Pondering on why, when I’m a diehard Modernist of sharp outlines and white boxes, I love anything by Versace. I mean, you’d think one of the less flamboyant Italians, like Armani, would be more my scene.
But there’s something in the way Versace oozes personality and quality, intricate patterns executed in the best fabrics. The brand of a sultan rather than his merchants. I don’t wear any of the clothes (being neither female nor gay) beyond a few bits, but I admire the beautiful designs the same way I admire a Mandelbrot Set … or the trace-trail outlines drawn by a particle accelerator searching for the Higgs … or the Islamic decorations that predate Penrose tesselations, non-repeating patterns that cover a vast area yet retain fivefold symmetry.
It’s because there’s science in there, blended perfectly 50:50 with the art.
All my ties are Versace, all totally different in colour and pattern, yet somehow all part of the same family. (A red, and a blue, and a yellow one. Maybe I should add magenta, green, and cyan ones for a hex palette? Hey, I could continue on with spring, teal, orange, pink, violet, and azure and I’d still be web-safe!)
I’ve got a black Versace suit too, and it just ‘fits right’, sculpted around the body to give an idealised tweak or two to the male silhouette. That’s why only gay men can design clothes; straight men just aren’t interested enough in the male body and women don’t identify with it enough.
Those Versace guys. They even die artistically.