Dispatches from London: Mary Katrantzou

In a galaxy far, far away…


A tribe of glamazonian gypsies, time travellers, emerged from different parts of our world, earth.

More specifically, the Balkans, Spain, Italy, France and Britain as they wore clothes that had been pieced together from those places. The first of their kind entered from a mirrored space wearing short twinkling dresses, stitched from many fine, air-light fabrics, some made from complex patchworks of familiar florals, others, more ethereal, like sea anemones sparkled all over with images of the cosmos.


As more of these travellers appeared, their clothes became increasingly robust – an exotic sheeny quilting made the body of one dress, while its sleeves burst with sprigs of mustard yellow.
Others came. They wore black fringes, ruched florals and swags of ruffles in burgundy and petrol blue. They had stolen these in Spain, from a flamenco dancer, and had reconfigured them to extraordinary effect. Meanwhile, a couture wardrobe had been pilfered in Paris and provided parts of a structured glistening waistcoat and their sharp black tailoring. Metallic inserts, strips of glistening sequins, big chintzy ruched-all-over florals, ribbons and metal pearls had been stolen elsewhere...



Mary Katrantzou had been looking at the 1988 film Time of the Gypsies, in which a gypsy with telekinetic powers falls into a world of petty crime. That, and the science behind the universe – the chaos and order of the cosmos – had provided the gobsmackingly complex premise behind Katrantzou’s clothes.

She said she wanted this collection to be mystical, but also full of realism. It was. Enchanted and beautiful.

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