A very rare opportunity presented itself to me. I, a commoner, along with my two friends, perhaps semi-commoners, through a friend, who sent an email to someone, which was forwarded to another person and confirmed by the final answer, were invited to Marc Bouwer's fashion party at the Soho House New York. You know, how it is.
Of course, the first and only thing that went through my head and was the subject of my thought obsession was a dreadful question. What am I going to wear? I had even begun to question my ability to accessorize. Will Rachel Zoe love it or hate it? Is my outfit going to end up on the Worst or Best Dressed list? (No list, I was hoping, actually). My worst fear, will I have to withstand the scrutiny of being compared in that “Bitch Stole My Look”? (This almost came true, but luckily my accompanying friend wore different shoes, PHEW!)
And so as I open up my closet doors I am ghastly astonished. I do not have a closet. Instead, somehow, at some point, I became an owner of a vintage shop. At least there were no moths gasping for air as I go through my hangers of shirts, dresses, jackets (all anywhere between 5 and 10 years old), anything that may even in the least bit resemble something that is fashionable today.
With some deep digging I came up with a cobalt-bluish Nicole Miller dress. Never mind that it was an outfit for a wedding once, it went well with black stockings and equally black booties. Thank god, I grabbed those off the sales rack at Marshall’s a few years ago. Then, I spent agonizing seconds picking and choosing the right jewelry. Less is more was my motto. Less is more. And less it was. Simple long layers of metal (yes metal, not silver, nor gold, metal) were hugging my fully covered boobies. Hoops were hanging neatly from the ears. A square bluish black metal surrounded my middle finger. A chunky watch accompanied the wrist. The look was finished with a dark navy fitted jacket with the sleeves rolled up.
So finally, I made it to the party looking fashionably normal. It was enough to fit in with no statements behind my back about cluelessness or questions about who invited me (at least I hope). I believe I blended well with the background with my themed drink at hand (a Ciroc Starlet), exchanging laughs with my co-observers. That was really the best I could hope for. I do not go gaga for celebrities, especially pseudo reality celebrities that flocked the event (of course I mean the Housewives, NY and NJ). It is enough to see them on TV and watch others talk about them on the entertainment channels like E! or Bravo reunion specials. I do watch their shows with love and obsession.
Nevertheless, I had a great time! Just being there, behind the scenes, so-to-speak, is an experience of its own. The production management team was busily texting each other every location of every celebrity as they made their way to the event. Photographers were wild with flashes at the sight of anyone remotely famous. The entertainment channels were grabbing anyone (worthy) they could get their hands on to make sure they have a shout out to their station. (I almost had the urge to scream out something in Russian to Johnny Weir, but I thought better.) The hosts were getting glammed up and looking perfect for the celebrity interviews, doing (many) takes of introductions, wit and originality.
The morning after, it was time to buy a fashion magazine. I made the plunge. Glamour made the cut. Apparently, the 70s are back? Did you know that? Only a few days ago I was hearing about shoulder padded jackets of the 80s. How time flies, albeit backwards. So I will soon be shopping for platforms (although I still have some leftover from the 90s), wide leg pants (although there are a couple of them taking up the top shelf) and bright color strips attacking shirts and dresses (when did these go out of style?!).
While I wait for my next invitation to a fashion event, I need to think new, however. I need to get my closet back. So eshopping I go.
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