This will be a hot look for the Kurds.
(photo: Jennifer Snow)
Gliding past a holding pen of drooling fashion week wanna-bes on Sixth Avenue, I felt guilty as I entered the famed tents at Bryant Park for the first time. The mood inside is so anticlimactic, the energy so low, the people so “cool” and aloof that I wished I could let in a bunch of crazed teenaged fanatics who would genuinely enjoy it, unlike the insiders who are obligated to be there, or just act like it.
When the John Varvatos show started, just 18 minutes late, I felt guilty again. I should have given my seat away to the kind of girl or guy who lusts after boys with delicate cheekbones and pouty lips. As they marched down the runway, so docile and pale, these man-children looked downright sad in their rather handsome (though maybe not thrilling) herringbones and suedes. A useful description from the designer notes inspiration taken from military uniforms, which was quite apparent, but also “the stoic chic of French peasants.” Oy.
They were a parade of neutrals—colors with such edible, mealy-sounding names as: split pea, kalamata, wheat, espresso, brandy, kelp, almond, and oat. And then there was a hue named “quagmire,” which I had trouble identifying.
Gift Bag: Steel-gray shopping bag—John Varvatos “Essential Facial Cleanser,” invitations to the after-party.