Between Dior’s vagina skimming multicolored latex boots, Rick Owens’ gold painted models, that oddly were quite beautiful, and Dries Van Noten stuffing their models with bouquets in their collars that would make a bride blush; I have come to the conclusion that the French designers really get me. I mean, for the longest I have had this immense-no intense feeling that Parisian fashion and I are destined to be together. Only problem is I am in New York. Doh! So, until I can make my way to Paris, which I will. I have to be enriched by the photos of style.com and various Instagram accounts of the editors who are there. But something tells me that the impact of the clothes is very different in person. Am I the only one who gets turned on by Paris fashion week?