FASHION FILMS: Prét-à-Porter

In 1994 I was 12 years old. The 90s remind me of mocha brown lipstick, flowered dresses, combat boots and daisies, wishing I were a plaid-skirt wearing coed on the pages of thick slab fall fashion issues of Seventeen, Vogue and Harper's Bazaar... Linda Evangelista's haircut, day-glo Betsey Johnson editorials, Nirvana, that patchouli-scented vintage shop downtown where i purchased my favorite lime-green 60s shift dress and pink golf shoes- both of which, I still own.

After having made a habit of watching Style With Elsa Klensch since the late 80s, it was also a decade during which I became more familiar with the blatant marriage of fashion and film. Granted, MTV's House of Style with Cindy Crawford was dope, and I swooned over Cher Horowitz's magical closet in Clueless. But Robert Altman's Prét-à-Porter certainly gave me a healthy dose of Parisian fashion, murder and intrigue on the silver screen. Not to mention a really great song called "Here Comes the Hotstepper" by dancehall dirtbag Ini Kamoze. "No no we don't die/ Yes we multiply/ Anyone test will hear the fat lady sing."

After all, what 12 year-old could help but love the utterly profound nude fashion show at the end? I count it as a pivotal moment in my still developing artistic brain.