The Emperor’s Wrinkled and Baggy Old Clothes
Politics aside, some eloquent (if scathing) criticism from Anthony Lane on the new French president’s wardrobe:
What was self-evident, as he took the stage last night, buoyant with smiles, was not that François Hollande needs more iron in his soul. He needs an iron. Has there ever been a baggier head of state? The tie was loosened at the top; the white shirt looked like an aerial view of the Alps. And there was something definitely awry in the pants department, because he had to hoik them up, with a fierce yank on his belt, before he took the microphone and began to preach. Hollande has short legs, so he is never going to master a languorous stride, and, come his first summit, he should be wary of trying to keep pace with the amble of President Obama; if you’re Phil Silvers, you don’t want to hop along next to Gary Cooper. But the tailors of Paris, more practiced than those of Tulle, have ways of hiding such flaws. Hollande should summon them soon, and hide the bill.
Full article here.