Tales from the riverbank
I like to think that the fashion editor responsible for this, at a working lunch that was light on the photoshoot ideas and heavy on the Chablis, looked down at their lemon sole and had a ‘Eureka’ moment.
No sooner thought than done, and that afternoon a whole crew of stylists and photographer types and models make their way down to the riverbank. A bevy of bemused fishermen out for a quiet afternoon’s sport curse sotto voce as every fish for three miles scarpers.
Shall we eavesdrop on the conversation?
“Now, Mirabelle, why don’t you just skip up to that nice gentleman and pretend to be interested in his rod? Oh, of course he won’t mind. He’s only standing about. And I’m sure he’ll be just thrilled if we borrow his equipment for a bit…”
Hmmm. That outfit above almost looks halfway sensible, doesn’t it? But what on earth is going on in the footwear department? Those aren’t just gaiters. They’re sandal gaiters (gandals? saiters?). Which is a contradiction of form and function whatever you call it.
Mind you, I’m not sure the white boots or high heels are the way to go either…
The problem inherent in cooking up any kind of consciously anti-glamorous photoshoot premise, whether it involves plastering a wall, collecting refuse, digging a swimming pool with your bare hands, etc, is that there’s a fine line between jawdropping fantasy pics and downright chuckle-inducingly unbelievable. And it helps if the model actually looks like they might, just might, be able to do that activity and incur the right kind of dirt, water, fish-juice, etc.
All this fishy business here? I’m just not convinced…
Pictures: L’Officiel de la Mode, 1971