Would you look at this silly shit? This is a Louis Vuitton advertisement from October’s British Vogue. The photographer is Jürgen Teller; the model is Jennifer Connelly.
A French fashion house chucks money at a world-renowned photographer and an Oscar-winning actress—and this is what they come up with? What was the brief for this dreary nonsense? “Make her look like she’s been waiting for the methadone clinic to open for hours”? Ah yes, so luxe, very aspire! I know 1993 is happening all over again in fashion-land, but can we not add anything new to the drug chic oeuvre? (At least the original perpetrators knew to crack a smile now and then.) And with all the resources and talent involved, they could have come up with anything. Anything. Jennifer Connelly in a diving bell at a diner on Mars. Jennifer Connelly laughing riotously while clutching an iguana. Jennifer Connelly disappearing into a sinkhole in Buttslap, Idaho, while a million tiny totebags tumble after her. Jennifer Connelly looking radiant and happy. Anything. And we got this, a tired and tacky antonym for joie de vivre. A portrait of a woman whose spunk has fallen down the back of the sofa. The gaunt last gasp of a shabby bag company desperate to make itself seem exclusive again—because too many of us Regular Folk have been splurging on their wares, and nothing scares a so-called luxury brand more than the day a legal secretary from Des Moines plops her credit card down on your counter and says, “I’d like a bag, please!” (c.f. Coach, Burberry, Gucci). Away with you, Louis Vuitton! Your demented douchery is shining wanly through poor Ms. Connelly’s eyes. Mind you, if I had to stand around in an abandoned auto-parts warehouse holding a dead cow, I’d probably look a little sad, too.