It is a sad day in the world of fashion, as I read the announcement that one of my favorite designers, Christian LaCroix, has filed for bankruptcy protection.

 True, I have never been a fan of the pouf skirt.

True, his designs were more theatre than fashion.

But my lifelong love affair with the dramatic has fed an appreciation of his take on haute couture — the movement he communicated in his designs, the colors, the fabrics, the moods... I was smitten from my first view of a wedding dress in a Parisian shop window back in... well, the year is unimportant. It is the impression that lingers.

I dreamed of being adorned in the sort of glamour that harkened to a more elegant past, of how the fabric would feel against my skin, swaying gently with every step. I imagined my unbridled femininity elevated and expressed with such eloquence.  

With the designs of Christian LaCroix, I felt something magical and longed to relish in it.

To become more marketable, what leaves Monsieur LaCroix's atelier will probably be reduced to a branded tee shirt and a pair of jeans constructed for the flabby masses.