February 18, 2011 London
As ever, she was supernaturally narrow and tall, perched on skyscraping platforms, with a frizz of Ophelia hair. Her outerwear was a little half-belted princess coat. Her Lolita-ness was incarnate in the silken lining of that coat, which was then transfigured into a tiny, lingerie-influenced dress with a decorous bow at the bodice, or a charmeuse playsuit with a frilled hem. The winking disconnect between the schoolgirlish form of one dress and its grown-up fabric (nude charmeuse) and detailing (covered buttons running down the spine) was quintessential Anastase.
"I hope it was proper," he piped backstage. Too late, Charles. The lingerie element was scarcely less suggestive than a cardigan dress that buttoned all the way down the back (begging the question: Who actually buttons Lolita into her outfits?). It's clearly not propriety that turns on Anastase—and when a model took to the catwalk in a black velvet jumpsuit with a sheer bodice, it was obvious which side the designer was taking in the face-off between innocence and experience.