On this Valentine's Day, I send much love to disgraced fashion designer--is there any other kind?--John Galliano. It's been about two years since a drunken Galliano offended sensibilities and Parisian law with a drunken rant in which he claimed, "I love Hitler." Really not such an outrageous comment from a fashionista: Hitler was a total bastard, but the man knew how to dress. Nevertheless, Galliano was summarily fired from his position at the House of Dior and became persona non grata in the rarefied would of haute couture, about which I care so little. Galliano has apologized for his comments--sincerely, according to Abraham Foxman, the head of the Anti-Defamation League--and is now attempting a comeback.
More power to him. Frankly, I don't necessarily think he should have been fired in the first place. If he is such a genius as people claim, what difference do his personal anti-Semitic feelings make to his ability to make purty dresses. If his dresses are, in fact, purty.
Personally, I think she looks like one of the X-men attending a charity ball, but I'll take other people's word for it.
I don't condone his remarks. He claims to have been so drunk that he has no memory of his offensive rant. Then again, in vino veritas--which is Latin for "I call bullshit." But the point is, who cares? He's not a politician; he's not a military leader; he's not even a writer of trenchant political commentary: He's a tailor. Or, if you prefer, an artiste. Find him offensive? Don't listen to him. Don't want to enrich him? Don't buy his clothes. And if you must boycott John Galliano, don't boycott him because of his offensive remarks; boycott him because he dresses like the lovechild of Slash and Liberace.
Designer, heal thyself.