BETSEY JOHNSON atest infatuation? Cyclists. Kitted out in bright spandex and funny headgear…always having the right of way (at least according to themselves)—it should really be no surprise they have tickled the always-energetic, ever-colorful designer's fancy. Le Tour de Betsey carried us sartorially from uptown to downtown, while a runway backdrop showed video footage from the designer's own citywide spin.
Models wore bicycle-chain necklaces, utility belts, and mechanic's jackets emblazoned with the words "Ride Me." Acid-hued bodysuits and striped thigh-highs sashayed out. One girl attempted to ride a skateboard in stripper heels (the kind with extra room for dollar bills); when she tripped, she picked herself up with House of Betsey aplomb. On the Upper East Side end of the cycle trip, museum-hoppers in black and white knits provided polish, while farther south, Fleet Week was celebrated by smartly dressed ladies in natty sailor suits. The crinoline-poufed ball gowns finished with puff paint and glitter that came out last would only look appropriate in one place: Times Square, where the tour took its victory lap.
Despite turning as mean a cartwheel as ever at the night's end, Johnson confessed a hatred for bike riding herself. "It's such hard work!" she said. "It kills my thighs!"