Fashion Week is here. I have decided that I like Fashion Week. Maybe the cabs are all taken. I don’t know. I’m not a big cab person. I just know that there are all these really well dressed people on the Metro, everywhere I go, actually. They might be women who have not changed their look since the Diana Vreeland era. They might be young guys who change their look every day. I’m no Bill Cunningham, so I won’t be snapping a photo to show you. Suffice it to say that I felt sufficiently peer – pressured that I finally replaced my Keen rubber – toed, rubber – soled straight-from-Berkeley-REI pseudo – ballet flats, shown at left, for the Repetto loafers that you see on the right. I feel just that much more civilized as a result.
Besides, they were on sale. The whole retail universe cleaned up. Without making a big deal about it, they have sales on some nice stuff. The clothes in the windows and on the mannequins are stunning: elegant and beautifully cut. Not my size but that’s a different story.
And did I mention that all these visitors are nice? Fashion is an industry known for cattiness but out in public, these guys are wonderful. Soft – spoken — what is up with the average loud – mouthed tourist? — well – dressed, happy, these guys can visit any time.
Francofoolery 