What I once considered ridiculous is sort of fun!
How I Finally Embraced Street Style
I’ve always thought Fashion Week—especially street style—is a bit absurd. When I broke it down, the hoards of people and photographers always gave me an existential crisis. What were we all doing here? What will people in 100 years think of the colorful chaos on the street? And yet season after season, I schlep from show to show, never really bothering to dress up. In the past, I just went to the events in my regular-degular clothes: my elevated, all-black, nondescript, shiva-sitting look. I always felt like a goth stepsister alongside my oft-photographed colleagues like Vogue.com editor Chioma Nnadi, who has the best Jean Paul Gaultier archive, and my former editor Alessandra Codinha, who has the most stunning coat collection. I was the weirdo kid at the Fashion Week lunch table.
Then lockdown happened, and I started dressing like I was plucked out of a flamboyant ’00s music video. Blumarine this. Roberto Cavalli that. I finally had time to delve into magazine archives and dress like my Fran Fine–meets–Ukrainian-noughties-rich-bitch fantasy. Outside of the confines of work and events, I was able to explore and experiment.
My style had completely changed by the time Fashion Week returned in full force just a few weeks ago. No more mourning garb. Instead, I had a newfound confidence and some great clothes to match. For the first time, I wanted to burst out of my cocoon of gray and black shrouds and have the world see my stunning array of Y2K-era grails.
Here, see how the week went.
Day 1
For day 1, I select a pair of jeans that have Elvis Presley’s face plastered on them. I actually wear these all the time and had gotten them a few years ago from street style photographer Phil Oh. He bought them in Vegas. I pair them with a white tank top I bought with a gift certificate from Aritzia.
Then, I take an electric CitiBike across the Brooklyn Bridge to visit designer Yeohlee Teng, known for her structured, zero-waste designs. She adores my pants and takes a photo of me with the model. After my appointment with Teng, I get falafel at a Turkish spot across the street. An older man spots my pants and asks me out. Of course, I almost forgot: These pants are a conversation starter. I say no.
This story originally appeared on: Vogue - Author:Liana Satenstein
