Unless you reside under a rock or in a prairie state, you know it’s fashion week. Most of the year I give up on New Yorkers’ insufferable belief that they are the center of the universe. Their conviction of superiority looking down on the world from 150 square feet of rat infested squalor up three flights, step over the crack head please, is laughable. Despite my personal feelings about the rotten apple, it does have it going on one week every September. And yesterday, even Anna Wintour smiled.
I sit at my computer in Scottsdale alternately stalking my iPad for designer news while college football blares in the background. Roll Tide. Strikes me perhaps there is a correlation. Fashion and football uniforms on young, buff men? Tis the season of melding the two best things in life–sheath dresses with stadium pumps and football pants and biceps. Hmm–how’s a girl to choose? Does anyone feel faint? Comparisons abound. Shall we explore?
I’m noticing a return to classic, put together ladylike looks. Women are again wearing their “go ahead screw with me” faces that result only when one is impeccably dressed. Not unlike offensive linemen talking smack with their big brawny muscles searching out errant linebackers. Yummy on both counts.
Can we say goodbye to worshipping outsized asses in skin tight pants, billowing tee-shirts (I shudder) and clunky shoes? Nordies released their top ten for fall and there was not a peplum in the bunch. Who called it? High five girlfriend. There are a couple of losers which you know we’ll discuss. Kind of like tackles who claim to be in great shape while patting their giant bellies betraying time spent in the weight room. Let’s add a day of core work boys, shall we?
Can you say clunky short boot? Me neither. They’ve been deigned “tough boots.” No, no, and no again. A lady can accomplish many things. Lumbering across the room in army boots is not one. Ever. These are black, wide, tire track soled and something you’d wear if trekking through the rain forest if your life were that unfortunate. Even then, a suitable lace up bootie would serve. Offerings include the 398 Vera Wang brown clodhopper with chains across the ankle. Whaaa? Vera, dear, we know what you do best. Did you not learn your lesson with that foray into Kohl’s? Take care of that error now. Please.
There is another no way, not happening ever, on the list. Do we need to review what happens to the female body as it ages or gives birth. Things that were previously firm, upright and taut travel frequently and frightfully. The fight to keep ones ass at a respectable level is a constant struggle. Believe it or not, the fall list includes printed pants. There are stripes and flowers–basic drapery material. This will go down as the divine Miss Tory’s first error. The Tory Lindsay high waisted legging in green and black check is vomit inducing and enough to send a bottom drooping fashionista over thirty running from the room screaming. Only a dirty martini with three pimento stuffed olives can erase the image from my brain. I think the grand dame may have been striving for a Laura Petrie/Audrey Hepburn vibe. But large green and black check. Fail. Other offerings go downhill from there, flowers, python, acid wash (yikes) and grey camo. Heavens!! There is no pearl to save this ghastliness.
Need proof? Imagine all those football pants with these prints. Would a punt return in purple python ever cause the mind to wander in the same way that crisp white, navy or black does? Advantage solids.
Mixing leathers with wools is fine. Meh–been there, worn that.
The good stuff? Again–the sexy pump. There are offerings in black with a gold toe, classic stadiums, t-straps, ankle straps and bows. A girl could get woozy. This calls for a celebratory martini and a big strong football player to catch us if we become weak in the knees. Clink. I hear glasses and giggling while you prance about the room. Ditto for the color pop bag. Right after you purchase the classic PDC from Amour De Ma Vie in cream and black. Word is it will be called “The Francie.”
Red lips, statement jackets and throw on sweaters are all spot on for wardrobe additions. But the idea that a throw on sweater would take the place of a cardi–pfft. Dreaming. Just like a flowy jersey might do justice to all that arm candy that is college football. Same theory; a throw on sweater covers up all the definition. Need I say more? A girl needs to see those muscles in order to know they could wrap around her, shield her from the rain and give her something to hold onto in the throes.
Ah, the sheath dress. Our savior. It’s basic, a classic beauty, a breath of fresh air. The trick, dear girls, is to buy the one that fits. No part of the sheath should strain about your girth. Go up a size and cut the tag out. It should shape but skim. The perfect look for a dirty martini. And speaking of toasting, picture this. A girl, a sheath dress, perhaps a hat, a pair of pumps, martini in hand waiting for a boy, all buffed out, black smudge under his eyes, scuffed up white cleats, needing a rub down after all that Saturday afternoon work. Oh stop it. I’m teasing. Kind of. I can wait until he’s in the NFL just like I did with Tom and look what he did–went and married that bitch Giselle.