Elizabeth Taylor

Sometimes the glare is so blinding that you can't see anything except your own reflection in the boutique window. Everything sparkles, everything is perfect - until you remember that the room is actually quiet and lonely. Between the champagne and the camera flashes, you suddenly want something simple: for someone not to run away under the first spotlights, not to disappear like the light from a flash.

There is a sense of fatigue in this gloss - so much so that even white diamonds ring a little duller. Ironic luxury, where a joke about Cartier sounds like an admission of vulnerability. Love here is not romance, but almost a profession: to be beautiful, eternal, needed. Only the question remains - “Do you think it's forever?” - like a drop of purple tears on silk, indelible by either fame or glamour.