Leandra Medine's Blog, page 661

Lessons from The Row

The Row’s Fall 2015 collection is a reminder that you don’t have to know it all. That to learn something new from that which is timeless is a beautiful, achievable thing. Ashley and Mary Kate Olsen don’t set out to be educators, of course; what they do best is design, but their clothes demonstrate a number of lessons:

1) To be “chic” does not mean heels are required. Paired with every silken trouser, mid-length skirt and above-the-ankle cropped pant were quick-moving feet grounded in slides.

2) To slouch — puddling hems, melting sweaters — is every bit as elegant as that which is nipped, tailored and tucked.

3) Allow your bag to become part of your outfit and not just an accessory by clutching it for dear life to your chest.

4) Finally, in no way should robes be confined to hotel rooms; tie them with obi belts should a formal occasion arise.

One could argue that Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen’s sartorial guide to life are only applicable to those 5’9″ and up, but how tall are the they? 5’2″? Designers rarely mean for us to apply everything at once. As with astrology, all the information is put forth at once, and then it’s our job to interpret personally.

So interpret the Olsen sisters’ collection as you will, making note that as always, the theme is luxury. Then open your closet, observe what exists, and put into practice that which you learned. Attempt to dress like the person you’re now inspired to be. It’s the fun kind of homework. And yes — it will be on the final.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

Girls: Season 4, Episode 5

On Sun, Feb 15, 2015 at 9:41 PM, Leandra Medine wrote:

That was the best acting I’ve seen throughout the whole series. Are you feeling like you just went through a break up? Marnie gave maybe the most important advice she’s ever given but I hated her not quite rubbing Dezi in Hannah’s face but still being unable to refrain from mentioning it.

On Mon, Feb 16, 2015 at 12:09 AM, Mattie Kahn wrote:

The credits rolled and my heart hurt, so: yes.

Like all of the really important break ups, this one did more than end something. It forced Hannah (and me, since I more or less lived it for twenty-seven minutes) to consider how life should look now that it’s done. Whether or not she succeeds in her intention to move on from Adam, I at least think we have officially moved on to a new chapter of the show. I wonder whether she’ll rebound with some horrendous miscreant or a great guy or with Marnie, her new creative life partner and apparent purveyor of romantic wisdom.

Even though I have developed a deep aversion to all things Marnie this season, I’m willing to admit that she gave Hannah good and necessary and kind of universal advice here. But the question is how much her experience with Dezi informed it. Does she encourage Hannah to let Adam go so fast for her own sake? Or should we be cynical and assume that she just would have wanted Clementine to?

Either way, how many people per day in New York do you think have some version of the exchange that Adam and Hannah had? How many of the people in Manhattan know how to treat kitchen burns? Probably not enough. And can you sleep in a storage unit? Do you think Jenni Konner and Lena Dunham investigated that?

P.S. Marnie has a ponytail! So does Mimi-Rose Howard! What does it all mean?

P.P.S. Jessa — what a bitch.

On Mon, Feb 16, 2015 at 8:56 AM, Leandra Medine wrote:

So Jessa — to respond to a prediction we made last week — really did let Hannah down. I’m not at all offended that she introduced Adam to the woman with two gendered names separated by a plant and with enough knowledge to use the term heretofore properly. I’m also not so surprised that she can’t be lifted out of her own baggage to assume Hannah’s.

More importantly, I wonder if Hannah will regret leaving Iowa. Where last week I think we concluded on the side of her “needing to come home,” I’ve experienced that aching sense of: I’d rather be anywhere but here in this nightmare of a reality. Even a mean-spirited, hyper pretentious workshop in the Wifi-free Midwestern zone sounds better than contemplating one of the worst conversations in the history of romance while cooped up in a storage unit. You know it’s real when the dude starts crying while he’s telling you that he’s no longer in love with you. I’ve been there — which leads me to another point: do you think the acting/dialogue/emotional turmoil stung in such a pointed way because we have all been there? Or because THEY (the powers that be behind Girls) have all been there?

Also: Talk to me about Hannah and Ray (HanRay henceforth).

On Mon, Feb 16, 2015 at 9:29 AM, Mattie Kahn wrote:

Some friends are our tireless defenders. They are the Shosh-es–all fierce protection, no nuance. And I find I am usually very grateful to them. We need people for whom our happiness and safety is a chief priority. This is why parents and Boston Terriers are so great.

But some friends are less interested in shielding us from the outside world. They’re too busy trying to save us from ourselves. They know us well enough to know how to do it. It was kind of incredible to see Marnie (no matter her personal motivations) be that person for Hannah this week and to see Ray so sincerely try. Telling a person you care about to listen to you is a powerful thing. And it’s the kind of genuine experience that Girls captures so well. Because, yes, we’ve all heard someone say those words to us. Forget romantic breakups and water-cooler chatter. It’s when your friend says “we need to talk” that your heart shatters.

Finally, some friends are Jessa. You’re right. What makes her so egregious is not the fact that she introduced Adam and MRH. It’s her smugness about it. It’s that she implies that Hannah is incapable of understanding her relationship with Adam, that that relationship supersedes not only hers and Hannah’s but also Hannah’s and Adam’s.

But I just want to take this opportunity to declare that if one of my best friends introduced the very recent ex love of my life to his subsequent girlfriend, I wouldn’t care about her vocabulary or the merits of her rhetorical flourishes. I would want to assassinate them both. We’re all bound by “the rule of common human decency,” and Jessa violated it. Hannah is babied a lot–by her parents and by her friends and by Laird. But this is the worst, because there is no love in Jessa’s condescension.

What I think is funny about Ray is that he seems to blame Adam a little bit. And I wonder whether you think Adam is at fault. I’m tempted to say that the writers don’t seem to. They are very generous with him. Should we be quite so understanding? And how long do we think Mimi-Rose is going to stick around? And why doesn’t Ray have any friends his own age? Do you think Hannah is able to comfort him at all, or is he really becoming the grandpa of the show — a dispenser of curmudgeonly sagacity and not an emotional peer?

For the record, he is so right. People. They obfuscate.

On Mon, Feb 16, 2015 at 10:59 AM, Leandra Medine wrote:

Ray is projecting a lot of frustration onto Hannah. It’s funny to me that you don’t consider him an emotional peer. Their age difference is highlighted, as blaring as it is, I think, because through the trenches of their respective personal experiences lay a commonality in their inabilities to feel emotion selflessly. And I think if you can’t feel selflessly, your breadth of understanding is way too linear to actually help anyone else.

You bring up a good talking point with Adam — I don’t fault him for moving on. I know Hannah chose to leave but she did that to grow and ostensibly get better, which seems to merit the support of a partner, no? Unless that’s not why she went. Maybe Adam saw through this new layer of narcissism that Hannah was building into her narrative and dropped the ball then and there because where it hadn’t affected him as acutely in any other instance, this one literally tore him apart from someone he thought he might spend forever with. And the worst part is probably that she didn’t realize this at all.

I don’t know. Fashion week is making me dizzy but I really enjoyed (maybe not the right word) that episode — Amelia and I were silent for 27 minutes, staring at the TV like newborns with functioning thumbs scrolling through an iPad. I want to understand why.

On Mon, Feb 16, 2015 at 12:04 PM, Mattie Kahn wrote:

Yes, I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it per se, but I felt a little dumbfounded by it. As in, wait? What now? I know this episode is going to take a lot of heat for setting our gals even farther back on the path toward eventual redemption, but it doesn’t bother me the way the hopelessness of it all sometimes does. I think it comes back to just how emotionally honest I think this season has been so far. Reality might be harsh for Shosh and Hannah, in particular, but it doesn’t feel callous. We don’t have to like them any more than we did before, but at least we can relate to what they’re going through and imagine ourselves into their positions. That’s what makes for great narrative. That’s what keeps the show exciting.

But enough about all that. This is very important: Did Elijah come home from Iowa? Or have we lost him to the middle states forever? And is it just me, or did Hannah look sort of pretty in her despondency this week? Does that even matter? Is it some kind of moral failing that I pay attention to these things?

On Mon, Feb 16, 2015 at 12:25 PM, Leandra Medine wrote:

I’m leaving those closing questions open for comment from the most important critics — our readers!

All Grown Up at New York Fashion Week

Posh Spice might have rolled her eyes at the clothes Victoria Beckham sent down her runway on Sunday morning in New York’s financial district. The setting seemed prime to establish the continuing evolution of an eponymous label that has impressively escaped the wrath of what it means to run a celebrity-created label. Big buttons punctuated many of the voluminous silhouettes that looked a bit like what Phoebe Philo built for Celine last fall. There were thick knit turtlenecks married to big, shoulder-defying sleeves and fluffy coats that fit in perfectly with an ambient theme this season, suggesting that what you wear under your coat doesn’t so much matter. Though if you’re into Beckham, you might want to modify that tenet: it will be mid-length skirts covered in velvet appliques as well as grown-up dresses, which in non-colors both obstruct and celebrate the female form.

Thakoon did his part to continue telling his story from within the same book that last spring emerged. There were great poplin blouses, styled compellingly over cropped red velvet tops and under grey pinstriped pants. One wool jacket has its sleeves flipped over to reveal a sliver of denim lining. There were some cool orange, retro-floral printed dresses and shearling pieces worn as, let’s call them, “modern harnesses” over a selection of the poplin. The closing dresses, rendered in beads and sequins — one worn with its plunging neckline revealing a bony chest, the other with a turtleneck playing into the seasonal theme (we’re at an all-or-nothing crossroad) — were well-crafted enough to pass the “could it be Zara?” test.

That would be a no, by the way.

Edun played with big buttons, too, in a collection that seemed to encompass a block of time within the 60s that cancelled out skinny pants and embraced straight mini dresses. Ones that could, with the help of the thigh high suede boots that cloaked all the legs on tap, withstand the atrocious weather New York was endowed with yesterday. Necks were covered again, hair tucked in through the neck, chests were lined in horsehair but the most outstanding pieces of the collection were of the, you guessed it, outerwear persuasion. There were leather ankle-length trench coats, bell shaped and broad that seemingly whispered, “I’ll keep you warm so long as you applaud.”

And on that note! Has anyone in this chatroom realized that we have been rhyming all of our Instagram captions? Oh, good.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

Images via Style.com

Day in the Life During Fashion Week

Everyone deserves to feel like a celebrity. A mascara advertisement once told me that and it’s a sentiment I routinely repeat whenever I find myself mid-fit on the floor of CVS because they’ve run out of my particular brand of paper towel. Typically, however, the only people who adhere to this personal mantra of mine are my grandma and any kid I’ve babysat who’s young enough to believe me when I say I know Santa.

But on Saturday morning of New York Fashion Week, I finally felt like the celebrity that mascara told me I deserve to be: at 8 AM a man named Angel arrived to blow dry my hair.

Different Angel, but I’m writing this narrative, baby!

Angel is a member of Glamsquad, a website/app that dispatches actual angels to your household or office or cocoon and what they do is make your wig look beautiful. Why I decided to do this at 8 AM on a Saturday is a whole other story (literally — wait until Friday) but it’s important to this story because I spent a lot of time on Saturday asking others to compare me, on a scale of 1 to 10, to Connie Britton.

Saturday was also Valentine’s day, and I wanted to look nice in case someone fell in love with me. The Cut kindly named Leandra and me the cutest couple at Summer Heights High the day before, so she was my back up plan.

11 AM

My first stop of the day after some morning writing was Adam Lippes, where patrons of the fashion world mingled with models wearing the designer’s creations that made me feel beautiful by nature of osmosis. It’s a real testament to the nature of Lippes as a person that his clothes — cozy knits, tailored coats, a standout flared-leg pant suit in black floral chinoiserie — have the ability to welcome and inspire as opposed to intimidate (where they so easily could).

12 PM – 3 PM

From there I hoofed it to Misha Nonoo and by hoofed it I mean I sat in a cab. I found Leandra in the post-show sea where we scooped up a rainbow fish by the name of Rajni Jacques.

The three of us sat in a car across the street from Tibi for as long as humanly possible because venturing outdoors this weekend — especially along 11th avenue — was more torturous than Friday night where I found myself watching Fifty Shades of Grey next to a couple on a first Tinder date.

Black Hole

This included a lot of rushing and eating and appointments and writing and charging my phone at the Apple store. I’d write about it but you’d fall into a coma, and it’s a holiday, so.

7 PM

Ah, Milk Studios. The disco inferno of fashion week whereby you run between crowds to catch fast glimpses of young, up-and-coming designers like Isa Arfen and Sandy Liang.

Isa Arfen’s Fall 2015 presentation was young Prada, or in the rap world: Yung Prada. The silhouettes dripped of the models like Salvador Dali’s lethargic clocks, though the vibe that emanated from the room was vibrant, youthful, as though viewers had entered a party that was just dying down to the part of the evening where only the close friends remain. There were sequins, and they begged to be worn during the day — paired, of course, with platformed heels and ankle socks.

Sandy Liang projected youth as well, only her models — in their lush pastel furs over cropped flared jean and thick, rubber soled sneakers and their shearling lined suede jackets over rough edged denim — were crashing the type of party at which you’d be scared to drink more than a glass of champagne.

8 PM 

After Milk was Altuzarra where, per usual, my heart stopped and someone nearby had to pick it back up and shove it in again.

If Altuzarra was everything elegant and romantic about the fashion world, what followed was everything that’s fun: Leandra and I stopped at a sketchy Thai restaurant where we consumed wine and scrambled eggs with like, 2 noodles in it. We needed fuel for the karaoke session that followed. You may or may not have heard us sing if you follow us on Snapchat (@man_repeller).

12 AM

I fell asleep promptly at 12 AM, missed a birthday party and slept on my phone.

Sunday

Because the weekend tends to feel like one long day (how Alaskan!), I’m putting into two more things into my Dear Diary. First up: Yigal Azrouel, where the models were swathed in a strict palette of black white and gray, breaking occasionally for the odd mention of maroon, either in a pair of trousers or a broken-striped, sleeveless double-breasted vest-dress; but where the collection carried all of its weight was in the coats — all of us watching sat, still frozen to the bone despite the venue’s warmth, longing for the lavender-gray fur coat and shearling/leather combo coat.

And for the second/last thing? My dad drove me to Derek Lam. It’s a fashion week traditon, and the only other time (besides visiting my grandma, babysitting a gullible child and now, getting my hair blown out) that I feel like the celebrity of my mascaran dreams.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

From Two Ends of The Same Spectrum: Lacoste and Dion Lee

Why did it occur to no one last season when Stan Smith became the unofficial transportation sponsor of New York Fashion Week that a 70s redux would ultimately follow? When I sat down for Lacoste’s fall runway show on Saturday morning, I thought that the most seamless incorporation of fashion’s new darling decade was prime for resuscitation for a house with roots so profoundly planted in the 70s, just north of the tennis sneakers that embodied its athletic feats.

Felipe Oliviera Baptista had the same idea — the collection was brimming with monogrammed sportswear, boasting slogans that read “Rene did it first” behind zip up sweaters and terry cloth sweatbands, charmingly worn across the head in several looks that were most conspiciously reminiscent of Ben Stiller’s Wes Anderson character from The Royal Tenenbaums. But independent of the sportswear were some good recreation pieces, like warm camel coats and capes with non-functioning sleeves.

Not far away, Dion Lee dressed another woman — her pants were tight, puffer coat satin and the uneven hems on the appropriately form-fitting dresses indicated she could have been a pupil of the bygone Posh Spice. I considered how many women could show up at the Grammys in one of the conceptions, feeling powerful and charged. They featured tasteful cut outs and the kind of dimension that kept them smart. I also thought about how wearing these clothes might make another woman feel — as we move further away from the male gaze, so to speak, I’m beginning to think that through the sea of big pants and wide turtlenecks, the underlying feminism of fashion lies precisely where the necklines are low, dress straps spaghetti and slip dresses tight.

Images via Style.com

Derek Lam’s American Reinterpretation

Derek Lam’s show notes presented his intent before the event began:

“New York Heroines,” read the title. It then went on to list the women who have clearly inspired his Fall 2015 theme, citing such greats as Diane Keaton, Mia Farrow and Katharine Hepburn.

“A modern interpretation of American style,” the notes concluded. And so it was.

There was the trench — but the collar exploded upwards. There was the pant suit — but with implications of “corporate” removed. Also modified but still present were the pencil skirt, the statement jacket, the black dress and everything else that one somehow magically collects by the time she’s grown up and finally made it — where by virtue of her closet alone, she’s a success. If the American Dream is having it all then American style is dressing like it.

Sure, the seventies were hinted. At this point, where are they not? But because Derek Lam cited women to begin with as opposed to pulling from some general vision of what that overarching decade has been romanticized as, his collection speaks much larger volumes about who his women are right now and how they will continue to dress. How they’ll evolve. How he’ll help them.

She who shops at Derek Lam is surely aware of trends. She knows that while burnt orange has had its moment on flared pants prior to Lam’s reinterpretation, she’ll choose to buy it for the sake of flattering her own silhouette — not to satiate some nostalgic craving.

What Derek Lam put forth was the exact thing that those who search for the deeper meaning (in addition something visually wonderful) from fashion week have been seeking. That is: beautiful clothes, pristine execution, something to covet and something to think about.

And he accomplishes this because he’s smart. I don’t mean that in the way of someone who plans a collection for the sake of sales — although let’s not pretend it isn’t on his or his buyers’ minds. This is a business, not just the wearable art world. But in addition to being a designer, Derek Lam is an architect. He not only builds, he creates, and he does so with the eye of that rare person who is at once mathematically minded and creatively gifted. That’s having it all too, isn’t it? American dream, American style.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

Images via Style.com

Blinding Self-Awareness at Altuzarra

Joseph Altuzarra never makes me want to go home and change.

He makes me want to rewrite my narrative.

We’re looking back 40 years for inspiration and have heretofore seen so many permutations of the decade that shall remain nameless, it is worth bracketing different genres within its ten year course to adequately divide the interpretations. But on Saturday night, championed by one of the truly smart New York designers, a reading previously unseen was delivered.

Cause of novelty?

Resolute self-awareness.

Altuzarra never strays from the path he’s paved in thigh high slits and tailored jackets and a reliable bravura of evening wear. For fall, there were semblances to the Victorian era with lace collars that were adjusted for, say, Bianca Jagger with their simultaneous slit chest openings and high waist, tailored pants.

The glen plaid rendered in tan and brown covered one of Altuzarra’s signature silhouettes: the tailored coat — in one instance performed with a thick fur collar that followed the coat’s lapels to the model’s waist line and once more as a short jacket, which punctuated that sense of awareness. There were velvet chokers shown with plunging, sleeveless necklines that countered the ruffle collars and studded boots: pointed toe, lace up, and almost made to rewrite Little House on the Prairie for a 21st century feminist.

Finally, there were sequins: gold on white or red or navy that historically positioned me somewhere between Ottoman Turkey and current Delhi then smacked me back to that fateful decade and forward to last night. Maybe that’s the genius of Altuzarra — a fashion Vitamix that seamlessly combines references and materials and most saliently, emotion but never allows you to lose sight of the varying tastes from its incipient ingredients. They might even leave room to make up your own story.

Want more? See all our Fashion Week coverage here.

Saturday Sentences: Misha Nonoo, CG and Tibi

At Misha Nonoo, chests were bared in deep Vs — until they weren’t, where the skin just below the chin on a few of the models were covered in delicate sheer turtlenecks worn under square-necked bib frocks and one long wool dress, but everything about the collection was sharp: sharp hair pulled back and secured with pins, sharp suiting, sharp silver — a sort of humorously futuristic addition among the collection made for a perfectionist who likes her sleeves long and her skirts short.

The fringy-haired girls at CG by Chris Gelinas were en route to some chic-ass corporate office in their updated iterations of classic suiting silhouettes equipped with exaggerated lapels, wide cuffs, cropped trousers and broad shoulders that had a decidedly feminine flair that never lost sight of comfort, and even took our crystal ball prediction to heart of practical footwear as they marched out, feet festooned in Sperrys.

Single-earring laden birds dressed uniformly in gray, enveloped in cahoots with burgundy on Tibi’s long fall runway, boasting a new culotte silhouette and tailored flare pants — there were fur coats and flats gliding in a trance // these could well have whispered, in a voice strong enough to relay, “We know winter gets mundane, we’re here to save the day.”

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Define Love

Some days it’s the ache that blossoms in between my sternum and stomach.

The soft center of cardamom bread, sugar on my lips, a hole filled blanket stretched across bare legs.

Hands on my waist. Her fingers braiding my short hair into two chunky fishtails that dissolve as we dance.

Some days, it’s swaying in the damp basement of a Seattle dive bar buoyed by the beauty of so many bodies near to mine.

It’s holding tight to each other when it’s just us and the macaroni cheese we made is sitting,

still warm, on the kitchen table.

What it feels like to sit on the swell of Breakneck Ridge and watch the Hudson breathe blue and crisp in the early morning. What it feels like to wake up in a double bed and sink into the gratitude that this delicious day is all mine. What it feels like to remember sun in the heart of winter.

It’s meeting someone who shares the same name as my best friend/brother/mother and find myself suddenly filled with the sweetness of recognition.

It’s hearing the Thundamentals’ “Something That I Said” blare from the windows of a passing car. My favorite song, moving by.

It’s Ella Fitzgerald too. And Jonathan Richman. And the grizzly roar of Dave Van Ronk on my father’s record player.

Some days, it’s finding the perfect gift for my friend and the shock of happiness I feel thinking that I might make some small part of her day.

The crush I harbor on the drummer from the band I saw once or twice, the feel of warm water sliding down my shoulders after work.

The pearly-grey of the February sky, loose sketches for unwritten stories and future travels.

New socks, old sweater, my grandmother’s voice on the phone.

The ache blossoming in between my sternum and stomach that feeds on the small things, the sweet things, the day-to-day.

What it feels like to read a beloved book for the first time, and know I’ll never run out of ways to be jolted back into being.

For more writer’s club entries, stay in bed and click here. 

Subtle Changes at Cushnie et Ochs, Rodebjer & Suno

There’s something comforting about entering a show knowing what to expect. It’s familiar in the way that a band or an author can be familiar — the word isn’t formulaic, it’s honest and personal.

But over-familiarity can cause fatigue. It’s here a designer likely feels the challenge of remaining true to his or her inherent taste while adding a bit of “what the people want” — if what the people want is, in fact, change.

Subtle changes, and I mean subtle, were at play at Cushnie et Ochs, though mark my word: the Cushnie customer never once complained. Neither did the buyers, especially one independent store owner in particular who told me that his girl comes in for Cushnie, leaves with Cushnie, and comes back for — you know.

The show opened with model Crystal Renn. The model behind her wore a curve-hugging dresses with cut outs and mesh that said this is us. What followed was a tall collared coat in dusty rose and a high waisted pair of swinging trousers, then from there a pattern was established: the familiar would be broken up by alternative, pant-inclusive looks. Color added to the change in tempo: dark pumpkin, green velvet.

Designers Carly Cushnie and Michelle Ochs create clothes that beg to be worn by the type of body that inspires the doubled-handed motion of a Coke bottle. It’s unlikely they’ll stray from this guide — they’re smart women and know not to fix what isn’t broken. They also know where quiet changes are in order.

Rodebjer is another label with an obvious look, only it wasn’t totally there in her opening number for Fall: a faux fur jacket over black fabric trellis exposing a leather-esque skirt and a lot of skin. But that’s ok! Aren’t we always complaining to our long-term significant others that they don’t surprise us anymore?

Back in July, designer Carin Rodebjer told us that she designed for women of every age, a sentiment that held true for her older clientele in yesterday’s draping, flowing, flattering shapes that hung from the body with a satisfying weight. New was the more obvious stance on youth: Carin’s models were moon children, branded as such by navy crescents between their eyebrows. They wore sneakers — awesome ones — laced up around the ankles, and their outfits, perhaps even more than the shoes, were made to be walked in. Or played in. Rodebjer’s fans are loyal. Her clothes take care of their wearers, and it’s in that mindset they’ll be open to whatever her “next” may be.

As for Suno, design duo Erin Beatty and Max Osterweis have fostered such a strong community of friends that their show feels familiar based solely on that. It’s a consistently late call time: 8 p.m. on a Friday, yet everyone who’s there is glad to be.

This season, their subtle change was in a lean towards dark: the colors, the shapes, the theme. Per Style.com, Beatty and Osterweis were inspired by Bertha Mason, Jane Eyre’s “madwoman in the attic.” (In addition to Wide Sargasso Sea.) 

The collection was heavy in the way you want winter clothes to be, perhaps more over-all wearable than past collections, and definitely more…adult?

It was elegant and moody. One detail that stood out was the cluster of tight floral appliqués on a fine mesh tulle dress — a hint of the more playful Suno, and maybe a knowing hint of spring.

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