Fashion Week vs. Fashion In The True Sense!

DAAAAHLINGS -

Saturday was a roller-coaster of emotion for yours truly. Truly. I spent some time sitting at the runways for Fashion Week, but I simply had to make it to the Manhattan Vintage Show at the Metropolitan Pavilion. Can anyone say "when worlds collide"?

The Yigal Azrouel show was simply one of the ghastliest shows I have ever attended. It can be summed up in one image:



And this, mind you, was one of the prettiest models in the show. One hideous design after another, worn by women with thighs like pencils and men with bad haircuts who looked like someone had given them a wedgie just before they came out.

The designer mentioned that he was inspired by what his girlfriend likes to wear...he might have to have a few sessions with a therapist to find out if it's really a woman he's sleeping with.

At several shows, people brought their very small children with them, who proceeded to whine and wiggle and in one case, throw up on Anna Wintour. (I only wish it had been Heidi Klum.) Ms. Wintour's calm was admirable--the child and parent were promptly heaved out, pardon the pun, and a lackey immediately brought Ms. Wintour a fresh skirt, while the Vogue editor never took her eyes off the runway. That's the sort of woman I aspire to be.

To go to the Manhattan Vintage Show in the middle of all this...my head swam, dahlings, it simply swam! I walked into the cavernous, freezing space, and saw racks and racks and racks of FASHION IN THE TRUE SENSE!

A silk Dior from 1951! With the original Harpers Bazaar magazine displayed below it.*
1930s voile dresses!
Balenciaga when the name MEANT Balenciaga!
Exquisite white Edwardian tea gowns, covered with embroidery that had made nuns go blind
1920s beaded dresses in every imaginable color! Velvet coats with fur trim!
Pucci, Pucci, and more Pucci!

I was in fashion heaven, dahlings. I not only spent several hours there, I spent several thousand dollars, but what's money? It's only there to be spent, after all.

The only thing that bothered me was this: many of the sellers were quite large, but I did not see much large-size product (pardonnez moi for calling it that). When I queried one seller, she said larger women didn't come to these shows because of the communal dressing rooms! How ridiculous! Not only that, the larger women could only buy accessories for the most part, which is an outrage. Yes, I know Dior didn't design for plus sizes. But even back then there was a 1950s version of Victor Costa busily making knock-offs.

It's a sad state of affairs when the biggest vintage show in the world can only accomodate the smallest women. However, my spirits were still uplifted by being surrounded by so many beautiful clothes, so many sumptous fabrics, furs and feathers.

* The Dior dress and magazine were presented by the Cat's Pajamas Vintage, a fellow Ebay seller and a darling woman.

Then it was back to Fashion Week and the after-parties, but I must confess, I felt a tad depressed. After such opulence, the Fall Ready-To-Wear seemed like so much...not much.

Ciao for now,
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

"Haute Cou-Poor" - Thank God It's Friday!

THANK GOD IT’S FRIDAY!

Forgive me for using that unpardonable cliché, dahlings, but it is all too true!

I have spent all week up to my exfoliated elbows in “Haute Cou-Poor,” my program at the Fashion Institute of Technology. My nerves are stretched tighter than Madonna’s face! Sending out invitations to speakers such as Andre Leon Talley, P. Diddy or whatever he’s calling himself these days, Georgina Chapman, and many of my other comperes in fashion. It will do the ‘students’, as we are calling them (for tax reasons) so much good to listen to people who know of what they speak. I say, if we can talk just ONE student out of tattooing their neck, then my job is done.

Of course, there has to be an opening night party. It is to be held at the Beatrice Inn, a tres chic club that was once down on its luck but seems to be on the rebound. Although Courtney Love did hold her book party there—one does hope they cleaned up the stains afterwards. My first choice was the Gramercy Park Hotel. But that is still under construction because Julian Schnabel is just too fussy for words. Slap up some sheetrock, Julian, get the Picassos hung, and c’est fini!

So much to do, so much to DO! The guest list for the party is already ten pages long, and one knows that there will be any number of arrivistes trying to get in by saying they know moi. The doorkeepers shall wear white gloves and be...how can one put this tactfully...brutal if they must.

Meanwhile, my assistant keeps complaining about her workload! The lazy brute always seems to be staring into space when I come into the office, then jerks out of her reverie when I clear my throat.

When last I demanded, “What can you be thinking about,” she answered, “Suicide.” One supposes that is her idea of a joke. Personally, I prefer the dog poo worn on the duck-billed caps back in North Carolina, if you’re going to sink that low for humor. (See my earlier entry about visiting the Dixie Classic Fair.)

You will have to excuse me, I need to go agonize over what I am to wear! I have nothing, NOTHING! Three walk-in closets and not a single rag worthy of the name!

Oh, I've been so distracted, I forgot to report that a lovely gentleman at Michael Kors purchased my vintage faux fur handbag. Look for them to proliferate under the MK name next season!




Grab the hottest styles while you can at my Ebay store.

Vintage 50s Faux Fur Coat With Satin Leopard Lining XL:


Dior Navy Blue High Heeled Pumps, size 11:


And ever so much more!

And to answer the many inquiries as to what I dressed as for Halloween: I dressed as myself, because there is no one more fabulous.

Sincerely,
Elisa and Bucky The Wonderdog