You guys, I’m having a terrible time coming up with anything I want to write about since seeing Savage Beauty this weekend. I’m serious. That exhibit was like wandering through a wondrous fashion/art/multi-media/fantasy dream come true and I don’t care about anything else. I don’t care about my clothes or your clothes or my family or food or work or anything. I just want to spend the rest of my life in slack-jawed awe in front of these balsa wood wings:
I want to spend all of my time considering femininity and power and how the two can intertwine and result in poetic tragedy. I want to think about the way light can filter through carved eyelets and play delicately against the body. I tried to see the rest of the Met after seeing Savage Beauty and found myself so underwhelmed with all the other famous art, I left feeling irritated with museums for being so blah when they clearly have the ability to exhibit in ways that are literally breathtaking. Yeah, Pollock. Way to paint. Who gives a shit.
Anyway, I’m supposed to tell you about something, right? I’m fashion blogging, correct? Savage Beauty made me reconsider everything I thought I knew or wanted to know about fashion and art.
I do want these weird shoes, though:
They’re Topsiders, meets Crocs. They’re Native Shoes. You can go anywhere in them. Specifically, you can go from the city to the beach or into a rain storm in them. And they’re insanely comfy. They’re also kind of ugly in a charming way. Like many cars from the 70s. Such as the Gremlin.
They also make these weird all-terrain winter boots that I will be getting:
I realize that this is probably the least articulate post I’ve ever written. You can blame the late Mr. McQueen. My mind has been blown. Favorite overheard quote from a viewer: “Ugh. I can’t wear belts anymore.” So I wasn’t the only one affected.
Next week I’ll be back with words that I can use.