I *heart* Alexander Wang.
Whenever I flip through one of my many, many fashion magazines, invariably something designed by him is what I fall for — and fall hard. His stuff is just....freakin' awesome, for lack of a better description.
The clothes are basic but never boring, sporty and hip and yet wearable by the average person. He even has a zip-up sweatshirt/poncho thingie.
He's my hero.
And the best part: He uses the most exquisite fabrics. Gilda Radner once said that her fashion sense was dictated by what didn't itch. I'm discovering we share the same aesthetic.
And his shoes? Oooooh. Excuse me while I do a Homer Simpson impression, tongue lolling out of the mouth. The shoes, too, are freakin' awesome.
What are the odds that he would happen to pop into Tucson, Ariz., perhaps to sample a local delicacy like the Sonoran hot dog and observe the casual, laid-back desert fashions and stumble upon me — mother of three who dyes her own hair but loves and appreciates truly good fashion even though she's purchased Norma Kamali for Walmart ONLINE — and make me his muse?
How cool would that be to slap the term "muse" onto your business cards?
Really, it's already like he designs just for me (remember — zip-up sweatshirt?). What I wouldn't give to lounge around all day in those wonderful, sumptuously soft fabrics. Plus, have you seen him? He looks like the sweetest, most down-to-earth guy. He would no doubt be a much better, nicer boss than the three tyrants at my other, unpaying, on-call, 24-7 job who nag me to take them to gymnastics and soccer and wash their clothes and feed them — but not the crap that I've made, something good like from McDonald's — and, oh, do it snappy, Mom.
Yeah, I think I can handle being someone's muse for awhile instead of someone's bitch.
