What Does One Call a Fear of Shoe Laces?
The day kicked off with the Balenciaga show at 9:30 am, which on the fashion clock is considered the crack of dawn. We arrive at about 9:25 am because there's something to be said for promptness. The show, however, doesn't get underway until about 10am because that's the way fashion works. We are sitting there twiddling our thumbs when the editor of the New York Times' fashion magazine arrives. We glance across the runway and our eyes are drawn to his feet on which he wears a pair of black dress oxfords. They are normal looking shoes except they are missing laces. There are holes for laces and the open top of the shoe is flopping around in a desperate search for them. We consult several colleagues to find out whether there is some new trend in men's footwear in which gentleman wear their shoes in the manner of a hobo who has been forced to pluck his footwear out of the trash or like a felon who has had to turn over his laces before the door to his cell is slammed shut. We are reassured that at last check shoe laces are de rigeur in dress oxfords. We assume that perhaps in the editor's past there was some terrible, unspeakable encounter with a shoe lace. We wish him well.
Our day ended with the Christian Dior show at the Grand Palais, which we would like to mention is unheated. It is snowing in Paris. We were so cold that our feet froze into little ice cubes. We could not move our jaw because it was frozen shut, but if we had we would have cursed a blue streak about the fact that our rear end was turning into a big block of ice as it was perched on a metal bleacher. We thank Dior for leaving little airplane blankets on the seats in order to ease our discomfort.
The actress Kate Hudson was at the show and we can tell you that she looked spectacular. She is quite the pretty girl - all blonde and golden-hued. We saw several big Dior customers roaming about the frosty Palais all decked out in gilded denim jackets, wispy skirts, unsafe heels and lips full of collagen. There's just nothing pretty about a pair of lips artificially thrust into a permanent pucker.
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