Il y a un an...

Mon premier défilé de la mode à Paris ...

and now, on the eve of Paris Fashion Week,

I'm aching to be in my city of true love...

Mais je vous assure, à très bientôt!

Dear Lynn Yaeger

Dear Ms. Yaeger,

What luck I had to run into
Ms. Yaeger on Govnah's Island

I am a longtime admirer of your words and your personal style, having followed the evolution of your voice in "Elements of Style" to its present freelance form. Your good-natured commentary never fails to feel like a relief from those fashion journalists who simply take themselves too seriously. Because yes, while fashion is an industry, a business, and one of the most viable mediums of creativity (and thus fodder for critique), one just has to believe that it's also supposed to be fun. 

I've long known that no one personifies this sense of playfulness like you, and have thoroughly enjoyed seeing the world of fashion through your verbal lens. Until now I've happily absorbed your articles over my morning toast or an afternoon tea, but after reading your recent contribution to New York Magazine, I felt compelled to write. Mostly because I, a straight, freckled redhead from Ohio (albeit with expatriate tendencies), found myself nodding and smiling and downright Identifying with the Lady Fag of your recent New York Mag column more than any other character ever in a fashion feature.

See, my one-weekend-a-month off from fashion's front line (Saks retail) serendipitously coincided with New York Fashion Week, so naturally I persuaded a fellow associate-freak to join me on the 8-hour after-work roadtrip to the tents, "just to see what we could see." In this, the day of streetstyle, it's hard not to subscribe to the Bruce via Yaeger philosophy that "in the halls of fashion, the only (real) fashion is in the halls." So at least in theory I would have been satisfied to be party to the style and energy and buzz outside of Lincoln Center last week. Secretly, though, I was determined to make it inside.

In brief, then, my friend and I donned a septem piercing and tutu, respectively, and made it to the last show of the day last Saturday. Dialogue over my fire-engine red toy camera transformed a Conde Nast photographer into an undercover operative/fairy godfather and we were shuffled into the lobby, and then into the show. As if my tale hadn't already diverged from Lady Fag's, far from stealing the golden real estate from the big wigs, we danced along and peeped the show from the back row. Sure, Ronson's no Wang, but I was beyond thrilled to enjoy her grungy parade of frocks.

I suppose I wanted to share my story as an offering of gratitude for speaking to and for a forgotten demographic in the fashion industry. And I thought I'd ask if, when I'm a few rungs higher in this crazy world, and living in New York, or Paris, I could invite you to tea.
 
Yours in style,
 
Moira

Charlotte Ronson

So my girl Noelle and I had the weekend off from fashion's front line (RETAIL) and thought, what the hell, it's New York Fashion week, and rather than drool over the collections from afar, why not drive out and be a part of the energy?
Stay tuned for the rest of the story! In the meantime, check the 'fits here.

Color Story

Chloé was certainly the darling of the Fall/Winter 2010 collections - a truth we're seeing play out now in the colors and textures available for fall.  While the formula of a gorgeous silk tie-color blouse up top, wide-leg trousers below, and the absolute ubiquity of camel throughout was not necessarily unique to Chloé (think Celine, Salvatore Ferragamo, etc.), the clearest execution of that vision was.  But beware: if the excitement surrounding last year's Balmain aesthetic was of precedence, editors will (and have already sadly begun to...) shoot Chloé to death.

I have to admit they're really quite gorgeous, though, the browns, even if their freshness is waning.  Consider the range available for play!  And the colors to pop against the neutrals!  And now that we've all agreed that brown (certain shades, anyhow) complements black (shout out to leopard print for decriminalizing a heretofore unfairly rejected combo), the boundaries seem truly limitless.  Not to mention the range of looks available : country club class (Chloé, Celine), equestrienne (Dior, Hermés, and Ferragamo, among others, jockeying Ralph Lauren's horse!), pin-up harlot (Dolce & Gabbana), and Harvard prep (the "Meet the Hilfigers" ad campaign officially revitalizing the house's vision). 

So many 'fits, so little time!