Thank goodness my new boots arrived from Gilt Groupe. I jumped on them because they're so cheap off-season, but apparently, based on the ominous weather report, I won't have to wait till autumn to make use of them.
Waiting for the inevitable muggy heat are my other new shoes: python gladiators with gold lining. Every girl should own a pair, right?
Read more about The Uniform Project.
HuffPo
I would like this photoshoot to inspire a movie directed by Quentin Tarantino.
Yesterday it found its way to the cover of WWD:
There are Ikat handbags from Coach and Target...
...and Fall 09 woolens (thanks to Pendleton for Opening Ceremony).
So what do you think? Is this trend worth ikatching up on? (Sorry, sorry...).
photo source
Unfortunately, the show was desultory and uninformative. The rooms were extremely dim, making it impossible to view the intricacies of the craftsmanship. The mannequins were, obviously, cold and lifeless, and when paired with the dull lighting, the room gave off the aura of a tomb.
The exhibit winds down a narrow hallway with about three switchbacks, and it ends in a large room with a moderately impressive collection of early Nineties dresses (Anna Sui, Perry Ellis). Making my way down the dark hallways, staring at the frigid mannequins decked out in their finest, I felt like I was tunneling through a burial vault, surrounded by mummies who had taken all their lovely garments with them to the grave in hopes of recovering them in the afterlife. I was half expecting to see a little mummified pet along the way, too.
The walk is formatted like a timeline. It begins with the turn of the century, then almost immediately jumps to Dior's New Look, then it skips to Mod London (loved the YSL beaded silk organdy - part Mod, part Flapper), and then charges full speed ahead into the Era of the Supermodel.
The timeline is as rudimentary as Spark Notes for 20th Century Fashion 101, only it is evidently missing several pages.
I wasn't aware of ambient music in the first part of the exhibit, but once I reached the era of Cindy, Christy, et al., I was suddenly bombarded with Wham's "Freedom" and the ostentatious designs of Gianni Versace. I quickly edged into the next room where jubilant Wham gave way immediately to "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and the age of Kate Moss and anti-glamour.
The lack of segues was discombobulating and I was anxious to get away and on to something less bizarrely exhibited (like 5000 year-old Cypriot and Persian jewelry).
The Model as Muse, I believe, entirely missed its own point. It reinforced the stereotype of models being lifeless and personality-free clothes hangers, instead of vaunting the ability of rare models who surpass this lowly moniker by performing alchemy and bringing otherwise inanimate clothing to life. These models do exist and just might be worthy of their own show at The Met, but certainly not this one.
This week I noticed that the bag I've been carrying around for months now looks decidedly funereal. The sun is shining, people have stowed their eskimo coats, women are wearing breezy skirts, and I'm still lugging a black, wintery tote.
As a lover of fashion and denizen of New York City, I am very excited about the latest exhibit at The Met. The Model as Muse opened this week with much hoopla and, of course, the rote drama.
The Luella wedge by Cynthia Vincent.
Because it's so utilitarian, there's nothing fresa about it, and I'm learning that patent paired with matte and more industrial-looking textures is actually quite striking.
I would've killed for these jeans as a pre-pubescent girl who thought that all things vibrant and clashing were fashion forward (back in the days when I made my own kente cloth dress). Those days are (sort of) behind me, but I'm unabashedly attracted to these break-the-mold jeans.
Maybe time to break out my as-yet-unworn Bill Blass jeans. I occasionally put them on and walk around the house in them, but I can't very well wear them out till I've had them altered.
This church is fascinating. Its roots are in Cortesian Mexico, but somewhere along the way, someone decided to give the facade a rosy facelift.
These street musicians were only teenagers and were completely adorable in their little uniforms.
These breakdancers were more than happy to pose for pictures. They were dancing in el centro, the town gathering space, but I found it especially interesting that they were breakdancing right in front of a grandiose and towering government building. What better place for street dancing?
It occupies about a city block with aisles and aisles of handmade jewelry, earthenware, clothing and other crafts. I bought two Aztec calendars printed on some oddly textured paper-like product.
I desperately want one of these traditional Puebla dresses, but it's almost something I want to make for myself. There's a great pattern here, at The Mexican Dress. I used to embroider when I was young, but I never did anything nearly this intricate. I may have to just buy one in Puebla when I'm there this weekend.
This vestidito was so adorable it almost make me want a child.
more to come...
After one day back in Cuernavaca, I remember why it's called "The City of Eternal Spring." The weather is ideally warm, never too muggy and often with a cool breeze. It's especially pleasant with a glass of guayaba juice. Guayaba is the official fruit of Morelos.
