Fade In.

Trend alert. At the Porenza Schouler show a few of the models were given slight hints of haircolor. Their manes were tinted with washed out, faded colors. There were pale, ashy purples and rinses of green. It was a subtle punk, kind of like a sunwashed rebel; like punks bleached by the beach. And now, I'm spotting the subtle colors on the streets. More than a few cool girls are rocking the quiet shades. The look is a strange cross of grayish hair which looks old, and poppy colors which look young and edgy. Would you do this do? Would you?

Photos from Style.com.

Apotheosis.

I'm a geek for fashion. I'm a quiet dork for fashion. I'm a history nerd, an aspiring wordsmith, an art-history-like appreciator with no desires to be hip, in, or sceney. I'm too goofy for all that. Last night though, I was a screaming tween to Fashion's boy band. My general rules of decorum (you do not point your camera directly into anyone's face; you smile at people, not gawk; you ask for photos unless people are obviously posing) flew right out the window. When the seas of scensters parted last night in front of Milk Studios where my friend Neil and I just happened to stumble upon the just ending Porenza Schouler show, there she was. Trailing her perfectly non-fashion-figured daughter Bee, who held her hand and gently guided her through a channel the beefy security men made to her waiting towncar. In the hushed silence, and amongst the hulking, walkied, yelling men, Anna Wintour looked ever so slight, so tiny, so....oh my god...right in front of me. I heard a voice in my head say point and shoot! Point and shoot! And, despite all rules about not being a fashion stalker, not being ridiculous in the face of people who I hope to one day interact with on some kind of a professional level, I pointed my camera in her face and snapped a picture, because, well? It was a fashion fan instinct. It was Anna Wintour. What can I say?

I think my camera flash kind of blinded her because the next thing I knew she was right, right, right in front of me saying "Excuse me." Very polite of her considering I just photo smacked her. Although, I'm sure she's used to it. As I turned around, I caught one more snap of her and have been staring at it since, marveling at the perfection of her bob.

Every hair was in perfect place! I have utter respect for Ms. Wintour and the empire she's built. I love that even the rowdy, me-me-me fashion circus fell silent in a symbolic, auditory bow towards her as she passed. It was quite the quiet moment.