I took all my clothes to the dry cleaners this morning, in anticipation of Apple's new wearable.
Yes, it might be an iWatch. But it might be so much more., perhaps. I wanted to make sure I had the perfect complement of couture ready, just in case.
I had been stimulated, you see, by news today that fashion bloggers and style poserati had been invited to shimmy along Apple's red carpet for the launch event Tuesday.
My mind whirred uncontrollably. First, I considered thethat Apple has built near its campus. Guarded by stern security, this edifice reminded me a little of my days in New York. I lived near Bryant Park, which enjoyed New York Fashion Week's adornment of a vast tent.
So the idea struck me: In that white box will be an Apple catwalk.
Can it really be that Apple will have models wafting along like the heady days of Project Runway? Can it be that there will be more than something merely worn on the wrist? A $10,000 high-tech smart-tiara, perhaps?
The more likely, of course, is that professional models would be used for such a magical revolution. However, what if the more handsome Apple executives were to join in the show? Surely you, too, can see Craig Federighi sporting a special something, right beside Kate Moss, with perhaps the two of them even holding hands?
I have a fear, though, for the techie types who will be going to the event. Generally, they are a poorly dressed bunch. The check shirts, hanging beyond their pants like flags at half-mast, their sneakers parading a little too much filth and a few too many New Balance logos.
Could it be that most of them won't even be allowed into the catwalk area? After all, this launch is about image, style and the new self-consciously connected world.
It's one thing having them applaud pretty little (or big) gadgets. It's quite another to allow them to offer a sadly scruffy background to aspiring Anna Wintours.
Please imagine the wailing of the underdressed and excluded at the walls of the cube, as they begin to realize that Apple is now relegating technology to second place and heading toward the (potentially) even more lucrative bosom of fashion.
I fear fisticuffs.