Tommy Hilfiger Knows How to Throw a Party
My evening began with a small fiasco: Dressed in a massive beige trench coat, large sunglasses, and a top bun a là Bridget Bardot, my Uber somehow mixed up the location, and I found myself slightly stranded and entirely overdressed, perched outside of Grand Central Station. Eventually, I was kindly escorted to the correct section of the terminal—a smooth speakeasy called the Grand Central Oyster Bar, dripping in elevated Americana with gorgeous ambient lighting and sprinkles of red, white, and blue throughout. It was the perfect venue for the Tommy Hilfiger show.
Tommy Hilfiger, to me, has always been the epitome of reimagining what it is to be an American. He built a brand affirming the belief that the cliché metaphorical melting pot and all the cultures and colors within it are truly the best parts of this country. The fall/winter 2024 collection was an ode not only to America reimagined, but gave flowers to the innately American environment that is New York City. This was reflected in the bold designs and diverse faces on the runway as well as the selection of attendees, such as myself.
Sandwiched between two of my besties, Christopher Briney and Mason Gooding, was the ideal way to spend one of my first nights of fashion week (an experience that has yet to be topped). Maybe it’s the Valentine’s Day aura in the air, or maybe Hilfiger’s casting was just that good, but as the show began, I think I fell in love with my surroundings. The incredibly beautiful models oozed confidence from their pores, slouched as if they knew their presence was a gift (pun intended). As they strolled down the runway, effortlessly rocking what I would define as “chic academia,” I began to keep a running list of items I needed immediately. That matching corduroy set? I need that in my closet like, yesterday, please and thank you!
I also want to take this opportunity to apologize to Christopher for the volume of my fan-girling when Paloma Elsesser came out, but what else is a girl to do when you’re graced with the presence (and killer strut) of the model of the year? He had no idea why I was losing my mind, and I didn’t expect him to, but he humored me, and that’s all I can ask for.
I am admittedly a New York transplant, but I’ve always found an odd sense of comfort in the voice of the MTA announcement guy. So, one could only imagine my surprise and delight when, every 10 minutes the smooth jazz playing was overlayed by a firm “stand clear of closing doors, please.” (And imagine my shock when Christopher informed me that the voice is not natural? I digress, but still...). The music was honestly the cherry on top of an already insane show: Whoever was the genius behind mixing Biggie with ABBA, I am forever in your debt [Editor’s Note: Questlove was responsible]. Watching the models walk perfectly on beat, holding back smiles as they realized “Hypnotize” was playing, was just an absolute treat.
All in all, my night began with an overdressed fiasco, but ended with a realization: Tommy continues to put out beautiful clothes and throws a damn good party. Honorable Mentions of the night: Christopher, Mason and I’s genius game called “AI or Real” (no, I won’t elaborate), me saying hi to Kelly Rutherford, which I may have made up in my head.
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