Edited by Lester Brathwaite on
“I want people to understand that New Jersey Fashion Week is the next great destination to showcase global emerging talent.” And I want to have a threesome with Katherine Hepburn and Simon Nessman, but somethings just ain’t gonna fuckin’ happen.
The above quote belongs to one Ms. Donnella Tilery, co-founder of New Jersey…Fashion…Week. It hurts my fingers just to write that.
Anygay, the event was apparently a big, crotchless hit, featuring such style luminaries as Real Housewife of New Jersey, Caroline Manzo. And ex-Real Housewife of New Jersey, Dina Manzo. And Anna Wintour’s hair dresser’s dog groomer’s valet’s third cousin. The stars were out over the Garden State!
Honestly, I forgot that NJFW (apparently how alleged “insiders” refer to the event) was more than just a funny joke I tell at parties; that it was an actual…thing. Good for Jersey, New York City’s homely, barren step-sister with a bad limp.
As Caroline put it, “we [New Jerseyians] want a fashion week, we’ll do a fashion week.” So what? Who cares? Badda bing! Fashion Week!
Of course a big part of fashion week is…fashion. The organizers chose homegrown talent, seven designers who presented over the course of two days. The other two days featured, among other pleasantries, a hair trend showcase. Surprisingly, there were only a few small fires, a result of the dangerous dance between 300 gallons of hairspray and carton upon carton of Newport 100s.
So how were the clothes? I don’t care.
Whatevs, Jersey, keep at it. The world may be laughing — and god knows my guffaw can be heard piercing through the night as it wafts over the George Washington Bridge — but we all know who will have the last laugh.
I was center square from 1969 to 1978, during which I perfected the art of the zing as well as a crippling cocaine addiction. Bea Arthur was responsible for both.
@LesFabian
lester at fashionindie.com
