today marked the start of toronto fashion week. oh call it what you will. to spite the brand aficionado within we refuse the lg. tis not lg’s fashion week, tis lg’s cheque. we digress.
the five day fashion showcase actually began sunday evening, the opening bells timed to chime exactly as bras and ranties tends shut shit down. we wouldn’t (couldn’t) trade the weekend’s quiet close for much but we had all intention to see the izma show, glorious pieces after our fur-adoring heart. and yet instead we spent our evening completely buggin out, panic raging at our to-do list (the bulk of which didn’t matter mere hours earlier as we lounged deliciously in bed). and then the lazies strike again.
in fact one could argue that the festivities got going weeks ago, so we vow to start our untimely coverage there. with the gentleman who kicked the week off rogue, toronto’s darling philip sparks. the show kicked things off on a high note, in both presentation and product.
inspired by moby dick, the models stood a pequod still-life as the guests wandered round, celebrating the details the designer’s known for up close. melville’s words quite obviously came to life for sparks through beautifully tailored dark wools and tweeds, thick sweaters (did we see buttons made of bone?) scattered across gorgeous men. perched on crates. draped in thick spools of rope. handsome as ever.
we promise to bust ass to get things up to speed, inspire confabulation in our fashion week commentary while also providing our usual absurdities. bloggin like woah. in the meantime. our twitter. seriously.