Thursday, January 29, 2015

Fashion. I hope you grow up.

I don’t think it’s a secret. I love fashion.  My love for fashion goes beyond what might be considered ordinary.  I am a collector of all things beautiful, even if they are not practical.  My 12 x 12 foot closet is filled with pieces that each have a purpose, from sequins and 6 inch Louboutins to my black studded denim jacket, ripped Levis and Steve Madden Navajo thigh high boots.  And still, I am not satisfied.  I am not a collector of clothes. I am a collector of soul inspiring fashion that expresses “who I am” on a given day.  

It’s fashion week season and I follow them dutifully and vicariously.  I may not love everything I see, but I can appreciate the artist’s imagination. I love fashion that speaks to my soul. That says  - hey, this is who I am. Deal with it.  I love fashion that speaks to me, and says, “I am yours, take me.”

Sadly, that doesn’t happen as often as I would like.  I can appreciate how difficult it must be to tap in to the psyche of women and men all over the world and create something that is soulful, artistic and beautiful.  

Here’s the thing. As a woman who is not 20, I love seeing women of experience on the runway. Women who are  . . . like me.  Women who are fierce and confident.   And let’s face it. That’s just smart, because women of a certain age are the market place.  

I am a woman of a certain age. I am a grandmother.  I do not wear elastic pants, kitten sweaters and sensible shoes.  In fact, quite the opposite, and I practice yoga and exercise 8 hours a week for the privilege of wearing high heels every day and clothes that fit.  

I would love to see a runway show that actually knows who I am, because I am your customer. 

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