April 04, 2008
People are always going on and on about the effortless, incomparable-to-mere-mortals style of model Agyness Deyn -- like she's some kind of Chloe Sevigny of the catwalk, and we mere mortals can only DREAM of rolling out of bed every morning as fluent as Agyness is in the language of Awesome.
I will give them the incomprehensible part.
Don't get me wrong, she rocks the runway. But I have come to the conclusion that people really need to stop instructing me to covet her wardrobe. At the end of the day, I just can't help it: I don't want to leave the house in a brutally upholstered shirt whose lapels look like a deflated neck pillow. If I attempted this style I would be shot, skinned, and turned into an ottoman at an old folks' home. Ergo, I will stick to regular things that don't induce migraines in small children, and leave Agyness to run the risk that Bobby Trendy will offer her a job running the mechanical bull at his fine eatery, Cowboy Trendy's Sirloin Factory.
Posted by Heather at 11:00 AM | Permalink