Before that happens though, I'd like to introduce another of the installments I often start and rarely finish. This one called: Man Repelling Designer Awareness. Every week (or month, who really knows) until Fashion Week I intend to showcase a bombass under-the-radar designer, whether he or she be an apparel gypsy or weapon-crafting modern-day Xena, Warrior Princess. This way, come Fashion Week, you will the trendiest crackerjack riding the celibacy train to Lincoln Center.
No need to thank me, it's my job to release the man repeller laying dormant within.
Today, we start with Leila Shams, the crazy crocodile giving new meaning to the term and texture associated with said print.
Because embossing is so 2010, here's to a literal crocodile print on your maxi dress.
...And your bi-polar tunic.
...And your maxi skirt. It's like a Cavalli, but better.
On that note:
She offers a great alternative to traditional Christopher Kane prints, too. Because nothing says "do me" like hiding your legs behind--or decorating your ass with--fabric adorned by leopard faces.
Relative to Christopher Kane, the prices are super affordable. You know, for the sake of preserving your 401k.
If, however, wearing red-eyed water critters, jungle animals et al on your body isn't your thing...I question the motives behind your even reading this blog, no sweat my pet. Note the pun.
Shams caters to the winged vertebrae emulating set, too.
Go on, vulture. Give the White Swan a run for her eggs.
TWICE.
Shams spared no shame re: lookbook makeup either. Here's to eyelids that look like a 'brow wax gone painfully (again, note the pun) wrong and some super-hypothermic lips. She must need her Phillip Lim arm-warmers. I also commend her for abusing her creative license and taking notoriously man-getting silhouettes, cue the mini skirt pictured below paired with forever long legs:
And turning them into the black hole of bold structures and inaccurate big hips. I'll take two, please.
Perusing passed collections sparked (oh, there's that pesky pun again) a bright (I am choc full o'puns today) idea about how to outfit oneself for The Superbowl!
Because in the lookbook of our lives everyday is reason to dress in head to toe sequins, Superbowl Sunday should be no exception. Just don't get high hopes up on any post-game SUPER BONING. Not gonna happen, disco queen.
Finally, you know how I feel about sartorial mullets and schizophrenic silhouettes, so I've saved the best for last:
You may say this isn't much a man repeller, but what happens when you're approached and told your dress "looks crazy" to which you respond: "yes, I've found that it speaks literal lengths about my personality."
I'll tell you what happens: nothing. The conversation ends.
Sometimes so does your night.
And now, so will this blog post.
Tootles!
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