Friday, June 4, 2010

Having a Moment.

Having a bit of a fashion moment here. Am reminded of the passion with which I devoured fashion when I was young. I completely skipped Seventeen, YM, and even Sassy [grrls agahst I know] when I was a wee tween in lieu of subscriptions to Vogue, Harper's Bazaar [back when Fabien Baron was manning the ship, ah thems were the days.] and Elle. I used to watch Jeanne Bekker on VH1 doing her thing for Fashion TV. I remember checking out documentaries on Coco Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent from our humble local library. And at odd hours there was a public access channel that would play the fashion shows from around the world. Tears of fashion would spring to my eyes, whenever something with that certain Je ne sais quoi would swish down the runway.

Fast forward 20 years or so. Being in NYC made me sort of lose my passion for fashion. The logo's and labels outside the clothes for all to see. The jersey moms pushing you aside at the Barney's warehouse sale with their french manicures, gum-snapping, and Birkin bags. Even the more subdued fashionista's in their Barbara Bui, Lanvin and Marni; behaved like condescending entitled bitches. And I know, I lived in Soho and I worked in fashion and beauty. It's not to say everyone sucked, on the contrary, I met many lovely ladies and made very dear friends through my work. People I am missing very dearly as we speak. People who dressed their asses off. Believe you me.

It just seemed that [often enough to take note of] there was this correlation between the amount of money one spent on clothes and the level of haughtiness/bitchiness said person felt they could dispense on the lowly troglodytes [translation: people who could afford less] they came into contact with. Boring.

Label as status symbol was never my bag. Back in my tween days feasting on the pages of Vogue [door locked in the boudoir so I could be alone with my girls] it was always about the love of the clothes! The materials, the cuts, the art of it all. Don't think I didn't take the train from my humble hometown in RI, up to Copley Place in Boston and try on items from Dior, to Valentino, to Donna Karan, to Calvin Klein just so I could feel the weight of a good dress on my body. How a properly made piece of clothing hangs. Those sales ladies, [bless their hearts] generally treated me with respect, though I have no idea why. My scuffed adidas sambas and salvation army ensembles, betrayed any hopes they may have had of closing a sale.

OK enough chatter. Just checked out the not so new Dries Van Noten show online. Almost felt those tears of fashion again. Ah nostalgia.

ps. These pictures don't do it justice. Go to the site and watch the video of the Women's A/W 2010. Or any of the other videos on there for that matter. Pure poetry.

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