Rarely have I seen such a stunning evolution from one collection to the next. Bob Bland, the designer behind Brooklyn Royalty, has come into her own. This season I've been on the Fashion Week sidelines because of housing drama and evil landlords that just want to suck up my time. It was a joy to get a taste of the vibe. I truly wanted to go to a show; this was a pleasant invite. I saw her show last season. We trooped around in the tents; I discovered the joys of watching the production, feeling the energy of the disgruntled Fashion crowd as they crossed their feet and murmured for the show to start.
This season her details were in place; she had a vision for her work. Last season, it was black and gold, something I silently abhorred. The models couldn't quite figure out how to command the runway and the bar was claustrophobic, as drunken Brooklynites almost competed for a spot on said runway.
This season, she picked a venue with lots of light, the runway was long and inviting, the models commanded the show and the clothes communicated to the eager audience. The colors were on point and I wanted almost all the t-shirts she presented. Monogrammed cupcakes were the perfect post show treat. I did feel that the neon she chose for this show was more last Spring, compared to the the floral and pastels most designers chose as this seasons trend.
I took a trip to the Tents, because it's seldom something you see, and loved the political nature. In the Daily they mentioned these fun facts.
1) Tom Ford maxed out his donations to Bill Richardson!
2) Members of the hot editorial set at Conde Nast donated $51,215 to both parties; $50,883 to Democrats and Republicans got $332. I guess they're clearly members of the liberal media.
3) Fashion Designers donate $92,777 to the parties, $76,977 to the Dems and $15,800 to the Republicans. Again a clear slant for the donors.
The Tuleh after-party hosted at Socialista was the next stop ; As I whirled through the fashion world and crashed the door, sliding through some well-heeled girls murmuring about how amazing the show was. Inside I joined my friends who enjoyed the free flowing open bar. I ended the evening with the most interesting bar find to date: a December 1976 Playboy.
It just named an essay by Martin Luther King the best of the year. On the next page, there was a piece by Cesar Chavez on how to end world poverty; as I turned the magazine, Tennessee Williams shared a short story -- this was when the publication was known for their writing (I'd like to think). Life Magazine just under it, had pictures of anti-ballistic missiles.
I think at about one a.m., thoroughly intoxicated, watching the girls in designer cloths twirl around, cat fighting for the bar, clutching my time capsules from the past, I realized, we're repeating the past, again and again and again and I have no clue how we can stop this cycle.
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