jeudi 19 février 2009


All you fashion lovers of course know the happy cycle of fashion weeks is on again, starting in NYC, as usual, before gracing London, Milan and finally my beloved Paris with its delicious and vital superficiality. Like all of you guys, I check out every morning when I wake up, followed by Garance and Scott, to get a grasp of what's going on in the big Apple. The internet coverage is so exhaustive I really have the feeling I am there, dreading the cold weather, trying to spot Erin Wasson and her huge fur coat, and getting late for the Marc Jacobs show.
Anyways. It seems that we are not missing this much, guys.
Things arent as fun as they used to be.
Fashion wise, first. I mean, come on, Alexander, we still love you, and we definetely gonna fall for cropped leggings soon, if you say so, but why, oh why so black and white ?
And you, Pronza Schouler, I love you still but why so brownish, why so... boring ?
Thank god there was, you, my beloved Mulleavy sisters and those boots I am so extatic about I might dream about them every night till the next fashion week. And Marc Jacobs, whose collection I just LOVED, but couldn't say it better that July stars did.
No, no... There is no fun in NYC.
There is no party ! On the first days of the week, I received BBMs from all my lucky - or not - models, editors or fashion geek friends who are there... There were all like : God ! There is no party ! All the designers canceled them all! Recession !
No parties on NYC fashion week ? Come on ! That's like no crocodile on a Lacoste sweater ! That can't be ! But unfortunately, it is. No big Diesel bash, no crazy Marc Jacobs cocktail, just a few shy aftershow dinners and a handfull of shops or galllery openings...
No, there was no parties in NYC this week, except for two. The Purple dinner, and the Vladimir Roitfeld exhibition opening. Thank God the frenchies are here to make this depressing time a little more fun. Thank God Olivier and Carine are here to entertain the Olsen sisters, Milla Jovovitch and Gisele Bundchen !
Oh yes, my french fellows, we can now say it out loud and clear. We own the night.

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