Versace x H&M

Versace tops as one of my favorite design houses of all time, for many reasons. It’s no wonder, then, that I was floored when news of a Versace x H&M collection was to hit select stores in November 2011.

Perhaps floored isn’t the right word—yes, I was excited at the prospects of the democratization of fashion. Versace was catering towards a more mainstream demographic (for plebs like myself), crossing lines in the process. And while collaborations between large, consumer corporations and luxury designers aren’t unusual—I do believe Target popularized the concept—this was different. There’s a distinct socioeconomic hierarchy in the so-called “fashion world,” and mobility isn’t exactly easy. Take a look at the layout of your local mall—note how the Charlotte Russe’s and Sear’s are grouped within the same wing, and how Nordstrom and Sephora are closer in vicinity. Then compare malls in different districts; Nordstrom is high-end in one city, whereas in another Bergdorf’s and Neiman’s are considered true luxury.

But I digress—my point is this: H&M may be an affordable, mainstream retailer, but unlike Target, it’s a fashion retailer. A respected one—unlike the more notorious Forever 21—at that. Credibility is instilled. Marketing efforts are geared towards a niche crowd and therefore more effective. Which, inevitably, means that campouts and infinite lines were to be expected at its release.

I didn’t think my local H&M would carry the collection, but lo’ and behold, they did. Pricy, yes, but brilliant in quality—far better than I had expected. And one month later, there were actually items left. It was all very true to the luxury design house’s aesthetics. Unapologetic, sexy, a throwback to their eighties’ vision. (I loathe all things eighties, but I make an exception for Versace.) While they weren’t necessarily the ones I secretly had my heart set upon (namely a studded leather trench and coral gown Jessica Rabbit would wear if dressed by Donnatella!), but a round of dress-up in the fitting room never hurt the soul.

And by round, I mean just one, solitary piece. The only left in my size was a bustier—fate, I tell you.

I’d show you pictures, but I’d rather not have such scandalous pictures of myself up and about the Internet; I think my mother (and any potential bosses) might have a heart attack. I’d rather not be held liable for any impending deaths, thankyouverymuch. But let’s be frank: black heels (of any variety) + black skinnies + corset top = a simple and beautiful equation for evenings out.

I’ll show you pictures where appropriate one day. When you’re older.

.   .   .

x

P.S.: I didn’t actually buy it. It was well over $$$, not in my budget. But the few minutes I spent twirling around in my 4 x 5 fitting room were well worth it.