Leandra Medine's Blog, page 85

The Very Best Street Style Looks From NYFW: Day 4

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.

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Photos by Karolina Kaczynska and Louisa Wells.

The post The Very Best Street Style Looks From NYFW: Day 4 appeared first on Man Repeller.

How I Finally Made Friends With My Insomnia

I have never liked the shape of the word insomnia. It looks wiry and rounded at the edges—nothing like the middle of the night.

I tend to sleep in sappho pieces: two hours just after midnight, another two between 5 a.m. and 7 a.m., maybe a 30-minute interlude wedged somewhere in the middle. I sleep in fragments, in chapters. There is no softness or continuity.

By day, however, I exist among the living, part of the shared experience of operating in the world: dressing and brushing teeth and consuming things and telling other people about them. At night, I am this other thing, disenfranchised from the swell of standard human behavior. I earn a version of agency I never asked for: an expanse of hours that contain nothing––no routines or obligations.

Naturally, there are days when the accumulation of waking hours make the very act of moving my body from place to place feel near impossible. But typically, I’m okay; I continue to function, more or less, according to the rules of social normalcy.

I have the luxury of believing my unwavering exhaustion guarantees me something exclusive: a unique, thoroughly intimate relationship with the hours between 2 and 4 a.m.

I’ve tried most of the textbook antidotes—varied benzodiazepines, sleep meditation, hypnotism, one strange electro-current-powered device my father brought back from a conference in Moscow—but each makes me feel off-kilter. So instead, I choose to stay awake. This is stasis for me: I am a broken biological clock, a circadian rhythm sans metronome.

For all its inconveniences, I don’t find this arrangement to be intrinsically bad. In fact, it’s become something of an asset—I have the luxury of believing my unwavering exhaustion guarantees me something exclusive: a unique, thoroughly intimate relationship with the hours between 2 and 4 a.m. I’ve developed a certain rapport with the nighttime. We’ve become cordial, friendly, even. We pass the time together. And in spite of the decades I’ve spent rallying against the piece of my brain that so detests slumber, I’ve begun to treasure all those waking hours with far more affection than the sleep they’ve deprived me of.

Naturally, this has not always been true. I was eight years old when I first heard the word “insomnia.” I watched it slink out from between a doctor’s teeth, and I understood that it pointed to some small manufacturing error within me. The word, itself, was sharp.

At that time, I’d already built middle-of-the-night routines to occupy myself when sleep wouldn’t come. I’d fill the bathtub with blankets in place of tepid water and read. When I grew restless, I would re-order the books on my shelves: first by color, then by last name, then by subject matter. I learned to say the alphabet backwards when arranging titles from A to Z grew too easy. I tried not to cry—and only allowed myself to do so on the nights that felt particularly, unrelentingly long.

I wanted to sleep desperately—I would lay catatonically still, unmoving, praying to all of the alphabetized novels in my bedroom for night to pass.

Then I got older, and all the existential muck that accompanies adolescence collected in my head like sediment: There were boys to instant message, girls to look like, The Common App. All of it reframed the night: That time moved from dull to anxious to a particular breed of sadness that seemed to cough itself into existence only between the hours of 4 and 5 a.m. At that time, I wanted to sleep desperately—I would lay catatonically still, unmoving, praying to all of the alphabetized novels in my bedroom for night to pass.

By the time I reached college, my middle-of-the-nights all had that same residue, but I was more often preoccupied. I worked through the literary canon in a way that was not so much academic as it was hungry—voracious even. I stopped lying still, waiting in vain for a thing that would never come. I determined, instead, to fill that time up. In the afternoons, I meandered through assignments, relishing the bizarre fluorescent hum particular to collegiate libraries—the ambient camaraderie—while at night, I powered through the meatier coursework on my own, grateful for the presence of a task while the rest of campus slept.

Sometime around then, I began to write differently: Essays and strange little prose poems and epistolary odes. I kept a folder on my computer’s desktop titled “The Insomnia Archives,” and I filled it with writing that came from some editorial muscle in my head that seemed to activate exclusively in the dark. Often, these were nearly incomprehensible. Sometimes, they worked. This was part of The Nighttime Effect: To my knowledge, I couldn’t write like this during daylight.

So began a shift in the way “insomnia” sounded to me. I felt myself marvel at the night in a way that had seemed previously impossible. I thought the word, itself, could be a little girl’s name were it not so prescriptive. And I believed the time it allowed me was perhaps my most legitimate form of personal wealth. It was a bonus.

Not sleeping is simply more interesting than attempting to sleep.

Now, I savor the extra time to read, and fold the laundry, and empty the dishwasher—but in large part, the night is reserved for more impractical things. For emails and letters crafted purely for the joy of the recipient, or the preparation of elaborate snacks, all of which I will consume alone. It’s for news that comes on actual paper, French lessons through an iPhone application, for learning about the insular organs of a coy fish. Sometimes it’s for long, quiet runs through South Brooklyn, and for scrambled eggs with potatoes priced at $3.99 from the 24-hour diner on Vanderbilt. In turn, what I’ve learned is both unspectacular and obvious: Not sleeping is simply more interesting than attempting to sleep.

At times, I am still resentful of the night. Still entirely vulnerable to the largeness of it. But far more often, I am somewhat in awe of it. I’m fascinated by the way it unfurls, the way it quiets whole cities, and by contrast, the way it amplifies all the noise in my head. It would seem that reverence and fear are not so different—that night, for me, oscillates nimbly between the two.

That’s the thing about The Insomnia Archives: They changed the way I enunciated “insomnia.” Over time, the word softened for me. In fact, it took a new shape, entirely.

Feature illustration by Mia Christopher.

The post How I Finally Made Friends With My Insomnia appeared first on Man Repeller.

Dogs, Toddlers, and Piles of Produce: Collina Strada’s SS20 Show by the Minute

Yesterday, for the first time in my short NYFW attendance history, I attended Collina Strada’s runway show. Having heard about last season’s offering, where post-apocalyptic-looking models strolled in earth-child garb whilst sipping from reusable bottles and carrying babies a la Rudy on a runway littered with coke cans, I said to myself: “I MUST attend next time.” As luck would have it, Elizabeth Tamkin scored me a ticket, front row. Please enjoy my play-by-play journey below.

4:45 PM

Within two minutes of my arrival at the Spring/Summer 2020 Collina Strada show, I have a fresh mosquito bite swelling on my leg. The show is next to Stuyvesant Square park, which I have never been to in my life. Birds chirping, dogs barking, mosquitos biting. Nature adores me!

4:46 PM

I tug on the emergency shorts I bought earlier that day from Aritzia after realizing my breezy dress wouldn’t sleep until it had exposed my panties to the world. I notice that all along the side of the “runway,” if you will, is a bevy of fruit and veggies, fat loaves of bread. I’m tempted to grab an orange, but I find my seat instead and, as one does, sit alone with my cellular device looking at Slack and memes for a few minutes.

4:50 PM

But wait, the show notes! I have to write them here, because even if the rest of what I say is bananas (literally), I found this passage written by Collina Strada’s designer, Hillary Taymour, to be lovely, important, promising: “Sustainability is a journey, not a destination. In this climate crisis, I am struggling to figure out how to be as responsible & transparent as possible. I’m learning daily about how to build better business practices and design with consciousness. As the Amazon continues to burn, let’s reflect today on how we produce & consume our food. Unconventional fruit tastes even sweeter.”

5:05 PM

The show’s start time is technically 5 p.m., but I’ve learned that a fashion week start time is as good as a suggestion for when the early crowd should arrive. From where I’m sitting, I note that Eva Chen, Mecca James-Williams, and Courtney Trop are all looking divine. Isn’t it weird when you see people you know who don’t know you? I guess it isn’t weird because that’s a universal sentiment and 9 times out of 10 those people would be great/cool if you said hi, but I’m still sitting like a kid who really wants someone to come play marbles, but is too shy to go ask Suzie.

5:20 PM

The only dog I’ve seen inside the perimeter of the show space is walking straight toward me. Homina homina. Her owner sits down next to me and she nestles at my feet with her cute little red bandana wrapped askew around her neck. She gives me big baby eyes and I want to bundle her up and walk off into the sunset.

5:29 PM

Harling slides in at the last minute and squeezes into the seat next to me! Not all heroes wear capes.

5:30 PM

The show opens with dreamy vocals from Zsela, singing live. When the first model walks down the runway, wearing a powder blue crushed velvet midi-dress with two printed shirts layered over it, their gait is so casual I almost mistake it for someone who is just late to the show. They deviate from their path to grab an orange and immediately start peeling it. Another model—an older woman—follows, carrying a bunch of grapes she’s plucking and popping into her mouth the whole time.

5:34 PM

A woman wearing printed drawstring pants and bead-bedazzled sandals walks out with a truly tiny bébé! I think it’s fun when babies are included in shows, but I also wonder if they’d rather be doing baby stuff?

5:36 PM

It’s me, so you know I’m looking at the shoes. All of them are HOKA sneakers, which I saw in the show notes, but they’ve all been swiped with paint, embellished with rhinestones, wrapped in deadstock fabric, hot glued with beads. I desperately want a pair and plan to make them this weekend. Who’s coming, no RSVP necessary.

5:37 PM

A model walks by in a teeny-tiny halter dress and complementary rhinestone nipple covers and she has SO much cupping on her back. Holy cannoli, I feel sore just looking at her.

5:39 PM

The way people are walking makes this show feel more like people-watching on a sidewalk bench than attending a show. This is Hillary Taymour’s world, I’m just sitting in it. The models are picking squash and laughing over kale in various flowing “hippie” wares. Zsela sings: “We’re living on a dying planet and anyone who tries to deny wears a suit and tie and gets paid to lie.”

5:43 PM

A man STOMPS, Vaquera FW19-style, down the runway in a tank with embellished flowers around the nipples carrying a dog that’s bouncing recklessly in his arms. Don’t talk to me or my son ever again. My friend later asked me if it was a stuffed raccoon.

5:46 PM

An older woman walks down the runway with a curly-haired toddler holding on to the string of her white jersey dress, which looks like her compatriot might have drawn on. I love a garment that’s form and function: dress and toddler leash.

5:47 PM

ACH! A naked woman streaks through the scene with words painted on her that frankly I can’t read because she’s moving too fast. She grabs a squash and tosses it over her shoulder as she sails past the photographers. Harling and I smirk as we watch her make a U-turn into the park where someone hands her a coat and she walks back to the “backstage” area lolol.

5:49 PM

A model walks down and back in glittering green separates and, WAIT, she’s grabbing the mic and she’s singing and what? It’s the Canadian/Colombian synth-pop singer Tei Shi! The tempo is more upbeat. We’ve got dancing:

 

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When you hear a rumor that all this fruit is up for grabs after the show @collinastrada

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5:52 PM

That’s a wrap on rhinestone nipple covers, print power-clashing, and fuschia silk dresses! Our show notes were served with a reusable bag from Baggu, urging us to take the produce after the show, with the rest being donated. I see fellow attendees in lime green sparkle pants and tie-dye vests with kale and carrot greens spilling out of their bags.

After some reflection, I’ve realized that I would happily wear a heckuva lot of this collection—especially the floral blazer, flowing printed pants, and the wild-child HOKAs. Most importantly, I appreciate the fact that nearly all of it—excepting the brand’s jersey pieces for which they’re urgently seeking a sustainable alternative—is made from deadstock fabric. Collina Strada is a brand that’s trying to do right by 2019 by delivering a vision of a world in which you can, too.

Thoughts on the show? Anything else you’re itching to know? I’m here in the comments and yours, boo, always.

Photos via Vogue Runway.

The post Dogs, Toddlers, and Piles of Produce: Collina Strada’s SS20 Show by the Minute appeared first on Man Repeller.

One Sentence Recap Day 4 Dispatch: Collina Strada, Tibi, Mansur Gavriel and 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?

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 all things soft (see: my abnormally large soft coat collection), 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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The Most Surprising Novelty at NYFW? Clothes You Can Actually Wear.

Attending shows at New York Fashion Week in the age of social media can feel a lot like staring into the sun. The majority of designers present an effulgent array of things like rhinestone headpieces, iridescent tent gowns, velvet unitards, dramatic props, and other sartorial novelties, to the extent that when you finally look away and confront the contents of your own wardrobe at the end of the day, everything seems a bit distorted. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the comparative dimness of normalcy, to clothes that are actually wearable.

Tory Burch Spring/Summer 2020

Wearable! It’s a descriptor that has strangely become something of a novelty in the current context of New York Fashion Week. That’s why the collections it applies to stand out so vividly in my mind. Yesterday, my schedule was stacked with them, starting with Tory Burch, a show that not only inspired me to strive for “put-togetherness” but also offered up tangible lessons in how to achieve that quality with each model who walked past. I can’t wait to wear a ruffled white button down untucked over billowing trousers with a striped cardigan, for example, or a gingham top pinned with a corsage and paired with a pleated skirt and neon yellow shoes. I departed feeling distinctly full of baby quiche, which were stacked in a neat pyramid amidst other eye-catching confections on a table near the exit, but also of immediately viable styling ideas that could be executed with items I either already own or want to purchase in order to realize them.

Staud Spring/Summer 2020

After that, there was Staud, a brand that’s well aware of the importance of appealing to social media, but still places a premium on making clothes that people can and certainly will wear. The brand’s online cachet is not derived from like-bait moments that will disappear with the Instagram Stories in which they were captured, but rather from carefully chosen silhouettes and solid colorways with inherent photographic appeal. This distinction is what allows Staud to capture attention with its clothes without sacrificing their functionality, as they did with a classic blazer rendered in lime green silk, a flowing maxi dress in the ideal shade of olive khaki, and a crescent-shaped bag perfectly sized for an iPhone, wallet, and keys that just so happened to be festooned with feathers.

Mansur Gavriel Fall 2019 Ready-to-Wear

I headed to Mansur Gavriel next, where, on the eve of true autumn, the preponderance of juicy sweaters, beautifully tailored trousers, and statement coats served as a reminder of why the rare but obvious “see now, buy now” model makes so much sense. I routinely marvel at how gracefully the brand has evolved from bucket bag fame, all the while maintaining a keen sense of precisely what it is trying to put out into the world: quality classics embedded with a sense of delight—a cumulus cloud-dotted sweater, a lollipop red overcoat, a camel blazer and trousers married with a yellow button down and a leather accordion bag that somehow looked timeless and of the moment all at once.

At Tibi shortly thereafter, I reveled in the comfort of observing a collection that didn’t stray too far from its predecessors, that wasn’t trying to reinvent the wheel but was instead a sartorial manifestation of the old adage, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!” Indeed, Tibi’s brand identity is crystal clear, and that’s what makes it such a reliable source of inspiration season after season. It can always be counted on to play the hits—seriously good blazers, poplin tops with subtle balloon sleeves, pleated trousers, and fitted crew neck sweaters—peppered with jolts of appeal for its more adventuresome customers, like cantaloupe-colored parachute cargos and platform ankle boots. No matter where you fall on the Tibi spectrum, you’ll always end up with something that proves easy to wear and aesthetically pleasing are not mutually exclusive.

Tibi Spring/Summer 2020

None of these shows transformed how I want to get dressed, but all of them made me noticeably excited to get dressed. The power of that incitation shouldn’t be underestimated, because it is cultivated by clothes that reflect reality instead of warping it. Clothes that will stay with you longer than the few minutes you saw them on the runway. Clothes that aren’t created for the sole purpose of sparking a reaction, or a “moment,” or a headline. Clothes you can not only wear, but want to wear. If the sum of New York Fashion Week feels like staring into the sun, brands like Tory Burch, Staud, Mansur Gavriel, and Tibi are here to level our eyes back to earth, to remind us that even when our chins are tilted up at something momentarily dazzling, there’s nothing more affirming than a return to solid ground.

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The Collision of Fantasy and Reality at NYFW

At its best, fashion straddles fantasy (what we want to be true) and reality (what is true). You can’t ignore reality if you want to invent something that’s relevant, but when we’re dealing in an art form, you also can’t concede to reality so completely that what gets created feels unbearably normal either. Fashion should improve reality. This means different things to different people, but as a baseline concept—that’s it. Good fashion improves reality. And nothing is more real than the routine of your life.

Area Spring/Summer 2020

On Saturday afternoon, I attended the Area show at Spring Studios after spending an hour with my kids. I waited outside among fellow attendees who were dressed in crystal body chains styled over neon t-shirts and bike shorts or patent leather mini skirts that seem impossible to walk in but pretty cool for a photo. I was wearing a navy jacket as a top and black Nike shorts and a pair of old Celine sandals — it could not have shouted “I don’t get it” much louder. But I didn’t think twice about putting on this outfit because I’d worn it the week before and I felt great when I did that, so I just did it again. No frills, no fuss—this is style in the age of parenthood, or separate from that, in the age of recognizing that your perspective does not inform, or run parallel to, the youth zeitgeist.

I know this to be true because the crystal body chains and neon t-shirts and all those bike shorts—those are the garments of the moment, and no one is serving them with as strong a point of view as Area. Its relevancy feels akin to Proenza Schouler or Alexander Wang c. 2011 in that their vision of fantasy is distinct. Area’s is like textbook camp. They’re taking back tacky, and making it cool, it’s all out gaudy but with a less celebratory undertone. To celebrate just for the hell of it, irresponsibly and opulently in 2019 would be to subvert reality.

Area Spring/Summer 2020

But to improve it? Turn up the crystal facial beards and rhinestone ties, slap a louder than life printed suit on your person and—for the love of God—get a neoprene belt that looks like cascading dreadlocks to sweep the floor so that as you walk, your trail follows. You almost can’t help but lift your phone to take a photo. But I wouldn’t call these social-media clothes, at least not as the sum of their parts. They are just, simply, of the time.

Compare this to what came four hours later at Ralph Lauren’s takeover of 48 Wall Street, the former Bank of New York building, and you’re on another end of the fantasy spectrum. Behind the closed doors of the erected-for-one-night-only, Ralph’s Club, camera flashes flickered while glasses of chilled champagne shimmered like diamonds on the ears of socialites as they (the champagne, not socialites) traveled table-to-table on silver trays. Guests were escorted to their seats and invited to nosh on spiced nuts and smoky potato chips while an emcee welcomed everyone to the greatest night of their lives.

Ralph Lauren Fall 2019 Ready-to-Wear

And then the models started to walk across the marble floor, through the maze of tables where old-guard editors sat, wearing a panoply of well fit tuxedo suits and body hugging gowns and sweaters with bears on them — the standard fare for Ralph Lauren and towards the end of the presentation, there was a collective exhale that came from every single table. It was so palpable you could see it fogging up the crystal glasses.

Ralph got a standing ovation. It wasn’t because of the clothes. They were classic Ralph, and that made them just fine, but they — we — clapped because of the night, because he invited us into his world, an earnest version of reality for a man who has proven that a lifestyle can scale and in doing all of this, he has let us suspend time. And reality. At Ralph’s Club that night, he did it again.

Ralph Lauren Fall 2019 Ready-to-Wear

Or maybe it was just me clapping for that reason. I stood there dressed in a black sequined jacket and elegant white pants with borrowed diamonds in my ears, remembering my Nike shorts, crestfallen on the floor of my bathroom on Grand Street. I looked around at all the people I so badly wanted to impress when I was the new guard and they were the old guard and possibly wondering to themselves who the hell I was, when they’d stopped informing the youth zeitgeist, declaring they don’t get it.

I’m not sure where that leaves me right now, but I think I like it.

Feature Photo via Getty Images, Photos via Vogue Runway.

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MR Roundtable: The Joys and Challenges of Protective Hairstyles

This summer, I started hearing DMX’s 2000 song “What These B*tches Want” again. Not on the radio, but through a viral hashtag that became an entertaining lesson in how frequently black women switch up their hairstyles. The #dmxchallenge (the earliest known post belongs to Instagram user @wigginit) entails flashing a different look to match each woman’s name that’s checked in the rapper’s song—Brenda, LaTisha, Linda, Felicia, Dawn, etc. I was 10 years old when that song came out, but I remember it vividly and gamely made a video of my own. Nearly 40 looks are needed for the challenge, and pulling them together is not an easy feat. When I did so, I realized the majority of the looks I included were some of my favorite protective hairstyles from over the years: braids of all sizes, cornrows, or a mix of both.

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#dmxchallenge. had to

The Very Best Street Style Looks From NYFW: Day 3

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.

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Photos by Karolina Kaczynska and Louisa Wells.

The post The Very Best Street Style Looks From NYFW: Day 3 appeared first on Man Repeller.

The Very Best Street Style Looks From NYFW: Day 2

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.

71 PHOTOS
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Photos by Karolina Kaczynska and Louisa Wells.

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The Creator of Katie Holmes’s Bradigan Debuted a Perfect September Outfit

While summer begets the baring of limbs and winter necessitates their total and complete coverage, the in-between of fall—the seasonal salami, if you will—has more flexible requirements. I’ve found that sometimes the guardrails of transitional weather dressing are so loose I end up haphazardly throwing stuff on, which almost always results in a situation wherein I am either too hot or cold, rarely just right. And yet, just right were the precise words that came to mind at the sight of look 20 at Khaite. It consisted of an oversized argyle sweater, silk shorts, flat lace-up sandals, a large leather tote bag, and a literally sparkling rhinestone headpiece. I knew from when I laid eyes on it that this, finally, was the perfect September outfit template.

One thing I have learned in our thus-far brief encounter with September is that outfits where my legs are covered and my arms are bare, like a jeans and tank top combo I wore just three days prior to this sentence being typed, are a recipe for goosebumps. As in, my arms get cold, and then I kick myself with the very legs I’ve stuck inside a pair of pants despite the haunting awareness that I don’t have to be wearing pants right now. It’s not January yet! It’s not even October. I can still wear dresses, and skirts, and shorts, and what am I doing wasting this perfectly good bare-legged weather when I know perfectly well that my legs are less prone to getting cold than my arms?

Flimsy silk shorts look really great with a bulky wool sweater because they are total and complete opposites.

Anyway, the Khaite outfit. A salient reminder that a sweater paired with shorts is an ideal solution to the above-mentioned issue, but also a lesson in the most compelling proportions and textures to consider when executing upon this revelation. Namely, flimsy silk shorts look really great with a bulky wool sweater because they are total and complete opposites (name the reference!) and therefore destined for greatness when combined, like cream cheese and jam. Also of note: it looks better when the shorts are just barely peeping out from underneath the sweater hem.

And per the accessos, this ensemble could be easily paired with loafers, and I honestly think it should be if you’re planning to carry a dainty bag, but the magic in the one on Khaite’s runway was because of the strappy sandal/big tote bag combo. Red strappy sandals specifically, which added a pop of color to an otherwise thoroughly autumnal palette. The rhinestone headpiece was just gravy, but instead of overlooking it entirely I’m inclined to consider it an open-ended suggestion poised for interpretation. For example, how about a slightly subtler but no less sparkly alternative, like rhinestone stud earrings?

I would award a lifetime of bonus points to anyone who actually ‘just happens to have’ a rhinestone headpiece lying around.

The best news about the best September outfit idea I’ve witnessed this week is that the components of it are likely already in your closet: a slightly oversized sweater, a pair of short shorts, a large tote bag, stud earrings, and flat lace-up sandals (for what it’s worth, if this were a contest and I was a judge, I would award a lifetime of bonus points to anyone who actually “just happens to have” a rhinestone headpiece lying around). It would be even better if the shorts in question were silky or silk-adjacent to conjure the effect of the opposing forces I mentioned earlier, so maybe check your pajama drawer in case that’s where a pair is hiding? Now, let us go forth and slice this seasonal salami together.

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