On the heels of fashion week

Tags

5 inch heels, clothes hangers, dress code, fashion, New York Fashion Week, runway surfaces, style, wardrobe

Watching professional models (essentially, living clothes hangers who are paid to walk) stomp down a runway in stilettos can be interesting. However, when the professionals can’t manage the death-defying heights and/or weights of their shoes, it’s time to reconsider the term “fashionable.”

Granted, designers may feature 4- or 5-inch heels in their runway shows as a theatrical overstatement. Commercial interpretations – the shoes sold in department stores to folks like us – are far less dramatic. It’s similar to sheer clothing appearing on the runway that, ultimately, is manufactured with a nude lining for the general public to buy.
Unfortunately, many young women don’t make the distinction and attempt to wear shoes that might be described as “a podiatrist’s dream.”

Most runway surfaces are hard and white, but every now and then designers get more creative – which makes it even more challenging for the models. (Waxed wooden floors can be treacherous and Phillip Lim offered a runway made of salt crystals for fun.)

That’s why it’s nice to hear a voice of reason, like Trish Wescoat Pound, the founder and creative director of Haute Hipppie, who recently told the Wall Street Journal, “Fashion doesn’t have to be uncomfortable.”

Amen.

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The power of place

Tags

Architecture, Community, environment, Memories, mood, motherhood

Driving through Hyde Park recently, I passed the Methodist Church where I once enrolled my 3-year-old daughter in “Mother’s Morning Out.” For a nominal fee, children played from 9 a.m. until noon, under the supervision of an elderly couple (probably my current age, but without benefit of hair color or moisturizer.)

My darling Katie cried for all three hours – no amount of cajoling from the couple could stem her tide of tears. After three unsuccessful attempts, they suggested I keep her at home. In disbelief, I stood outside the playroom one morning and listened to be sure their claims were true. Her whimper escalated to a wail and, when neither of us could bear it any longer, I rushed in to retrieve her.

Sitting in my car at the stop sign, I felt the same raw anguish in the pit of my stomach. It could have happened yesterday – the pain was so real. Oddly, my daughter is now 31 and contemplating a child of her own.

I am continually amazed by the power of place: so strong, it can transport you to another time. Sheer geography – bricks and mortar – can elicit memories so vivid they can bring you to a smile (or a sob) in an instant.

Have you ever experienced it (or should I contact a mental health professional immediately?)