Before ending the call, we had to ask Agyness if she still wears her Dr Martens. “I still prefer to wear menswear, although with feminine pieces like gold ballet slippers and a Jil Sander bag,” she says. “But, yes, I’ll always go back to my Docs… It’s ingrained in me to do so, and I can wear the same pairs I did when I was a teenager: one in black, the other in cherry.” All products featured on Vogue are independently selected by our editors. However, we may earn affiliate revenue on this article and commission when you buy something. Gigi Hadid has had a quiet fashion month. The supermodel graced only three high-octane runways this season: Versace, Chanel, and Miu Miu. While we’ve been missing Hadid’s strut from the catwalk, we’ve also been deprived of her street style. But today, she gave us a model-off-duty look for the ages. Hadid arrived at Hôtel Le Royal Monceau-Raffles Paris in an outfit that expertly melded the masculine and feminine. The Guest in Residence founder wore a cropped white ribbed tank top and a black pleated maxi skirt with a knee-high slit. She wore a pair of sweet black leather ballet flats from Mansur Gavriel—complete with a bow on the vamp.
But she also added a tough edge to her look thanks to her accessories. The model wore an oversized brown leather bomber, which she left unzipped to show off her crop top and added a pair of gold-rimmed oval sunglasses. For a final, boyish flourish, Hadid wore a New York Yankees baseball cap. The neutral, pared-down outfit read like a chic update on a ’90s sitcom look. Between her feminine look and masculine styling, Hadid looked like the sartorial lovechild of Rachel Green and George Costanza. In one way, it feels fitting that Tess McMillan, a model so often exalted for her Pre-Raphaelite beauty, should also be a talented artist: The shock of that red hair against her skin is downright painterly. Yet McMillan’s canvases—on view this month in her first-ever solo exhibition, “Find Me Where You Left Me,” at Laurence Esnol’s gallery in Paris—stray from any obvious art-historical references. Her figures—variously crouched in strange rooms, sprawled in burning fields, and stranded in the snow or surf—appear alone, their expressions colored by a vague distress. And speaking of color, McMillan’s handling of it is striking, almost fauvist: Faces are tinged with greens and blues and oranges; bodies glow an otherworldly blue.
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