Yes, I’m a total fashion whore, but I live in SF — land of lame Macy’s Passports and a dowager-drenched SF Fashion Week. Thus, this is one of my long-distancest fashion-whoriest times around — fab collection mania in the tents of Manhattan. Yep, it’s New York Fashion Week — oops make that Mercedes-Benz Fall Fashion Week 2008 — be-nimbused by similar breathtaking events in Europe and beyond (RIP, Valentino).
Of course, I’m no high-class ass licker, and even though club and youth cultures have taken over the runways in the past two decades (fuck yeah I worked me some 1987 Gaultier, bitches), I’m not really into the celebrity car crash and knit cowl collision that fashion’s become (far too many uppity students in really tiny glasses). What I really like to do is see what I like and then approximate it subtly with thrift store finds and a little Stitch Witchery. It’s the way of my people.
You will most guaranteed see this hotness Patrik Ervell look on the children — as soon as we scrap all the teflon off our popcorn bags. (photo from NYTimes)
Anyway, if you’re not glued right now to Cathy Horyn’s Runway blog on NYTimes (or, somewhat conversely, Cintra Wilson’s feel-my-pain coverage in Salon), let alone the zillions of little bloglets covering every blouson swag and belled neck, then you are dead to me right now. Now excuse me, I have to figure out how to squeeze my shamelessly ethnic boot into even more stovepipe pants, dammit.