Has anyone else twigged the eruption of matching outfits among the glitterati of Hollywood. We’re straying from the confines of Emu Bay Road I know but there’s few things that will put a smile on the face more so than the sight of two people dressed in bespoke bright orange. As exhibited by Timothee Chalomet and his lady friend Kyle Jenner at a recent L.A film premiere.
Kyle had a fair amount of bountiful bosom on show, Timothee enhanced his ensemble with what looked like a raffia mandolin strung across his chest but was actually a man purse. He also had on quite sturdy orange boots. The effect could best be described as film star shrill.
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Some might regard this as silly-billying of the highest order. Grown men, especially if they’re boss of House Atreides and can ride sand worms, are not expected to gad about in clothes that colour coordinate with their ladies’ frocks. Can’t see Jason Statham going for that. Or, god forbid, Clint Eastwood. But togetherness seems to have infected the entertainment world and now, sartorially speaking, what goes for the lady goose goes for the gentleman gander.
Couple dressing (yes, that’s the more or less official name of the fad) can be seen at all the best social functions. Next to the snap of Timothee and Kyle was one of Posh and Becks. No bright orange for them, but very butch, very shiny, matching tight leathers. Posh was unexpectedly smiling. She may have been plotting a Facebook attack on twerpy son Brooklyn. Becks sported a wispy fringe and the look of a man who’s not quite sure he’s made the right wardrobe move. What would we do without them.
According to a ‘relationship counsellor’ this is the outward manifestation of an inner united front. It strengthens togetherness. It can put a sparkle in your love life. I cannot believe I’m writing this drivel.
Steering well clear of such couture-driven relationship silliness has been those old favourites Meghan and Harry. Well, you’d expect nothing less. Say what you will about the Sussexes, they’ve got style. If the day ever came that they trotted out the Montecito front gate in matching fuchsia track suits that would be the end of it. They do enough to keep us entertained as it is; no need to elbow their way into the matching outfit mania.
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But this seeming obsession with the clothing of the daffy rich and famous brings fabulous moments of light relief to those of us in small country towns, far from bright lights and opening nights. Women’s magazines bulge with images of people blindingly togged out. And bless them for it when one considers the alternative on the news pages.
Outdated, elderly men in suits and black robes. Donald Trump. Vladimir Putin. That vile old viper Ayatollah Khamenei. The only outward manifestation of any united inner front in that lot is the matching means of blowing us all to smithereens. And they’d look bloody ridiculous in bright shiny orange.
