Taking a deep breath, Steven tried to calm himself, though it wasn't easy. The restraint and formality of the fashion show bound him tightly, even more so than an awards ceremony. Sitting in the front row, under the gaze and flashes of caras, he felt completely out of place.
It was torture.
Pure and utter torture.
Then Tom's voice reached his ears, prompting Steven to adjust his posture, sitting up a bit straighter. He gathered his scattered thoughts, and before he even looked at the runway, his ears caught a sound.
Hmm?
As a director, Steven was highly attuned to the three-dinsional experience created by the collision of visuals and sound. This was the unique allure of film.
And here, in the fashion show, it was no different. He imdiately noticed the hypnotic, dazzling electronic drumbeat in the background music—it was srizing.
"Welco to your life, there's no turning back. Even while we sleep, we will find you acting on your best behavior, turn your back on mother nature…"
Steven froze. This…
This was "Everybody Wants to Rule the World," released by the rock band Tears for Fears in 1985. Even now, it remains one of the greatest and most iconic songs of the 1980s.
Sure enough—
"Everybody wants to rule the world…"
The song, in its upbeat yet dreamy way, expressed inner madness and the fear and fragntation behind it, conveying a sense of unease and anxiety about the Cold War era. Although the lyrics contained no provocative language, the sadness was fully realized within the light, bouncy chaos of the lody.
Steven hadn't expected Hedi Slimane to choose this song as the opening background music, imdiately setting the tone for the entire show.
Then the models took the stage—
Slim, tall.
Towering, upright.
Today, there was no raised runway at the Dior show. The models and the audience stood on the sa level, with the audience not having to crane their necks to look up at the models. Yet, under the cold ivory light, that figure erged from the hazy shadows, slender yet towering.
Black suit, black trousers, white shirt—
Cliché?
No, not at all.
The suit and trousers were made from draped silk fabric, flowing down the body like water, soft and snug. It wasn't entirely form-fitting, yet it precisely outlined the body's proportions, with the shoulders, arms, waist, and thighs clearly defined, subtly exuding a mix of elegance and fragility.
The shirt was no exception, without a collar, with the neckline rolling up like waves, the buttons undone, lightly fluttering with each step, revealing glimpses of the body's lines. But it didn't feel sexy—more like a rebellious nonchalance.
Though it was the simplest, most basic suit, it carried a rock 'n' roll vibe, devoid of seriousness or rigidity. Instead, it distilled the purity and simplicity of youth, blooming in the black chrysanthemum pinned to the left chest—cool and lancholic, romantic yet wild, noble yet ambiguous, swaying gently to the hypnotic electronic rock lody.
With one entrance, the model easily captured all attention.
Even Steven, a complete outsider to fashion, could sense sothing different, a quality he didn't like, even sneered at, but couldn't help being drawn to—a magnetic aura that was impossible to ignore.
Step by step.
The figure approached, light and shadow naturally flowing over his face, highlighting the sharp contours of his features. His icy, aloof blue eyes gradually brightened through the mist, as if he were the only person in the world.
—Anson Wood.
Steven blinked, his mind montarily freezing, almost unable to process what he was seeing.
Was that really Anson?
It was different—completely different. This was not the sa person he had t in the studio or during dinner. The aura he exuded now was utterly distinct.
His coldness and defiance, his fragility and loneliness, his detachnt and rebellion—all quietly hidden beneath the deep blue ice, yet mingled with a kind of innocent purity and simplicity. There was an alluring quality to him, infused with a distinctly French essence, making him seem almost unreachable.
Could this really be Anson?
"…There's a room where the light won't find you, holding hands while the walls co tumbling down. When
User Comments
0 comments from readers