Tom Ford's men's store inside the CityCenter Las Vegas resembles an old yet refined New York manor, exceedingly fit for cigar smoking and reading leather-bound books. Dim lighting creates mystery while rich, dark carpets bring harmony to a long sea of charcoal suits, bomber jackets and silk robes. The store ends with a grand finale of sorts; a small room of white marble and golden mirrors could be easily mistaken for a treasure hunter's haven but is simply a shrine to Ford's many intoxicating fragrances. Enveloped in patchouli, musk and lavender, I think I've been transported to heaven and so does my husband who would gladly don a Ford suit a day for the rest of his life.
Just when I thought the dashingly handsome designer, who wears scruff better than Clooney and Pitt combined, couldn't sweep me off my feet any further, he goes and dazzles me (and the world) again. Behold, Tom Ford's spring 2011 women's collection. His 1960's silhouettes and bold use of sequins makes me want to cry and at the same time reminds me why I'm more than OK with deeming myself a slave to fashion.
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