There’s something a little magical about September Fashion Week. Maybe it’s the way that everyone pulls out their very first fall outfits, maybe it’s the way that Manhattan is so crisp and vibrant and cool. Maybe it’s all the blood, sweat and tears that go into producing every collection, the hours and days and months of inspiration and execution and refining each piece until it’s exactly right.
Maybe it’s all the creativity bundled into one small place — designers, editors, buyers, bloggers, models, and all the others who make fashion week every year into a major creative force. I always think about that scene in The Devil Wears Prada where Meryl Streep traces the color cerulean from the runways down to Anne Hathaway’s sweater — it’s a funny scene, but I also love that reminder that what happens here this week shapes all our lives in some small way (whether we like it or not).
This is my eighth season, and I still remember my very first show like it was yesterday. I remember jumping up and down and screaming at the top of my lungs when my first invite popped up in my inbox. I remember spending days picking out my outfit, and how thrilled I was to put it on that morning. I’ve seen hundreds of shows since that very first one, but you know what? That feeling of magic and awe never really goes away.
I’m so very grateful to be back this year, because honestly? There’s nothing else in the world quite like it.
Sabo Skirt dress, Samantha Wills necklace, Prada clutch, Jimmy Choo heels.
First photo by He; Third by Liz Petrelli.