New York Fashion Week is over now, almost everything was a snooze, but somehow—against my own personal expectations—Marc Jacobs showed up and showed the fuck out.
The show, which was held at the Park Avenue Armory on Wednesday night, was by all accounts much more restrained than normal. WWD notes there were about 40 looks presented, down from his usual 60 or more, and to class up the proceedings, there was live music, and the floors were black and shiny—all the better to show off an impressive and stunning collection of dresses, cloaks, gowns, and capes that are all really just dresses for eating.
An eating dress isn’t really a thing (yet), but let’s follow this thread to a conclusion that makes sense for our purposes. Some have eating pants—elastic of waist, soft of material, sans tension or discomfort around the tummy area, so that the wearer can eat Thanksgiving dinner or whatever without having to unbutton a button and lay flat on the ground. An eating dress follows the same contours, but is even better because, hello, it’s a dress. One item! Slip it over your head! You’re dressed and you can eat food, a miracle!
Here’s a dress for eating three tacos from the taco truck with a cold Coke in the can while watching American Crime Story: Versace because you’re a year late and a dollar short on just about everything, except for fashion, darling.
Nothing goes better with black and white feathers than a Junior Bacon cheeseburger and a small chocolate Frosty from Wendy’s; this deflated prairie dress silhouette begs for nachos; finally, I would consume chicken wings and a large spicy margarita in the black and yellow number. Would I drop buffalo sauce on the garment? You betcha! But it won’t matter.
Hmm, I’m hungry, what will I eat in this leopard print swing coat and GIGANTIC feather scarf/stole? A grilled cheese works! Not sure what event this Harlequin collar-as-minidress thing is appropriate for, but to me, the answer is “judge in a chili contest.” Finally, every single prairie dress adjacent garment Jacobs sent down the runway is the perfect antidote to the rigid and uptight scourge of Batsheva: I would wear this highly unflattering gown if provided to me, and I would eat dim sum in it with relish, with pleasure, with greed.