Walking towards the corner of Duane and Hudson, I spotted a girl leaning cooly against a signpost. Her dark hair cast a shadow across the sidewalk and her boots scuffed the pavement as she fidgeted nervously. At her side, Scott Shuman adjusted his lens before directing her to walk casually across the street. Taxis crowded the road but her bare legs stopped traffic.
“Less posed! Yep… perfect.”
As the model of the moment left the scene, Kevin asked for a cheeky photo and twinkling blue eyes agreed even before the smile caught up.
Last night we picked up a six pack of beers and swung by Aaron’s workshop. When we met a few days ago at the Pop Up Flea, Aaron invited us back to the studio he shares with a group of designers to take a peek at a project that he has been working on for If You Could.
Paired with a children’s book illustrator, Aaron is in the process of creating a pair of glasses that will see into time and space. We missed his partner by a matter of minutes but nevertheless Aaron took us through his own past in rummaging through drawers filled with previous collection pieces and chatted about his present inspirations. With such a welcoming nature and breathtaking talent, it doesn’t take a pair of surreal spectacles to predict a bright future for his Digby & Iona label.
A stroll around Tribeca took Kevin and I to the Acne store … my god, I could live there! I bought an incredible scented candle and was so proud to walk out with one of their gorgeous rose hued bags.
On a misty morning in SoHo, Kevin and I stumbled upon Pop Up Flea, a jumble sale of wares from various local designers. Leaning over a simple trestle in the back of the warehouse was Aaron Ruff, preciously tending to his table of treasures.
A carpenter by trade who found his calling in metal work, Aaron creates delicately whimsical jewelry that whispers of childlike adventures. I couldn’t resist making one of his pieces my own; two fighting bears carved from sterling silver and a natural cognac diamond. Wrapping the ring around my finger, I imagined the bears were fighting over the stone, too preoccupied with their intent to destroy each other to notice my admiring glances.
I can honestly say that I have never before typed a blog post from 38000 feet above ground, but as I type this I am gazing out my window somewhere over Iowa, just a handful of hours away from New York. Despite an unplanned stop over at an airport near Los Angeles and a seven hour delay (S E V E N H O U R S) I’m feeling surprisingly fresh and inspired to write. The freshness is courtesy of dry shampoo (a miracle for anyone with a fringe) and the inspiration ….
Last time I was in New York (about nine months ago, at the end of a two-month holiday with Kevin) I purchased a copy of TANK magazine. One of the most exciting things about an international trip is the selection of magazines that you never find back home; they are treasures. I ended up buying more magazines than I was able to afford in my luggage allowance, so I left them behind like a trail of pebbles, discarded in a Parisian hotel room and left sneakily in my friend’s London bedroom. But not TANK.
The only reason I held onto TANK was because I never got a chance to read it. Amongst all those stop overs, bus rides, plan trips and hours I never found a moment to pour through the pages. On my way out the door yesterday morning, the striking cover caught my eye from beneath a pile of notes in my wardrobe. On impulse, I took it with me.
On my last visit to New York I wandered the streets, exploring the surface level of the city, all the while aware that I wanted to feel something more. I left the city with the unread TANK and a relatively untouched must-do list. This time I am prepared for the pace, the cold, the frenzy, and I’ve read through TANK twice. I’ve placed it in the pocket in the seat in front of mine – I can leave it there.
MAY ‘bat your lashes’ batwing top, Sportsgirl denim shorts, Acne heels, vintage Chanel belt. photography by Kevin.
Alice is the kind of fashion designer that just can’t keep a secret. Whilst most artists create their collections in relative secrecy, Alice laid it bare from the first sketch. Over hours and wine, Alice discussed the motives for her creations and plotted her course.
Her label, MAY, hints at the bright side of a nightmare with delicate consequences. Weeks of conversation have been deconstructed and woven into chapters that feel so damn good against skin.
On the morning of her first runway showing, came a gift. Faded black, cropped to expose a glimpse of midriff and crying out to be styled with worn and torn denim.
Alice, you are a dream. x