Love, Diane

Diane Von Furstenberg, DVF, the woman behind the iconic wrap dress. She is a legend, a symbol, for me and so many other women. She is a visionary master. She is a classic tale of a woman making it in a man’s world. She is my long-lost fairy god mother, a real life princess, and more than any of this, she is an artist.  Like a painter she wields her brush and puts it down leaving a symphony of colors in her wake. And with each brush stroke she breaks my heart just a little bit more, because I am filled with so much love, and sorrow, and jealousy, and happiness. With each masterpiece of hers I see, a little piece of my foundation cracks, my wall comes down; the woman trapped inside of me is allowed to breathe.  Because that’s what she does best, accentuate the female form. She knows how to make a woman feel beautiful.

We all know this feeling. Clothing can evoke the same emotions as any spectacular van Gogh or Degas. And people can make you feel bad about this. They trivialize your emotions because you care about something so seemingly frivolous. But what you must understand and know is that fashion is ridiculously important. It is a common thread woven between every single culture.  Every single person on the planet has to wake up in the morning and decide what to wear. Whether the question is, which designer dress should I put on, or which one of my two t-shirts should I wear, there is still a commonality. People criticize the superficiality of it. Not just those judging the fashion industry from the outside, but those within the fashion industry as well.There will always be that one designer that we feel like understands us better than anyone else. Diane is this for me.

Diane Von FurstenburgShe lives in the penthouse above her flagship store in the Meatpacking District, like a queen ruling over her kingdom. I have walked past her store for years without ever going in because I was afraid that it was going to reject me somehow. I was afraid I was going to feel like I didn’t belong, and then my golden dreams would shatter. Eventually I did go in, and it wasn’t quite as magical as I thought it was going to be, but nothing ever really lives up to expectations, does it? In my head she is still this magical creature, but I like to pretend that she is real enough that she would think it was sweet if I rang her bell and asked to come up for a cup of coffee and a chat. I do know where she lives after all.

Love, Sophia
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