mama's going to milan

Dolce & Gabbana, Valentino, Emilio Pucci, Valentino, Dolce & Gabanna. 

All via Style.com.

In primo luogo, devo dire che il mio italiano non è molto buono.

I usually don't do runway reviews for a couple reasons:

1. Everyone writes them.
2. They're boring.
3. Actually, that's it.

 So this post is not a runway review. It is simply a note of appreciation for the solid but genius consistency that is Milan Fashion Week, no matter the season, the trends, or what a random teenager on the internet has decided is ~style~.

Ah, Milan. If there ever was a motherland of fashion, you are it. Valentino, Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Pucci, GUCCI. All the names the rappers love.  In New York, people will be wearing airplanes as shoes, but D & G will put out see through over dresses with roses, Valentino will be making red dresses, Moschino will be weird but appealing, and everyone will go to Versace just to see Donatella. Everything will seem vaguely exactly like what the designer put out last season, but it will be so beautiful and well done that no one will care. Beautiful Italians will mill about being Italian, and wild parties will happen, but with very little photographic evidence the next day. Then everyone will pull themselves out of bread, eat some carbs, pull their hair into a chic knot, and head out to Paris.

x J   

You do you Milan, you do you.

Ps. Will sing for Dolce & Gabbana. That's all.

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