First of all, Vetements is pronounced vet-MAHN. Look at a mirror while saying it. Do you feel embarrassed, or at least tainted? Good.

If you don’t know about Vetements, you are free to go. Run along, and keep your innocence.

Still here? Okay. Remember when you were amused and startled by the outlandishly oversized hoodies and jackets by the new brand that seemed to be mentioned everywhere? You noticed that it was the streetwear brand of all the cool it-people, even Rihanna. The silhouette was easy to spot: it was absurd, like that David Byrne jacket.

Then you saw the prices and the joke got better. The price to look absurd was astronomical, ensuring that only the coolest it-people could wear it and signify to each other that they were in on it. Ha Ha, we love looking stupid if it means regular people cant’s afford to!

Now there are a bunch of copy-cat brands flogging the same gigantic esthetic and they are pricey too, because, why not?

I called my husband over to look at this Vetements T shirt selling for $395.

It’s a collaboration with Hanes, which sells a 3-pack of white t shirts in size 4XL for $14.00.

He got that the t shirt was a stupid in-joke, but was not thrilled by my counter-joke of just using a marker to write STAFF on a regular T. Only Vetements prople would get the joke, he pointed out.

Well, I still like that idea. I’d get it! I may be too lazy to execute it, though. Meanwhile, Vetements has collaborated with Juicy Couture to make those velour sweats, only priced at a zillion dollars.

There is an intrinsic value in the avant garde. But once the point is made, we have to move on. When something becomes a parody of itself, the art aspect is over. Tell that to fans of Rick Owens, though. They’re still drooling over that black saggy funeral fashion he keeps churning out, and every single fashion person asked about their style has to name Rick Owens as one of their go-to designers. Especially in New York; it’s the law there to worship Rick Owens.

Here’s an up and coming brand, Martine Rose.

This shirt is $635, but the rear-view is where the money went, in my opinion.

Imagine walking into a room wearing this. How chic! You could pretend you’re Alice in Wonderland and you just swallowed the Drink-Me that shrunk you!

Conspicuous  Consumption is still in play, maybe more than ever before, even among those who think they’re disdaining the practice by wearing stupid overpriced street fashion.

The Huge Clothes joke is over, rich people! Get ready for the next trend, teeny tiny clothes that look like they’re about to burst. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The skirt above, by Pearl Lowe for Peacocks is priced at $30.00

The skirt below, by Balmain, sells for $2,280.00

It’s worth spending $2,250 more for the Balmain because _________________________________.

This look from L’Wren Scott is everything I like.   Dress, model, attitude, shoes=perfect.

This dress by Deisel Black Gold would solve my leather itch, at least temporarily.

Oooh, it’s a modern Frida Kahlo from The Row!   Hate the Olsens, love their butch tailoring here.

Frank Tell neo-punk. It might be the hair that won me over but it’s a good look to wear into old ladyhood.

Rachel Comey: It’s the green boots I want, but I’d take the dress too.   Green boots will be the thing, wait and see.

Bibhu Mohapatra‘s elegant ladies with beehives and goth accessories are an aesthetically pleasing fantasy. I could never afford any of this shit but I love the retro sophistication.

A white shirt with black trousers and red lipstick. This picture makes me sad for every other garment and cosmetic item, which are all clearly superfluous.

~

Ralph Lauren Fall 2011, model Sui He.

Maxfield is a celebrated bastion of high-end designer fashion in West Hollywood,   where regular people like me can rub shoulders with anorexic model types and wealthy Japanese tourists. I went there for the first time yesterday with my friend Mark, who was craving a fix of Comme des Garcons.

We were greeted by several black-clad sales people, including a fat girl who told me, “I love your Vivienne Westwood bag,” which immediately made me feel bad about myself.

I wandered around in a daze, astonished by all the skull crap. Let me tell you, in L.A. the skull is still going strong. There were glass cabinets filled with diamond skull jewelry, skull replicas of every description, more skulls than you could shake a stick at. As if to prove the point, a Japanese guy wearing an elaborately rhinestoned skull hoodie and pseudo-gangster chains passed my way and grunted “Hi,” or maybe he was clearing his throat.

Racks of overpriced shapeless garments by all the important brands formed the periphery of the store. There were shelves of pointy shoes for the men, and ugly distressed oxfords for women. A sales girl urged a pregnant woman to buy a pair of shoes that screamed “Club Foot!”   I picked up a nice belt that turned out to have skull-shaped bronze skulls and cost $395.

Elsewhere, there was a long rack of Chanel items, including a $5,000 chain belt. A vintage Birken bag was $25,000. Nothing looked tempting, except for a furry handbag with a wristlet covered in big green glass gems. The tag on it was black, with black writing, so I was spared from learning its provenance or price.

The most striking aspect of Maxfield is the owner’s love of taxidermy, which is the new hip thing if you’ve been in a coma for the last five years. There were at least a dozen of stuffed chickens dressed in little waistcoats and necklaces. Most spectacularly unpleasant were a pair of stuffed leopards, one supporting a glass table top and the other laying dead upon the table, surrounded by candles and wallets.

I pet the poor dead animal and we booked to the Paul Smith boutique down the street, where everything was happy in shades of pink, green and chartreuse.