Pray, consider the curious plight of the modern woman of letters, who, having mastered the grim details of criminal chronicles, suddenly finds her heart yearning for the whims of fashion. A certain Madame Sasha Sulim, a lady of some renown in the journalistic circles, has seen fit to present herself to the public in a gown of such sheer transparency that it would make the most seasoned Victorian dowager faint dead away.
In a spirited attempt to emulate the avant-garde elegance of the British actress Miss Tilda Swinton, our protagonist donned a black lace garment, adorned with a flower of most prodigious proportions. To complete this masquerade, she employed a wig and high-heeled mules, as if preparing for a ball where the guest list consists entirely of ghosts and eccentrics.
As is the custom in our present age, these images were cast into the digital ether, where the public—those delightful creatures who possess an opinion on everything from the weather to the coronation—immediately fell into a state of utter commotion. The salons were divided. Some gentlemen and ladies exclaimed, "Phenomenal!" and compared the sight to the spirited Daisy from the tales of Mr. Gatsby.
However, there are those whose tastes are far more stringent. These critics, with a severity that would shame a schoolmaster, lamented the choice of hair colour and the poor quality of the light. "This is no homage, but a mockery!" one cried. "Miss Swinton is the very pinnacle of elegance, whereas this ensemble is merely vulgar." Indeed, it seems that in the quest for art, the fine line between a daring fashion statement and a mere costume party is as thin as the lace of the dress itself.
One cannot help but smile at the notion of a lady who, having once posed in a provocative manner for the magazine Dog in the autumn of last year, continues her relentless battle with modesty. It is a most amusing spectacle: a lady who spends her days observing the depths of human depravity, only to spend her evenings wondering if her wig sits straight upon her head.