When a wave of beauty in such diversity and grandeur crosses our way, we can let ourselves be carried away or hold on for a moment and watch - be the orgiast or the voyeur.
I stopped at the corner of 13th street and Washington and the longer I stood there, the more I enjoyed what was happening around me. The protagonists of the night were dressed at their very best: high heels and higher heels were clicking their way through the cobble stone pavement. Sheer, lace and sequins were walking hand in hand with the classic black 2 button suit. Skin was everywhere: shorts and hot pants, midi and mini skirts, dresses and gowns, sleeveless tops and bustiers. There was no doubt: skin was the fabric of choice. Panama hats, top hats, cowboy hats and fedoras adorned some heads, while others had chosen luscious feathers, beaded headbands and head scarves from Gucci to Pucci. And in the midst of all the fashion was the indispensable NYC traffic consisting of cars, yellow cabs and gypsy cabs, limos and stretch limos, fire trucks and NYPD cars blinking and honking in order to make their way, even if slowly through the never-ending waves of crowds.
It appeared to me that every thing that exists or could possibly exist was represented right here in this very moment at this very corner. Every country was represented, every style lived out, vintage and new, young and restless, male and female, heterosexual, bi, gay and transgender. It was one of those precious moments that reminded me that despite or maybe because we live on a tiny island like Manhattan that shelters almost 1,6 million people, where we feel physically constricted at times, for very obvious and legitimate reasons, we have the luxury to have the limitless space for individuality.
Fashion Night Out captures the legendary spirit of the city and all I could do was smile and think: New York, I love you.
