Thursday, September 16,NYC. Yes, for a good thirty minutes after the scheduled slot, the room is still abuzz with unknown clusters of giddiness on foot – people who won’t budge from the taped runway until they’ve had their fill of trying to look like they’re not looking at people looking at them. By the last day of fashion week, this routine gets a little old. But our Isaac after all is the Darling of all Darlings so I suppose it is to be expected that common mortals try to milk the minutes basking in his after-glow. Or pre-glow for that matter. Personally, I liked the pink lady in full-on 19th century Chinese: fuschia dragons head to toe.
Call me old-fashioned but I still see a difference between dressing in honor of the craft and beauty of fashion and sporting a ball-gown and tiara before lunch-time. At some point, you just look like you haven’t been invited to the Prom, but you just can’t wait. Unless you’re Lady Gaga. But if you’re not, do lay off the tulle. Arrrgh, enough of that, the lights do go down, the Iphones do get poised and the much-awaited collection presentation begins.
