Worn Out

Camellia Clouse’s The Art of Madness, a high-end line of women’s wear, has fluid silhouettes and enlivening fabric. The print is seething and vivid, resembling a jungle—one where rainbowy jewels and disembodied tiger stripes float through the air. (Its creator is Roberto Cavalli—a magical Italian fashion designer whose early aesthetic critics describe as “joyfully vulgar.” His past projects include a pink leather evening gown, made from the type of skin more common in glove-making, and stonewashed denim jeans encrusted with a sprinkling of rhinestones. In an article for New York magazine, Vanessa Grigoriadis described him as “a tiny man” with “liquid eyes,” and, resting on his head, an arrangement of “soft, feathery hair.”)

Silk charmeuse is particularly delicate—its sheen resembles water, and in roomier cuts, the fabric falls into graceful pools. Playing up these qualities, Camellia’s designs seem to melt from the body: The pants, for instance, have a dropped crotch and a dropped waist, and she extended the length at the legs to ensure an artful crumpling at the ankles.

There’s also a black tank top made of georgette, which is a difficult fabric—all finicky and wiggling, it slips too easily between the fingers. Take the tank’s armholes, which are scooped low to draw out a retro new-wave flavor—and which took forever to finish. One full day was spent like this: measure, pin, and press; measure, pin, and press. (Camellia finds the repetition calming, though for others, so much precision gets tedious. Making up sexy stories keeps the brain busy, or give drugs a try.)

Because Camellia happens to be very beautiful, her path through life has been dusted in glitter. For more than a decade, she’s maintained a successful modeling career, and her stories detail the expected trappings—what with all the glamorous cities lived in, and the casual minglings with celebrities, and the impossible successes waiting eagerly for her at each turn. Paging through her portfolio, she appears hardly the same from one picture to the next, which only heightens her appeal: Here, she seems sharp and aggressive, her eyes shaped by inky black angles. And here, she looks perfect and remote, as if she were carved from plastic. And here she is on a beach, careless with laughter—and above her is the Vogue banner, the letters all elegant and blocky, hovering so giantly in the sky.

Attention, makers of fashion and workers of garmentry: Let me know what you’re working on at mjonjak@thestranger.com.