The Leftovers: Paris Fashion Week SS12

By the time I come to the end of each season, I feel as if I’ve said everything. Found every way to describe every trend in cut and color. That I will bore not just myself but that small pocketful of readers that I’ve acquired over the years. But then I look at the clothes and all of that doubt washes away. Because, in many ways, the clothes speak for themselves and simply picking those that best demonstrate the force and direction of the season can be enough.

Of course, I like to sprinkle a few words here and there to guide those just joining us and to remind myself a bit of what happened during those four weeks in the early fall.

Much like the past few seasons, Paris was once again about the falling apart of the story told in the other cities. The prevailing winds could still be felt, but they were all tempered in some way.

The neons seen in the previous three cities were present in a number of collections though their influence was lessened.

At Valentino

At Anne Valérie Hash

At Martin Grant

At Haider Ackermann

At Roland Mouret

They were joined by colors dampened.

At Louis Vuitton

At Akris

At Uniqueness

At Vanessa Bruno

At Yves Saint Laurent

And those imbued with a certain richness.

At Kenzo

At Dries Van Noten

At Yves Saint Laurent

At Hermés

At Yohji Yamamoto

The florals also made an appearance.

At Vionnet

At Alexander McQueen

At Chalayan

At Emanuel Ungaro

At Cacharel

At Jean Paul Gaultier

As did the short shorts that intrigued me beyond expectation.

At Carven

At Cacharel

At Chanel

At Balenciaga

At Balmain

At Louis Vuitton

And the peplum, my worthy foe all season long. Though here it was deflated, plucked, and deconstructed.

At Céline

At Giambattista Valli

At Limi Feu

At Givenchy

At Dries Van Noten

While the pieces from last season that didn't lend themselves to easy categorization favored the dark, this season they were filled with a lightness.

At Chloé

At Rick Owens

At Véronique Leroy

At Gabrielle Greiss

At Céline

At Valentino

At Chanel

At Giambattista Valli

At Valentino

At Alexander McQueen

At Louis Vuitton

White is one of those trends that visits us whenever the weather warms, so its reappearance after possessing such a stranglehold over the Spring/Summer 2011 wasn't unexpected. But unlike the reemergence of transparency in Milan, it never felt stale.

But one expects freshness each and every season in Paris.


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The Leftovers: Milan Fashion Week SS12

Milan hit all of the “right” notes. It was as if the designers had a cheat sheet and were checking off items as they went.

The Neons

At Bottega Veneta

At MaxMara

At Versus

At Antonio Marras

The Florals

At Dolce & Gabbana

At Blumarine

At Antonio Marras

At Albino

At Roberto Cavalli

Le Sportif

At MaxMara

The Peplums

At Giorgio Armani

At Francesco Scognamiglio

The Shorts

At Etro

At No. 21

Yet something was off. The overall tone felt muddled and without direction. Follow the Leader was the game being played and though there was some sidestepping of the rules, it was not in the way that garners applause.

The Milan runways were witness to the reappearance of the transparency trend seen during the Spring/Summer 2011 season. There is something to be said for breaking off from the other cities and finding a trend all your own but not when it is simply being warmed over and served up from a season not yet old enough to be forgotten.

Though, as always, there were those who handled it deftly.

At Marni

At Alberta Ferretti

At Luisa Beccaria

At Dolce & Gabbana

At Etro

At Fendi

When everything came to an end, I feverishly waited for Paris.


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Back Issues: The New York Collection

Culling the fashion magazines stacked in one corner of my apartment was one of the first tasks that I undertook when I realized that my New York experiment had failed. It was no small feat. There were two and a half years of fashion tomes to consider. I took to my floor and made my way through them.

I’m generally not a collector of things. My dolls and stuffed animals were to be played with not enshrined. Many of my favorite books are bent and misshapen from spending various lengths of time in my purse. But the stack of magazines was different. Outside of a dust bunny here or there, they were in mint condition. No scribblings in the margins. No sticky notes. No dogeared pages.

Over two years after the move back, I’m still semi-packed. Suitcases are half full and boxes still untouched as I cling to the idea of this move being temporary. So in a box with books that followed me from college to home to Brooklyn and back again, as well as those picked up during my time on my own, live three magazines. As I sat staring at them this morning, my eyes welled up a bit. I had forgotten how many I had gotten rid of. I must have kept more than this. But at that moment in the spring of 2009, I was determined to be an adult about all of it. No crying over silly things. So I was vicious and hard and lugged pile after pile out to be recycled never thinking that one day I’d be 28 and a half, still living at home, and missing them.

The oldest of the three is the Fall-Winter 2008 edition of Vogue Paris Collections. It is an adult, fashion picture book. Photographs of the collections presented neatly in rows on each page. The last quarter dedicated to headshots of accessories. Good enough reasons for keeping it but not the truth of the matter. This magazine was a gift from my mother, and I kept it to commemorate one of those brief and fleeting moments when she seemed to understand me.

The March 2009 Vogue famously had the first lady on the cover in a pink Jason Wu. The fact that this magazine made it back to Boston barely warrants an explanation.

Lastly, there was the May 2009 Vogue.

It was kept because it reminded me of a magazine from long ago. One that lived forgotten in my mother’s house until recently.

When my best friend entered my apartment for the first time after I had gotten rid of them all, she looked at me in shock. Their absence was the ultimate sign that I was waving the white flag.

My current room, the room of my childhood, has magazines from my second post-collegiate Boston turn strewn about. When it’s time to leave this place, parting with them might not be filled with quite as much sorrow.


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Party Down

If there’s one word that makes me want to shop, it’s the word party. It can be preceded by any descriptor. There can be a paper invitation or an email or a “C U @ 8” text message. It can be on a roof deck. It can involve a beach bonfire. I could be crammed into a studio apartment. None of that matters. I sift through my closet beforehand and rarely find anything to satisfy me. Even if there is no dress code. Even if no one would blink if I showed up in a pair of ratty, skinny jeans, a striped, dolman-sleeved sweatshirt and a pair of beat up Bensimons.

When I was little, parties meant cupcake dresses. Green velvet, big skirts, and white sashes with a matching bow sitting atop my head. In college, I moved in the opposite direction. Halter tops and tube tops. Stretchy, suffocating fabrics. Bootcut jeans. Parties meant tighter and brighter. Can you find something that makes you look like a sequin that took a dip in a tub of glitter? Perfect! The discovery of the nearest Forever 21 was a revelation. It took far too long for me to realize a number of things. Firstly, a Forever 21 tube top lasts about three washes before it begins to disintegrate. Secondly, I rarely looked good in any of those things. And thirdly, having a wardrobe meant only for partying was a waste of space, money and time.

But the urge to hunt for something new when such occasions arise hasn't subsided, even though most of the parties that I go to now are of the "Everyone Bring Some Wine and Hang Out in My Apartment with Me" variety. On Monday, I wove my way up and down Newbury Street in search of something to wear to a party that I'm attending on Friday.

And just what was I hoping to find? Not cupcake dresses or halter tops. I'm far removed from both of those phases of my life. Feminine detailing. Ease. Pieces that can weave their way into my everyday wardrobe.

By Jason Wu

By Rag & Bone

By Tory Burch

And, for those occasions that call for it, something that I can dance in.


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