In high school, I came to New York City and fell head-over-heels for an unattainable Cynthia Rowley bubblegum-pink strapless satin gown. (It was the late ‘90s.)
Ever since, the designer has remained a sort of NYC fashion fairy for me. When I moved here in 2003 I would wander to her boutique in the West Village when I needed some color. In my first job, at a housewares design company, I got to work on development for her Target collection. I can’t remember what I wore for my single meeting with her, but I’ll never forget a chance encounter on a busy Saturday in her shop, when she admired my (my!) loden green sweater hood, decorated with a knitted pink peony sticking out of my camel-colored leather jacket. I was thrilled last season when Dossier assigned me to cover her show (find below, my notes from the occasion), and pleased as punch to be assigned back this season.
Ms. Rowley has always struck me as a creature not just of fashion, but also of art and business…sort of a princess of pop culture. That combination of savvy and style came through this season, on her runway, in her front row (graced by her friend Thelma Golden) and also in a really clever collaboration with the Gagosian Gallery, where she is selling original samples from the show, photographic reproductions of her collection on fabric panels for fans to cut and sew themselves and even sewing kits, complete with a label, for customers to affix wherever they please…The New York Times called it Duchampian, but it’s sort of more Prince or Warhollian, no?
Whatever it is, I love it. It’s a sexy sort of meta mind-f— that one could also wear to dinner. (Or contrarily, in front of the computer, as they blog about blogging.) Maybe there’s some room in this for an archival re-release of that rose-colored gown I never got to wear to the prom. It would look lovely printed on a floor-length cotton tank dress.