Good evening, kitties. It's been quite a day and I have that tired feeling that forces me to slow down and sit still, which is a good thing. I'm racked by thoughts, however, of how I will show you images from Milan and London Fashion Weeks since they have passed and, well, it would be like me reporting old news. What I'm thinking is doing a big wrap up this weekend as to trends for Spring, and that's the best I can do for now. Until somebody hires me full time to report on all things fashion, I'm going to have to slug it out at a day job, which means being behind the times from, well, time to time. But today I'm going current current now now now with this post and showing you the incredible collection of NIna Ricci today, which to me, epitomizes what is just so mind bogglingly perfect. I remeber being in France and wondering if I could somehow bottle that "je ne sais quoi"- it seemed unfair that French women had more style in their adorable left pinky toe than I had throughout my whole body. I mean, my ancestors were shtetl dwellers, my great grandfather was a butcher, and I grew up eating corned beef specials and matzoh ball soup. As young French schoolchildren frolicked in Bonpoint and learned the difference between pinot and Bordeaux, I was stealing sips of my father's beer . Cut to the French, who seemingly from birth have a well bred mystique. From a young age they learn how to casually toss a sweater over sparrow like shoulders, sip wine in a way that is elegant and non swill like, and tuck hands into pockets to casually suggest how casual and cool life is, even though they are clad in layers of Chanel or Lanvin. Not fair. Not fair at all. I'm a real Barbarian compared to French women, and of this, I've reluctant acceptance. C'est la fucking vie.
Ok but back to the shows- and particularly, Nina Ricci. Piece after piece came down the runway that gave me a huge case of the oohs and ahhs. The collection felt like Coco Chanel at the height of haute, there was an air of the carefree 20s and Parisian ingenues drinking into the wee hours with brawny Americans like Hemingway and tragic heroines like Zelda Fitzgerald. And only the French could do tight black netted on a top with fishnets on the bottom and not look slutty. The French have sexy down to a science, in fact, I think they invented it. The suiting feels very vintage Chanel in the best of ways, a skirt suit you can move in and run from the boardroom to a date at Brasserie LIpp with some hot Frenchman. The sheer dotted blouses, the shapely silhouettes, the pop of dots on a soft pink frock. J'adore. And the look that summed it up for me was a simple blushy peach cardigan with grey skinny slacks- a classic and albeit preppy silhouette that somehow never feels stuffy or old fashioned- the French do classic better than anyone, and I have no doubt that almost every piece in this gorgeous collection will reach classic status in no time. And that's how good the French are. It's kind of ridiculous, non? This collection had all the fixings of great French fashion- polka dots, feminine dresses, a play on masculine suiting, lace, netting, simple hair, a smoked out eye, and wonderful jewelry. I wonder if Carine Roitfeld had anything to do with this? The style is so very her- and she is really one of my all time favorite style icons, and of course, she is French.
But I must go now. LIke, right now.
SJP is on "Glee" playing a Vogue editor and doing a mash up of Sinatra and songs from Annie. Oh. My. Ga. I guess there are some advantages to my husband being out of town- I would never be watching this otherwise. SJP looks phenomenal, ps. She's still got it. In spades. And she's an all American girl who would love the gorgeous look at Nina Ricci today. Who says the French and Americans can't get along? Bonne nuit, cause that's what's up this trying to watch "Glee", blog, and think about fashion kind of Thursday in the most multitasking city in America. XO