I don't always go to fashion shows. But when I do, I go to Lela Rose
I had a glorious time at the SS15 Lela Rose show yesterday. There was a giant wall of watercolor illustration. There was a list of Lela's recipes on each seat. There were loose fitting crop tops and full skirts and botanicals. She basically read my mind.
I hate to say it, but I am a genius. Who was all obsessed with botanicals for the past year?
And what do we see on the runway? Yes, china pattern-like french blue and electric chartreuse botanicals splashed across sweeping capes ballooning out of scoped necklines and full, luscious floor length skirts.
This model was my favorite. Because beneath her pink gown she had this glistening milky white shoulder bone that caught the light like a moonbeam.
Seriously I think about things like this.
And I wanted to walk out of the show wearing this piece. That is one of the things I love about Lela, her clothes are so relatable. Like you can see your very best self wearing them.
I left the show with an I-love-New-York inner glow which was quickly wiped out by weirdness as my friend and I scuttled along the most inconspicuous route out of Lincoln Center, avoiding the dynamic of public examination going on near the fountain.
If you've ever been to Fashion Week at Lincoln Center, I think you'll agree with me that the energy in the plaza is downright weird. It's this zone of ogling each other's clothes, photographing each other's clothes, and acting like nothing is happening. There is a palpable buzz of stress that being looked at intensely generates. It's like being an animal in the Serengeti, crossing the vast dry expanse with no where to hide. Trying to act natural, just flicking your antlers around like "what, me?" waiting to either be raped or murdered by the nearest lion.
I almost escaped without incident. But then a completely inconspicuous woman who would be the Lincoln Center Serengeti equivalent of a meerkat caught me off guard and asked me to stand near a Mr. Softee truck to be photographed. Those meerkats are so wiley!... Anyway, if I turn up on some blog somewhere looking uncomfortable, let me know. I did not dress nearly crazy enough to warrant being photographed. Maybe it was for a blog about "real people" at NYFW.
Alright, enough about the parallels between the Saharan desert and fashion shows. Back to reality and a lot of work to catch up on. Buy a print if you like these girls!