tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105587296187650411.post-59988978575799628072008-07-24T12:24:00.000-07:002008-07-24T12:27:15.935-07:00<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_vYoIziS3lcA/SIjXWRuLvgI/AAAAAAAAA4s/-OEMf7LsDt4/s1600-h/linda+snood.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226664145277664770" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_vYoIziS3lcA/SIjXWRuLvgI/AAAAAAAAA4s/-OEMf7LsDt4/s400/linda+snood.jpg" border="0" /></a>I adore Linda Evangelista. It’s part Canadian pride, part absolute respect for her talent at striking the right pose, exuding the right attitude. If memory serves, Steven Meisel once praised her ability to flare her nostril (just one!) in exactly the right manner.<br /><div><br />But I’m not sure whether this gorgeous woman can convince me to wear a snood.</div><div><br />Take a look at the Prada photographs for fall 2008 in any good magazine: Linda’s hair is wrapped in a snood in each image. From the Renaissance to the 1800s, snoods were practical; they kept a woman’s hair neat, tidy, and off her face, with very little effort.<br /><br />Think Marmee from Louisa May Alcott’s <em>Little Women</em>. Or for a more glamorous visual, how about Juliet Capulet?</div><div><br />To me, the snood is simply too costume-y, too nostalgic to wear on the street. I’d feel old, antique, really, and I’d rather leave that vibe to my furniture.</div><div><br />So if you hear a “Knock! Knock!”</div><div><br />followed by “Snood’s there?”</div><div><br />Don’t open the door.</div>miss cavendishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17461488799928956875noreply@blogger.com