Jet Set Fashion

Many of you have heard Heidi Klum proclaim her guest judge on Project Runway, Michael Kors, to be the "Pioneer of American Jetset fashion". Basically, she is correct: the Kors lines are full of clean cuts, modern and chic, as well as a fabulous selection of basics that are sure to complement even the most intricate ensemble. While much of the fashion community is saavy on what it means to be pret-a-voler, the definition of Jetset fashion is still somewhat open to interpretation. Here are a few scenarios I've selected that I find will give you a clearer picture on this hipper, classier, more sophisticated form of travel:

The roaring of the takeoff roll has just been drowned out by the dry screech of powerful jet engines as the 777 makes its stately progress skyward. The failing twilight filters in through the scuffed plastic ovals of the windows as the mighty aircraft penetrates the clouds and soars into the vermillion heavens. Pascale looks out upon the world below her, playing with the top button of her Lux charcoal mod blazer out of antsiness: she has to pee, and Air France 28 hasn't hit crusing altitude yet. Finally, the cabin lights dim, the seatbelt sign switches off, and Pascale bolts upward. The right vent of her gray tweed trousers brushes the gentleman in 3C as she struts up the aisle to the Business class lavatory, the heels of her black peeptoes thumping against the grey carpeted floor. After a quick squat and makeup check, she is good to go. She settles into her lie-flat seat and logs into the on-board wi-fi to check up on the shows she has missed this week: Etro, Issey Miyake, and Ungaro showed yesterday at Parc des Expositions. Fortunately, she will be in Paris long enough to catch Doo. Ri and Elie Saab, and maybe Zac Posen if she's lucky.

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Urban fingers the neck of his thermal tee as his flight from Geneva comes in for short finals at Charles DeGualle. The morning light catches on his smoke lensed aviator-style sunglasses which suddenly deaden to a stale gray as the tiny Airbus descends through the cloud layer on approach over the suburbs of Roissy. A few minutes later, the plane has parked at a remote stand nearTerminal 2E and Urban alights from the small aircraft onto the tarmac. His white cargo pants flutter slightly in the morning wind, and he adjusts his white belt (selected after thorough deliberation earlier that morning so as to match his white converse low-top sneakers). As he boards the shuttle to the main terminal, he opens his beige retro Continental 747 flight bag to check for his passport and issue of Surface, propping the aviators on top of his head. He catches a glimpse of himself in the tinted window of the shuttle and pauses to preen, as he usually does. The shuttle lurches and eventually comes to a halt at 2E, where he quickly proceeds through the vaulted glass and steel behemoth to the luggage claim. After retrieving his Samsonite Henson pull-along off the claim belt, he returns to the outside world through a pair of sliding glass doors, climbs into a cab, and is whisked off into the city of lights.