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2022-07-30 05:25:04 By : Ms. Fiona Hwang

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For an industry obsessed with cashmere, leather, suede and viscose instantly rendered redundant by a single drop of water, fashion is obsessed with getting us wet. Models pony-walking with dewy skin and drenched hair arranged across their shoulders, or diving into swimming pools while dripping with diamonds in sequinned evening gowns are regular features of runway shows and magazine editorials.

French fashion house Chanel opened its most recent ready-to-wear show with models trading their two-tone pumps for knee-high gumboots worn with tweed socks and tights, while British brand Burberry showed trench coats for the umpteenth time, but designers aren’t entirely to blame for putting water inVogue. Movies are the overflowing dam of seductive imagery, filled with slick raincoats and umbrellas that always open at the first attempt, where wet is wonderful and runny noses are saved for off-screen.

Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams in The Notebook and Andie MacDowell with Hugh Grant in Four Weddings and a Funeral. Credit:

Without movies, we would never have had the wisdom of Derek Zoolander rain down on us in Zoolander (2001) that, “Moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty.”

Moist movie moments mostly occur during a romantic climax. Think Noah (Ryan Gosling) with a white shirt pressed against his skin and Allie’s (Rachel McAdams) clinging blue dress beneath storm clouds in The Notebook (2004); Carrie (Andie MacDowell) in a boxy slate coat delivering one of the worst lines in movie history to Charles (Hugh Grant) in Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994), with the obligatory wet white shirt pressed against his skin: “Is it still raining? I hadn’t noticed”.

While looking wet is obviously the height of romance according to directors, in real life it has definitive drawbacks such as shrinkage. Rewatch the first wash-and-wear scene to celebrate fashion in a storm in Singin’ in the Rain (1952), where Gene Kelly tap dances in a deluge and grabs a lamppost for extra Freudian effect. Kelly’s wool suit shrank during the three days of filming, making it an unworthy source of style inspiration.

Trench coats offer limited protection from the elements in cinema, allowing the hair of Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly to look bedraggled in Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961), while falling into the arms of George Peppard. Fortunately, the coat managed to remain the same size by the end credits.

The cinematic solution to perfect hair can be found in the French musical The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964) starring Catherine Deneuve, where colourful brollies protect the immaculate coiffure of the muse for luxury brands such as Yves Saint Laurent and Louis Vuitton. These are not the bland, black collapsible corner store variety that go up in price from $5 to $10 at the beep of your Rain Parrot app, but bamboo-handled beauties in bold colours and floral prints.

Director Sofia Coppola made the transparent umbrella an essential item for aspiring indie It girls, giving Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) one to gaze through the droplet-filtered Tokyo scenery in Lost in Translation (2003). While we are not convinced that Queen Elizabeth II is a fan of Lost in Translation, the monarch has adopted the trend, affording her subjects an unobstructed view of her spectacular hats. The thrifty Queen’s affordable version comes from Scottish manufacturers Fulton, and is available on Amazon for $34.94.

Scarlett Johansson in Lost in Translation and Queen Elizabeth at Royal Ascot in 2019. 

Be sure to only pick one gimmick at a time to stay dry and directional. When US label Opening Ceremony attempted to bring the neon-light-stemmed, transparent umbrellas from Blade Runner (1982) into reality at their 2017 runway show, the trend died before the after-party.

Finally, there’s your basic PVC raincoat, which has a mixed reputation in cinema thanks to horror films. Put on a yellow mackintosh, and you’re ready to be devoured by a balloon-wielding clown in It (2017). Don a red raincoat, and you could traumatise audiences still recovering from Don’t Look Now (1973).

Once again, when things are damp, it’s best to turn to Deneuve, this time wearing a black vinyl raincoat from Yves Saint Laurent in Belle de Jour (1967) as part-time sex worker Séverine Serizy. The coat carries with it hints of sadomasochism and bondage but has never been associated with serial killers and will definitely keep you dry.

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