Fashion Week: Is It A Bad Joke At A Funeral?

PREFACE: It’s been a while since I hit submit on a post. I don’t have an excuse. I’m not going to be all, “uhh writer’s block, and I suck… and Trump’s a dick hole so it’s HIS fault :::shakes fist:::… THAT’S why I haven’t written.” I mean all of those things are true AND valid, but alas I’m not going to do that. Now that we’ve covered that…

As I sit here on my couch, binge watching coverage of Hurricane Irma and stuffing my face with caramel and milk chocolate covered pretzels (yeah… they are tiny slices of heaven), I can’t help but have this super eery feeling like it’s the end of times. DACA, hurricanes destroying the country, everyone suddenly feeling like it’s 100% okay to be a full blown racist again, and the fact that Hillary Clinton is STILL not our President. I mean fuck us… right?

And now it’s fashion week. Usually I’m all about it. I stalk Twitter, I watch the live shows on my phone, and I’m pretty sure I’m the last standing Tidal member, because I originally downloaded the app to watch the Yeezy fashion shows and never really deleted it, so you’re welcome Jay z and Kanye West, you’re welcome. Enjoy my $9.99 a month.

Obsessed would be an understatement when it came to fashion week. It gave me joy and a sense of peace in the vainest way possible. I would sit there watching these beautiful fashions, dreaming of the day I would get to watch the shows live, and everything felt better.

But fashion week this year feels… trivial. And let me be very clear that it makes me want to vomit that I actually typed out that sentence. It just feels really fucked up for me to go on Twitter right now and tweet, “I would sell my mother’s soul for that Marc Jacob’s jacket #NYFW,” like I normally would, when Florida is about to get Day After Tomorrow-ed. I can really only compare it to loudly saying something inappropriate at a funeral.

I’m seeing these fantastic fashion folk I follow on Instagram showing how busy they are and how they plan to survive fashion week, and while I normally would be thinking, “you lucky bitch, I want your life… where did I go wrong?,” I’m kind of just like… “uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh ssstttttttttoooppp.” Like I want to watch their fabulous stories of running from show to show with envy, but I’m watching between two fingers as I cringe.

I get it. It’s fashion week. It’s an institution and these very talented people worked tirelessly to put on these shows. They didn’t know Donald Trump would actually get elected, then would decide climate change wasn’t a thing, and then weirdly have 45 hurricanes destroy numerous cities in the US. I mean HOW could they know that?

We shouldn’t have to sit shiva just because the world is crumbling around us. But I needed the world to know I feel very uncomfortable oogling over the fashions this year. If you see me tweet anything about fashion week, in my brain I will be doing so, peering around an imaginary corner with binoculars, quietly whispering to myself, “Alexander Wang is a genius. Satan, here is my mother’s soul, now give me the entire collection.” Oh yeah… “#NYFW.” As I try to quietly crunch on my popcorn, trying not to make a sound. That’s how I will be tweeting, if I even decide to. Which again I probably won’t, because, like I said, I’m SUPER uncomfortable. Am I the only one?

Now that’s off my chest, I’m sincerely sending my love to everyone suffering in any way. Stay strong, kids.

Al Gore rules. PEACE. 

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Style Stud: Fall 2014

Even though I find myself in a pile of pathetic tissues crying over the fact that I’m not at New York Fashion Week (whoa as me), I decided to take some time to share with you some of my favorite looks so far. Day Two and I’m already craving fall 2014, which is ridiculously because it’s like zero below out and I’m thoroughly sick of drudging through disgusting slush and SHOULD be craving spring … but in my opinion spring/summer collections just aren’t as intense, am I right?

So enjoy this little taste of Fall 2014 from a far.

Richard Chai

RichardChai

BCBG MAX AZRIA

BCBGMAX AZRIA

Dion Lee

Dion Lee

Rachel Comey

Rachel Comey

Tadashi Shoji

Tadashi Shoji

Lisa Perry

Lisa Perry

Packing For NYFW

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Photo credit: http://slightlyhipster.blogspot.com/2012/04/and-we-lived-happily-ever-after.html

As much as the idea of going to New York Fashion Week makes me the happiest person on the planet (no seriously, I would sell my mother to go again), the thought of having to pack for it makes me sweat profusely.

I’ve seen all these fashion folk on Twitter stressing about what to pack for fashion week. And as much as deep down I’m saying, “seriously, shut the hell up, you are going to Mecca and you don’t even care …I hate your face a little,” I kind of sympathize with them.

I’m a notoriously bad packer. If I’m going to a tropical place where all I need is a couple of bathing suits and cover ups, I’ll end up bringing like a ball gown, a suit in case, you know, I get a job interview, and a sweatshirt and sweatpants … because wonder if a freak cold front hits Jamaica?! The what-ifs destroy me … and my packing methods … or lack their of.

Going to Fashion Week for the first time was intimidating. Do you dress avant-garde to set the style standard and get noticed by Street Style photogs? Or do you go the “all-black editor route” and just be a wall flower? Well, I went the “all-black editor route” and paired it with fierce 4-inch heels with spikes going up the back for a little jazz, if you will. I had this awful vision of dressing to impress and having Street Style photogs beg for my photograph, because I’m THAT cool, and as I placed my hand on my hip to pose, I topple over my 4 inch heels only to be left a fashion disaster on the steps of Lincoln Center. Yep, all-black wallflower it is.

Options are a must. I like all of my options in front of me so I can pick and choose and play around. The idea of planning ahead and thinking about what to wear to what show specifically … well … like I said … makes me sweat profusely. My biggest fear would be getting dressed, looking for that bold gold cuff I have, and realizing I didn’t bring it … leaving me desperately craving it and feeling unfinished. How do you go on?!

So with all of that being said, unless I can bring my entire wardrobe, like Kate Winslet-style in Titanic, I have no interest in going to silly New York Fashion Week. Psh :::flips hair::: The style stress alone would kill me, because God knows I would pack jean shorts and a crop top instead of my go-to LBD. Ahh how glorious it is to be stress-free. Jealous, fashion folk?

Clearly just kidding. Don’t mind me … that is just my Fashion Week FOMO talking. :::Sigh:::

I Would Sell My Mother For Marc Jacobs

Okay … some of you probably GASPED when you read my headline, but let me explain. My mother and I have a joint obsession for Marc Jacobs. And since his Spring 2013 runway show was this evening, I told her I would kindly sell her on the black market to be able to see it live … and she kindly told me she would sell me on the black market for a pair of pilgrim shoes from his fall 2012 line. So there. I’m not THAT much of a heinous daughter.

So I realize I haven’t said much about spring 2013 fashion week … until now. Sigh … I just watched the Marc Jacobs show on my computer like a complete nerd. My cat was on my bed purring, I was in sweats and a hoodie … with my hood up appropriately sipping Emergen-C and pretending it was a martini because I feel like shit. I mean, doesn’t EVERYONE watch fashion shows like this!?

But my GOD. Marc. Jacobs. If anyone knows me at all or even a little, or actually if you’ve seen me from a far a couple of times … you can tell I’m obsessed with black and white. My closet is 85% black and white, everything decor-wise is black and white … I live in a black and white world and I likes it. And Marc birthed black and white for spring 2013 and I am just beside myself. The whole thing was like 1960’s mod beach meets Manhattan.

Exposed hip bones, tall girls wearing flats and flats ONLY, flouncey skirts, black and white striped, well … everything, dress/shirts that barely covered the model’s asses, exaggerated collars and bare mid-drifts (and did I catch a vintage Micky Mouse sweater?) … pure excellence. For me it isn’t just about the clothes when watching a show … it is the music, the lighting, the models. And these girls were super awkward and creepy, the music was mod-trancey by The Fall and … wow yeah … I’m in heaven. Literally my heat has an irregular beat right now.

Ps. I always wonder if these models, as they are strutting down the Marc Jacobs catwalk, who probably just got to spend the past couple of hours watching him and his minions run around backstage, think to themselves, “holy shit … I’m walking in a Marc Jacobs fashion show right now. Literally. This is happening. Act natural.” Yeah … if that were me I would be screaming at the top of my lungs in my head, “OMG, OMG, OMG, OMG.” But I’m also a fashion nerd so … yeah. Back to sipping my Emergen-C martini. Hood up.

Now behold … some of my mother-selling-worthy looks:

Update: Literally as I speak my mother is cutting her hair like one of the Marc models. #Obsessed