My Dream Maze of Balenciaga

Cristobal Balenciaga, 1963 - FAMSF bequest of Jeanne MagninThe de Young's newest fashion exhibition, Balenciaga & Spain, opens this coming Friday, and clearly the anticipation is getting to me. I dreamt about the opening just before fully waking up today - one of those ultra-vivid late-morning dreams. As I've mentioned before, I usually dream in color, and while my dreams may be stylish (kissing Lapo Elkann anyone?), they are definitely a bit odd.

I began in Golden Gate Park, near the de Young, but it wasn't any Golden Gate Park I've ever visited. This one had a river going through it, and small footbridges with souvenir vendors on them. The bridges were so small that barely two people could pass by. This made things difficult because there were lots and lots of people in the park, and trying to buy the souvenirs on the bridge. I'm not sure what I was doing in the park, but it was a nice day. Maybe I was just on a walk? I think so, because I was in my sneakers, baggy jeans and a big puffy parka.

As I made my way over one footbridge, which was actually more like a dirt path, I passed Anna Wintour who seemed to be waiting paitiently in a pale embroidered coat (with de rigeur dark glasses & bob) among a group private school boys in uniform. I thought, "hunh, why is Anna Wintour here?" I also passed some of the "mean girls" from my school days, one of whom said: "Fashion bloggers in San Francisco? There's like...none!" To which I replied, "Thanks a lot." To which she replied, "Yeah, nice outfit." To which I replied, "Yeah, you've always been a bitch," thinking this final remark made me triumphant.

Salon of Balenciaga Paris - Mark Shaw, 1954

Arriving at the museum (finally), I realized I was terribly late. Late? I had forgotten that this was the opening day of the exhibit. It was like those awful dreams of high school when you can't get to your class or find your books, only to finally get there and learn you have to take a test. Pure purgatory. Realizing my tremendous and embarrassing faux pas, I could hear Hamish Bowles giving his introduction from the next room. As I tried to maneuver closer, I found myself face-to-face with an impervious socialite wearing an opulently-beaded emerald green gown that had a towering headdress and veil. It was sort of like the creepy mirror-faced figure from Maya Deren's Meshes of the Afternoon, except in gorgeous green and not so frightening. That is to say, at least she had a face, not a mirror.

Panicked, and realizing I was totally underdressed, (no wonder Emerald Green and the mean girls didn't like me) I felt completely defeated. What would the other members of the press think? More importantly, what would Hamish Bowles think? The lights were on, people were milling around and giving ooohs and aaahs over the historic fashion, and I was completely out of place. What was I, a fashion imposter, doing there? This terrifying thought was enough of a kick to wake me up and get me out of my labyrinth, thankfully.

Clearly I have issues. A fashion inferiority complex is just one of them.

Comments

[St.Valentine]

Amazing dream, you should congratulate your subconscious. I liked the vintage Balenciaga picture so much I reblogged it on Tumblr. Thanks for a great post!