How can I do this?” I thought when I slipped the catsuit on and over my hands. I was completely covered from my neck down, encased in tight spandex. Though, to be honest, I looked great. Essentially a Kardashian-fied Catwoman. But my heart dropped when I went for my phone and realized that there were no sensors on these gloves. My Balenciaga-loving friend suggested that maybe Demna’s intention was to make us not use our phones and think about the world around us. Fat chance! How was I supposed to use my Apple Wallet to get onto the subway? Open my digital vaccine card to let me in at shows? Most importantly, how was I supposed to review any of these shows, which I mostly do from my phone? I thought of drafting an email to my boss, “Hey, remember that Balenciaga catsuit you made me wear? Turns out, I can’t actually do anything in it, so I’m going to sit this one out.” Yeah, right! I’d be booted right out of Vogue’s glass doors.
No, I had to find a way to make it work. I figured I would flip the top of the catsuit down and tie the limp fabric hands around my waist like a makeshift belt. I styled the piece with a tight lace-up Tom Ford–era Gucci shirt, a puffer coat, and a chunky leather jacket that engulfed me. Basically, I looked like a fancy Tribeca mother who lives in leggings and pointy boots. The look was a hit. People really enjoyed the boots, which are pointed and have a jester-esque flair. Vogue writer Liam Hess messaged me on Instagram to say it was giving “sultry medieval squire” and designer Willie Norris called it “renaissance wench at bike week.” Both fantastic observations.
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