Leandra Medine's Blog, page 83

3 Commuter Bags That Make Even the Wildest Day a Breeze

In partnership with MZ Wallace.

I just sent a text to my best friend with a simple request: Tell me everything that is in your car right at this moment. Please.

Her response, after about an hour, went as follows:

1:42: Sorry had a lunch meeting

1:43: So, in my car: definitely 3 open water bottles, the old license plate from my previous car, 2 inflatables from vacation, a random empty cardboard box, a bag with 6 books I need to donate, at least 2 pairs of shoes, a folder with choral music from the choir I joined for 3 months and quit

I’ll be honest, I knew what kind of answer I’d get when I shot off that seemingly random text. When I went to visit her a few months ago, I spent our ride back from the airport just quietly taking stock of all the things in her car, completely surprised, confused, and delighted by the myriad stuff she could just keep there for whenever she needs them. What a way to live! As one of the 4.3 million New Yorkers who commute by subway every day, I have come to embrace the fact that for me, my bag is my car. It routinely gets me from place to place—work to yoga to party to bed, etc.—all without a pit-stop at home. It holds my lunch and books, and while I haven’t tried to fill it with post-vacation inflatables, never say never.

Once you have said bag, life is breezy. But finding one that can get you from point A to point Z as effectively as it would catch a random street style photographer’s eye is about as easy as finding a parking spot during a blizzard in a permit-parking only neighborhood (or so I imagine?). Enter MZ Wallace—offering up the style-forward yet mind-blowingly useful commuter bags that five-cups-of-coffee-day dreams are made of. Here, market strategist Elizabeth Tamkin plays matchmaker between MZ Wallace bags and a few typically atypical NYC itineraries.

A Super Social and Culture-Filled Sunday (All While It’s Threatening to Rain)

Where she’s going: Absolutely nowhere before 1pm, then her neighborhood park, an apartment two train-transfers away, a coffee-shop that turns into a performance venue, and then a dance party.

What she’ll need: An umbrella, wine (x2), books, pens, a notebook, water bottle, manchego and crackers, “sensible” shoes

You can carry the Top Handle Backpack as a tote if you’re feeling footloose and fancy-free, or square on the shoulders to keep your hands at the ready. It’s surprisingly storage-friendly, like if Mary Poppins’s carpetbag went to grad school. It can handle a brisk walk to the park, a birthday party across town on a close acquaintance’s patio (BYOB of course) and a very serious poetry reading that turns into a dance party after (also BYOB of course). It’s the ultimate commuter bag as it keeps everything in place, even if you have to run, and lies flat as you load things in and out. Keep a pair of statement shoes in your backpack and change right before you run into an event. That is, if you go out at all.

Networking, Housewarming, and Keeping Up With a Stylish Friend

Where she’s going: A chic restaurant in the busiest neighborhood in Manhattan, an apartment one simple ferry ride away, then straight to the top of the corporate ladder (eventually).

What she’ll need: A crowd-wowing dessert for dinner, a blazer that says ‘hire me,’ four lipstick options, and a can-do attitude.

Hot tips first: If you’re looking to take your day bag to a chic night look, wrap a scarf around the straps. The quilting of the Parker bag makes it great for dressing up or down. If you spent the early evening shaking hands and taking business cards, this bag is all business. Ready to breeze through a room with effortless panache, the bag can be just as whimsical as you are. Need to wow a dinner party crowd? Stick a babka in your bag, it’s a genuine crowd-pleaser. Consider this your formal invitation to feel wildly successful both professionally and sartorially.

Closing Deals and Chugging Coffee on the Train

Where she’s going: A conference room at a startup, a conference room in a super-corporate building, a conference room at a university—all via MTA.

What she’ll need: Confidence and caffeine. But also a lunch, her pitch deck, her computer for notes, some calming lavender spray, a novel for the bus, an extra shirt in case she spills the aforementioned coffee on her shirt, more sensible shoes.

The coated lacquer of the bag takes it from something you just use to something you want to show off. Pair the bag with a power suit for a strong monochrome look or opt for a pop of color to play with contrast. From one big meeting to another to another to another, traverse three of the five boroughs with nothing but an MTA card (for environmental reasons but also just to save some extra cash) and everything you need for those meetings in your Medium Metro Tote. A healthy lunch, a binder full of serious business, and a laptop are nestled gently together with a little room to spare. Go get ‘em tiger!

As I flirted with the idea of just sending my best friend an MZ Wallace bag to simplify her life, my phone dinged.

2:05 Oh, there’s probably 3 granola bar wrappers in my cup holders, too

And like some gum wrappers. And pairs of earrings

But that’s the most of it.

Outfit Anatomy: Team MR Breaks Down Our NYFW Looks

Man Repeller’s Outfit Anatomy franchise endeavors to break down the practical and emotional minutiae of why we wear what we wear. To close out New York Fashion Week, we compiled this special edition of miniature Outfit Anatomies featuring the editors who attended, with the goal of providing some insight into the particularities of getting dressed for a week of show-going. Considerations included everything from weather to walking multiple crosstown blocks to the pressure that inevitably comes with seeing and being seen—it’s a pretty distinctive cocktail. Scroll down to read about our favorite outfits and the thought process that went into them.

Leandra, Founder

This is the outfit I wore on the Sunday of fashion week–Saturday shows started at 9am and didn’t end until around 10pm, and the line up on Sunday was equally relentless, perhaps worse because logistically, every event on the calendar, running on the hour, was to take place at a location on an opposite side of town from the one that preceded it. I’d had the idea of wearing a white t-shirt tucked into white boxer shorts with an ivory blazer and gold lace-up, open-toe brogues, but every time I tried on an outfit that made me feel like I was dressed with a capital D (I guess it was the gold shoes), I wanted to take it off. Getting dressed the whole week was somewhat disorienting, I felt self-conscious (no matter how much I liked the outfit, or whether I would wear it to work, or another occasion on a regular day, if I put on clothes that you could fashion I.D., I felt like a parody of myself so I took them off, and if I was too streamlined, I felt like a parody of myself–dressing blindly into a trend without soul or something, so I took them off).

What’s weird is that I didn’t think much at all about the actual outfits I wore — they’re the weightlifting champions of my closet, but I did think a ton (an exhausting amount, really) around them. About what else I thought I could wear, was better to wear, more interesting, less obviously, “me.” But in the end, you know what he says, wherever you go, there you are. And it’s my newest new thing to feel calm, not scared, at that thought.

I’m wearing a Polo Ralph Lauren denim shirt, which I bought from Macys.com when I was pregnant two years ago, a pair of Moussy jeans, which I called in from Shopbop (also when I was pregnant two years ago) to style for a story, and ultimately kept (bought) for postpartum use. The sandals are Manolo Blahnik (I have liked them for a while, but didn’t care to justify buying them — particularly given how many similar versions exist, until it occurred to me that if I was going to spend real money on a pair of shoes, it ought to be a pair I’d use as frequently as I use, I don’t know, my computer). The black satin clutch is from The Row. My necklace is actually two gold chains clipped together.

It was getting late on Sunday morning and I’d cycled through like three wrong outfits so I asked myself what feels right. I knew I wanted to use the clutch, but that I don’t like to wear formal things, you know, formally. That it would be high 60’s in the morning, low 80’s but the afternoon, and back to the 60’s by nightfall. So I put on my favorite jeans. Cool enough for a warm day, but still ultimately covering my legs. Then a denim shirt. At first, I tried on black satin mules but the closed-toe wasn’t right with the jeans, and they weren’t ideal walking companions, so I put on the sandals, then the watch, the gold chain and lastly, the earrings–a pearl dangler, set of different size gold hoops, and a little crab claw.

From the neck up, I looked like my mom, who was raised in Milan, with that residual summer tan glossing my face. From shoulder to foot, I felt implicitly “me.” Not like an enhanced me, just the one who exists day in and out. Wherever you go…

Amalie, Social Media Manager

This outfit came together pretty haphazardly. I had the intention of wearing a full tweed-y skirt suit from Gestuz (you can see the blazer in this photo), but remembered that three out of the three days of fashion week I had been burning alive in my outfits. So, I threw on bike shorts from Cuyana that I swear by from both a lunch-with-mom perspective and a high-intensity-interval-training perspective. I have two pairs of them, and even then it’s not enough. Then came a black bandeau as a top underneath the tweed-y blazer because I could already feel the sweat condensation under my pits. It’s taken a lot of time for me to feel comfortable in garments that don’t just skim the skin but hug it, so I was happy to offset that semi-nudity with the statement blazer. Lastly: Accessories! The most fun part. I tossed on Loewe sunglasses I bought myself as a birthday present last month and Adieu creepers my *mom* bought me as a birthday present last month. Added some gold jewelry and a chunky necklace and called it a day. Once completed, the whole thing felt very “me.” Even though I tend to have a more colorful sartorial language, I know what I like, and I know the items/things that I always want front and center: shoes, legs, big oversized tops. Check, check, check.

I think it’s safe to say I never feel as polished as my show-going compatriots. I don’t take cars to shows to cut down on costs and, more often than not, I have sweat beading on my brow and hair sticking to my face. That’s life, though! It’s exciting to know that even though I don’t smell like a flower bomb arriving to a show, I like what I’m wearing. There’s nothing that can change the fact that I am who I am. Fortunately, I think she’s cool enough to elbow rub with the best of ’em.

Elizabeth, Market Strategist

This outfit was born the second I scored this Miu Miu vest from The RealReal for $67 during their Labor Day sale. I knew I’d want to debut it somewhere special, and New York Fashion Week felt like just the right opportunity. I love how it flares out and has a bit of a 70s feel to it.

These striped vintage shorts are from The Break, a primarily vintage shop in Greenpoint. This is the first time I’ve worn the shorts without their matching jacket, but I really liked the mix of print and didn’t want to cover it up. Down south, I wore sky high platforms. They’re by Simon Miller and are my favorite shoes I own. I wanted them for months before I finally got them. I love that they coordinated with the shorts’ precise shade of blue.

The accordion bag is Staud, and it always elevates and makes my outfits more fun. I was attending the Staud show that day, and thought “heck, why not reveal myself as the true fan that I am!” My other accessories are an accumulation of items I wear often, including a banana bead necklace from the Denmark brand Pura Utz. And of course, my signature eyeglasses chain (this one’s from Banana Legion). During shows, I flip it over my neck so it hangs down my chest like a necklace.

I typically have a one-and-done approach to getting dressed, because I visualize my outfit before wearing it. I would definitely wear this outfit whether or not it was fashion week, but would perhaps swap the shoes for sneakers on a normal day. (That being said, I did walk five miles in these shoes. Perhaps my biggest feat of the week). I often wonder if I am coming off the way I want to with what I wear. I try to project a sense of confidence once I walk out the door, but of course there are times–especially during fashion week–when I thought to myself, “Why on earth, Elizabeth?!” With this outfit, however, I had no regrets. At least not yet.

Harling, Fashion Director and Brand Strategist

This jumpsuit is from Alex Mill. It’s the first jumpsuit I’ve ever worn that fits me in the precise way I’ve always wanted a jumpsuit to fit, a.k.a. a triumph of historic significance (there have been many failed attempts). I think it’s because of the adjustable side tabs at the waist. The shoes are M.Gemi, the same ones I wrote about in this story. I’m happy to report I’ve worn them almost every day since getting them and they’re now so comfortable they feel like socks. The bag is from Hayward. I’m pretty obsessed with it, particularly in conjunction with the painterly jumpsuit as it almost looks akin to an artist’s palette.

Ironically, my favorite outfit I wore during fashion week was on a day I had no shows to attend–only a couple press previews. I rarely like the outfits I wear to actual shows. In prior seasons, I’ve definitely fallen into the trap of wearing “notice me!” outfits, i.e. caricatures of myself rendered in sartorial form, and I always feel gross afterward. This season, I tried really hard not to do that–to simply wear whatever I wanted to wear, as if it was just a regular week of work, and leave it at that. But I still found myself overthinking it, perhaps leaning too hard in the opposite direction and feeling frustratingly un-put-together as a result. That’s why it doesn’t surprise me at all that the one day I wasn’t getting dressed with fashion week in mind, I relaxed into an outfit I genuinely loved.

Haley, Deputy Editor

I barely attended fashion week this season, which I expected to feel blue about, but ended up not minding so much. Maybe because I have a lot of other things on my mind at the moment—a sense of distraction that imbued my single day of attendance with a kind of informality. This was the first time I dressed for a show the way I would for any other day of work.

I liked my outfit, though; it speaks to my aesthetic sensibility these days: monochromatic, oversized, crisp. I got this Tibi skirt earlier this year after falling in love with it via this post on Tibi founder Amy Smilovic’s Instagram. I couldn’t figure out a long white skirt read, tonally, like a pair of sweatpants. It lured me in. I’m obsessed with materials, and this skirt is made of a heavy nylon that keeps cool yet feels substantial. I’ve been wearing it all summer and intend to continue all fall and winter. I found this black Dries van Noten top in a recent Totokaelo sale for $80. Leandra has always said that DvN garments are made so well and thoughtfully that you keep them forever—which is why I took a risk with a garment I couldn’t quite figure out from the e-commerce photos. When I felt it in person I was validated. It’s a silken poplin material, and I love the details: It’s a funnel neck that buttons up the back, meaning you can wear it open and backwards, too. The bottom hem has a drawstring so you can wear it short, like a windbreaker, or long, like a tunic. This shirt and this top are important components of a new era for me, wherein I’m trying to round out my wardrobe with high-quality pieces I’ll keep many years, with the long-term goal of decreasing my fashion consumption to one or two things a year, if that.

The brogues are from & Other Stories, and I’ve been wearing them with black socks all summer. It’s an unlikely footwear duo for hot weather, but as I wrote in this story, it’s made me feel good during a season I typically struggle to feel like myself. The khaki bucket hat was stolen from the MR fashion closet—I think it was a cheap buy from Amazon. I wear it all the time; it reminds me of my late grandpa. The black leather crossbody bag is from a french brand called Elleme—it’s unassuming and yet I’ve worn it nearly every day this summer. It’s beautiful, unfussy, and keeps my hands free.

Feature graphic by Dasha Faires. Photos of Leandra by Christian Vierig/Getty Images.

The post Outfit Anatomy: Team MR Breaks Down Our NYFW Looks appeared first on Man Repeller.

My Botox Journey: From “Conflicted” to “Frozen Like a Lake in January”

My 37th birthday came and went this year, but the fine lines it brought with it never left. The new wrinkles mostly set up camp on my forehead, stretching from eyebrow to eyebrow in shallow grooves, sloping slightly downward to the right. I’m sure they developed over time, but they seemed to appear suddenly, impossibly, on one specific morning. And then I never didn’t notice them again.

In my twenties and early thirties, I never thought much about Botox. If people want it, I thought, they should get it. Of course, I assumed I’d never be one of them, leaning heavily on the “black don’t crack” ethos. My mom, after all, is 60, and has a wrinkle, like, maybe on her kneecap. So when they showed up on me, I wasn’t just annoyed, I was surprised. And for the first time in my life, I considered paying to change my face. But I couldn’t stop thinking about who I’d be betraying if I did.

The Tricky Business of Needs Versus Wants

If you follow me on Instagram, then you know I have a mantra: “If you need it, take it.” I started it for National Mental Health Awareness month, referring to my need for taking antidepressants, and the expression took off. People started virtually high-fiving me by posting their own “If you need it take it” photos and videos, and it was fantastic and perfect and everything I want my social media presence to be. And in the months since, I’ve started to apply “If you need it, take it” to other parts of my life: time off, downtime, me time, to name a few.

It’s made me consider what it means to “need” something, outside of what is medically necessary. Do I need to take my meds? Some may say no, but I know I do, because they balance me chemically and allow me to live fully. Do I need to clean my house? Maybe not. But if I didn’t, a) Kiesh would move out, and b) I’d end up on Hoarders within six months and I’m not trying to have everybody in my business. But do I need Botox? It’s hard to say yes, even subjectively. But I do need to feel good about myself both mentally and physically, and liking what I see in the mirror is a component of that.

Still, something about the idea made me feel false. I’m Crystal—kooky, footloose and fancy free Crystal. Crystal who talks to people on Instagram Live in a dirty T-shirt with a head scarf on. Crystal who gets DMs from people thanking her for “being real.” Would I be betraying them by letting Dr. Wexler fill my forehead with Botox? Would I be betraying myself by giving into something that is so clearly superficial? Or how about my partner, who loves everything about my face and tells me a million times a day that I’m the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen?

I didn’t know the answers, but some part of me wanted to press on anyway. Call it conditioning or vanity or anxiety about aging, I’m sure it’s all three. I just couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so I decided to honor that persistence instead.

Pre-Botox Jitters

I hit up my resident skincare Yoda, Harling Ross, for recommendations, and she sends me Dr. Patricia Wexler (Harling hasn’t gotten Botox, she’s merely a walking skincare encyclopedia). One Google search and I know Dr. Wexler is the real damn deal—an expert in the field—which makes me nervous. Some part of me thinks getting Botox in a strip mall would make it feel less official or something, and this is not that. I make an appointment.

To my surprise, Wexler Dermatology is a proper doctor’s office, not the sprawling wellness complex I imagine it to be, which almost makes me feel worse. I ride the elevator with a very pregnant woman en route to her OBGYN and a man with a brace on his knee. The urgency of their conditions confronts me with the banality of mine. When I get to the office and am sent back to Dr. Wexler’s exam room, I look around. I wait. I twitch. I second guess, spiral, Google if you can die from Botox. Then in walks Dr. Wexler.

The Part With the Needles

Dr. Wexler has fire engine red hair, cut into a bob. She has on stacked heels and a DVF-style wrap dress and is as lovely as a person can be. My shoulders drop 10%. She asks me if I’m a fainter, which damn near makes me faint. When I say no, she looks at me like my own Italian grandmother and says, “Did you eat today? If you didn’t, I’m going to give you some OJ and crackers.” Of course I haven’t, I’m fucking nervous. She calls in her assistant and they feed me like the infant I am. (Know that I got Botox with a pile of cracker crumbs on my pants and an OJ mustache.)

As I snack, Dr. Wexler asks me why I want (need?) Botox. After I explain the reasons I’ve already explained to you, she agrees with some of my points and tells me I am a good candidate for Botox in my forehead area. I feel somewhat validated, but am mostly offended she didn’t take one look at me and scream, “You’re a perfectly symmetrical human specimen, what are you doing here?! I cannot work on you, your skin should be donated to science!”

Cut to me getting a slap of goo on my head. It’s supposed to make this process a lot less painful. The goo sets for 10 minutes. Dr. Wex (we’re friends now, I’m sure she doesn’t mind the nickname) opens the door and shouts, “Don’t look at the needles!” So of course I look directly at them, and they’re not too scary, but I close my eyes anyway and they plop two sand bag balls in my hands to squeeze during the process.

Dr. Wexler says if I hum really loudly, the needle will almost feel like acupuncture. Lies, all lies! I cannot believe my new friend Wex has deceived me so early on in our relationship. Although in her and the needles’ defense, I am a big fucking baby. Anyway, I get to humming like a damned clown and Dr. Wexler gets to making magic. It takes all of 10 minutes (less, I’m sure, had I sat still as requested). When we’re all done, Dr. Wexler tells me I’m a baby (the lie detector determines that is the truth) but that next time (next time?!) will be easier because I’ll know what to expect.

The After Party

I was surprised to learn through this whole process that Botox results are not immediate. After the appointment, my face looks exactly the same—the lines on my forehead are still there and she tells me it will take four to 14 days for the Botox to do what it does. She gives me a sweet hug, tells me to keep my head straight for four hours (!!!), and sends me on my way. I can’t say that I don’t look in every mirror or glass surface after I leave the procedure, but also can’t say that I don’t usually do this anyway. My forehead feels slightly like somebody took a flyswatter to it.

When I get home, I take another hundred looks in the mirror and notice nothing. I return to my need-vs-want conundrum and wonder if I’ve made a good decision. I decide that yes, yes I have.

Cut to two weeks later: I wake up one morning and discover my forehead is frozen like a lake in January. I try to squint, furrow, look surprised, but nothing, just a placid lake of skin and I cannot lie, I’m not mad at it. I’m half-black and half-Italian; I’ll never ever NOT be expressive, so I’m not the least bit worried about this lack of movement. But when Kiesh proposes a week later, and I’m done crying and saying yes and taking it all in while a photographer captures the moment, I think: Holy fuck! What if I look bored as all hell in my photos? But luckily the amount of tears and smiles made up for it.

A month later, the Botox has settled and my forehead is smooth and wrinkle-free—even at my most surprised. And I’m settled, too: I love it. To me, I look like myself again. And I still feel like I’ve made a good decision—not because I needed the change, but because I wanted it. I spend so much of my life doing things because I need to: showering, eating, taking meds, cleaning my house, walking my dog, going to my therapist, brushing my teeth, grocery shopping, that what I really needed, right now, was to do something I wanted. So yes, I think I’ll be hitting up my bestie Dr. Wexler every now and again. Because while I believe that “if you need it, take it,” I’ve also decided that in the right circumstance, “if you want it, do it” can be just as important.

Graphics by Dasha Faires.

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More Couples Are Sleeping Separately. Would You?

This morning when my boyfriend tried to spoon me, I told him he was too hot and needed to return to his side of the bed; he obliged with a dejected roll. Later in the day, he remarked that I had been the temperature of earth’s molten core (his words), and that my accusation was in fact projection. I told him that may have been true, but what was the difference, really? If I am hot in bed and he touches me, thereby making me hotter, then he is, in a way, too hot, is he not?

I’d call it simple logic, but our nocturnal rule of order is more complicated than that.

Every night, the dark, muggy space between our mattress and duvet cover becomes a world unto itself, complete with its own language, norms, and social constructs. We are a drowsy population of ill-tempered bodies, siphoning each other’s warmth or coolness for physiological gain. We are fashioning random thighs into knee rests, gently punishing errant feet, snuggling warm necks for personal fulfillment. We are debating the best frequencies of white noise (“airplane cabin” is currently winning), expressing ourselves with affectionate hair sniffs, respecting each other’s peacefulness via light tip-toes to the bathroom. We are overstating space equality (me) and understating snoring (him) for the health of our out-of-bed relationship.

I’d love to spread my limbs out in an empty bed every night.

Some long-term couples don’t bother with any of this. They prefer to remain two sovereign nations during sleeping hours: different rooms, different beds, different worlds. Sometimes, I think this sounds nice. I’d love to spread my limbs out in an empty bed every night, right knee pointing north-east, left foot dangling south-west, miles of cotton dunes between them. And in the morning, I’m sure Avi would appreciate not being exiled to the kitchen simply because I couldn’t pick the right pair of pants. (No one can be in my presence when I’m sartorially indecisive; this is a house rule.) And in the evening, if we could telegraph our needs for solitude with gentle shuts of our respective bedroom doors, that would save us from communicating it out loud. And that wouldn’t be half-bad.

I wouldn’t actually choose to have a separate bedroom from my boyfriend, though—we believe in the benevolence of our little constitution. But I do get the appeal, and respect the decision completely. I’m not surprised more and more couples are making it. A friend of mine just moved into a two-bedroom apartment with her fiancé because she refuses to share her personal space, knowing it’s a critical element in her mental health maintenance. Big media sites are touting the benefits of “sleep divorce”; others are reassuring couples it doesn’t spell relationship doom. In a personal essay on Man Repeller about sleeping in separate bedrooms, supportive commenters came in droves.

I’m sure many are put off by the idea of long-term monogamy not necessitating co-sleeping.

It all makes sense to me. Sharing a bed is a chaotic variable in the pursuit of sleep; personal space is important in the pursuit of love. The dissolution of this taboo—that “sleeping apart” necessarily has nefarious connotations—feels like an important component of a postmodern love ethos founded on personal agency instead of obedience. Of building relationships that work for rather than against us. Still, it’s early days, and I’m sure many are put off by the idea of long-term monogamy not necessitating co-sleeping.

Which is why I’m curious: Would you do it?

Graphic by Madeline Montoya.

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See NYFW Through the Eyes of MR Photo Editor Sabrina Santiago

Fashion week is a vortex—a metaphorical passageway into the imagination. I carry my camera with me every day, to capture the staggering stimulation on the streets, at shows, and everywhere else it appears.

At Christopher John Rodgers, I went backstage, where the higher the hair got, the closer I felt to heaven. The runway stretch was perfectly lit, and as I watched the models walk, I was happy to see so many women of color, whose skin dazzled and caused an infectiously confident roar. Rodgers is a magician it seems. In my euphoric dream world, everyone wears his clothes. I still think Maryam Nassir Zadeh is the definition of cool—this was cemented in my mind by the way her models effortlessly draped against the fence of a Lower East Side park, the chosen location for her show. Yet the subways and sidewalks were just as compelling, where everyone had their own runway and the freedom to explore the fantasies we want to create.

16 PHOTOS
click for more

Photos by Sabrina Santiago.

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5 New Style Hacks to Start Trying Now, According to NYFW

New York Fashion Week has come to an end, which means it’s time to reflect upon the fruits of the season that have fallen into our collective bowls; namely, a lot of fresh ideas for reinterpreting the clothes we already have, accompanied by a few things we might be tempted to add to our shopping carts for purchase consideration. As much as I enjoy seeing the actual shows, this part is my favorite—the opportunity to consider old trends vs. new, and to interpret them according to the proclivities of my personal style. Below is a rundown of what I consider to be the most compelling NYFW takeaways when it comes to getting dressed now—from outfit possibilities to style hacks to new silhouettes that begged for terminology. If you’re itching for a wardrobe sea change, whether that means specific alternatives to things that might be feeling stale, or hot-off-the-press suggestions for how to reap the benefits of your current wardrobe, scroll down and join me.

Instead of wearing dresses with tights, layer them over pants…
Gabriela Hearst Spring/Summer 2020, Deveaux Spring/Summer 2020

I’m not here to rule stuff out, nor is my hubris inflated enough to think that I have the power to sway people from wearing dresses with tights, a time-honored tradition my mom introduced me to at the age of four. On the contrary, you do you, but if you’re like me and have always kind of hated wearing tights but still see their benefit in terms of warmth and stylistic punch, might I suggest layering your dresses over pants instead? A number of very compelling demonstrations were strewn across the runways during New York Fashion Week, a fact I am interpreting as a personal validation.

Instead of pairing puff-sleeves with ripped-knee denim, swap them out for popcorn sleeves…
Hellessy Spring/Summer 2020, Khaite Spring/Summer 2020

Brace yourselves for the term I’m about to coin: popcorn sleeve, n., a sleeve varietal that is similar to a puff but more structured and compact, akin to a freshly popped kernel of corn. Popcorn sleeves, which we are all familiar with now, also appeared on runways this past week, and despite the reality that they probably won’t jive well with coats, they get along swimmingly with jeans. Add in some strappy kitten heel sandals and you will have yourself the perfect transitional weather going-out ensemble.

Instead of warding off autumnal chill with an oversized blazer, try a pashmina…
3.1  Phillip Lim Spring/Summer 2020, Mansur Gavriel Fall 2019 Ready-To-Wear

It’s pretty ironic that I’m about to encourage you to wear a pashmina, because throughout my entire childhood my mom tried to do the same thing, prompting me to swear off them for years (I associated them with awkward middle school encounters and benzoyl peroxide stains from my Proactiv acne lotion). This season of NYFW reframed them in my mind though, planting new associations (so refined! ladylike, even!), none of which involved acne, I’m thrilled to report. The best thing about the pashmina trend–though it’s probably too soon to deem it such–is that I, or rather we, don’t have to buy anything new to test it out. Just grab an old scarf, wrap it around your shoulders instead of your neck, and presto. Pashmina’d.

Instead of adding maximalism to your outfit by means of tie-dye, consider a return to good old polka dots…
Tory Burch Spring/Summer 2020, Carolina Herrera Spring/Summer 2020

I give full credit to Princess Diana for resurrecting polka dots in the zeitgeist, and I couldn’t be more delighted. As much as I love other vehicles for maximalist pattern-mixing–tie-dye, florals, plaid, etc.–polka dots are notably more versatile, almost in the vein of a neutral that isn’t a neutral like stripes or leopard print, if that makes sense. They go with a lot of outfits and occasions as a result, seamlessly moving from casual to formal to day to night to office to drinks to denim to ruffles, either as a stand-alone piece or interspersed with other components. In other words, polka dots are essentially the Swiss army knife of fashion (you heard it here first!)

Instead of offsetting feminine frill with cowboy boots, entertain the possibility of hiking boots…
Anna Sui Spring/Summer 2020, Paris 99 Spring/Summer 2020

Après-hike is still alive and well, thanks to a recent boost of notoriety courtesy of NYFW, where hiking-style boots abounded. I totally get why, since there inherent athleticism is an ideal source of contrast when paired with feminine pieces, or anything ruffled or bow-adorned, for that matter. They’re also extremely comfortable, especially when dispatched during everyday activities versus walking on an incline. I love them as an autumnal alternative to cowboy boots, which are still very much on the table as an option but could use some viable competition in the world of footwear fodder.

What styling ideas from NYFW are you excited to experiment with?

Feature Photo via Getty Images, Photos via Vogue Runway, 

The post 5 New Style Hacks to Start Trying Now, According to NYFW appeared first on Man Repeller.

263 of the Best Street Style Looks From New York Fashion Week

Once upon a time, runways may have been the authority on New York Fashion Week trends. In 2019, however, I would posit that street style has officially usurped this norm. There are numerous factors contributing to this shift–more broadly, the democratization of influence courtesy of social media, of course, but also the simple truth that seeing an interesting sartorial idea in action out in the real world makes it seem that much more immediately viable. There’s something about witnessing a trend in action that ups its potency, a tangible demonstration of how you might conceivably wear it. This season, I’ve already noticed a few things I want to try, like wearing a literal tennis skirt with zero intention to play tennis, rekindling my relationship with my old motorcycle jacket, and even reconsidering the possibility of maxi (!) skirts. Give the below slideshow a scroll and let me know what you’re keen to attempt.

263 PHOTOS
click for more

Photos by Karolina Kaczynska and Louisa Wells.

The post 263 of the Best Street Style Looks From New York Fashion Week appeared first on Man Repeller.

37 One-Sentence Reviews From New York Fashion Week

One-sentence reviews are back, which in fashion week terms is like the equivalent of a box arriving at your doorstep full of confetti and outfit ideas. The promise of new identities to be explored and new ideas to be transcribed. Of thoughtful debate and examination. It’s all there, on runway platforms and ballpoint pen tips: infinite question marks waiting to be turned into exclamation points. And it’s all so much, so consider this your text message recap. Scroll for our preliminary takes—brief stabs at the heart of what makes NYFW tick—and chime in with your thoughts. What good, after all, is a text message sent without a rebuttal received? Oh, and if you’re in New York this month, might I suggest swinging by your nearest Maman to celebrate fashion week with an oatmeal raisin latte, created by Leandra, just for you.

Day Six
Marc Jacobs

The first glimpse I caught of the Marc Jacobs show on social media was the very end—shaky footage of Marc Jacobs himself, wearing sky-high red platform boots and prancing (literally!) in front of the audience in what was clearly his final bow. The palpableness of his joy, still apparent even after so many years of doing this, was a sentiment I couldn’t help applying to the entire collection when I immersed myself in photos afterward: 61 looks, 61 characters, 61 joy-infused versions of the people I see when I walk to work, when I’m on the subway, when I’m wandering through aisles at the grocery store, when I’m waiting in line for a sad desk salad. This is Marc Jacobs’s gift to us all—his ability to cup his hands and blow glitter onto our everyday existence, adding a new layer of intrigue onto common things we might otherwise overlook, like a polka-dot dress with a Peter Pan collar and velvet neck bow, a boot rendered in the precise shade of turquoise as the skirt they’re paired with, but perhaps most importantly, the very act of being alive, of waking up and doing the same thing you did the day before: deciding what you want to wear. —Harling

Batsheva

Based on prior Batsheva shows, I heavily suspected there would be some kind of performative aspect to this one, a hunch that was confirmed as soon as I entered the room where it would be taking place–a relatively mundane classroom in the basement of NYU Law–and saw dozens of T-shirts and sweatshirts placed at each seat, emblazoned with the words “Batsheva University.” Indeed, class was certainly in session at my last event of fashion week; we were treated to a lecture from three professors on the subtext embedded in Batsheva’s designs, a meditation on femininity and modesty that served as the soundtrack for the collection of signature gingham, pinafores, ruffles, and “house dresses” worn by a cast of definitively non-model models. —Harling

Dion Lee

Atop a middle school in lower Manhattan under the blazing hot sun, Dion Lee sent a bevy of minimalist-90s club kid looks down the runway. Casual white day-corsets, thigh-high black boots with structured suiting, mesh tops, bandana dresses and GIGANTIC purses were all made to look like feasible Thursday (sexy Thursday, but Thursday nevertheless) outfits by mixing reserved color palettes and beautifully-made neutral-colored harnesses for looks that were more eye-catching than shocking. —Nora

Day Five
Proenza Schouler

Brevity has not been my strong suit this week, but for the sake of Proenza Schouler, precisely, conclusively, indelibly itself and to that point, absolutely immaculate, it can only be said: 80s, baby! But make it 2019 fashion. Omg, and also, not to break character, or my commitment to run-on sentences, but this next one deserves its own. If you see what I see, you must know what I know: Proenza Schouler x Birkenstock is-a-coming. —Leandra

Oscar de la Renta

There is something so satisfying about observing a fashion show meet the expectations you had for fashion shows before ever attending one—I always assumed that like any other basic story, they had beginnings, middles and ends; that the clothes took you through a day in someone’s life. This fictitious person changes by brand but for Oscar de la Renta, who delivered on my incipient expectations, she’s got the works laid out for her with a collection of tunics and caftans for sunbathing and galaing, tea dresses and skirts for luncheons (and blazers in case it gets chilly!), there were a few great asymmetric mini skirts rendered in structured poplin or silk moire and those were paired with short sleeve button-down shirts, at the end of it all came the !evening! wear — not just dresses but dresses and two instances of separates in a couple of crystal tops and tulle ball gown skirts, I loved the whole damn thing — start to finish. —Leandra

Coach

I love a show that has so much production budget that you get to sit on The Highline at sunset with a cool breeze and a cocktail, and then Eva Chen sits next to you and you introduce yourself and become five years old again and can’t ask her for a picture and then the show starts and the music is thrumming so loudly you can feel it in your whole body and you watch the looks approach you but the breeze-blown hair from the seatmate to your left is flying in your mouth and you’re making light spitting noises BUT the clothes were tailored and crisp and bore Barbra Streisand’s face and you feel the warm energy of being surrounded by clothes. —Amalie

Eckhaus Latta

Unsurprisingly, there was a lot of neon green, neck tattoos, and clothes featuring flames in the Eckhaus Latta audience today, and the subtle social flexing was on high volume: I spotted multiple instances of seat theft and subsequent eye rolls as I waited for the show to begin in the humid industrial space in Brooklyn. Once it did start, I was sent on a stylistic rollercoaster; what do these things have in common: A silk navy suit with billowing pleats, gray cotton cargo pants, and an electric blue sequined spaghetti-strap mini dress? (Tell me if you think of an answer!) All I can say is, this collection—with its vintage-looking knit dresses, sleek oversized suits, and deconstructed going out tops—defies categorization unless that categorization is “your cool downtown friend whose outfit surprises you every time.” —Haley

Gabriela Hearst

You can usually tell that a bunch of designers are on the same wavelength, this is called the beginning of a trend, but this season more than any other, I’ve pinpointed so few that we might actually be post-trend; actually, no, that’s not possible—but trends are obviously no longer being born at runway shows; what you do find, however, are specific camps being designed into: generation z’s take back of tacky, millennial clothes that attract “likes” but are still conclusively wearable and the advanced, streamlined nature of a designer like Gabriela Hearst, who hails from the same camp as The Row, but perhaps with a tilt that leans more heavily on fashion (and less on presenting true wardrobe armor)—for Spring she wants you to know that while it doesn’t take a lot to say a lot, in the interest of newness, you shouldn’t look back either: these are the clothes of the moment. —Leandra

Day Four
3.1 Phillip Lim

There are three outfits from the Phillip Lim show that I can’t stop thinking about and I will share them with you, too, so we can mutually churn them in our collective minds like a song that is stuck in our heads, okay? Okay here we go: the first is a pea soup-colored suit worn over a cropped crochet top and decorated with what looks like a leather shawl (genius), then another leather shawl made an appearance except this one was more of a leather basketweave situation, worn over a loose-knit sweater with white Bermuda shorts and ankle boots so low they could almost pass as loafers, then a white jacket with cutouts worn over white culottes (culottes!) and a cream kerchief. I want to recreate all of them, which is why I just googled “leather shawl,” and rest assured I WILL report back. —Harling

Sandy Liang

As a lover of soft things (see: an abnormally large soft coat collection in my possession), I fell in love with Sandy Liang *first* through her edgy unisex fleeces, then leveled-up to loving her cheeky feminine-but-not dresses, intarsia polo sweaters, and slinky slip skirts. This season, she built and expanded upon her known repertoire with more non-gendered sheer dresses, soft coats, bleached denim, and an iridescent babydoll dress I won’t soon forget (SOS). Is it creeptastic that I know everything about her and her dog and her partner and her family’s restaurant from Instagram, too? I love Sandy, I loved the show, I want everything on my body posthaste. —Amalie

Maryam Nassir Zadeh

I showed up at MNZ wearing a sheer black nightgown with high-waisted black underwear, basically naked, but I put a cardigan over my shoulders out of respect, you know, for the public-display-of-nudity naysayers among us—lord help them if they were present at MNZ, where the opening looks consisted of those mini-skirt bikini-bottom bathing suits that were popular in the 90s reimagined as regular skirts within the collection and one model who actually just wore a bikini with boots; there were loads more bra tops, too, but the dead ringer for “my look” was a white lightweight (whiteweight?) nylon jumpsuit and a pair of checkered pants with a printed skirt over it; it’s unclear whether they’re skants but, anyway, I’m still naked and open to wearing more clothing. —Leandra

Carolina Herrera

The entrance of the Carolina Herrera show venue in Battery Park was crowded with men wearing black button-downs tucked into black pants–the kind of uniform you might wear if you were serving champagne at a party, or checking people in at the door, but they were doing neither. I made a note of this as I walked in but was quickly distracted by the throngs of celebrities I recognized and VIPs I didn’t recognize but knew to be important by virtue of the fact that they were dressed in Full Looks with Full Makeup and kept standing up to get photographed. Fifteen or so minutes later, once everyone was seated, the aforementioned men in black assembled near the runway and began peeling back a layer of thin plastic to reveal a perfectly pristine white carpet underneath, and thus their purpose was revealed–along with the overall aura of the collection: gowns, ball skirts, and jackets so beautifully constructed you would almost be tempted to ensconce them in protective covering for eternity. —Harling

The Row

We get, like, three days a year to wear garments for different seasons in the same outfit, and it is up to us not to F it up. So allow me to identify the ideal summer-to-fall transition outfit for a cloudy day clocking in at 57 degrees fahrenheit: a navy blue, single-breast blazer styled over a black half-zip, with cotton sweatpants half-tucked into black socks—only slightly, but still intentionally—and double-strap flat sandals that look like a cross between a Teva and a Birkenstock. But wait, there’s another: It’s a shell turtleneck under a blue button-down paired with another-shade-of-blue straight skirt, and the shoes are actually an excuse to not wear shoes, like Saran wrap around a sole. God I love them. —Leandra

Day Three
Prabal Gurung

I was wondering why Prabal Gurung’s 10th anniversary show was slated to be held at Spring Studios (which essentially provides a template for brands to produce runway shows), but then I learned that he pulled out of plans to host his show at Hudson Yards after the location’s affiliation with Stephen Ross (see: his Trump fundraiser in the Hamptons) came to light, and therefore Gurung had to think fast. The theme was “Who gets to be an American?”—it was clear where the designer stood. I may have been peering from the very back, but I felt the show was alive with the smell of fresh flowers (in both models’ baskets and hanging from the ceiling), rich reds, blues and greens, and looks ranging from yoga studio to benefit gala. The feathers and the floral headpieces all reached my line of vision, but the rest I had to drink in on Getty. As such, my phone stayed happily in my lap. —Amalie

Collina Strada

I raced to Collina Strada’s venue from another show, so by the time I arrived I was on the verge of panic that I was going to miss it, causing a slight delay in my fully digesting the surroundings once I (finally) took my seat. The show was situated on the outskirts of a park in the East Village, allowing bystanders to peep through an iron gate and see what I saw: a corridor of NYC pavement lined with picnic tables topped with all manner of farmer’s market spoils—oranges, kale, squash, flowers, etc.—through which models wearing tie-dye, velvet, iridescent ensembles engaged in all manner of New York City activities, from pushing kids in strollers, or calmly eating grapes to breaking out into spontaneous freestyle dance. Dance! —Harling

Jason Wu

Jason Wu is a brand that makes me want to get dressed up, an impulse that was no doubt exacerbated by the fact that I was dressed down while in attendance at the brand’s show and party, in stark contrast to the ethereal gowns floating inches away from my sturdy Birkenstocks—and when I say “floating” I don’t mean it metaphorically, the preponderance of feathers and chiffon caused each garment to literally hover with every step the models took. —Harling

Rosie Assoulin

Rosie Assoulin’s presentation was perched amid farmers’ market shoppers at the Union Square Italian restaurant Bocce, where her visitors were met with a self-pickling station upon entering the venye. Just past the station was Assoulin herself, taking editors through her new collection — classic Rosie in its joyful, feminine wearability; think: long, asymmetrical hemlines, ruffled shirts, skirts attached to shorts and utilitarian but sleek khaki sets. The accessories had an heirloom quality to them, from brass produce jewelry to literal basket bags and wide-brim straw sun hats—still, small quirky details made them feel perfectly of-the-moment. —Elizabeth

Tibi

If I were handing out senior superlatives for fashion week shows, “comfiest seat” would be awarded to Tibi, which took place in the middle of Times Square in a venue stacked theater-style with red velvet chairs—a fitting perch from which to view another iteration of Amy Smilovic’s mission to clothe women both stylishly and comfortably at the same time. The components of each outfit didn’t stray far from those in previous seasons (which is kind of the point—Tibi’s formula is what makes it so consistently compelling), though there was undoubtedly a standout piece: parachute cargo pants rendered in shades so vibrant they seemed edible, from cotton candy hues to just-ripe melon. —Harling

Staud

Social media clothes are usually pretty impractical—you put them on to take a picture then take them off because they’re kind of impossible to wear—but when the clothes deliver on your color-bait desires while also being simple silhouettes rendered in easy fabrics you could practically sleep in, you get to have your likes and eat them too. Lmk how they taste. —Leandra

Mansur Gavriel

I was so thirsty when I got to Mansur Gavriel, which is why it felt like kismet when a kind waiter handed me an enormous pineapple juice beverage housed inside an actual pineapple, but I had an aha! moment when I realized it was also a distillation of what Mansur Gavriel is so good at doing—seamlessly marrying the “it” factor with something that actually serves its customer in a tangibly functional way, whether that’s making a warm sweater in the perfect oversized silhouette that just so happens to be bedecked with cumulus clouds or nipping the ankles of a pair of khakis in such a way that they become statement as well as staple. —Harling

Tory Burch

Clothes you wanna wear—at this point, it’s all I ask for, and Tory Burch delivered within her Brooklyn Museum environs where scones and quiche were served pre-show and scalloped linen monogrammed napkins met guests at their seats; maybe I was well fed, and had been charmed by the gesture, but those big navy pants paired with the napkin bib shirt and striped cardigan; or the salmon pink ankle length dress styled over matching silk pants that dragged gracefully against the floor made me feel even more like I get myself. Same trick, different hat, still me. —Leandra

Day Two
Suzanne Rae

In the rustic Flamboyán theater on the LES, I sat in a folding chair and was met by a real song and dance from two performers dressed in Suzanne Rae, backed by a big digital screen playing original video spliced with news footage and while the performers belted and shimmied, models came out wearing 20 different looks from the camps of sleepleisure, collegiate harkenings, fringe, and fun hats; the signature square toe d’orsay and Mary Jane shoes walked in vibrant primary colors and metallics— all in all it was joyful and upbeat and if you left without knowing your seat mate’s name and favorite dance move, you missed the point. —Elizabeth

Chromat

Chromat felt like that club I could never get into, but last night I did—actually everyone was welcome, including the long-ass line wrapped around the block, full of leopard print body suits and crystal-dripped shoulder pads with a wingspan of three feet. The music thrummed in anticipation of the show’s 45-minute-late start and I felt compelled to DAHNCE but the models took over, storming down the runway in cobalt blue and flaming red swimwear, with a surprise serenade from Rico Nasty. I love it here! —Amalie

Ralph Lauren

Ralph Lauren threw a cocktail party on Wall Street last night that made me feel like I was in Paris and it was the 1920s and chilled champagne was shimmering like diamonds on socialite ears and everyone came dressed in black and white per the dress code requirement and Lauren Santo Domingo went so far as to generously offer that I was emanating a Lee Radziwill vibe and the show—a panoply of black-tie suits and gowns and sweaters with bears on them—added one more layer of glamour to the suspended time lapse in which I sat at a table eating Polo Club nuts and smoky potato chips and standing up to clap with the rest of the room at the end of the collection presentation as an unspoken but earnest thank you to Ralph for bringing us here, on this night, to remember the good old days; I don’t want to escape the present, but sometimes it’s nice to leave for just a minute. —Leandra

Area

The crowd at Spring Studios boasts so many hair colors, which I can see from the vantage point of a lateral fourth-row seat, where it has become even clearer that I am no longer the youth; so it goes, they say, with living, but from this vantage point I get to watch with stars in my eyes, attempting to understand the panoply of crystals and sequins and this one handbag t-shirt (I don’t know how else to describe it) that I saw someone wearing while we waited to check in (it had leather handles flapping out of the crew neck on both sides), and all this perfectly sets up what Area is going to show me: an enchanting cocktail of fantasy and escapism (birdcage skirts, crystal beards, literal armor that is beautiful, but clearly protective) stirred judiciously by the straw from which the culture drinks, dropping in tears of pragmatism (white eyelet button downs, an army green puff sleeve anorak vest) as if a translation, or proposition, the invitation to buy in—and let me tell you I’m in because while I may not be the youth anymore, I’m also not blind, and this, Area, is awesome. —Leandra

Christian Siriano

Christian Siriano designs for the red carpet, and his show made me feel like I was riding one, from the throng of people waiting outside the venue, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity, to the grand interior once I stepped inside, made even more luxurious by the faint brush of Alicia Silverstone’s thigh against my elbow as she squeezed past en route to her seat, which I couldn’t find even when I craned my neck, but I imagine was well-situated to witness what unfolded next: an ocean of mermaid-esque ensembles in various iterations of rainbow and seafoam, worn by a cast of models that exemplified a refreshing consideration of size-inclusivity. —Harling

Kate Spade

Whoa, sorry to be filing this after the sun is beginning to set, but you know what they say in the heat of the digital age—it is better late than never, or worse, early, and let me tell you, I might be late but creative director Nicola Glass delivered right on time this morning at the Elizabeth Street garden in Nolita where 35 models, a combination of those by trade and those by proxy (real people! In the world! Who give personality to the clothes they wear!) showed a collection of loose pants and tunic tops, pastel crochet knee-length covers, and ribbed knit numbers; there were some khaki jumpsuits and these rly cute Dr. Scholls-style slippers, which made the fact that everyone was holding some form of greenery make so much sense, as if to say: people in green houses should totally throw parties. —Leandra

Ulla Johnson

In this episode of “What I Would Wear to a Mediterranean Beach, but Touch Neither Surf nor Sand Lest It Ruin My Shell-Adorned Hemline, I’ll Just Have an Orange Wine and Salty Olives Thanks” is: Ulla Johnson Spring/Summer 2020. —Amalie

Baja East

Scott Studenberg of Baja East invited his audience to peek into his newfound California life at Milk Studios on 15th Street, in a room furnished with his own living room rugs. Studenberg explained the brand’s relaunch, following a three-season hiatus, to the 40-or-so-person audience with heartfelt honesty. The designer used Tarot Cards—which he recently learned how to read—as inspiration for some of the pieces, while other looks featured trippy psychedelic prints and all-white combinations (which Scott adores and was wearing himself). With an emotional thank you, he sat among the models, each clad in the sporty ribbed knits, fringes, sequins, and prints for which the brand has been known and loved. —Elizabeth

Christopher John Rogers

In CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund finalist Christopher John Rogers’s NYFW runway debut, the idea that humans contain multitudes was on full display: iridescent tent dresses, metallic teal suits, ruffled collars (if you’re feeling it, put it on!) were all accompanied by no-holds-barred vogueing courtesy of models who clearly relished the opportunity to express themselves in clothing that said more than words ever could. —Harling

Khaite

You know that feeling when you’re just like, in between? Weather, moods, ideas—whatever! You want to have your cake, but eat it too, because you’re not sure if you’re hungry but value optionality; I don’t know if I’m packing too many metaphors into what is supposed to be a single sentence but Khaite designs for that in-between and it’s a great exercise in compromise—what do you wear when you want to be on a beach, but you’re in a city? Maybe a wrap skirt that could be a sarong and button down shirt hooked only at the chest, or it’s Saturday night, right? And you’re not sure if you want to go capital-O Out or lowercase hang, so you wear a tulle Top (capital T, of course) and jeans—best yet, you’re in a flashy beach mood, so wear the skirt and the top, add rhinestone or pearl epaulettes, and off you go. —Leandra

Adam Lippes

“Extreme Glamping” is the phrase that came to mind at Adam Lippes’s presentation, set in a brick-walled room in a Downtown NYC skyscraper, in which one wall was lined with models wearing tent silhouettes, floor-sweeping dresses with matching or coordinating bucket hats, sequins, cozy knits, and raw denim touches, slivers of morning light shining between their bodies. Gowns were embroidered in sequin-encrusted nature scenes and pockets were a detail for nearly every dress or skirt worn, presumably meant for storing a Thermos? —Elizabeth

Day One
Tomo Koizumi

I will never be sure how the Tomo Koizumi beauty team managed to get model Ariel Nicholson’s long hair to gel into a sharp point for their one-woman show, but they did, and it stayed that way, all while she frolicked in larger-than-life Koizumi creations, which were made even *more* alive this year than last (which had been Koizumi’s fashion week debut), with wilder construction by way of incredible fabric appendages that moved like jellyfish legs as Nicholson danced from one look into the next. —Amalie

Hellessy

Hellessy is like Dylan’s Candy Bar for going-out tops, as evidenced from today’s rundown of delectable décolletage poofs, one-shouldered delights, torsos draped in silk, and billowing sleeves—each paired with unexpected bottoms like light-wash denim and hot pink velvet leggings, an homage to the universal truth that a good going-out top is as versatile as a Tootsie pop is interminable. —Harling

Shrimps

Shrimps designer Hannah Weiland recently admitted her distaste for digital prints and preference for patterns with a “painterly” feel, a sentiment on full display in her latest collection, which engenders the charming effect of looking simultaneously of the moment (thanks to pearly mini bags and horseshoe-emblazoned faux fur coats) and reminiscent of a different time—or rather, times plural (see: cloche hats, saloon-inspired skirts, parasols, etc.). —Harling

Mara Hoffman

For sustainability-driven Hoffman’s Spring/Summer 2020 collection, the idea of “what a woman might have worn on vacation in Greece in the 80s” was on the brain, which makes the familiar smocking, color-blocking, and voluminous silhouettes feel warmly at home anywhere, not just among white-washed walls and hee-hawing donkeys. —Amalie

Rodarte

My mom got married in 1985 at a venue that provided photo-taking opportunities not unlike those presented in Rodarte’s Spring/Summer 2020 lookbook, boasting the faces of a cast of familiar, famous characters dressed to the 11s in an array of sequins and brocade and iridescent materials layered upon ruffles and big sleeves and mermaid tails and tulle; some pants are interrupted by knee-high, sparkling boots, but to resuscitate my initial point: If only—my mom wishes (I called her, she told me)—she had worn Rodarte. —Leandra

Feature Photo via Getty Images, Photos via Vogue Runway.

The post 37 One-Sentence Reviews From New York Fashion Week appeared first on Man Repeller.

One Sentence Recap Day 6 Dispatch: Marc Jacobs, Batsheva, Dion Lee & More

One-sentence reviews are back, which in fashion week terms is like the equivalent of a box arriving at your doorstep full of confetti and outfit ideas. The promise of new identities to be explored and new ideas to be transcribed. Of thoughtful debate and examination. It’s all there, on runway platforms and ballpoint pen tips: infinite question marks waiting to be turned into exclamation points. And it’s all so much, so consider this your text message recap. Scroll for our preliminary takes—brief stabs at the heart of what makes NYFW tick—and chime in with your thoughts. What good, after all, is a text message sent without a rebuttal received? Oh, and if you’re in New York this month, might I suggest swinging by your nearest Maman to celebrate fashion week with an oatmeal raisin latte, created by Leandra, just for you.

Day Six
Marc Jacobs

The first glimpse I caught of the Marc Jacobs show on social media was the very end—shaky footage of Marc Jacobs himself, wearing sky-high red platform boots and prancing (literally!) in front of the audience in what was clearly his final bow. The palpableness of his joy, still apparent even after so many years of doing this, was a sentiment I couldn’t help applying to the entire collection when I immersed myself in photos afterward: 61 looks, 61 characters, 61 joy-infused versions of the people I see when I walk to work, when I’m on the subway, when I’m wandering through aisles at the grocery store, when I’m waiting in line for a sad desk salad. This is Marc Jacobs’s gift to us all—his ability to cup his hands and blow glitter onto our everyday existence, adding a new layer of intrigue onto common things we might otherwise overlook, like a polka-dot dress with a Peter Pan collar and velvet neck bow, a boot rendered in the precise shade of turquoise as the skirt they’re paired with, but perhaps most importantly, the very act of being alive, of waking up and doing the same thing you did the day before: deciding what you want to wear. —Harling

Batsheva

Based on prior Batsheva shows, I heavily suspected there would be some kind of performative aspect to this one, a hunch that was confirmed as soon as I entered the room where it would be taking place–a relatively mundane classroom in the basement of NYU Law–and saw dozens of T-shirts and sweatshirts placed at each seat, emblazoned with the words “Batsheva University.” Indeed, class was certainly in session at my last event of fashion week; we were treated to a lecture from three professors on the subtext embedded in Batsheva’s designs, a meditation on femininity and modesty that served as the soundtrack for the collection of signature gingham, pinafores, ruffles, and “house dresses” worn by a cast of definitively non-model models. —Harling

Dion Lee

Atop a middle school in lower Manhattan under the blazing hot sun, Dion Lee sent a bevy of minimalist-90s club kid looks down the runway. Casual white day-corsets, thigh-high black boots with structured suiting, mesh tops, bandana dresses and GIGANTIC purses were all made to look like feasible Thursday (sexy Thursday, but Thursday nevertheless) outfits by mixing reserved color palettes and beautifully-made neutral-colored harnesses for looks that were more eye-catching than shocking. —Nora

Day Five
Proenza Schouler

Brevity has not been my strong suit this week, but for the sake of Proenza Schouler, precisely, conclusively, indelibly itself and to that point, absolutely immaculate, it can only be said: 80s, baby! But make it 2019 fashion. Omg, and also, not to break character, or my commitment to run-on sentences, but this next one deserves its own. If you see what I see, you must know what I know: Proenza Schouler x Birkenstock is-a-coming. —Leandra

Oscar de la Renta

There is something so satisfying about observing a fashion show meet the expectations you had for fashion shows before ever attending one—I always assumed that like any other basic story, they had beginnings, middles and ends; that the clothes took you through a day in someone’s life. This fictitious person changes by brand but for Oscar de la Renta, who delivered on my incipient expectations, she’s got the works laid out for her with a collection of tunics and caftans for sunbathing and galaing, tea dresses and skirts for luncheons (and blazers in case it gets chilly!), there were a few great asymmetric mini skirts rendered in structured poplin or silk moire and those were paired with short sleeve button-down shirts, at the end of it all came the !evening! wear — not just dresses but dresses and two instances of separates in a couple of crystal tops and tulle ball gown skirts, I loved the whole damn thing — start to finish. —Leandra

Coach

I love a show that has so much production budget that you get to sit on The Highline at sunset with a cool breeze and a cocktail, and then Eva Chen sits next to you and you introduce yourself and become five years old again and can’t ask her for a picture and then the show starts and the music is thrumming so loudly you can feel it in your whole body and you watch the looks approach you but the breeze-blown hair from the seatmate to your left is flying in your mouth and you’re making light spitting noises BUT the clothes were tailored and crisp and bore Barbra Streisand’s face and you feel the warm energy of being surrounded by clothes. —Amalie

Eckhaus Latta

Unsurprisingly, there was a lot of neon green, neck tattoos, and clothes featuring flames in the Eckhaus Latta audience today, and the subtle social flexing was on high volume: I spotted multiple instances of seat theft and subsequent eye rolls as I waited for the show to begin in the humid industrial space in Brooklyn. Once it did start, I was sent on a stylistic rollercoaster; what do these things have in common: A silk navy suit with billowing pleats, gray cotton cargo pants, and an electric blue sequined spaghetti-strap mini dress? (Tell me if you think of an answer!) All I can say is, this collection—with its vintage-looking knit dresses, sleek oversized suits, and deconstructed going out tops—defies categorization unless that categorization is “your cool downtown friend whose outfit surprises you every time.” —Haley

Gabriela Hearst

You can usually tell that a bunch of designers are on the same wavelength, this is called the beginning of a trend, but this season more than any other, I’ve pinpointed so few that we might actually be post-trend; actually, no, that’s not possible—but trends are obviously no longer being born at runway shows; what you do find, however, are specific camps being designed into: generation z’s take back of tacky, millennial clothes that attract “likes” but are still conclusively wearable and the advanced, streamlined nature of a designer like Gabriela Hearst, who hails from the same camp as The Row, but perhaps with a tilt that leans more heavily on fashion (and less on presenting true wardrobe armor)—for Spring she wants you to know that while it doesn’t take a lot to say a lot, in the interest of newness, you shouldn’t look back either: these are the clothes of the moment. —Leandra

Day Four
3.1 Phillip Lim

There are three outfits from the Phillip Lim show that I can’t stop thinking about and I will share them with you, too, so we can mutually churn them in our collective minds like a song that is stuck in our heads, okay? Okay here we go: the first is a pea soup-colored suit worn over a cropped crochet top and decorated with what looks like a leather shawl (genius), then another leather shawl made an appearance except this one was more of a leather basketweave situation, worn over a loose-knit sweater with white Bermuda shorts and ankle boots so low they could almost pass as loafers, then a white jacket with cutouts worn over white culottes (culottes!) and a cream kerchief. I want to recreate all of them, which is why I just googled “leather shawl,” and rest assured I WILL report back. —Harling

Sandy Liang

As a lover of soft things (see: an abnormally large soft coat collection in my possession), I fell in love with Sandy Liang *first* through her edgy unisex fleeces, then leveled-up to loving her cheeky feminine-but-not dresses, intarsia polo sweaters, and slinky slip skirts. This season, she built and expanded upon her known repertoire with more non-gendered sheer dresses, soft coats, bleached denim, and an iridescent babydoll dress I won’t soon forget (SOS). Is it creeptastic that I know everything about her and her dog and her partner and her family’s restaurant from Instagram, too? I love Sandy, I loved the show, I want everything on my body posthaste. —Amalie

Maryam Nassir Zadeh

I showed up at MNZ wearing a sheer black nightgown with high-waisted black underwear, basically naked, but I put a cardigan over my shoulders out of respect, you know, for the public-display-of-nudity naysayers among us—lord help them if they were present at MNZ, where the opening looks consisted of those mini-skirt bikini-bottom bathing suits that were popular in the 90s reimagined as regular skirts within the collection and one model who actually just wore a bikini with boots; there were loads more bra tops, too, but the dead ringer for “my look” was a white lightweight (whiteweight?) nylon jumpsuit and a pair of checkered pants with a printed skirt over it; it’s unclear whether they’re skants but, anyway, I’m still naked and open to wearing more clothing. —Leandra

Carolina Herrera

The entrance of the Carolina Herrera show venue in Battery Park was crowded with men wearing black button-downs tucked into black pants–the kind of uniform you might wear if you were serving champagne at a party, or checking people in at the door, but they were doing neither. I made a note of this as I walked in but was quickly distracted by the throngs of celebrities I recognized and VIPs I didn’t recognize but knew to be important by virtue of the fact that they were dressed in Full Looks with Full Makeup and kept standing up to get photographed. Fifteen or so minutes later, once everyone was seated, the aforementioned men in black assembled near the runway and began peeling back a layer of thin plastic to reveal a perfectly pristine white carpet underneath, and thus their purpose was revealed–along with the overall aura of the collection: gowns, ball skirts, and jackets so beautifully constructed you would almost be tempted to ensconce them in protective covering for eternity. —Harling

The Row

We get, like, three days a year to wear garments for different seasons in the same outfit, and it is up to us not to F it up. So allow me to identify the ideal summer-to-fall transition outfit for a cloudy day clocking in at 57 degrees fahrenheit: a navy blue, single-breast blazer styled over a black half-zip, with cotton sweatpants half-tucked into black socks—only slightly, but still intentionally—and double-strap flat sandals that look like a cross between a Teva and a Birkenstock. But wait, there’s another: It’s a shell turtleneck under a blue button-down paired with another-shade-of-blue straight skirt, and the shoes are actually an excuse to not wear shoes, like Saran wrap around a sole. God I love them. —Leandra

Day Three
Prabal Gurung

I was wondering why Prabal Gurung’s 10th anniversary show was slated to be held at Spring Studios (which essentially provides a template for brands to produce runway shows), but then I learned that he pulled out of plans to host his show at Hudson Yards after the location’s affiliation with Stephen Ross (see: his Trump fundraiser in the Hamptons) came to light, and therefore Gurung had to think fast. The theme was “Who gets to be an American?”—it was clear where the designer stood. I may have been peering from the very back, but I felt the show was alive with the smell of fresh flowers (in both models’ baskets and hanging from the ceiling), rich reds, blues and greens, and looks ranging from yoga studio to benefit gala. The feathers and the floral headpieces all reached my line of vision, but the rest I had to drink in on Getty. As such, my phone stayed happily in my lap. —Amalie

Collina Strada

I raced to Collina Strada’s venue from another show, so by the time I arrived I was on the verge of panic that I was going to miss it, causing a slight delay in my fully digesting the surroundings once I (finally) took my seat. The show was situated on the outskirts of a park in the East Village, allowing bystanders to peep through an iron gate and see what I saw: a corridor of NYC pavement lined with picnic tables topped with all manner of farmer’s market spoils—oranges, kale, squash, flowers, etc.—through which models wearing tie-dye, velvet, iridescent ensembles engaged in all manner of New York City activities, from pushing kids in strollers, or calmly eating grapes to breaking out into spontaneous freestyle dance. Dance! —Harling

Jason Wu

Jason Wu is a brand that makes me want to get dressed up, an impulse that was no doubt exacerbated by the fact that I was dressed down while in attendance at the brand’s show and party, in stark contrast to the ethereal gowns floating inches away from my sturdy Birkenstocks—and when I say “floating” I don’t mean it metaphorically, the preponderance of feathers and chiffon caused each garment to literally hover with every step the models took. —Harling

Rosie Assoulin

Rosie Assoulin’s presentation was perched amid farmers’ market shoppers at the Union Square Italian restaurant Bocce, where her visitors were met with a self-pickling station upon entering the venye. Just past the station was Assoulin herself, taking editors through her new collection — classic Rosie in its joyful, feminine wearability; think: long, asymmetrical hemlines, ruffled shirts, skirts attached to shorts and utilitarian but sleek khaki sets. The accessories had an heirloom quality to them, from brass produce jewelry to literal basket bags and wide-brim straw sun hats—still, small quirky details made them feel perfectly of-the-moment. —Elizabeth

Tibi

If I were handing out senior superlatives for fashion week shows, “comfiest seat” would be awarded to Tibi, which took place in the middle of Times Square in a venue stacked theater-style with red velvet chairs—a fitting perch from which to view another iteration of Amy Smilovic’s mission to clothe women both stylishly and comfortably at the same time. The components of each outfit didn’t stray far from those in previous seasons (which is kind of the point—Tibi’s formula is what makes it so consistently compelling), though there was undoubtedly a standout piece: parachute cargo pants rendered in shades so vibrant they seemed edible, from cotton candy hues to just-ripe melon. —Harling

Staud

Social media clothes are usually pretty impractical—you put them on to take a picture then take them off because they’re kind of impossible to wear—but when the clothes deliver on your color-bait desires while also being simple silhouettes rendered in easy fabrics you could practically sleep in, you get to have your likes and eat them too. Lmk how they taste. —Leandra

Mansur Gavriel

I was so thirsty when I got to Mansur Gavriel, which is why it felt like kismet when a kind waiter handed me an enormous pineapple juice beverage housed inside an actual pineapple, but I had an aha! moment when I realized it was also a distillation of what Mansur Gavriel is so good at doing—seamlessly marrying the “it” factor with something that actually serves its customer in a tangibly functional way, whether that’s making a warm sweater in the perfect oversized silhouette that just so happens to be bedecked with cumulus clouds or nipping the ankles of a pair of khakis in such a way that they become statement as well as staple. —Harling

Tory Burch

Clothes you wanna wear—at this point, it’s all I ask for, and Tory Burch delivered within her Brooklyn Museum environs where scones and quiche were served pre-show and scalloped linen monogrammed napkins met guests at their seats; maybe I was well fed, and had been charmed by the gesture, but those big navy pants paired with the napkin bib shirt and striped cardigan; or the salmon pink ankle length dress styled over matching silk pants that dragged gracefully against the floor made me feel even more like I get myself. Same trick, different hat, still me. —Leandra

Day Two
Suzanne Rae

In the rustic Flamboyán theater on the LES, I sat in a folding chair and was met by a real song and dance from two performers dressed in Suzanne Rae, backed by a big digital screen playing original video spliced with news footage and while the performers belted and shimmied, models came out wearing 20 different looks from the camps of sleepleisure, collegiate harkenings, fringe, and fun hats; the signature square toe d’orsay and Mary Jane shoes walked in vibrant primary colors and metallics— all in all it was joyful and upbeat and if you left without knowing your seat mate’s name and favorite dance move, you missed the point. —Elizabeth

Chromat

Chromat felt like that club I could never get into, but last night I did—actually everyone was welcome, including the long-ass line wrapped around the block, full of leopard print body suits and crystal-dripped shoulder pads with a wingspan of three feet. The music thrummed in anticipation of the show’s 45-minute-late start and I felt compelled to DAHNCE but the models took over, storming down the runway in cobalt blue and flaming red swimwear, with a surprise serenade from Rico Nasty. I love it here! —Amalie

Ralph Lauren

Ralph Lauren threw a cocktail party on Wall Street last night that made me feel like I was in Paris and it was the 1920s and chilled champagne was shimmering like diamonds on socialite ears and everyone came dressed in black and white per the dress code requirement and Lauren Santo Domingo went so far as to generously offer that I was emanating a Lee Radziwill vibe and the show—a panoply of black-tie suits and gowns and sweaters with bears on them—added one more layer of glamour to the suspended time lapse in which I sat at a table eating Polo Club nuts and smoky potato chips and standing up to clap with the rest of the room at the end of the collection presentation as an unspoken but earnest thank you to Ralph for bringing us here, on this night, to remember the good old days; I don’t want to escape the present, but sometimes it’s nice to leave for just a minute. —Leandra

Area

The crowd at Spring Studios boasts so many hair colors, which I can see from the vantage point of a lateral fourth-row seat, where it has become even clearer that I am no longer the youth; so it goes, they say, with living, but from this vantage point I get to watch with stars in my eyes, attempting to understand the panoply of crystals and sequins and this one handbag t-shirt (I don’t know how else to describe it) that I saw someone wearing while we waited to check in (it had leather handles flapping out of the crew neck on both sides), and all this perfectly sets up what Area is going to show me: an enchanting cocktail of fantasy and escapism (birdcage skirts, crystal beards, literal armor that is beautiful, but clearly protective) stirred judiciously by the straw from which the culture drinks, dropping in tears of pragmatism (white eyelet button downs, an army green puff sleeve anorak vest) as if a translation, or proposition, the invitation to buy in—and let me tell you I’m in because while I may not be the youth anymore, I’m also not blind, and this, Area, is awesome. —Leandra

Christian Siriano

Christian Siriano designs for the red carpet, and his show made me feel like I was riding one, from the throng of people waiting outside the venue, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity, to the grand interior once I stepped inside, made even more luxurious by the faint brush of Alicia Silverstone’s thigh against my elbow as she squeezed past en route to her seat, which I couldn’t find even when I craned my neck, but I imagine was well-situated to witness what unfolded next: an ocean of mermaid-esque ensembles in various iterations of rainbow and seafoam, worn by a cast of models that exemplified a refreshing consideration of size-inclusivity. —Harling

Kate Spade

Whoa, sorry to be filing this after the sun is beginning to set, but you know what they say in the heat of the digital age—it is better late than never, or worse, early, and let me tell you, I might be late but creative director Nicola Glass delivered right on time this morning at the Elizabeth Street garden in Nolita where 35 models, a combination of those by trade and those by proxy (real people! In the world! Who give personality to the clothes they wear!) showed a collection of loose pants and tunic tops, pastel crochet knee-length covers, and ribbed knit numbers; there were some khaki jumpsuits and these rly cute Dr. Scholls-style slippers, which made the fact that everyone was holding some form of greenery make so much sense, as if to say: people in green houses should totally throw parties. —Leandra

Ulla Johnson

In this episode of “What I Would Wear to a Mediterranean Beach, but Touch Neither Surf nor Sand Lest It Ruin My Shell-Adorned Hemline, I’ll Just Have an Orange Wine and Salty Olives Thanks” is: Ulla Johnson Spring/Summer 2020. —Amalie

Baja East

Scott Studenberg of Baja East invited his audience to peek into his newfound California life at Milk Studios on 15th Street, in a room furnished with his own living room rugs. Studenberg explained the brand’s relaunch, following a three-season hiatus, to the 40-or-so-person audience with heartfelt honesty. The designer used Tarot Cards—which he recently learned how to read—as inspiration for some of the pieces, while other looks featured trippy psychedelic prints and all-white combinations (which Scott adores and was wearing himself). With an emotional thank you, he sat among the models, each clad in the sporty ribbed knits, fringes, sequins, and prints for which the brand has been known and loved. —Elizabeth

Christopher John Rogers

In CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund finalist Christopher John Rogers’s NYFW runway debut, the idea that humans contain multitudes was on full display: iridescent tent dresses, metallic teal suits, ruffled collars (if you’re feeling it, put it on!) were all accompanied by no-holds-barred vogueing courtesy of models who clearly relished the opportunity to express themselves in clothing that said more than words ever could. —Harling

Khaite

You know that feeling when you’re just like, in between? Weather, moods, ideas—whatever! You want to have your cake, but eat it too, because you’re not sure if you’re hungry but value optionality; I don’t know if I’m packing too many metaphors into what is supposed to be a single sentence but Khaite designs for that in-between and it’s a great exercise in compromise—what do you wear when you want to be on a beach, but you’re in a city? Maybe a wrap skirt that could be a sarong and button down shirt hooked only at the chest, or it’s Saturday night, right? And you’re not sure if you want to go capital-O Out or lowercase hang, so you wear a tulle Top (capital T, of course) and jeans—best yet, you’re in a flashy beach mood, so wear the skirt and the top, add rhinestone or pearl epaulettes, and off you go. —Leandra

Adam Lippes

“Extreme Glamping” is the phrase that came to mind at Adam Lippes’s presentation, set in a brick-walled room in a Downtown NYC skyscraper, in which one wall was lined with models wearing tent silhouettes, floor-sweeping dresses with matching or coordinating bucket hats, sequins, cozy knits, and raw denim touches, slivers of morning light shining between their bodies. Gowns were embroidered in sequin-encrusted nature scenes and pockets were a detail for nearly every dress or skirt worn, presumably meant for storing a Thermos? —Elizabeth

Day One
Tomo Koizumi

I will never be sure how the Tomo Koizumi beauty team managed to get model Ariel Nicholson’s long hair to gel into a sharp point for their one-woman show, but they did, and it stayed that way, all while she frolicked in larger-than-life Koizumi creations, which were made even *more* alive this year than last (which had been Koizumi’s fashion week debut), with wilder construction by way of incredible fabric appendages that moved like jellyfish legs as Nicholson danced from one look into the next. —Amalie

Hellessy

Hellessy is like Dylan’s Candy Bar for going-out tops, as evidenced from today’s rundown of delectable décolletage poofs, one-shouldered delights, torsos draped in silk, and billowing sleeves—each paired with unexpected bottoms like light-wash denim and hot pink velvet leggings, an homage to the universal truth that a good going-out top is as versatile as a Tootsie pop is interminable. —Harling

Shrimps

Shrimps designer Hannah Weiland recently admitted her distaste for digital prints and preference for patterns with a “painterly” feel, a sentiment on full display in her latest collection, which engenders the charming effect of looking simultaneously of the moment (thanks to pearly mini bags and horseshoe-emblazoned faux fur coats) and reminiscent of a different time—or rather, times plural (see: cloche hats, saloon-inspired skirts, parasols, etc.). —Harling

Mara Hoffman

For sustainability-driven Hoffman’s Spring/Summer 2020 collection, the idea of “what a woman might have worn on vacation in Greece in the 80s” was on the brain, which makes the familiar smocking, color-blocking, and voluminous silhouettes feel warmly at home anywhere, not just among white-washed walls and hee-hawing donkeys. —Amalie

Rodarte

My mom got married in 1985 at a venue that provided photo-taking opportunities not unlike those presented in Rodarte’s Spring/Summer 2020 lookbook, boasting the faces of a cast of familiar, famous characters dressed to the 11s in an array of sequins and brocade and iridescent materials layered upon ruffles and big sleeves and mermaid tails and tulle; some pants are interrupted by knee-high, sparkling boots, but to resuscitate my initial point: If only—my mom wishes (I called her, she told me)—she had worn Rodarte. —Leandra

Feature Photo via Getty Images, Photos via Vogue Runway.

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Saw It on the Runway, Wore It the Next Day: MNZ Look No. 7

As I sat at the Maryam Nassir Zadeh show on Monday, the sun beating down the guerilla runway set up in Sara D. Roosevelt park, I found myself wondering why I had chosen to wear a full-body spandex suit in the oppressive heat. Every September, I make the same mistake. As someone who loves summer (and is possibly learning to like everything else too), I find that the only way to accept the arrival of fall is by tempting myself forward, like a pony to a carrot, with a new cool-weather garment. However, when I watched MNZ, champion of year-round swimsuits, send out a pink-and-white trifle of textures for spring/summer 2020, my heart was sent aflutter. This particular look toed the line of seasonal transition with grace, bare-shouldered and ephemeral on top and thickly layered at the bottom. As I watched the outfit bounce away, unavailable until next season, I knew I had to have it sooner—and I was certain I could recreate it the very next day.

Coasting on the thrill of fresh inspiration, I approached this craving with the precision of a nuclear physicist, breaking down the components of the outfit I saw and figuring out how I could approximate them with what I had on hand:

The Dress

I’m not ready to wave goodbye to my summer sundresses, and I love MNZ’s idea of layering a longer skirt beneath one to lend it a bit more warmth and formality. I borrowed this vintage one from my sister’s closet weeks ago so I hope she was ready to wave goodbye to it (I’m guessing it’s too late to ask for her permission?).

The Skirt

I found this pink crinoline on Etsy in the beginning of summer, and I actually hadn’t used it as an underskirt until now! It lends great volume to the look.

The Boots

The boots I paired with it are nowhere near as fabulous as the white snakeskin ones I saw on the runway, but they do firmly ground the look in fall–sandals would send me straight back to August.

The Tote

I was delighted to see several of yesterday’s models holding tote bags, since at 30% of life seems to involve schlepping things from Point A to Point B and this reality is not always reflected on the runway. I’ve already crammed a sweatshirt, a donut, a fistful of napkins, and several important documents into mine shown here.

 I wore this outfit to run errands, which is actually my favorite time to dress up because it makes the whole ordeal feel less boring. While stopping in a restaurant supply store to purchase bottles for some homemade kombucha (spoiler alert: didn’t end well), I chuckled at the revelation that the combination of pink and black in my outfit made me feel a little bit like a Lower East Side Avril Lavigne. Alas, as the day wore on, the silkiness of the dress and the stiffness of the skirt were not always a cooperative pair, and one or the other kept slipping out of place. I hate feeling like my outfit is fussy, and I was irritated by the fact that I kept having to readjust the straps of my dress all day. I was comfortable sitting at lunch with friends, but it seemed like the second I began walking anywhere the look would decompose. This is, I suppose, the friction between runway outfits (where garments are pinned, taped, and adhesive-sprayed into place) and real life endeavors (where I am trying to buy oat milk at the deli without exposing a nipple).

The fact that I was able to piece this one together fewer than 24 hours after I saw it saunter before me still made it feel like a triumph. Not only because I was neither hot nor cold as I puttered around town all day—a sensation that has escaped my grasp for months (maybe the secret to transitional dressing is cherry-picking looks from seasons yet to come?)–but also because it awakened my conviction in New York Fashion Week’s purpose. Unlike the shows in Paris, it may not crack open my mind and rearrange what’s inside, but it always leaves me with something–a styling hack, an outfit idea, a DIY challenge–something that makes me itch to return to my own closet, to reacquaint myself with the infinite possibilities that already live inside.

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