To the music of “Paris by Night”, the man with the longest hair of Fashion Week, and also the most Middle Eastern of the French, created jewel dresses this season, a sort of mix between Tiffany which would be mated with a satin duchess having swallowed ostrich feathers. The Lebanese woman, next to me, smelled stronger than a Sephora store and was still re-perfuming, during this time and on stage, a dress by Sister Marie-Thérèse “a nun” which would have gone straight from the ‘Ronceveau and “Rolland” church. “the educated will understand.”

Throbbing music for flower dresses which, at the designer’s, never bloom. And on the song “Les Feuilles Mortes”, the bride appears in a plume of smoke, a sort of Lady of the Camellias of Madame “Butter” fly for the color of a clod which, given the heat, melts visibly. So overrated and bombastic that the room was transfixed with silence. This was indeed a change from the collections of the “little count” of La Lavande, and of De Vilmorin who read “Crooked house” by Agatha Christie.