Bookended by blood-dripping nudity crowned with a ‘Violence’ headpiece and the master of ceremonies himself, ambling out in a brutalised butcher’s apron, a barrage of ear-piercing, blood-curdling screams soundtracked Charlie Le Mindu’s perverse, provocative ode to Salon Kitty, sodomy and Carrie.
Emerging from inky black and peppered with searing, retina assaulting strobes, Daphne Guinness, Pandemonia and a bevy of glammed-up buxom front rowers, saw Le Mindu’s now trademark nudity give way to wipe-clean plastics, regal up-dos and pearl-trim trenches. If blood-red lips, alabaster skin and poised, coiffed locks spoke of a new, purposefully elegant execution, then nip-slip halter-neckdresses, plastic plied, moulded and teased into marabou trim capes, Elizabethan ruffs and pearl trim military caps struck a subversive balance of post-conservative, anti-establishment chaos.
Delicate doilie lace came riffed against Kings Road Mohicans dipped in blood red, brutal strikes of graffiti slashed hair, garment and skin with THE profanity and dripping crucifixes. His couture coiffure taking a comparative back seat, gas masks spewing razor straight blonde locks and sharp centre parts crowned the boys whilst it was a taxidermied eagle taking flight, leaving behind a trail of lace – once again – dragged through blood red that concluded a collision of faux innocence and blatant brutality.
Images by Katy Davies.
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