Tuesday, October 11, 2011


Alexander Wang. Tom Ford. Byblos. Paul Smith. COMME des GARÇONS. Alexandre Plokhov. Ermenegildo Zegna. Givenchy. Giorgio Armani. Band of Outsiders. Dior Homme. Zac Posen. Helmut Lang. Ralph Lauren. Jean Paul Gaultier. Billy Reid. Jil Sander. Balmain. Marc Jacobs. John Bartlett. Ozwald Boateng. John Varvatos.


Though a maiden I appreciate menswear.
The Philadelphia Story?
I've filched Katharine Hepburn's complete essence.


More sartorial intrigue than Freudian phallic jealousies.


Not in a pant suit post interview, I busy myself before meeting a friend. Stopping by The New York Public Library to read my magazines do important things - review GMAT flash cards, posture by the exhibit hall and appear learned, peruse some Thoreau and get my transcendentalism on.

N o n e  o f  t h i s  t r a n s p i r e d.
No rarefied musings with erudite patrons. ...No magazines.

SPOTTED. A group of youngsters in their shrunken prep, their Ryan Gosling vestments; directly prior two handsome women descending the library steps in haute couture and  fascinators.

Now was not a time for "important things."

Important things were happening.

New York Fashion Week was happening.

Backstage at Thom Browne. [Facebook]

Serendipitously ambled upon the Thom Browne fashion show on the third floor of the magnificent fifth avenue bibliothèque. Iconoclast surrealism Browne's staple, the library's grand architecture and decor lent to his artistry.

Enjoy the fanciful period piece courtesy of noted menswear designer Thom Browne's Spring / Summer 2012 womenswear showing and my trusted Nikon S9100. Danke Ashton.

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