In which I blog about high fashion.... me?

It was only after moving to New York and taking a few long walks up and down Fifth Avenue and wandering through the Prada store in SoHo and falling completely in love with Takashimaya that I began to appreciate the art value of really, really fancy clothing. I'm not talking about things just a little more expensive than what I can afford, I'm talking about dresses that cost thousands of dollars and are made by hand and have Swarovski crystals embroidered into them. I would secretly love to attend Fashion Week events. It's the fabrics, the shapes, the silly-over-the-top-ness, occasionally the gorgeousness. I find it all fascinating. Not fascinating enough to know any brand names or designers or "follow" anything, just enough to occasionally look through shop windows and magazines and slide shows like the one in the Times Magazine today (Spring 2006 Collection). I don't want to wear or own these clothes (well, sometimes I do - see the blue suit above!), I just want to look at them, touch them, imagine life if we did dress like this. But what is UP with models dressed, made up, and posed to look like they are suffering from serious illness, back pain, and boredom? This woman in white - and most of the women in this slide show - looks miserable. At a minimum, she's ready to leave the party early... What happened to smiling - can't beautiful also be joyful? Or at least have a sense of humor?