I'm hyperventilating. COMME des GARCONS is my FAVES. Whenever I'm feeling listless, I go to the COMME store to stroke the sweaters or spray three different parfums on my person (in COMME-Land, you say parfum). Two weeks ago, I filed out of a rather lackluster fashion show and made my way to COMME for inspiration. It's silent when you enter the egg-shaped door. One minute you're on a jack-hammered Chelsea street, and the next you're floating into a Japanese space pod where no one speaks lest the dripping racks of black go unheard humming their solemn lullabies. In COMME-Land, you find yourself fingering dresses that defy imagination, waists cinched and hems tucked preposterously. You're distracted by white t-shirts bearing hearts with suspicious eyes. Stripes are king, but obsidian reigns, and on a tidy glass shelf you can sample the scent of Kyoto.
I often imagine what it must be like to take a dress from the rack (and a pair of gold oxfords) and have it wrapped in black tissue. What would it be like to take my COMME dress and shoes in my COMME tissue and bag out for some sake afterwards? I'm going to find out in November. I may not get to waltz into the space pod to do it, but I will be FIRST in line at my trusty H&M to get my hands on everything in the COMME des GARCONS for H&M collection. Unlike Karl or Stella or the travesty that was Cavalli, I will not hold myself back. Oh no, I will fight for this stuff (I'm talking to you Conde Assistants International), and I will win my black and my white with my polka dots all over.
Who else wants to...