All photos courtesy of Taylore Scarabelli. Bag by Loewe.
This holiday season, Loewe is releasing a creature-heavy collab with the Kyoto-based ceramic studio Suna Fujita. To get a closer look at the playful capsule collection, we asked our senior editor Taylore Scarabelli to check out a few of the brand’s signature styles, and take their whimsical whale bag out for a swim.
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FRIDAY NOVEMBER 8, 2024 3:00 PM
A courier drops off a big paper bag. The whale has arrived. It’s smaller than the cat and my husband seems a little disappointed. “This is a fashion whale,” I insist. Sample size.
7:13 PM
We’re in a cab to a friend’s house. The little TV on the back of the seat is blasting a newsreel about the Bedstuy Aquarium. Officials keep tearing down the resident-erected pond and locals keep setting it back up. My whale nods in allegiance.
10:00 PM
Chef Danny Bowien says the branzino is a must-have at the new Mission Chinese pop-up, but we opt for lamb instead. I manage to slurp up some soup dumplings without splashing my three-finned friend.
11:30 PM
I’m in the back room at TJ Burns with some people who are tripping on shrooms. One asks to pet my whale but instead squeezes her fist around the base of its tail. I take the bag back and rest it on the littered table. “It’s like a commentary on the ocean,” someone chirps. A fabulous fish fighting for survival amongst the trash.
SATURDAY NOVEMBER 9, 2024 5:05 PM
I’m skimming a Long Reads-recommended article about the fragile fin whale population in western Canada. Tankers are set to carve up their feeding zone like the blasted students who bulldoze through the Lower East Side each weekend. Perhaps my deep sea sidekick is also at risk. We have another night out ahead of us.
9:58 PM
I’m laying on the floor of a Tribeca loft. The whale is laying on top of me. A funny man in glasses is reading poetry with his mouth and his guitar. He’s talking about women and cigarettes and cars while making engine-revving noises with his instrument. My whale suddenly seems extra small.
10:45 PM
We walk over to the Lomex after party at New York Vybes. The bouncer opens up a blow hole, fingering through my lipstick and cards and lighters. He doesn’t say anything about the Loewe whale. I’m gutted.
11:30 PM
On the dance floor my fish becomes a phenomenon. A friend thrusts it above his head, as if it were a cracker he is about to consume. I dance with the whale close to my chest. It’s our last night together.
12:00 AM
Outside, I decide to go back in for one more drink—my friend has tequila hidden under a table. At the door, the bouncer remembers me. “The whale,” he says and I grin. I finally got the tail I needed.
