“What are we, farmers?” demanded a weary Fran Lebowitz. She was seated front row at Carolina Herrera’s 10 a.m. Monday morning show. It was, Ms. Lebowitz announced, not her favorite time of day.
We feel ya, Fran. Fashion “Week” is a long, hard slog in service of the superficial, and it ain’t over yet. Some highlights from the past few days:
Ms. Herrera’s “Japanese basket” theme may have been a touch overwrought, but the designer does classy-lady like few others can. The Transom feels classier simply for having attended.
At the other end of the spectrum: Alexander Wang, master of intimidatingly hip sexiness. This season he showed sportswear inspired by (of all things) sports—but in the most aestheticized, extravagant, surprising way possible. Fun to look at, but does the Transom really need a leather helmet or haute sweatpants? We think not.
Diane von Furstenberg showed her A-list crowd hippie dresses with hair ornaments and piles of bangles. Flower children, we suppose, are a comfortable fantasy when luxury seems gauche.
Not that luxury doesn’t have its charms—Michelle Obama–annointed up-and-comer Jason Wu might take the prize for most beautiful venue. He sent models marching through five rooms of the St. Regis Hotel, complete with a mirrored runway and chandeliers galore.
The Ronson clan is always good for gossip, and Charlotte Ronson had drama aplenty even without her sister’s infamous girlfriend. A fracas broke out over seating.
Of course, some shows were just plain fun: Brian Reyes showed inkblot prints and short-shorts while Kelly Rowland bopped in the audience, sucking on a blue lollipop.
And Americans might act like they don’t like aristocracy, but everyone knows Marc Jacobs is king of New York Fashion Week. His Monday night show referenced Kabuki, ballet, Vivienne Westwood, and military suiting—and regardless of the inspiration, guests from Madonna to Lady Gaga were suitably impressed.
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