. Therefore, I must love Tom Ford.

Keep in mind, this is not just about Gucci. This split affects not only Tom Ford, but his entire dream team posse, which includes Stella McCartney and Alexander McQueen, the only designers today that matter (besides Ava Stander, designer for High Class Cho), as well as Yves Saint Laurent, which is just blasphemous. Don’t fuck with Yves. That is just not cool. Yves did Catherine Deneuve’s wardrobe for “Belle du Jour.” Never has a woman been dressed more beautifully, never has anyone looked so buttoned up and ready to get down at the same time. I will kick the shit out of anyone that says shit about YSL. Say whatever you like about Dior, but you step up to me and dis YSL, you will be leaving in a Murakami body bag.

Tom! Don’t go! What shall we do without you? Actually this might be the best thing he has ever done. He will hopefully go on to create another majestic empire that will smash all his rivals and become the be all end all of all y’all. I love Tom Ford’s eye, he is a visionary and a business marvel. He revitalized the nearly pronounced dead Gucci, once only known for the icky fragrance that induced carsickness and the red-green-red stripe logo. Gucci is now the most successful label around. He is kind of like the doctor that Robin Williams played in “Awakenings.” Tom Ford rolled the rock away from the tomb of Gucci and brought ruching back to life. Perhaps he will come back someday, the Prodigal Designer, and they will kill the fatted supermodel to celebrate his return.

Tom’s clothes are about the woman who is unabashedly sexual, rich, in control, sits with her legs really far apart and has a job where all these behaviors are totally appropriate. They are Expensive Black, in that in the unwritten laws of fashion, if you wear something simple and black, it has to cost as much as a car. They are pretty unwearable if you have titties at all. I have quite a lot of Tom Ford, and I can’t wear it yet. I am waiting for my double mastectomy. I don’t know exactly how to catch breast cancer, as I know it isn’t contagious, but a girl can dream. Tom does a lot of the tops that have no back and no front and no point except that it costs $5000. You know those weird dresses that have a v- neckline that goes down to the waist and you don’t know what to do with your breasts at all except perhaps Krazy Glue them under your armpits and hope for the best. I have done it too, and sorry to report that the glue might be able to keep that construction worker from falling to his death by attaching his helmet to that beam, from that old commercial, but my tits are heavier than any construction worker, and will not be told what to do.

Still, I pay for the shit, because it is pretty. It makes me feel bad about myself, and that is what high end clothes are all about, isn’t it? Isn’t that what fashion is make us all feel inadequate? Unattractive? Unappealing? Poor? Stupid? Ugly? So shitty that we have to go buy things we will never wear because the fact is that maybe someday we might be transformed and become like the beautiful birds of paradise on the covers of the magazines if we just buy enough, if we believe them enough, if we just keep trying, keep dying, keep lying. Thank you for everything and nothing Tom Ford. Your clothes are beautiful, but only for a very select few. For the rest of us, we can wear your fragrances, with names like “ENVY” and “RUSH.” How appropriate. Especially “ENVY,” The joke is on us, and we get it. Go off and prosper wildly Tom Ford. Live lavishly off the blood money you make by inspiring anorectic girls who kill themselves to look like the women you have given us to admire and aspire to being. Thanks for making us think that we could purchase beauty, freedom, love, happiness. Thanks for the disappointing reality that after we had spent all we had, we couldn’t fit into it, much less buy it, own it, ever hope to have it. May you create a fashion house that destroys the industry and swallows it whole.

May you get what you deserve. All that you deserve.

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