It's Fashion Week, things get lost, people are in a rush, there is pressure to be at one's sartorial best when visiting the tents and Karl Lagerfeld's teddy bear is still scaring me. But at least Teddy Karl wears pants, despite the fact that they appear to be peg-legged and cut far too close to his darling plush body.
Yesterday, on Bergen St., from my perch on a bench I wasn't supposed to be sitting on, I watched very tall, very young, very model-y lady quickly stride past with a gentleman friend. Both were impeccably styled--there was nothing purposeless about their air, and it was clear they were quite delighted with whatever they had on from the way they held themselves. Now, I can barely remember him. All that I can recall is that he had really pouty lips and flat-ironed Ryan Cabrera hair. This, however, is a list of what what she had on:
1. Red heart-shaped glasses.
2. Thigh-high black stockings.
3. Black heels.
4. An oxford shirt that hung just below her derriere.
Notice there is no 5. Pants, because there were no pants.
I know this anti-pant business is, in some circles, considered acceptable when one has on leggings, although I don't personally subscribe to the undergarment-masquerading-as-foundation-piece belief system. So, while there's nothing wrong with pursuing the Babydoll Lolita look--her take was tame compared to some of these devotees--I'm more than a little baffled by this sudden and rather unexpected twist in the No-Pants revolution. Socks = Tights = Pants?!