Lagos Fashion and Design week ended two weeks ago. I didn't do it like I did it last year, and that makes sense. I'm not the same as I was. Last year it was exciting and fresh and new. The novelty of it spurred me to exertions quite unsuitable to my normal pace of doing things. I do things slowly. I process slowly, and I tire easily. You could probably say that these reviews are too soon, because I'm not done processing. My opinions are not fully formed. But alas, if I were to wait any longer for the sake of processing, you would forget that I was there, and my words would lose whatever weight they had. And that's enough of an introduction. The night isn't young anymore, and in an hour or so, my words will be tainted by fatigue.
Tiffany Amber is a brand. And that brand has a girl. I cannot quite say that it is a girl I like, for I like my girls to be real fully formed creatures, with complexities, and secrets that their treatment of chiffon often fails to convey. Moneyed princesses and political wives and debutantes are one thing, but I prefer tortured souls and character traits that hide themselves in seams.
The clothes are beautiful in stride. The models kick, and the fabric follows. There is beauty in that, and there isn't a single soul that would deny it. But what happens when it all stops? When the five foot eight and above hangers stand to allow Folake Coker play to the crowd, are the clothes as impressive as they were mid-lunge? They're not. That's the simple answer. The magic is lost, and the moment that could have been had is too. The lux materials she's used no longer seem as impressive as they were a moment before, and the girl isn't as intimidating as she was when she marched down with her head held high. I do not forget that I was smitten as they walked, but as they stand there and clap, it feels like an undeserving infatuation. It's the moment when you find that your idol isn't worthy of your adulation. I know it well.
The photographs say the same. They do not elevate the collection as they should. You see that the dress you thought was perfect didn't fit all that well, or that the fabric you thought was richer than anything else shown in those four days wasn't as exclusive as you imagined. It is stronger than her display last year, but whether that is strong enough or not, I can't say. I can tell that her girl will be pleased, but I fear that she hasn't said anything new. In this age when every one begs their designs to transcend the constraints placed by stitches and cuts and slits, is it not a missed opportunity?