Will you dekh lungi, Sabyasachi, Versace?
You probably haven't heard of the House of Lungi. Or, if you're a Bvlgari snob, the House of Lvngi.
But, be sure, with the likes of Sabyasachi incorporating it into his collections – his designs often featuring lungi elements in skirts, dresses and larger ensembles – it's just a matter of time that lungis enter the gilded racks of haute couture.
Once you snap out of your Armani-in-the tropics fantasy, you'll realise that this tie-dye, once aristocratised, can be a kilt above the rest.
With the right designer, lungi can storm runways, swathe the elite, and ascend to its rightful ramp. Consider its design philosophy: effortless, transformative, draped like a Grecian tragedy, yet folded with the precision of a samurai's farewell.
Why should Paris have a monopoly on 'fluid silhouettes' when the lungi is the OG deconstructed wonder? Cinched at the waist, billowing in just the right places, it flaps of nonchalance while giving that toga power-dressing.
The House of McQueen sculpting a lungi in decadent silk; Balenciaga giving it dystopian swagger; Iris van Herpen warping it into a kinetic sculpture that flutters as you boardroom-walk…. It will demand champagne and front-row exclusivity. Let's stop pretending it as merely casualwear, or workwear for the 'informal sector'. The only question is: which designer will dare? Sabya, you fancy a fold?
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Boston Globe
3 hours ago
- Boston Globe
A dapper young man has become the talk of Manchester-by-the-Sea
'There is something about Matthew Swindell that suggests he has just walked off the set of a period film, so perfect is each detail of his person,' gushed the local newspaper, 'The Manchester Cricket,' From the moment he arrived, Manchester-by-the-Sea suddenly had something it didn't realize it was lacking: a fashion icon. Advertisement 'It's been quite the experience for me,' Swindell said recently inside the tiny 'I humbly believe that people appreciate a well-dressed man, particularly a young person,' he said as he adjusted a stray hair on his head (held together, fittingly, with a pomade called Dapper Dan). Advertisement He speaks with a polished lilt, reinforcing what those who know him say: it's not just his clothes that seem pulled from a time machine; it is Swindell himself. 'He's not vintage. It's like he's from the 1920s, like he's stuck in an era,' said Anna Gonzalez, who sees Swindell a few times a week at the post office where he will wait in line to watch her hand stamp his cursive correspondence with the date and place, Manchester-by-the-Sea. His speech pattern adheres to a formal politeness, polished to a shine, and peppered with a natural lean toward old-timey sayings, like when he was asked about his evening strolls to Singing Beach, and said, 'Yes, when day's work is done.' What he's doing might go unnoticed in a more urban setting, where hipsters and vintage clothing stores abound. But in upper-crusty Manchester-by-the-Sea, where the preppy uniform is more Not to say that what Swindell is doing is either preppy or hipster. It's older than that, from an era of pleasing formalness, where a crowd at Fenway was better dressed than we are at weddings today. 'The first time I saw him I was like 'Oh, my God, I love you,'' said Beth Giblee, who owns Advertisement When Giblee asked Swindell why he dressed as he did, he gave his usual simple answer: He loves the feeling of it. 'It doesn't matter if he's got the umbrella or the straw hat or the fedora, there's never a hair out of place,' said Frank Fusco, assistant manager of Matthew Swindell stood inside the Manchester-by-the-Sea Museum. Jonathan Wiggs/Globe Staff Swindell said he started wearing traditional menswear when he was a student at Salem State, and committed to it when he landed an internship at the Manchester-by-the-Sea Museum after graduation. Nearly four years later, as he has risen to run the day-to-day operations, his look has become synonymous with the museum. And as he leads visitors on a tour of an exhibit highlight the town's 'resort era' in the late 18th and early 19th century, you can almost picture Swindell in one of the black-and-white photographs of bathers on Singing Beach, or strolling the grand lawn of the Masconomo House Hotel. As he looks at the photos, you can feel his pride in feeling connected to the era. He loves the detachable collars — 'I wish more people would join me in being an enthusiast for them' — and, particularly, the hats. Swindell is a dedicated follower of the tradition of switching from a winter felt hat to a summer straw hat on May 15. 'I've always loved history, but I have a particular fascination with happened before you in the places you know well,' he said. 'Some people say the past is another country. You might say I'm always visiting.' Advertisement Swindell switches from wearing a felt hat to a straw hat on May 15. Jonathan Wiggs/Globe Staff Billy Baker can be reached at
Yahoo
18 hours ago
- Yahoo
Llywela Harris, music teacher who exerted a lasting influence over generations of girls
Llywela Harris, who has died aged 94, was a pint-sized music teacher who inspired generations of public schoolgirls to express themselves through song. The diminutive Llywela Harris possessed a Welsh scepticism of rank: to her, it did not matter where her young wards came from or how rich their Midlands industrialist parents might be. It was a question of where they might go harmonically. Her choir at Abbots Bromley school in Staffordshire dominated girls' music in the 1970s and 1980s, and later she was the warden of the Royal School of Church Music in London and administrator of the St Davids Cathedral Festival, Pembrokeshire. It was at St Davids that she spent her last 25 years, presiding over the tiny city's cultural life like a retired empress. Organists, conductors and visiting soloists were summoned to her cottage in Goat Street to have the rule run over them. Llywela Harris encouraged, cajoled and made things happen. Sir John Rutter composed for her and she marched her girls behind the Iron Curtain for a singing tour of Hungary. Had she been born a generation later she would likely have become a cathedral director of music. Instead, it was at the school of St Mary and St Anne, Abbots Bromley, that her creative energies found an outlet and where she exerted a lasting influence over generations of girls. She also became a mentor to Adrian Partington, now director of music at Gloucester Cathedral, and to Geraint Bowen, director of music at Hereford Cathedral, who received encouragement from Llywela Harris during his youthful posting at St Davids. Abbots Bromley, founded in 1874 by the Rev Nathaniel Woodard, was one of the Woodard group of schools, intended to provide a Christian education for the middle classes. They were sometimes described as 'chapels with a few buildings attached', but in this instance the chapel came with a terrier-like choir mistress with an ear for a duff note and an unerring nose for slackers. The school's motto, 'That our daughters may be as the polished corners of the temple' (Psalm 144), was never better exemplified than by Llywela Harris, who had herself been educated there. Abbots Bromley was her life, even after retirement. She was its Miss Chips. Llywela Vernon Harris was born on April 11 1931 at Lampeter in Cardiganshire, the second daughter of the Rev William Henry Harris, precentor of St Davids Cathedral and Professor of Theology and Welsh at St David's College, Lampeter. He translated several hymns and the office of compline into Welsh. Llywela's mother, sometime mayor of Lampeter, was a fine organist. Llywela and her sister Elizabeth spent their childhood walking the cliffs and bathing at Caerfai and Whitesands. She was sent to board at Abbots Bromley in 1940 and quickly distinguished herself as a pianist. In 1948 she began her studies at the Royal Academy of Music in London, under Douglas Hawkridge on the organ and Eric Thiman for composition. After gaining her LRAM she took a brief post at Southmoor prep school in Berkshire before she returned to Abbots Bromley as Director of Chapel Music in 1953. Apart from a stint at the Guildford girls' grammar school (1958-60) and a sabbatical at Stanford (1967), there she stayed. Under Llywela Harris's direction a typical week's chapel stretched to more than 10 hours of morning assemblies, compline, evensong, choral society, choir rehearsals, organ recitals, Holy Communion and the occasional dawn mass. Requests for a less onerous routine were met with masterly incomprehension. On Saturdays she took the entire school through the next week's choral music. She would sweep in to the assembly, all of 5ft 2in, and the silence was instant. Immaculately coiffeured and made-up, dressed in knee-length skirts, kitten heels and winged spectacles, she would play the opening chords of a hymn before patrolling the aisles, exhorting the girls – many towering over her – to sing. 'You are not singing to yourselves, ladies, and you are not singing to your mothers. You are singing to God, and He is a long way up.' Hundreds of youngsters bent to the will of a single, small Welsh woman. Each pupil was armed with an English Hymnal and the Briggs and Frere Manual of Plainsong. When 100 Hymns for Today was added to the arsenal, Harris proved surprisingly open to new hymns such as God of concrete, God of steel. A singable tune was the benchmark. Some days the noise levels were worthy of Cardiff Arms Park. Choir practices were more rigorous. Sins included inappropriate breath-taking, slouching, fidgeting and casual enunciation – 'Lord of hoSTS'. On Speech Day the girls would process, veiled like nuns, to St Nicholas village church, walking in pairs arranged in height order and singing all 26 verses of Jerusalem, My Happy Home – a tradition known to all as 'Jerry Heights'. There they would launch into Harris's upper-part reduction of CV Stanford's Te Deum in B flat, which had been rehearsed for weeks ('Judge has SIX beats, ladies!'). EW Naylor's setting of the Benedicite was a fixture of Lent term. Such canticles had faded from most Anglican worship, yet at Abbots Bromley they endured. Llywela Harris's teaching room, named Mozart, overlooked a dappled lawn where girls gathered for iced buns at break time. Many of her pupils became musicians for life. Her choir often sang at Lichfield Cathedral. They performed for Songs of Praise and for Radio 3's Let the People Sing, and released two albums. Llywela Harris marked her retirement from teaching in 1990 by riding away in a hot air balloon, serenaded by the girls singing the soul song Up, Up and Away. Then, after a four-year stint at the RSCM at Addington Palace in Croydon, where she tightened the ropes as its warden, she returned to Goat Street and ran the annual St Davids Cathedral Festival. In old age she spent afternoons listening to Radio 3's Choral Evensong, surrounded by her grandfather's watercolours of Oxford; beside her bed was a framed list of the school's choral society collaborations with Repton. Despite more than one engagement, Llywela Harris never married. Llywela Harris, born April 11 1931, died May 13 2025 Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
Yahoo
19 hours ago
- Yahoo
No Joke, The Lights Went Out At The Sydney Opera House During Vivid
The Sydney Opera House had an ironic incident in the Concert Hall last night (June 3rd) for its final night of Vivid LIVE for 2025. While the venue itself was lit up from the outside, the stage lights inside went out during Japanese Breakfast's set around 9:45pm during a performance of the song 'Slide Tackle'. What was originally believed to be an intentional part of the lighting design was quickly revealed to be legitimate, with a technician from the back of the room yelling that they were 'working with the House to get the lights back on' as the band played on for another two songs. After playing 'Picture Window' with only the overhead lights and a prop lantern, the band – who were making their Sydney Opera House debut – were escorted off stage for an unplanned intermission, which lasted 15 minutes. Unfortunately, when the band returned to continue with the show, the lighting issue had not been resolved. 'The whole system is down,' said frontwoman Michelle Zauner to the sold-out audience following 'Men In Bars'. Two songs later, however, the entire lighting system came back online midway through the band's performance of 'Kokomo, IN'. 'That's live music, baby!' Zauner remarked following a rapturous applause from the audience at the song's conclusion. At the time of writing, neither the Sydney Opera House nor Japanese Breakfast have publicly commented on the technical snafu. The band's performance wrapped up a busy two weeks for the Opera House, which saw Sigur Rós bring their orchestral tour to the Concert Hall with three sold-out shows with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra and the final Australian performances from Anohni & The Johnsons, as well as Beth Gibbons, Miss Kaninna, Surprise Chef and Emily Wurramara. Vivid Sydney will continue on until next weekend (June 14th) across various other venues in the city. This includes the Oxford Art Factory, where septuagenarian UK rap duo Pete & Bas are set to perform tomorrow night, as well as the City Recital Hall in Angel Place, where Soccer Mommy will perform next Thursday night. The full remaining program can be found at Love Letter To A Record: YoWo Music's Pearl Harnath On Japanese Breakfast's 'Psychopomp' Open Season 2025: Kamasi Washington, The Preatures, DIIV + More Sigur Rós Review – A Calming Serenity Comes to Fortitude Valley The post No Joke, The Lights Went Out At The Sydney Opera House During Vivid appeared first on Music Feeds.
