I am starting to realize that I should have trained for doing these reviews. I should have cleaned out the cobwebs of my photoshop, I should have trained my eyes to extremely ornate detail that I would have to use my imagination to bring to life because I know in my heart of hearts that I will never be able to afford the ridiculous pieces I’m reviewing, I should have invented a snark-potion so that when I feel my humor decreasing I could take a sip and automatically be reborn as the She-Hulk of smacktalk, and I should have realized the sheer quantity of shows that I would have to review in order to feel like I’m doing a decent job. This shit is exhausting. I need another cup of coffee.
Hilfiger is one of those designers to be famous for being the whitest brand to be embraced by late 1990s and early 2000s hiphop culture (sorry Polo Ralph Lauren). This is a new generation now, and gone are the skin tight crop tops and XXXXL shirts and here to stay is an influx of menswear inspired argyle prints, cableknits, and houndstooth. Love it or leave it, it’s all very wearable without making you look like a She’s All That extra.
Posen’s lines all look the same. Pretty satin dresses that Baz Luhrmann will throw in his film at the expense of the dignity of literary characters, velvets that look like they should smell like cheap cigar smoke, and would look at home in the closet of a socialite that’s fighting cultural relevance so much that she pays the paparazzi to take photos of her walking her inbred toy dog named Porsche.
3.1 Phillip Lim
There is something about this collection I really, really like. Maybe it is the close to home combination of collared shirts and sweaters. Maybe it is the beautiful earthy color palette. Maybe it is the nature-inspired draping and dresses. Maybe it is that teal coat that I would never take off. Not to mention the styling, which is impeccable and makes every piece seem enviable. Flawless collection.
Unabashedly strange. Weirdly proportioned. Static and stiff. Perfectly awkward. Can we please talk about this dress? This line is exquisite, if only because it looks like a 50s homage to grandma colors and science fiction. I’m seriously infatuated.
Diane Von Furstenberg
DVF is more addicted to the mid-70s than Frida Giannini. Not that it’s a bad thing—she’s known for busy patterns, wrap dresses, and swaddling bodies in chiffon. It’s colorful and embodies the spirit of a Faye Dunaway drug binge pre-Mommie Dearest. Does that make it classy? Well, let’s just take one more look at the gold lame crocodile print and let you draw your own conclusions.
Marc by Marc Jacobs
It seems that MbyMJ was also inspired by the 70s, but it looks less like a drug binge during an exotic French Riviera jaunt and more like a working girl who won’t be told what to do by any man and finds her inner spirit after burning all of her bras (just ask the cropped wide legged pants, clashing patterns, and pinstripes).
When Rodarte first breached the scene of fashion, the sister duo became synonymous with whimsical, flowing fabrics, and fairytale–like garments. Their collections were so fantastical that they were even commissioned to create the costumes for the New York City Ballet. Oh, and you know Black Swan? The costumes = Rodarte. They were praised as being the future of fashion. And then…and then…something happened. I don’t know what it was, but something really horrible must have happened. Their creative muse dropped acid and obtained herpes on the way back down to earth. This collection is made up of flesh-toned suits, eye-gauging draping, amateurish prints, exposed hipbones that would make American Apparel leotards look classy, unflattering pants, sheer zebra print ruffled tiered gowns, pilgrim bibs, jean and leather jackets, dresses that would be at home in Forever21, and tie-dye. TIE-DYE EVERYWHERE. Know what’s wrong about silk tie-dye? EVERYTHING. Someone call Chloe Sevigny, she has a new wardrobe.
Helmut Lang has lost the essences of what he was famous for (overpriced, drape-y t-shirts in neutral colors paired with cargo pants) and is now delving into the land of geometric patterns. Too bad every piece looks like it was inspired by an 80s bathroom occupied by the leather tights of Guns and Roses.
Oscar de la Renta
This isn’t just the normal, obscenely expensive Oscar. This is ODLR with a dash here and a dash there of John Galliano (in case you haven’t heard, Galliano is in possession of one of the coolest pseudo-internships ever), and it is a huge success. The styling is dramatically different from what ODLR usually puts out, albeit not cohesive, and definitely looks like the entire cast was touched by the devil, which is a welcome departure from the droll female Oscar painted before, who would all have their sensibilities rocked by a woman showing her ankles. Oscar is still there, but the corsets have been loosened slightly and there is a feeling of intrigue in the collection. So, no, this isn’t just obscenely expensive Oscar, this is obscenely expensive Oscar de la Galliano.
If NYFW is telling me anything, it’s that I need to start wearing my blazers sans undershirt. Shit, why stop there? I will wear jackets without an undershirt, too. And shirts. Shirts without the shirtlike hindrance of shirts. Why didn’t I think of this before?!