Village green

There's a male model smoking a fag outside The Green Shows in the East Village. He's wearing a lots of black eyeliner. Sometimes the universe sends you signs.

We've cabbed it over from Bryant Park and have arrived early to try and catch up on some writing but are surprised when organisers tell us there's no media room, they seemed surprised we even asked. So we pop back out on E11th street in search of a cafe with Wifi.

But blogging fades quickly into the background when we spot two fab looking vintage shops over the way.

Within minutes at Buffalo Exchange I have bagged some ridiculous but fun Willy Wonka-esque sunglasses and a chunky bright purple wool beanie for $13 total and then with heart pounding I snag some Michael Kors heels for $35.




There is even a pair of Navy Pradas courts for $80 but they are a little tight so I tell myself not to be greedy.

I don't listen to myself for very long though as 10 minutes later I am at Angela's Vintage Boutique next door stroking the most beautiful 1950's fur trimmed coat. It is heavy with quality and it fits perfectly. The lady (Angela I assume) is giving it to me for $70 and the ticket said $95 and I never even asked for a discount. It's as if the fucking vintage fairy has landed on my shoulder.




What is happening? Does this have anything to do with that Chinese cat statue that woman gave me in a coffee shop the other day? This comes off the back of a run of unbelievable vintage finds. I made out like a demon in W17th street Homeworks thrift store just last weekend. It is fash week shopping serendipity I tell myself.

But where there is ying there is is yang and I was about to pay back with the most depressing 15 minutes of my life when we head back over the road.

Without seeing every show at NYFW I'm willing to bet that Thieves by Sonja Den Elzian is the drabbest of the week. Judging by the visible boredom and eye rolls in the audience, I'm not the only one who thinks so. Black and grey urban minimalist sportswear in cotton and some kind of eco rubber, the sort of stuff Jill Sander was churning out in the early nineties. It's surprising as previous Thieves collections have been packed with unusual but desirable daywear in lighter and brighter hues.



There are some pieces that try to save the dreary pretension from disappearing up it's own organic cotton clad arse- like the wool wide shawl collared coat, the ruched jeggings and the rubber waister. But I'm distracted by the hilarious description of the collection 'The inspiration is humanity in its evolving state within the erratic and harsh climates of constant transformation...visually exploring the exploitation of Canada's Boreal forest through the mining of tar sands". You what?

Just in case I wasn't suicidal enough at that point the excellent DJ is made to switch his funk and disco pre-show sound to some kind of experimental dirge that makes me think we are maybe being hypnotised Zoolander style, but rather than killing the Malaysian Prime Minister we are being made to like Elzian's clothes.

It's not working. I am wearing vintage sequins and Chanel pearls for fuck's sake.

I make a swift exit and head back over the road to stroke something sparkly from the 1950s.

Buying vintage will be my green contribution for today.