Carine Roitfeld and Giovanna Battaglia at the Armani Prive show.
Editors have become ultra revered for their sophisticated, cool-isn't-even-the-word style. And this makes sense since they always look like they've gotten dressed with divine guidance from the fashion gods; but then, why wouldn't they? Their decks are stacked. Many of the editors on the mastheads of magazines are the progeny of old wealth. Many of them have arrived at the Conde Nast buildings of the world on the shoulders of their thick-pocketed forefathers who have been specifically cultured to do, have, and appear the best. No, I'm not saying that their fortunate financial state is an immediate cause for disqualification in the contest for fair fashion idolatry--this isn't a matter of envy (well, not completely), but I want some underdogs. If you live, breathe, eat, sleep, trade and dress in nothing but high fashion, you are going to look highly fashionable. You may even look phenomenally fashionable (hello Carine, Giovanna, Anna Dello Russo) but anything less would be a gross misuse of given natural resources. I'm hungry again for folks who make their aesthetic out of scraps and heaps of ambition. Out of dollar finds and craft supplies. I just feel like the editor-as-ultimate stylecon is a bit self-referential and congratulatory. They make the trends, they see the styles in sketch form, they know what's next not because it's coming directly from their desirous creativity, but because it is their job to know. I guess I'm looking for something a little less French cuffed and a little more off the cuff; a little less perfect and a lot more passionate. I don't even know what that would look like, but I'll keep my eyes peeled and let you know when I see it. You do the same.