Hate To See You Go
Read some fashion week rhetoric, yolo.
It started yesterday at 4PM when a very pregnant Rachel Comey debuted her Spring/Summer 2013 collection at Pier 59. The show opened with a sleeveless white shift dress and continued following a pattern of several oversized white silhouettes including one particular jumpsuit for either the thinnest or consequently most pregnant repeller. (Note: this sentence took twenty minutes to finish because my perman-friend shouted resiliently from the couch behind me, “I know more about Scott Schuman than you do.” What is that?) In a seamless transition to grey, black and then to pink, blue, even green, the collection told many stories about several different girls.
Part kooky, part elegant, whole girly and cool, she’s the best friend you wish you’d had in the era you wish you’d been in. And, well, yes–she’s got vagina fever too. (See: strapless party goer at left.)
This morning at BCBG Max Azria, where blogging kindred alike infiltrated a big chunk of the front row, one synchronized story was told. With a color palette that tended to abide quite strictly by the bounds of white, black, salmon and a muted–almost grey–blue, this collection seems fit for the quintessential fashion editor, fashion week bound and ready to kill it. “Kill it,” I say. This just in: my vernacular takes a turn for the deficient.
But kill it she will, trust me. With leather harnesses and dark rugged over-all (as in, she could not be a farmer in those clothes,) details amid lady-like crepe dresses–it’s the disconnect most alluring outfits look for. I was particularly keen on the influx of pseudo negligees and mid-length dresses and skirts. Harem pants were had but most importantly, I think this collection may have been a re-enforcing testament to the return of tie belts. See also: Veda.
Shortly thereafter, Richard Chai did Richard Chai and reminded us that mini skirts are still okay. This is always a fun one to watch–the soundtrack tends to get a heart beat pumping and the notion of watching wearable clothes at a runway show feels, I don’t know, accessible. Loads of bare midriffs and barely there sheath dresses (“nipples are in, but mine are out,”) composed this show and if I had to guess who he was designing for I’d say Sporty Spice but only if she was also starting a fashion blog. Really articulate shit right there.
There was also, I should add, some real pleasant bead-work and lame(insert accent here.) It all but screamed, “I’m blinding you and I don’t even care because this is so good and you are aware of that.” This would inevitably come followed by, “yeah.”
And at Kimberly Ovitz, serene music and loads of white smoke opened the show. Most models wore Siamese warrior cuffs along each arm. The typical drapery and expert layering evident in many of Ovitz’s collections found itself here. Seemingly though, in a softer tone. The models walked barefoot across a clay runway and not even one white hemline was tampered with in the process. In my mind’s eye, this collection is made for the girl who knows what she likes but isn’t necessarily consumed by capital F-Fashion. She’s something of a warrior of the mind.
For quicker updates in realer time, tune in to Manstagram. And with that, my glassy eyes and I bid a good night.