5 ways to (under)wear lace?

At the time of The Graduate black lace was confined in the hotel room and strictly donned and mastered by Mrs. Robinson, la dame of all the following cougar dames. 

The old adage says, times are different. Gone is the early 2000s when showing your underwear in contrast-color blocking with your clothes, which is when all designers underwear lines boomed. (Sorry, who didn’t own a Roberto Cavalli animal print bra, panties, bralette, tank dress?).

If you wear underwear and lace bras is a different story, although interesting to cogitate on, since the topic seems the great divide of the world by continents. Oh those liberal Europeans guiltlessly wearing knits with no bras a la Jane Birkin.

And I am digressing. The point is 2013 fall is when you wear lace. 

How to do it right? 

You can go all Dolce & Gabbana on the world with those Miu Miu stunners: feminine and very Ulyana Sergeenko couture. 

If you live an editorial life where Grace Coddington is your stylist, go all Ralph Lauren girl! Just add some Doc Martens and be my guest.

Remember, do not take yourself seriously. Lace must not be worn in a The Stepford Wives manner. No kitten heels and french manicures. If you wear a skirt it must go with a rugged tee shirt. 

Also, try not to fall into the Like a Virgin mode: no half fingers gloves or long strips of lace on a big head. 

For example. 

Mix a lingerie-like silk dress with biker boots and your boyfriend’s plaid flannel shirt. A beanie and plenty of statement sparkly necklaces will do to rock it. 

A black Leavers-like lace sweatshirt  (like the one at H&M) with a white tee underneath and leather bike pants?

These lace print pants are meant to be worn as an ‘uniform’ outfit with a grey hoodie and high top Converse, or, if you wear the Shit Bloggers Wear, Celine’s skate in astrakhan or pony hair 

A chunky sweater down dramatizes a pristine lace skirt, especially when you slip on a pair of black penny loafers or

velvet slippers 

or the adorable Charlotte Olympia Kitten 

We can also have fun. Not because it’s Halloween (couldn’t give a flying rat’s ass) and not if you work in a clinic, they would stare at you with that who-did-we-hire sneering look).

Morning perspectives

It’s that time of the morning when you have just finished the coffee.

Have you ever thought when does the switch of mind happen?

What is that serendipitous action, or fraction of a moment that takes you from proceeding through a series of automatic blurred actions to your agenda for the day. 

Look up at the sky 

Love the contrast of the geometry of the buildings, the clouds, the blue, the grey, the green of whatever nature you are surrounded by. 

All those contrasts tell you how many ideas and thoughts will clash in your mind for the day. Here there are corners, palms and clouds: busy day.

Clouds.

I always think are the most dangerous form of thought equivalent: they have no shape to begin with, they move quickly, they morph into something else in a blink of an eye, the can pour down in rain, they are volatile, they are attractive and tempting, yet they can take you in obscure places. 

Palms.

They are not as familiar to me as cypresses are.

Corners.

Do they represent obstacles? You can always walk around them. 

Follow the lines. 

Like when you were a kid learning to write cursive. Stay within the lines, use the space correctly. This is a reminder to respect the rules, don’t write mistakes, don’t break the code and be punctual.

Look outside your window. 

My most cherished university professor used to say that to make a good journalist you have to look outside your balcony, don’t get caught in the story, look it up from outside and you see what you need to tell people, that is the dirty truth not poisoned by personal opinions.

So these are two masterfully made windows of The Alchemist (steel cut fashion choices) that blend in Lincoln Road (where reality hits in terms of fashion choices). The result is the greatest arroz con mango that Miami Beach is and the reason why we love it. 

Stay grounded.

Flora and fauna, stone all 100% made in South Florida (that’s the way to go).

Fashion Weeks: confessions we never publicly admitted

Because we can now that it’s over. And, provided that I haven’t attended one show in person, I have been an observer, a stalker, a live-stream junkie and a compulsive WWD.com addict.  

The most iconic maisons of times past, French most of them, have lost their eponymous heads, genius, revolutionary minds. It’s the inevitable and cruel tic-tac-tic-tac clock of life. At the current state of affairs, their creative helms are in the hands of someone playing multifaceted roles, an impersonator expected to swim and dig into the legacy, follow the traces, hold the reins and keep tracing the path to come. The same impersonator is to talk to clients, fans and media with the same language as the founder.

The DNA of a brand is elusive, impalpable alas visually enthralling.

I mean nobody is stranger to Coco’s camellia, unfinished tweeds and boiler hat? Not even who lives in suburban South Florida and does groceries at the gas station.

For the most sophisticated and fashion fanatics, we all had at least one dream in which we were wearing the white gown embroidered with black flowers that Givechy designed for Audrey in Sabrina? Yes, gloves included.

The Gucci’s horse bit or the Roberta di Camerino’s Bagonghi bag may be now must-haves for a restricted niche, but for Italians of generation Y they bring us back to … why fashion is in our threads (pun intended).   

Courege’s  palazzo pants, the bias cut of Madame Vionnet, the bold surrealism of Elsa Schiaparelli they are for those crazy fashion historians (and fashion history vultures).

How about Christian Dior? Mon Dieu, it was a painful saga with un-smoothened angles, although the house has a new tenant, Mr. Simons, whose minimalistic sense of style and upbringings redefined its basements.

We wish we could feel the same way about Balenciaga and its golden days, all the way back when Oscar de la Renta was an apprentice in Madrid. The bubble dress and the square coat that gave Balenciaga the praise of the press have been substituted within the collective imagination by Gesquiere’s over saturation of motorcycle bags. Alexander Wang is eulogized by bloggers and honestly doing his own thing for the new customers. 

Same thing with Yves Saint Laurent, new logo and name cut off by Hedi Slimane. Givan at The Cut gave him already her piece of mind (and a little more). I am not there to send him to the grave, overall, I am sitting at home and he’s the head of the house, But I can openly speak my mind and join the no Hedi team. 

Some order must be made, what makes you a sinner or a winner? It’s just a question: do you think that ________ [fill in with the designer of your choice] will roll in his grave or pat you in the back?

Without going through painful details, we have drawn the line between failure and gods, heaven and hell by adding consecutive images of original/impersonators and let your minds cogitate.

Images speak more words at times, so you got an idea at where we stand.

Have something to say? D’love to hear if we are on the same train of thoughts …