There was an amazing Victoria Secret Show at the Kodak Theatre, Hollywood.

The vision begins; a luminescent sign catches immediate attention.
For in the darkness above the rows of seated guests and against the backdrop of the brightly lit runway shine the huge golden letters S E above and X Y beneath.

No better hint at what is to come.
It is time to savor Victoria’s Secret.

A wide screen parts to reveal an emerging white-winged angel.
She drifts forward and rises up into the air above the catwalk.
She blesses SEXY as she glides up past the golden letters and out of sight.
Pause.

Caroline Tettrani struts out and the walk of grace begins, another model close at her heels.

Natasha Poly emerges.

Gisele Bundchen now moves powerfully across the stage, her long gorgeous legs swinging back and forth and out of folds of cloth.

The designs are immaculately detailed, each one sparking keen interest immediately as it glides out and down the mirrored floor.

There is a poignantly feminine style about the tailoring.
Some purple and pastel colors and then some satin and sheer fabric, glamorous and flippant at once on the exquisite dressy negligee outfit pieces fixed together.

Gisele comes out again. She looks magnificent.

These beautiful designs spiral from a collage of feather plumed petticoats laced only with the live Scottish bagpipe themed music that is playing in the background to the house’s trademark diamond cut curve of sexy and absolute couture.
‘So cute, you won’t believe there’s no lace’ comes to mind.

There are nicely perked brassieres trimmed in feather and naughty, barely there bottoms hooked up and sliding at angles across the girls’ behinds.

The flow is endless. It’s impossible to choose a favorite piece.

And then a choir appears in the glowing white panel of brackets at the centre of the stage behind the models.
The girls move on gracefully between the rows of mesmerized onlookers.

The musicians sing along to the music, swaying rhythmically in their white, long sleeved robes and raising their voices. It’s such a fully holy and unexpected sound. It’s perfect.

But there’s more.
Suddenly showers of confetti fall over the runway.

One can hardly notice the photographers and their flashing cameras now. In the shadowed front row Paris Hilton is delighted, laughing as she and a friend brush off confetti.

The crescendo has peaked.

The choir disappears into the white light.
Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back starts to blare loudly from the invisible speakers.

The last of the winged and plumed models are striding out.

So soon it comes to an end.

Up above the lone angel that had ascended the heavens drops slowly downwards.
She lands silently on the long mirrored floor edged with sparkling light.
The angel drifts back through the doorway she and the girls had emerged from, drawing back the tide of beauty behind the large divided screen.

The music plays on as the panels draw together. The screen slowly slides shut and the light blazes out.

Only the golden letters S E X Y above remain.

An enormous absence is felt.

A spectacular display of the total art of fashion has just been witnessed.
Thunderous applause.