Glamorama, Glug, Glug

I’m afraid I was overcooked for Glamorama on Friday night. I arrived to find a throng of ladies in gowns and cowboy boots, which struck me as a tasteful way to celebrate the year’s theme. Barb Heinrich (above), owner of the fabulous Uptown shop Local Motion, represented this look. Me, I was dudded out in boots, western belt, ginormous buckle, and a dress that can only be described as appropriate square-dance attire.

I was seated next to Jahna Peloquin (below), a local stylist and, as of late, freelance scribe. She found this dress in a San Francisco thrift store and thought to herself … Loretta Lynn.

Anyhoo: There were also plenty of folks who’d come to see the Muzik Mafia–they gave themselves away by wearing concert tees and (gasp!) jeans. And, I’m afraid these people were probably much confused, as were the folks who’d come to see touches of western fashion. I didn’t spy an overwhelming current of country amidst the Michael Kors, Temperley, and Marc Jacobs collections. But there were the related coon hats, Bordello dresses, and Big Daddy Kane fur coats. As for the folks who’d come to see the Mafia, they were likely scratching their heads at the unrelated pencil skirts, English riding clothes, and high-waisted pants.

It was your typical fashion show: lush, indulgent, a little bit pointless, very much exciting. The lighting struck me as being a bit dim for these purposes (note: my Elph couldn’t quite capture the shirtless male models prancing about in stage fog), but the image was sure pretty while it lasted.