Seraphic Secret was glancing through the latest issue of the “National Enquirer” the other day—how else am I going to learn about what’s going on in Hollywood?—and was horrified to discover that this tabloid has a rather unhealthy fixation on celebrity photos that focus on cellulite, disheveled stars in flip-flops taking out the garbage, and horrifying close-ups of actresses in bikinis who should not be anywhere near a bikini.
Marcel Proust named his million word novel “In Search of Lost Time.” Here at Seraphic Secret we too are searching for a lost time, a Hollywood that was drenched in glamour and fine sartorial taste.
Ninety-five percent of our bodies are covered in clothing. What we wear announces who we are, how we feel about ourselves and how we wish to be perceived and treated by others. To say what we wear doesn’t matter is to be willfully blind to reality.
So: let’s take a break from the degraded celebrity culture in which we live, and glory—if only for a few moments—in Hollywood’s golden age.