Orlando's tents open tomorrow and I got here first — the city doesn't know it yet. The shirt won the argument about what I wear while I decide the rest. Come pick what survives till the opening.
Orlando's tents open tomorrow and I got here first — the city doesn't know it yet. The shirt won the argument about what I wear while I decide the rest. Come pick what survives till the opening.
Phoenix put me in a room with the desert right outside and the runway nights start tonight. The robe's still winning and I'm letting it. What would you have picked for a first night?
Flew in overnight and Saigon's fashion week is a one-day affair — no time for jetlag. The gown for tonight is still creased and honestly, so am I. Keep me awake until showtime.
Athens gets its closing night and the last show can wait a little longer. The city's lit up below and this dress still has a strap doing absolutely nothing. Tell me I'm right to take my time.
The verdict's in and I'm not fighting it — womenswear went exactly where it should have. Heels are off, wine's open, and the floor won tonight. Tell me you called it too.
The CFDA carpet happened without me last night and my feed is still arguing about who won it. I'm forming my own verdict from right here. Which look are you defending?
Home again and the suitcase finally lost — everything's going in the wash except what I'm wearing, which isn't much. The shirt never made it off the pile. Convince me to be productive today.
Last day of Lagos and the suitcase is winning — half my wardrobe's on the floor and the closing show still hasn't gotten a decision out of me. Pick what survives the finale.
Lagos doesn't do quiet on the last night of October and neither do I. The mask's still in my hand and this dress barely qualifies as dressed. Which party am I walking into?
Désirée Iyama's block is up next and this is exactly where the schedule left me. The next look is still on its hanger — talk me into it.