Test Driving This Season’s Full Skirt
From the runway to the streets to covering my labia, here you go.
You know that scene in The Nutcracker, when Mother Ginger lifts her skirt and out from under emerge a billion (eight) little gingerbread children to dance the Marlton Dance? (I’m taking creative license here.) In some iterations of the performance (and depending on skirt size) so too does a fun sized bear on a bicycle crop up. It is magical. Even more enchanting, though, is the prospect that the routine could occur during the regular humdrum of our non-acrobatically charged days.
So, a moment, please, to applaud the likes of Creatures of The Wind, Michael Kors, Oscar de la Renta, Christopher Kane and the ladies in front of the multiple street style lenses for identifying, creating, and celebrating big ass skirts, and for making dreams come true.
While the tea-length full skirt isn’t a new trend so much as a style that’s becoming increasingly more popular, I took one for a test drive last week. The findings? Continental confusion. Though I am technically in Paris right now, when these photos were snapped, I was just meandering through the East Village, looking like an asshole, acting like an asshole, putting my hands in my pocket to trick humanity into thinking I’d severed my hands.
While I am not, by any stretch of the veiled-by-charmeuse imagination, as elegant as she-who-wears Carolina Herrera, don’t I kind of give off the impression that I could be? It’s a damn good thing photos can’t talk.
Actually, I take that back. In slipping into the clothes that tell the tale of an identity that is not mine, I have found I’m a decent role-player. My affected, rolled, French “Rs” are considerably more affected, I barely curse and I do this weird thing where I walk toe, heel instead of heel, toe. (This may have been a function of the raised in-step lining my pumps but whatever.)
The conclusion is simply that though I’m not sure the full skirt trend works particularly well outside the confines of fashion week, Paris, or the atelier of Oscar de la Renta, I really like it, so I don’t quite care, and therefore submit that I’m in the market for eight gingerbread children. Know any?