Bridget Foley’s Diary: The Ripples of Change

It didn’t quite feel like the old days (no matter what your particular “old days” are) — there were still far too many shows on the schedule for that. Yet the week definitely had a retro vibe. Not the clothes, though, of course there was some retro there as well — what fashion week is devoid? But this fashion week felt calmer than New York has in years — fewer shows, fewer celebrities, less extravaganza, less drama, even the traffic-stopping photo-op frenzy over the street-style set seemed less frenetic than that to which we’ve become accustomed. Yet the calm wasn’t that of resolution. Rather, it played out with an undercurrent of calm more anxious than Zen. The moment found many designers in a contemplative mood, ruminating on factors ranging from the U.S. political situation to the very nature of fashion itself — what it means, what people want to wear and whether the obsession with streetwear is a passing trend or a permanent manifestation of the increasingly casual world in which we live, and where the notion of appropriate dressing seems as reactionary as spats or a bustle. I gotta be me, and if I’m most me in yoga pants and

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