Gatsby here is not a costume but a way of dressing and holding yourself. A dinner jacket with a white waistcoat and bow tie, pleated tulle, a three-strand pearl choker, long sheer sleeves set with pearls. The day had one accent colour — red. From there it led everything: fabric, flowers, fruit, tablecloths.
The morning ran at two addresses. Nastya in a bright room, the dress already on, a brush at her cheekbone, laughing off towards the window. Sasha in a dark corridor with a burgundy curtain and old frames along the wall, a glass of white in his hand, the face of a man with nowhere to hurry.














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