Giovanna Battaglia

Pure Morning

Fashion week mornings are not like regular mornings.  Usually, up at the same time, I’m in my t-shirt on my couch, steaming cup of tea in hand and working on my computer.  Fashion weeks, I’m in the shower, eyes half open, hair in my mouth, in my t-shirt, steaming cup of tea in ha….. ouh merde.

With my cup….. in the shower. Voilà, this is the sort of thing that comes up during fashion weeks.

Oui.  These are the mornings the doctors will say that I have been diagnosed with exhaustion, I already have 236 e-mails to write, 12 days of letters to open, my mom, who I have to give a pep-talk to on the other line because she’s been hunting me down for however many days, and I needed to have left 25 minutes ago.  And on top of all that, gotta be chic.

But not only chic.  Chic-cool-hip-classy-sexy-trendy-without being too much because, well, the times, they are a changin’, and you just can’t exaggerate like you used to.

And of course comfortable.  Because even if I, myself, have the tendency to forget it,  I take photos.  Which means I walk, I move, I bend over, I break my mouth open, and I run… Because I’m always late.

And yet, in this rather sectioned off socio-cultural backgroup (slimness appreciated, scan the outfit north to south, south to north, and there’s that wit that just kills in the early morning (“Oh… Hello… They still haven’t found your bags?”)), what is style?  I should have developed the art of putting together the perfect outfit a long time ago.

I’m talking about simple outfits, easy to live-in, with a little detail that brings it all together, beautiful, simple, perfect.

If you see what I’m saying…

Mais non.  Not at all.  I get out of the shower, still mug in hand, sometimes with some conditioner still in my hair (yeah, that too, happens often enough).  I get an idea for a great outfit.  I look for the pieces, and then I remember that the southern hemisphere of my outfit is in the laundry.  I try to find a different outfit, put some things together, there are a few ohs and a few ahs but nothing is quite as great as my great outfit.  So I start trying on everything I have in mind.  Nothing goes.  I take care to put on a pretty spectacular show, throwing all my clothes to the ceiling around in circles and create the type 5 hysterical atmosphere of the backstage of a runway show (but all by myself.).  I’m sweating here.  I feel like I need to get back in the shower.  Calm yourself.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Inhale.  Exhale.

I finally hunt down a fine outfit, normal (= boring) and I’m off, but of course, not without forgetting to put make up on, do my hair, and bring all my invites to the runway shows.

Oui, voilà, voilà.  All of the daily neglects of the Parisian summed up in a few lines. It’s quite simple in the end.

And yet…

No but look at these girls.  Are they not pure chic-cool-hip-classy-sexy-trendy-without being too much?  Each one in her own different style.  A pair of colorful shoes, a pair of fingerless gloves, or a pair of shorts.  For goodness sake, it all make sense, no?

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Upper East Side

Ah, This’ll teach me. I talked about the sun too much. Which of course meant that yesterday was a beautiful downpour of a day in true Parisian style. Though here, when you are in the middle of a skirt-alert in an oncoming gust of wind, when your camera is enjoying its little scuba trip, and when your umbrella is… umm… Oh merde where is it? Here, you can jump in a taxi and watch the lights of the city go by through fogged up windows.

And you’re lost in the beauty of it all, scarfing down a pack of peanut butter M&Ms. Where you are headed bears no importance. Oh wait, yes it does, you’re on your way from Micheal Kors to Oscar de la Renta.  Oscar de la Renta, one of the only shows that took place in an old church, very chic, and on the very chic Upper East Side.

Shame it never rains on the show, otherwise I could’ve believed I was on Gossip Girl.

Yesterday then, a rainy day but a chic day. A day when after some trash shows of avant-garde, of 80’s, 90’s revivals, you get yourself to Oscar de la Renta and everything is put back into perspective. It was my first Oscar de la Renta show and I was totally into it. Even if it wasn’t his best, no worries. I let myself be completely charmed by his femme élégante, timeless, and duly gloved and synched.

And here’s what brings me to my sssssssssubject du jour, accessories. Listen up ladies, if there is still time, dart over to the last markdowns of the season and get yourself some gloves, headscarves and belts. If they are shiny and golden, if they are bright and colory, even better. I get the feeling that it’s going to be the must have next winter.

That, and fur… and big jewelry.

Gotta be bourgeois chic. But here’s the question, and it’s for one Giovanna, who can where all that and still be cooler than cool, how do you do it without finding yourself disguised as Saint Bernadette?

The solution? All-out color. Okay, more on that later, you in?

Bisou!

Translation : Tim Padraic Sullivan

Regain

The idea is to cover up with tights, a coat, a scarf and all those things that keep you warm, then slip on a dress and forget that it’s almost winter and it’s now snowing in Paris.

Mais non! I’m not totally crazy ! I do this very often during this time. I start the day with gray as my color base (because gray happens to be my fav…okay, you got that), tights, turtleneck shirt, gloves, thick socks and all that.

They’re good enough for going out since I’m appropriately dressed to brave the biting cold.

But to appease the fashion gods up above (Of course, they’re watching me. And I bet they are watching you, too!), I put on a colored dress. Or a skirt. From winter, summer, spring…. Anyway, what does it matter if I’m already warm and cozy? Chick yellow, meadow green, apricot orange…

Oh, what fun it is to just to say all those shades..

For my outerwear, I put on my Gap puff-jacket. Yes, the same color as Taylor T’s. I’m crazy about it; love it so much that I have the feeling I’m giving you a super-cool piece of advice. Hip-hip-hooray for my big heart !

Soon after, I make my way out the door and walk on the streets, happy and gay as a coco sorbet (?) in springtime, strutting like the super-amazing Giovanna c’mon, let’s not talk about her shoes—Battaglia. Yeah right, Gio. I’m pretty sure the gods are looking in her favor. Don’t you agree?

Bonne journée!

Translation : Magali Eva Suárez.

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