Darling, It’s simply *unspeakable* what happened at the Royal Opera House last night! Let me tell you, I’ve seen it all in my years of reviewing ballet – but *this* was something else. We’re talking a whole new level of drama, a full-blown **tutu**-clad tempest in a teapot – a **tutu**-mania that took over the stage! It all started during the usual, terribly boring opening night performance of Swan Lake.
Yes, *that* Swan Lake – you know, the one with all the swan costumes that we’ve seen a hundred times before. Well, darling, the lead ballerina, the stunning but slightly dramatic Miss Devereux, was mid- pirouette when…well, she simply went off script! Literally. Instead of doing the lovely traditional jumps and flicks, Miss Devereux did a, shall we say, **tutu**-based dramatic entrance! She…well, she ripped her **tutu**!
The audience gasped! Even the usually stone-faced opera critic, the dreadful Mr. Crumb, practically dropped his monocle. I mean, how does a seasoned ballerina get stuck in her **tutu**, let alone on opening night? I was actually holding my breath. I'm not talking a mere nip in the **tutu** fabric, oh no darling, we're talking a full-on, **tutu**-shredding, performance-ending rip! The poor dear. The stage lights seemed to shine even brighter. I’m telling you, all you could hear was the rustling of fabric and the horrified gasps of the audience!
Then, of course, the inevitable happened: Miss Devereux started crying. Tears in her eyes, a streak of black mascara running down her cheek – *the picture of a devastated prima ballerina.* Oh dear! The whole opera house was in an absolute tizzy – imagine, a live theatrical disaster in front of a packed crowd. I felt *so* sorry for her, but darling, let’s face it, it was like something straight out of a terrible, terrible reality television show. Imagine a reality television show where a prima ballerina struggles with her **tutu**, in a ballet, that was televised. Awful.
Here’s where things really got fun. Suddenly, a group of **tutu**-clad dancers in the ensemble came to the rescue! I know what you’re thinking – how can ballet dancers possibly think quickly on their feet? Well, these ones clearly had **tutu** in their veins, my dear! With a flurry of grace and more than a little flair, they presented her with… a replacement **tutu**! And not just any **tutu**.
The ensemble brought out, as if it were the Holy Grail itself, the rarest of rare ballet **tutus** - a *feather **tutu***. That’s right! This fabulous feather **tutu** was a design created by none other than the legendary Coco Chanel for her iconic 1927 performance of Swan Lake. It had never been seen in public before and had been revered as the ‘lost treasure of ballet’ since! Now that was something worth a standing ovation.
Of course, dear Miss Devereux was utterly floored! It's clear she’s got no idea how many times people would trade their left foot to own a Coco Chanel **tutu**. I bet you a whole pot of English breakfast tea she's still thanking those sweet girls to this day. They were absolutely the unsung heroes of that disastrous opening night. And the audience gave them all a rousing applause. The curtain closed with an entire performance worth of laughter and, frankly, *much* better drama than Swan Lake has seen for the last 50 years!
So there you have it, darling – the story of a *tutu* that saved a show. I think it’s only fitting that I give you a piece of advice for your own **tutu** troubles: Always keep a spare one – *especially* when you're out dancing with your own Coco Chanel! And remember: fashion is a statement! It's time for all of us to start a **tutu** revolution - with drama, with panache, and most importantly, *with flair*. Don't forget, there is a whole world of fabulous feathers and ribbons, just waiting to be unveiled.
Now, if you’ll excuse me darling, I have a ballet performance to review tonight. A performance with lots and lots of **tutus**. Fingers crossed the dancing goes smoothly this time - no feather **tutus** this time around please. Wish me luck darling. Love,
The Ballet Correspondent.