Runway Reviews: Fashion Week Fall 2012 (Part II)

Read Part I, here. I won’t be offended if you don’t read. My fingers have a mind of their own.

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Blumarine

I must be a magpie. Out of an entire 60+ collection of fabulous, neon-colored fur coats and slinky little things, I’ve chosen metallics to represent the majority of my favorites (save the one, token LBD). No other reason could explain such madness.

A sane explanation to being so drawn to metallics, however, is their undeniable anecdote to the winter blues. A bit of bright without the neon, and a perfectly viable option to color for us neutral fiends; it’s rather complementary to fresh-fallen snow, crystallized icicles, holiday lights. A metallic puffer to replace my current black winter coat? Done in a heartbeat. Also loving the numerous variations of the biker jacket and trench in silver, rose gold, and antiqued gold reptilian skin. A pefectly-tacky-meets-sexy on the classic trench coat that reminds me a bit of the aged silver Burberry Prorsum Julia Restoin-Roitfeld wore a year or so ago. It was fabulous.

In summary: as always Blumarine is always the novelty. Sexy ski bunnies dipped in a box of high-lighters or Crayola brights. Love the idea of gowns and little black dresses paired with ankle boots; it all reminds me of a sassier, youthful interpretation of Julia Restoin-Roitfeld’s style.

Costume National

Carmen San Diego meets Zorro. My ideal feminist, wrapped up mysteriously behind a wide brim and long, black coat. Who is she? Where is she going? What is she wearing underneath?

Men would hope for just Agent Provocateur lingerie (or nothing), but we women all know better: she’s multi-faceted and well-layered. A peek of a dress slit thigh-high, or a well-tailored trouser; it goes by her mood. Few can see beyond the coat, nonetheless the true woman beneath all the layers.

There’s beauty in mystery. Unfortunately mystery has become a rarity—where has the naivete, the curiosity, the wonder gone? Where is the coquetry? We reveal all, or analyze until we’ve punctured the subject ’til it’s become nothing but a battered, flimsy thing. Bored easily, move on to the next, et cetera. It’s hard enough to imagine going a summer without Daisy Dukes and little cropped tops—could you imagine that the slightest glimpse of an ankle once sent shivers of excitement?

Custo Barcelona

Love the bold prints, the mixture of patterns and different textures. But most of all I adore the proportions: a mid-thigh, bodycon dress offset with a chunky cardigan or tuxedo vest. And may the lace-up boot, ankle or full-length, never die.

Diane Von Furstenberg

The wardrobe of my thirties (and onward) will be filled with DVF. Does that make me a walking cliche, given that every girl mildly interested in fashion puts Diane up on a pedestal?

She’s fabulous, without a doubt. But in the interest of full disclosure, I primarily adore her unabashed flirtation with bold colors and prints. An orgasmic burst of color, I believe she once said (or something along the lines of it, and that is exactly what a woman needs. Soft blush contrasted with a bright, creme red—so very retro!—or clashing with an electric blue. Gorgeous, feminine silhouettes for every woman and every facet of each individual woman. There’s one for the conservative corporate, a pantsuit I wish Hillary Clinton had worn, that borderlines androgyny sans the deviance; the woman’s woman in her blouse-pencil-skirt-cinched-waist uniform; the Jessica Rabbit, the femmes fatales.

I just love when a woman gets another woman. Here’s to femininity!

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x

P.S.: Another part (or two) to come. Feeling creative!

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