Leandra Medine's Blog, page 660

Michael Kors & Delpozo Round Out Wednesday

Michael Kors makes being American feel awesome. I don’t know if that’s because the clothes reflect a manufactured patriotism or if it’s in an attitude that is exalted at his runway show, further propelled by a sense of palpable liberty that looks a lot like a double breast camel coat. Maybe it’s a combination of both. Kors also makes me want to grow up, which is different from telling me I need to, or that what I’ve been doing is wrong. He shows a reality that you quickly feel suited to adopt, as if saying, Sure jeans are great — they’re an American staple, after all — but with a pair of rubber sole brogues, silk pants could be so much greater.

For fall, that greatness would also mean a 1920s newsboy as reimagined by Hanne Gaby-Odiele. A lavish Upper East Side dame in thick knit and even thicker fur. There was also a paisley pajama-clad nod to Holly Golightly, embellished and sparkly, which is how one is meant to feel in Michael Kors.

The usual suspects pervaded the show: double breasts, fitted blazers, reliable knits, mid-length skirts and the kind of surprises that don’t quite surprise you but still manage to please you; I’m thinking specifically of a feather-trimmed navy blue blouse shown with a matching, similarly trimmed skirt. The men on tap introduced an interesting new reality for those who like to experiment with flared trousers that will officiate the return of you-know-which era. Impressively, that inclination didn’t quite bleed over into the womenswear, save for one appearance by a gold lamé knee-length dress and Karlie Kloss’s closing gown. Inconspicuously American.

Barcelona-bred Josep Font has a different vision for Delpozo and this season, the traditionally architecturally-inclined collection took a turn for the supple, boasting straight velvet gowns coupled with neon embellishment, several less-than voluminous pants that even bordered on quotidian and wearable and the kind of coats that might actually make enduring a winter as harsh as this one vaguely bearable.

The whole thing was beautiful — it always is, but I got the sense that in keeping with the theme of the season, Font was reimagining his woman, historically one of the last standing morsels of impractical, spectacular glamour as more hands-on. Of course, there were still the kind of cocooned shoulders that laugh in the name of overcoats, and mini skirts and dresses that might unravel at the thought of tights, but if last season, the Delpozo woman showed up to your gala via horse and carriage, she might very well be en route by cab, and this time to a pizza party. Call it aspirational attainability or just a very smart way to make living in remarkable clothes a little bit easier.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

Images via Style.com

Why “50 Shades of Grey” is Weird

I did not read the books. I read a part of the book — the one that started it all — during a dark part of Hurricane Sandy, out loud, to a room full of girls crammed into an apartment that had lost electricity, so we were doing this by candle light. It was a very demented version of Story Time with Mother Goose: I did voices and paused often for effect and lifted my eyes up over my glasses to scan the room while finishing sentences to the crowd. Really hammed it up.

We didn’t get much further than three chapters, maybe. The breathy voice I’d adapted for Anastasia Steele made one girl who didn’t know me well “very uncomfortable,” and my actual friends couldn’t get past the fact that I kept pronouncing Christian Grey’s name as Krishtan Grah when, after around the fourth page, I’d decided that all of this would sound better in a Mid-Atlantic accent.

Once the book closed I never picked it up again. I’d gotten the gist, hated how it was written, do not have repressed BDSM fantasies and besides, the Internet told me everything else I needed to know.

Then came the movie. This part was inevitable, as was the fan-world collectively arguing against who was and was not “right” for the parts, what scenes would be left in — should any be left out? — and would they sneak wine into the theater, or arrive buzzed?

My friends and I arrived buzzed. There’s no point in me defending why I went, but it was an excuse for popcorn with Reese’s Pieces and gave me a reason to ignore my phone. The movie itself was probably in the top tier of worst ones I’ve ever seen besides The Other Women, but what do I know; 50 Shades of Grey has reportedly made 265 million dollars since it opened.

What I do know is that it was weird. Not because of the sex scenes, because whatever. If you have HBO you’ve seen it all and to each their own and we’re a generation of un-shockables. And yes, I found the glazing over of Christian Grey’s childhood abuse uncomfortable and odd though there, at least, I assumed it was one instance where I would’ve “had to” read the book to understand.

But there were at least a handful of instances that no prior book knowledge could have helped. They are as follows:

1. His last name is Grey. Her last name is Steele. If they get married and she chooses to accept his last name while keeping her own with the use of the currently fashionable hyphen, then Anastasia’s last name will be Steele-Grey. Why don’t the two characters find this funny?! My friend once casually mentioned that I should meet her cousin whose last name is Castle and to this day I still wear out the “Diamond-Castle” joke, and he and I haven’t even met. Raw, unused material. What a waste.

2. Why does she work at a hardware store? That’s such a weird fucking job for a college student. Don’t most college students work at the book store or something?

3. Christian Grey sometimes looks like a cat.

4. But not like a cat-cat. A human cat. Like the cats in Cats.

5. Christian Grey exercises control in all aspects of his life except for his attachment to Abercrombie & Fitch circa 2006 jeans. I hope he knows that if he dates Anastasia longer than a year she’s going to “accidentally throw them out” one day.

6. Speaking of which, what year is this movie set in? Why does she have a flip phone? Shouldn’t he then have a Blackberry?

7. Yes, it is creepy that Christian wants Ana to sleep in a room by herself where 15 other women “previously slept” aka he later killed them because he’s a serial killer. What I have a problem with is the strong lack of interior design in comparison to the rest of the house. It looks like the setting for a tampon ad in 1992 Tampa, Florida.

8. While I’m shitting on cities, let’s talk about how excited Anastasia gets when Christian Grey announces he’s flying her to Seattle. I believe her line was, “We’re going to Seattle?!?!” Ana, he did not say “the Bahamas.” He did not even say “skiing.” He said, in less words than more, “We are going to the birth place of Starbucks.”

9. The only person who gets as excited as Ana did about Seattle (and remember, this is a girl who possesses the ability to say “butt plugs,” “anal fisting,” and “Christian Grey” without laughing) is a mega-Twilight nerd. Ana is clearly obsessed with the type of guy who is obsessed with her to the point of slight violence and heavy delusion. In fact, Grey kind of reminds me of a certain Noah Calhoun who threatened to kill himself on a Ferris wheel, all for a date.

10. Neither of them brush their teeth. Not after she barfs, not before their morning make out sessions, never. This was my biggest issue with the film. I am not a prude, but I cannot stand idly by while two people who I know have bad breath swap spit.

And that’s it. That’s my rant. But please guys, now more than ever, I need your opinions down below. Help me work through this. My safe word is yellow, and the light is turning red.

10 Things to Try Now as Seen on the NYFW Runways

1. Wear a slip dress over your dress pants, like at Rag and Bone.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

2. Match the length of your shirt dress to the length of your anorak, counter those two elements with a pair of calf-length boots and be on your merry way. Don’t call it grunge, but know that it was before Phillip Lim grew it up.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

3. Wear a crop top over your favorite white blouse (or improvise and make that a turtleneck), like you’re a bird hovering over Rosie Assoulin.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

4. Wear the thickest knit socks you own with decadent mules, like at Tory Burch. Your feet might be cold, but who cares?

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

5. Forgo the mink and turn your most elaborate scarf into a beauty pageant sash like you are a Creature of the Wind.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

6. Buy this Victorian blouse from Zara and layer it under a pant suit (made of denim if you must!), like at Altuzarra.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

7. Pull back out your white jeans and steal a cable knit ivory sweater from Amelia to wear under a camel coat like you’re a model at Veronica Beard.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

8. Skin your stuffed animal like Houghton showed, then wear it and brag about warmth.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

9. Show your DIY chops and sew appliqués on to your favorite gray polo, like at J. Crew.

 

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

10. Wear a rope as a harness like at Baja East. Call it conceptual sex wear.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

Rodarte, Oscar, Narciso

February Fashion Week has this way of sometimes feeling soul crushing. Particularly when the weather is such that it is exhausting to merely think about going outside. To actually put to practice the scarf and gloves and hat and multiple layers of loincloth is another form of beast — one that is only punctuated when you are consistently walking into super-heated rooms and then out into the arctic refrigerator.

But I don’t want to complain about the weather — really, I don’t.

I don’t want to complain about the clothes, either, which I believe are supposed to support the concept of suspension of disbelief but only further remind us that at the end of the wind tunnel is another one, and it’s called Fall/Winter 2016.

Where is the emotion?

The fantasy!

The mysticism!

The a-ha moment that makes up for purple toes and reminds you why you’re here, why fashion is worth your health.

On Tuesday, Oscar de la Renta‘s successor, Peter Copping, and a front row that boasted dear friends like Barbara Walters and family like Mrs. de la Renta, aroused the kind of affection that unites a community. There was a sigh of relief that encompassed the room, 21 flights up in midtown, as the show began. The ready-to-wear was exquisite, indicative of Copping’s understanding of Oscar’s house, with whom he unfortunately did not have the opportunity to work given the latter’s death. But this shouldn’t be a surprise; Copping was at the helm of Nina Ricci for five years where his familiarity with femininity was fine tuned in often soft floral, flimsy fabrics countered by jovial lace details. He carried this over to his new house, which was evidenced in a series of short party dresses. This underscored an important point about the concept of taking over in that it can’t truly feel like “home” until it’s been rectified to reflect new views that at once honor but amend what was.

Narciso Rodriguez need not consider a new view, especially at the dawn of a season that has seemingly been about nothing more or less than growing up. But Rodriguez has been grown up — the father of refined minimalism — for as long as he’s been showing his collection at Tuesday’s 8 p.m. slot during Fashion Week. The show has a way of building this sense that the kids have gone home to bed, leaving time for the adults to get down to business. This season, black platform clogs turned his models into supergiants, boasting slim, floor-length trousers in black, white, melon and mint, and slit bell coats (some in navy, some in orange) as well as a series of jumpsuits (black and white). The clothes fit like well-orchestrated gloves but you wonder how they’ll fare on regular girls. I guess that’s the thing, though. You can’t be regular in Rodriguez.

Earlier on Tuesday, Rodarte showed what is consistently the most impressive collection of fashion week, sampling hot pants layered over lace tights, fur collars and hoods, two nods to the Prince of Wales check that has snuck into the greater half of the season’s collections and a closing masterpiece in the form of ten looks that put emoji’s salsa dancing lady to shame with an array of sequins, feathers, ruffles and lurex that point toward disco and frankly, for the first time in six days, might actually make you want to dance.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

Images via Style.com

Tuesday in a Sentence or Three: Tory Burch, Baha East and MBMJ

There is a rug in my parents’ bedroom from a Bazaar in Istanbul that looks considerably better as a calf length, long sleeve dress at Tory Burch; it is a solid antidote to the flimsy silk 70s style Bianca Jagger dress but the real superheroes of this show were no doubt the mules styled with thick knit socks slouched at the ankle and knee-high boots, which obstruct the ankle but make for the most promising tree bark legs since Givenchy.

If you’re thinking about what to wear to the bodega at 9am on a Saturday where this cool looking guy who is not into fashion but just knows style is always there buying almonds, and you want to impress him without showing that you’re trying to impress him, Baja East has you covered, literally, with pants and sweaters and camisoles made entirely from knit, rendered in the kind of non colors that give pale people life and with some promising rope harnesses, styled under hoodies that will make the end of this winter’s much more interesting.

Marc by Marc Jacobs looked like a Super Bowl convention with music as strong as its decidedly high brow front row, but the clothes, which started with the kind of motocross inspired prints we’ve come to expect of the new designers, transformed the sporting event into more of a pre-prom meets Sunday stroll in Hyde Park, rolls over in the grass, laughs about it and steals a beret.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

Images via Style.com

Shop Fashion Week IRL

Fashion Week in New York can be a funny thing. For seven days, certain neighborhoods become a seemingly impregnable microcosm of the city, the subjects of which are apparently blessed with thermal skin. How else could they go bare-ankled during the coldest week of the last twenty years? 

This year marks my first parlay into the aforementioned world. Two thoughts have consistently crossed my mind at the start of every show and presentation: 1. Which designer will be the first to turn the camera around, and have the models photograph the audience and 2. How do I patent that idea? Just kidding, my real second thought was, does this collection come in fun size?

There is something to be said about mood lighting, ear-splitting music and impeccable posture; the combination of all three is essentially what constitutes a runway show. Oh, and the clothes. Which feel entirely atmospheric against the backdrop of portrayed ambiance. Naturally, I wanted some of what I saw on the various runways. Realistically, I will drop some dollars on one perfect pair of jeans next fall and call it a day.

Because we live in the era of Snapchat, though, next season’s trends are already proliferating, so here’s a guide to shopping some of our favorite looks from NYFW today, right now, in real time.

Rachel Comey:

Rachel Comey is a denim wizard and her most recent collection is proof that by no means, has her magic worn thin. In keeping with the 70s-meets-millenial theme of the season (year?) mix a flight jumpsuit with suede mules and kiss 2015 goodbye. The weather sucks up in here anyways.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Tibi:

Give me a two piece monochrome knit set and I will give you the last cheese curl. Every time. Tibi understands the dual functionality of PJs and Zara just gets that sometimes we don’t want to pay for it.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Altuzarra:

Leandra proclaimed Altuzarra the Vitamix of fashion and if there’s one thing I like more than blended chocoado (chocolate + avocado) it’s thigh high slits, victorian necks, and velvet chokers.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Derek Lam:

Derek Lam has done what no man has managed to before: prompted me to reevaluate my long held aversion to vests. And silk pajamas. Perfect for two hour viewing parties of This-Week-On-The Bachelor.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Kanye West X Adidas Originals:

You can either borrow your grandmother’s pantyhose or shop some sheer athletic wear here!

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Lacoste:

Thank you Lacoste, for validating my lifelong desire to dress like a Royal Tenenbaum.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Veronica Beard:

A suit means two things: Total dress time cut in half due to corresponding parts and 2. Consequently, more time to floss. My back molars thank you.

[image error]
Turn on your JavaScript to view content

Thom Browne Kills the Vineyard Vine Whale

A gallery space on 25th street was reimagined to resemble a holy chapel yesterday for Thom Browne’s show — religion being a theme that is hardly new for the designer who values bringing a profound element of spectacle and divinity to New York.

Within three squares that would serve as a runway in the valleys of pews where viewers sat, women dressed in white with hair dyed to match were spread out on stretchers, eyes closed, while similarly-clothed medical technicians leaned over them, ostensibly observing and discussing the state of ailment before them, establishing the limbo between life and death that Browne is wont to confront with his collections.

And once they were rolled out — not necessarily alive, but upright, a sequence of 41 black looks rendered in silk and tweed and organza and mink walked out. Many of the fabrics, technically manipulated to reflect the kind of work that might go into a couture collection, were decorated with whales that called to mind the biblical prophet Jonah. As the story — integral to the Jewish, Islamic and Christian faith — goes, he was swallowed by a whale, where he lived for three days and prayed for release until his cries were heard.

I got the sense that in Browne’s conception, the whale never spat him back out and instead we were guests at the funeral of a man whose death defied a totem of monotheism: that no prayer goes unanswered. Maybe this was Browne’s way of saying even God is human.

That, or this was frankly the most elaborate procession held for the death of the mascot of Vineyard Vines.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

Images via Style.com

Highs and Lows of Fashion Week (Thus Far)

Excuse the cliché, but fashion week is an emotional roller coaster. When you’re at the peak with your arms in the air, all smug at having climbed to the top without so much as a whimper, you feel great. “I’ve got this,” you say to the person next to you at a morning show.

And then, the drop.

With your white knuckles gripping the bar that cannot be strong enough to hold you should a malfunction occur, you think to yourself, “GOOD GOD, WHY?”

But that’s kind of the fun part, right? Isn’t that why you get on in the first place: to feel your belly flip and determine, once and for all (or until the next ride), just how brave you are? I think so.

With that, behold — the fashion week highs and lows thus far.

High: Celebrity sightings. No matter how jaded you think you are, it never gets old to be in the same room as someone you listen to or saw on TV. Case in point: Naomi Campbell, Rihanna, North West, Maddie Ziegler, Kanye West and Kim Kardashian.

Low: Instagram outings, whereby you out your recent creepings to the person you were creeping on because you went to show them something on Instagram and the first thing that came up was their account.

High: Shows that make you think, like Creatures of the Wind, Altuzarra and Derek Lam.

Low: Movies that make you cringe, like Fifty Shades of Grey. (Which has much more to do with the annoying, repetitive close ups of Ana Steele biting her lip than anything else. Did you guys see this movie? Can we please talk about it below?)

High: When you can immediately apply what you learned from a show, like at The Row or J.Crew. Or, when you’re inspired to dress in a new way: like a lady at Victoria Beckham, Thakoon, Edun; like the new kind of hipsters at Hood by Air and Public School.

Low: When a baby somehow still does it better.

High: Spotting your friends in The Sea when you were sure you were a gonner.

“Oh my god I thought I’d lost you.”

Low: Waving at someone you mistook for your friend, waving at you, when actually, they were hailing the cab behind you. Cue furious and important fake texting session.

High: Using the frozen tundra of Manhattan for dramatic photography opportunities. If you need a new profile picture on Facebook, Hinge or GlutenFreeSingles.com, now is the time.

Low: Using the — I will say it again — FROZEN TUNDRA OF MANHATTAN — to prove just how thick your actual skin is by not wearing tights. Women. Gentlemen. Humans. A PSA: No matter how heavy your leg hair is; no matter how brilliantly your weekend-getaway tan carried over; no matter how many hot-pods you have shoved in various bodily crevices — walking around when there are literal polar bears going on STRIKE in the Hudson river without at least two layers of leg-wear is not only illegal and impractical, it is making the rest of us cold.

High: There is no better excuse for not answering an e-mail than, “Sorry, I was jumping for joy in front of photographers.”

Low: Spacing out while someone is talking to you because you’ve lost all sense of social skills. Of course, your best excuse in this case is easy: “Sorry, I was meditating.”

Now it’s your turn: highs and lows of your week, fashion fleek, my cheeks, Leandra’s sneaks — doesn’t matter — just find the comments and go.

Images shot by Krista Lewis

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

Ten Takeaways from J.Crew Fall ’15 Today

J.Crew’s Fall 2015 collection was a loud reminder that in fashion, it’s still widely important to have fun.

Backstage before the presentation even began, amid the expertly controlled chaos and excited buzzings of pre-show energy were models in warm yellows and dusty pinks with bright lips and flushed cheeks and beads, bobbles and embellishment up the fantastic wazoo. The scene spoke volumes to the fact that just because it’s crap outside doesn’t mean you’re imprisoned to dress like it, and so, because it is snowing yet again, let’s take away the Fall 2015 takeaways asap.

1. Tuck your hair into your turtleneck. It has no where else to be!

2. Reference the ’70s, but don’t go full-on Ashton Kutcher-in-corduroys costume. Tom Mora, J.Crew’s head of women’s design, said that what he liked specifically about this time period is the reinterpretation of classics: a long blazer, a long coat vest, chunky heeled shoes, wide leg pants.

3. Speaking of wide-leg pants, the bigger the better. Pair them with knits, blazers, button downs with gigantic gold eyelashes on them — there are no rules.

4. Get a scarf so thick that you only need to wrap it once around the neck. Let the two ends hang down in all their glory. J.Crew had a navy version with gold embroidery. If you don’t, add a brooch.

5. You’ll need a suede fringe skirt. Desperately.

6. And a denim shirt — but thicker than your old chambray.

7. Ask for extra sprinkles. Textured fabric simply cannot have too many buttons, beads or sequins when you pair it with a neutral.

8. Pumps will cover more than just your toes. In fact, they’ll hike up mid-foot (great for bunion buddies), and rather than secure them the old way you’ll want to tie thin ribbons around your ankles and let the tassels bonk one another as you walk.

9. Finally, don’t only shy away from color. Full on over-saturate yourself in it.

10. And if you’re wondering how to get around when it’s sludgier than a spilled slushy machine at 7-Eleven on a Saturday night? Make like all the brave commuters before us: wear boots, carry heels, will travel.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

A Day in The Life During Polar Bear Appreciation Week

It is 6 a.m. on Monday morning and I am lying in bed, eyes wide open. Last night I had a dream that I was kidnapped and detained in Tulum which I realize sounds wonderful but it made even the penguin sighting on the West Side Highway yesterday seem angelic and liberating. (Note: the penguin in question was actually Amelia dressed in black and white.) The first show today will be Carolina Herrera but before that, I will take a shower because I haven’t done that since last Wednesday night. I will also write a review about Hood by Air and Public School. They are distilling this moment in time using fashion and I’m sticking to my guns on that.

Between us, I’ll have my hair blown out because underneath the ripped denim and sloppy shirts lies a girl who just wants to grow up like the rest of fashion week.

6:42 a.m.: I am clean. My husband asked if the shower is always that loud to which I reply: huh? I am going to make a coffee with a Nespresso machine I have not used since it was given to me in 2012.

To my pleasure, it works. To my chagrin, this is clearly fake caffeine.

9:46 a.m.: I am now sitting in a pile of clothes that all look the same but are not the same feeling really angry at myself for not getting my shit together — I had so much time and now I am late for a show that is set to start in 14 minutes on the Upper West Side. I settle on high waist cropped jeans (shocker), a black turtleneck (wait, really?) and a white poplin crop top layered over it (cool, but now I need a coat). My feet are pissed off that their favorite pumps have no place getting their soles scratched in the new Nebraska. The sodium streets make me wonder why I still live here. I run out my door, yelling “I hate myself!” with two water bottles in hand and by some miracle of Hans (that’s a Frozen joke, fyi), I am seated by 10:19 at Lincoln Center at Carolina Herrera. There are dresses and fur hoods and I hate my outfit.

By 11:08 I’m home again and changing — into another pair of jeans fetched out of a pile in the middle of my bathroom. I still look stupid but can’t quite blame my clothes for that. I write a review. I tell Victoria Beckham, through the keyboard that be, that Posh Spice would be proud of the way she’s decided to dress her. Then I go to pick up Amelia, who is at the office, likely wearing high waist jeans and looking like a mom with piercing-fostered false edge. We head to 37th Street to see Rosetta Getty’s Fall collection and run into Chris and Shane from Creatures of the Wind. We end up talking to them and dousing our bodies like they are pieces of raw tuna in their Fall collection (sesame ginger dressing) until it’s become inappropriate and we are not asked to leave but make the executive decision to do so regardless.

Rosetta Getty has produced the clothes you want to wear now and most likely will if given the opportunity — there are striped blouses with buttons that hang down the sides to make half-tucking easy for those of us who identify as mortal Jenna Lyons protégés, and tapestry print jackets, which are worth emptying out your piggy bank. There are some turtleneck sweaters with genius-ass slits and tails.

You know what else will probably feel genius-ass? Rosie Assoulin’s Fall presentation, for which we are late.

As suspected, when the clocks strikes 1:22 p.m. and we arrive at the presentation, we are smacked over the head with precisely the fantasy absent from this season. Shirt dresses that are long in the front and cropped in the back to show off our Levi’s-fostered mom asses, wool cropped camisoles worn over button down shirts, flare leg ruffle pants that put the salsa dancing emoji with her plebeian dress to shame.

If designers city-wide are attempting to grow up their clothes, Assoulin is just rolling up her sleeves to ensure that her girl has fun. Because you know what they say, right? She who dies with the biggest skirt does not fit in a casket.

And she who dies in a pair of sunglasses was probably a fan of Karen Walker’s. Her show starts at 2 p.m.; there is a celebrity dog who goes by the name Toast taking photos with bloggers and fans alike. He is the star of Walker’s newest lookbook.

By 3 p.m., street style photographers are huddled outside 330 West Street, where the Phillip Lim show is set to commence and when it does, that sense of growing up is re-evaluated and instilled, proving that the 90s have not yet died but they have become, let’s say, cleaner. Amelia has this theory that the clothes this season have been so blunt because we can’t be (cue: Jonathan Chait’s dissertation on the handicap that is political correctness) and I don’t disagree, but Phillip Lim’s polished grunge also makes me wonder if the cleanliness running through fashion week is a case study of sorts — one imbued with a new sense of clarity that is pleasantly reliable though not as homegrown and community-oriented as New York Fashion Week has possibly felt in previous seasons.

Break.

Amelia and I stop at Soho House for lentil soup (chocolate covered cashews) and run into like 16 people from our real lives. All of whom we adore. I wonder if I used “whom” correctly.

We contemplate a glass of wine, said contemplation is vetoed. Thom Browne will start at 5 p.m. and ain’t no one tryina review a Browne show while under the influence — not to be confused with urinary tract infection. Especially because this entirely-black-Browne-show is, depending on where you were educated, either a funeral for Jonah, the biblical prophet who was swallowed whole by a whale, or Vineyard Vines. There are whales etched into everything including the organza, the chiffon, the tweed and the mink.

I hightail it home after Thom Browne, stomach feeling a little queezy (those lentils!), to write this and change because high heels are for chumps and I’m wearing them like a chump. Currently, I’m seated on a couch next to previously tagged husband but for the sake of this sentence, we’ll call him my partner in sex even though it’s been weeks. (Have fun getting pregnant without executing intercourse, Leandra!) He is reading an e-mail subject titled “Seamless Confirmation” which I guess means he ordered food and didn’t ask if I wanted any. His tongue is flung out of the side of his mouth so he kind of looks like that dog, Toast. Girls is on in the background and he is feeling sorry for Hannah. I ask if he read our recap — he did not.

I shut my computer, put on a coat and attempt to head out to Rag and Bone before I am distracted by P-I-S, who is now rolling across an orange foam roller. “Jealous?” He says. Even a three degree evening in white linen sneakers is better than that.