Firstly, some technicals! Exit Everything is now its own domain...still accessible through Blogger, but so fresh and so clean clean on a business card. I also, finally, succumbed and re-upped my Twitter account. @exit_everything right here.
Alas, my phone was dead by the time I could express my joy and shame from introducing myself to Kate Lanphear while sporting what is ESSENTIALLY the exact same haircut.
Fashion Week has just kicked off, and I'm already pooped. Yesterday I went to Nicholas K--saw some GORGEOUS hoods, slouchy trousers, and combat boots (essentially proving my point in the post below: I DO fucking love the 90's)--the Project Runway finale, and Ruffian. Pleasing model facts: Hanne Gaby Odiele is pretty much my height. Lindsey Wixson is adorable in person, and very much a 16 year old girl. The Project Runway finale was a veritable clusterfuck--ten designers (personal favorites: April's "dusty dolls that washed away" collection featuring stunning ombré and a faded, ghostly neutral palette, and Andy's "statues come to life" in futuristic silver, grey, and green. For the record, Gretchen took about ten minutes to get out on the runway), Jessica Simpson's once again terrible sartorial decisions (her breasts entered the room long before she did), and cameras everywhere.
Today is Buckler, possibly Nautica, Editions Georges Chakra, and Lorick...oh, and Fashion's Night Out. I will most definitely be hitting up the Helmut Lang block party, OAK's black carnival, Opening Ceremony's flea market at the Ace Hotel, and, if it isn't too much of a loony bin, Barneys. I really just want to meet Daphne Guinness and have her spray me with Comme des Garçons fragrance. I wish this entry didn't have to be such an awful block of text, but here it is. Mobile devices allllllll Fashion Week, alas.