The Diane von Furstenberg show ran an hour and thirty minutes late today. The show itself was under ten minutes long. None of us might ever see those outfits outside of that runway. This is Fashion Week, however. I respect the designer tremendously and worked with the people at DVF while helping dress Robin Wright Penn for the Cannes Film Festival.
Fortunately, I had both a gift bag and a seat to keep me sane during the wait. My seat, although far back, provided a perfect view of almost all in attendance. (There was a back to back center aisle right on the runway. Clearly, I could only see one side.) But that wait, that hour and a half before the models walk, that is the real show. It, in essence, is what Fashion Week is about. I went alone today, which meant I could truly take advantage. I was forced to communicate. Hand out my card. Find out why everyone else was there. Chat about Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn. I eavesdropped, talked fashion and Barbie. For some odd reason, I was a part of the fashion community.
The lights dimmed. The models walked. I oscillated between thinking DVF was still a visionary – binding something that felt traditional with dreamful haute couture, and believing her slightly out of touch. The dark browns and blues were lovely. The animal print and product garments where exquisite. The hats, however, these organic mossy knit numbers, kept not one foot on the ground. And because of that, because they weren’t for me what I associate with Diane von Furstenberg, they flopped. It was quite the spectacle though and to see the beautiful designer walk down the runway afterward, stopping only to grab hold of Diana Ross and collect flowers from her grandchildren, was momentous.
All together, the runway show was good verging on great. The experience, however, was spectacular.
And Diane Sawyer is hot.
