My Fashion Week started off quite slowly, thankfully. Unlike last season, when I was running around Lincoln Center and elsewhere like a chicken with my head cut off from 9 AM the first day, I got to take it easy the first two days. Mostly because I was getting over a pretty miserable case of laryngitis (still hacking up a lung now, but I can actually speak), and I very much valued the time I had in bed.
So what was my first order of business once I didn't feel like death reincarnate? Head on down to the West Side Highway for a jaunt at the strip club.
Clever setting on the part of complexgeometries, that is. The Westway was taken over recently by the folks from Smile and the Jane, but they've kept the "Gentleman's Club" awnings, stripper poles, and $20 lap dance signs intact. A bit of cognitive dissonance seeing bloggers hanging in front of the neon, cheesy mirrored walls, but CG's presentation made for a really titillating show.
As much as I love CG's gothy, complicated "it's-a-t-shirt-but-now-it's-a-cowl-and-now-it's-a-skirt" mutant way of looking at clothing, it's even better to see them branch out into these unbelievably cozy, slouchy red sweaters, musky grays and taupes, and something altogether softer.
I loved the sci-fi vibes of shimmering, inky black transparent capes, raw quartz jewelry...and lest we forget the glam-rock moon boots of my dreams, courtesy of a collaboration with LD Tuttle:
Out of this fucking world.
Later that night I ventured over to the always clusterfucky Seven party at the Tribeca Grand: see pictured Natasha, yours truly, and Meg sporting all black everything. The sort of fashion-goth, egotistical craziness on display at this party is something that must be seen to be believed, and I'm glad I finally had the full-fledged shitshow experience. Once and never again for me, so sayeth my headache the morning after.
Today is the real winner for me: Y-3 and Katie Gallagher! Will be sure to update immediately.