New York Fashion Week can be something of a dreary routine—which, last night, was interrupted when Rihanna arrived like a shooting star to bring her Savage X Fenty creations to life. Recreating the Garden of Eden—but a version without any pesky male presence—our Bajan goddess blessed us with looks on models of all sizes and colors—a smattering of Eves, if you will. In the Bible, it is said that Adam and Eve wandered the garden naked, but the Savage X Fenty gyals were adorned even more sensuously: swathed in full-body durags of sheer silk and jersey, body glitter-ed to the max (no doubt in thanks to Fenty Body Lava!), wearing silk stocking boots and everything from leopard print teddys to cupless corsets. It was a celebration of women’s bodies in every way. Capped off by the very pregnant supermodel (to us, at the very least) Slick Woods walking out topless, Rih left no apple untouched. Now that an entire portion of our checks are withheld each payday for Fenty Holdings, it’s only right that we break down each look for maximum usage and maximum plumage—especially when the show last night delivered nothing but delights.
I rarely wear stockings, so if you see me in a toffee-nude leg, you know I’m going somewhere fancy. My family goes to the opera every New Year’s Eve. The one year I attended, I wore my version of what I called a monkey suit with a chambray shirt, silk shorts and TWO bow ties—one on my neck and one on my head, replete with bright feathers. I’d like to think the above look is an update to that. The gloves let people know I’m serious about being formal, the skirt gives it the femininity my diaspora aunties are always begging me to uphold, and this festive hairpiece seems way more seasonally appropriate for the holidays. Plus, a blue, diamond-bright fur coat fits right in under the lobby chandelier at The Met, and would surely protect me against my archenemy: central A/C. This New Year, I will finally find me a sugar person.
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This outfit is what I call a day of meetings. A green silk tiger-print is the kind of battery you need in your back when you’re faced with a day of listening to people bullshit each other back and forth. In this outfit, I’m clearly on my way to a sales meeting with 16 white men who want to pitch ideas for how to expand their reach by hiring influencers. I’m obviously wearing sneakers to let them know I don’t care about them at all—maybe even white Air Force Ones—but the flower lets them know this outfit means business. Everyone will have a comment, and I will respond with various eyebrow raises and no words.
This is a day-to-night outfit, so I’m going for drinks after work (you gotta expand the reach of this print!) and taking someone home—or pulling off the once-in-a-blue-moon flawless drunk text that actually results in sex. I rarely wear a bra during the day, so someone has to have a one-on-one with this leopard underneath.
You see Nikki in the full body du plus glitter, and you already know it’s the witching hour. In Haiti, there is the legend of the lougarou: zombie women who take their skin off at night to fly and…eat babies. Sounds like patriarchal propaganda. However, if I were to turn into a lougarou: rather than get un-skinned, this would be my fit, and I would let my soft, sheer wings flap fly me to your man’s house, where I would proceed to…never mind. Just know that’s me: the witch they told you not to worry about.
Wow: It’s me, your girl, on her way to a Saturday hike at Griffith Park, where I will run into no fewer than three ex-friends, four old coworkers and maybe six to eight bad hookups. Everyone will be in their best workout gear (aka everyday clothes in LA), designed by their favorite rich person who works out. I can finally look like the IG hunny I’ve always wanted to be!! I’ll even take a photo at the top while throwing a peace sign.
Just kidding! This outfit is anything but basic. I’m pulling up to the West Hollywood Equinox to do nothing but weight-lifting for a full hour until I let out a Hulk-like roar from adrenaline and my crotch patch has a nice big sweat stain that smells faintly like vintage champagne. There’s always too many men acting like pageant queens in that area, so it’s a great place to activate your inner savage.
Knotted- up T-shirt and boxers is a look that means errand day for me, but all off-white is for a Summer Friday when the direct deposit hits. Being rich for 48 hours means laundry is getting dropped off and all other tasks delegated to as many people and apps as I can pay so I can grab an iced coffee, pull up on DUMBO House to “work from home” and start drinking rosé at precisely 1:30 pm. If you see me at a rave at 5 am in the same fit, (you will) compliment me on not having any stains on my clothes, and then promptly tell me to take my ass home.
This is the exact outfit I would wear for Halloween when I want to be TLC, but don’t want to be part of a group costume, because traveling to parties in pairs is a true horror story. I don’t really care either way for the holiday, but I love to use it as an excuse to pull off a fit. These pants are long enough to hide the fact that I’m pulling up in slides. Being outside makes me tired, and if anyone says they can’t tell who I am, I can just lean back and look bewildered with embarrassment for them not recognizing me as the iconic legends that I am.
This bodysuit is the go-to for every event where people tell you to come dressed tastefully. Oh, you think you need to give me advice on how to dress for a birthday dinner at a French restaurant? Well, guess what? I’m calling a technical: Technically, I’m fully covered, technically, I’m not exposing any bits, and technically, I’m an adult who pays bills. I’ll deem what’s appropriate for me to wear when I leave my own damn house to spend money on other people.
I wore a dress with a print very similar to this one’s to a wedding once, and deciding on shoes was nothing short of a nightmare. I wish this outfit had existed then and saved me some time, as well as brain cells. I’m pulling up to the next nuptials in silk formal, ready to make out with whatever person gets drunk enough to mistake this for some sort of allusion to being a cougar.
Now, I am not pregnant, but I can safely say that, if I should allow a whole human being to grow inside me, rearranging my organs and body chemistry for their own evolution and nourishment, then absolutely, yes, I will have to stop wearing clothes. No debate. I don’t even like restriction around my waist now, and it is nowhere near the size of a couple basketballs. For as much as they go through, pregnant women should be able to wear whatever they want, and as a loud supporter of breastfeeding in public, this is the easiest access a little one could ever have.
All in all, Rihanna and Savage X Fenty delivered a deep and empathetic understanding of how to make a modern woman feel great wearing sexy things of all kinds. That alone is worth our patronage.
