Sometimes I think I live on a half empty dish of milk and never one that's half full. In reality, I'm a hopeless optimist. I've always been that way. When time and life take hold, you have to let go of certain baggage that becomes dead weight. Some of that excess baggage can be unrealistic dreams, wants and needs that have nothing to do with what is really important or necessary. My interest in Fashion is a desire for a world more pleasing. I feel better when the things around me engage and soothe me. That same desire is my compass when I look at collections. Do they engage me? Are they aesthetically pleasing? Do they challenge my view of what is beautiful or interesting? Do they make men and women look good, better or great? Or do the clothes make a mockery of humanity; The Emperor's new clothes syndrome. I don't mean to sound like I'm some precious, high minded aesthete. That's not it at all. With the collections a few days away, I feel a desire to preface my comments as a spectator and critic. I love great things from Art to Literature to Fashion to the whole mush of Visual /Media Arts, objects, architecture, manners, thought, you name it. But as Fashion is the subject at hand, I look at it with all of those questions and criteria in mind. I'm someone with high hopes. Like Vegas, the house is winning no matter how skilled a player you are or how well you can count cards. Lately, life has felt like the film, "The Hangover". We've all been slipped a Ruffi and come to each day not knowing what happened the night before. We're missing a tooth, feeling a little worked over, and not exactly sure what happened. So I'm hopeful that the Createurs will tap into a vein of gold. I want to sit in a state of blissful wonder. I don't want more banality. We all need to see and feel things that give us a charge. That may sound absurdly unrealistic, even self indulgent. It's only my optimism. I don't take pleasure in clawing collections.I don't require fabulousness, I only hope for a little beauty.