How can I be expected to trek all the way to Lincoln Centre? That’s way uptown. It’s Fashion Week, you see. Yes, again. I’ve only been going above 14th Street for work recently. I’m nesting (I do wish the cardinal that pecks on our window at 6:45 every morning would engage in some nesting of her own. I fear her little beak will break…I said fear, not wish…)
And sitting for hours scanning Style.com’s runway coverage goes against everything I want to be doing at the moment. These waning days of summer are for sitting in gardens perusing an anthology of poetry, not gawping at another parade of frocks; popping up to our roof to pick herbs for a fresh salad, not picking trends for next season; marvelling at the colorful human specimens swaggering up Avenue A and not the predictable dullards sitting cross-legged front row.
As a kid, my husband always found the tick-tock sound at the beginning of 60 Minutes on a Sunday evening depressing because it was like a countdown to Monday morning. Weekend fun is over, pack your school satchel and get to bed early, that ticking said. I feel the tenderness of these days and want to hold on to them but I can’t clasp them too tight because I know they’re fragile. I appreciate them the same way we used to feel as children about weekends or sick days. I’m squeezing out the last zest of summer for all I’m worth. And look, my glass is still half full so don’t knock it over on me.
Fashion’s on the move. All change, the powers that be blare. Yes, I look forward to layering in autumnal clothes but my neighborhood is resplendent just as she is, without gussying her up in Fall’s new colors. I’m permanently tipsy on her summer look.
“Oh, is it Fashion Week?” a girl asks her friend as she passes my table and I write this post. Really, this happens. Her friend says, “Think so. Although how do I know that? What the hell do I know about fashion?” They giggle as they exit.
Oh, blissful ignorance. Enjoy your Sunday, hang out, have brunch. There’s more to life, on a day like today…
(Shhh…Don’t tell my students I said any of this…)
Of course, when the London shows start, then I’ll sit up straight in my chair. I’ll put all my pens in my new wooden pencil case, shine my glasses and look lively. I’ll feel like I still have something to learn. And by the time Dries or Lanvin are showing in Paris, I’ll be a swot, an encyclopedia of trend knowledge. I’ll be the student with her hand permanently in the air hoping the teacher calls her name.
But right now, I”m going to prepare a mojito with an abundance of fresh mint and delve into some Emily Dickinson.
Below is a painting my artist friend Olwyn did for us as a wedding gift.
My husband says she used the perfect yellow to capture the green of Ireland. Truly an inspired color palette, don’t you think?
Right this way, ma’am…
While everyone’s waiting for Anna Wintour to arrive, I’ll just take a moment here to admire the set…
My novel––a great late summer read!–– set in the international fashion industry is available. You can buy Silk for the Feed Dogs here.