Like overindulging at the Thanksgiving dinner table and slipping comfortably into a two day food coma, in the wake of Fashion Week here in the city I feel stricken with a serious case of clothing fatigue. For the past few days it’s been much of the same – same shirt, same sweater, same pants, same jacket, same shoes. It’s not that everything I saw this week was that great, it’s just that it was at least something and after a while that many little things add up until it’s tough to determine where the good ends and the bad begins. I saw blackwatch parkas, corduroy robes, exploded houndstooth, velvet moto jackets, and flecked cable knits and when you add all that (and far more not worth writing about) together it’s a lot easier to just turn your brain off then try to make sense where there just might not be any.
A few days ago, thanks to several well-placed, cancelled classes, I was fortunate enough to be graced with the coveted five day weekend. With Thanksgiving on deck, and not much on my docket, I fell back on the old standby of absentmindedly walking the streets and watching the hours tick by. It might’ve been that the impending holiday was on my mind, but as I walked around, meeting up with friends, and running into people, I found myself preoccupied with all that surrounded me. I consider fall to be the only real season that really has a distinct character to it, which some say is produced by the colors of the season, but to me it really has more to do with the emotions and ideas that this atmosphere creates.