In the rotunda with silver echoes, fashion stretches out in porcelain brilliance, a celestial song as white bowls float, gliding across the basin’s azure, brushing against each other, clinking like an old synthesizer in slow-motion, for a major dream.

Ochre and khaki, autumn memories, a mint shiver, a navy beat, then gold, forest green, burgundy resonating through long, slender silhouettes, hands in pockets, souls a little distant. Bold shorts, sharply pleated at the waist, trousers echoing Midsummer Night.

Acrylic glasses, unapologetically oversized like Brad Pitt in Formula 1 country. The look is cool, wordless, effortless 80s, in chiaroscuro, forever. Less black, more skin, more play, as if suspended between two skies, distant Paris, Fire Island reflected, a frozen moment of a simple man.

FM