Where Angels Cheer to Tread

So this is how angels dress. No doubt their dress is--as it is everywhere--dictated by social convention, pecking order, closeness to godliness, self-expression, economy, and the ability to fly gracefully.

This being the dress of angels, however, it must feature distinct adornment to separate it from the dress of mere mortals. That would be us, faulty creatures that we are, flailing about in our bad trends here on terra firma.

It is tempting to say that Christian Lacroix both speaks the language of angels and defies ours. In his Spring 2008 couture collection "Angels Passing By" he has offered salvation for our poor, Puritan selves who spend far too much of our time trying to be moral and responsible.

The world is in a bit of a mess, I'm afraid. It is time for a celebrity to wear something gauche and to feel beautiful while doing so. It is time to set aside the fear of public humiliation and to assume one's mantle of excess as the angel assumes her wings.

This is not a time for sober reflection. Leave to Hillary the practical, the matronly, the purposeful. To Hillary, who would not appear on the cover of Vogue lest she be clothed in an embarrassing meringue. Leave to Hillary's handlers the subjective matter of taste.

It is an unfortunate truism that the increasing independence of women in most instances does not extend to independence in women's dress.

Still, as progressive creatures, we who have no executive powers must feed our appetite for change. We cannot have change without first changing ourselves. We cannot swallow the world's bitter pills when our outsides are decorated with industry.

How dreadful it would be if we looked back in horror, discovering too late that we had spent our lives failing to ennoble our bodies with the frivolity they deserve. Good frivolity, of course, for those who understand the power of being a circus aristo.

There is an inherent problem with the wearing of frivolity, especially when it is not your own frivolity but the frivolity of another. How, for instance, would one wear the dirndl skirt and apron of the Bavarian waitress that is covered in the spots of the Dalmation? And what regressive, childhood apologia is required to pull off a giant, one-legged bloomer from which sprouts a perfectly sane, boat-necked short-sleeved blouse?

Here is where the Internet is used to happy advantage. The Internet has been blamed for many of society's ills, and indeed it does seem to have much to answer for. But it has also allowed for the immediate dissemination of information and image. One might be skating the thin ice of illiteracy, but one need not suffer the illiteracy of style. The Internet narrows the gap between information and reception, so that which might appear outrageous is so widely promulgated that it appears almost conventional. The punch-drunk shock of surprise is greatly diminished by repetition.

There was repetition in Lacroix's collection; Lacroix excels at reproducing himself. One gets, however, an increasing sense that the designer may tweak his collection like a wedding cake while at the same time exhibiting brilliant mechanics: How much is too much? Would another monster rosette be overkill? Let me just remove it...no, put it back...take it off...double the size!

Gone are the more hysterical hiccups, the recent apogee of which occurred in the Spring 2002 couture. If one is Lacroix, one is permitted more than one apogee per career. The pie plates and face veils atop the over-Baked Alaskas have slowly given way to a modified busyness that is almost imperceptibly closing the gap between the designer and his couture clientele.

Still, there is the slight problem of how some of this might be worn. Uma can wear it, because Uma isn't vulgar. Neither is Daphne Guinness. This is not to say that the pieces are themselves vulgar, it is just that an innate personal vulgarity might be enhanced where it could otherwise be diminished. Imagine Stella Dallas strutting in Lacroix's mummer's coat, and then imagine her in Valentino.

Unlike certain fashion-school graduates, Lacroix completes every last detail. Even where his pieces throw the models into a bit of contrapposto, the detail does not overwhelm the overall design. This is what makes Lacroix outstanding and allows him to continue to build his cult of omneity. The art of Lacroix is the art of life, or in this instance Kodachrome afterlife. The designer need only be harmonious with himself. Giddily, of course.

Hallelujah.