On the Sandy Liang runway, models were styled in taffeta skirts, sheer bodices and buttoned cardigans. One could find square-toed ballet flats that murmur tones of coterie and dance recital, red silk suits that breathe night into day, floral appliques, black stockings, long sleeves, pearls, short skirts and seashells that appear hand-picked from Ariel’s ocean floor. One can see Sofia Coppola's The Virgin Suicides' influence among the thirty-eight looks, especially in the baby pink hues Cecilia Lisbon wore throughout the cult classic. Of all the Lisbon sisters, Cecilia is the most troubled, consumed by the inner workings of her impressionable unsettled mind. On the Sandy Liang runway, there is nothing unsettled. The collection is not naïve but pure and fragile. I find myself repeating certain words and phrases under my breath, an incantation: Simple. Sandy. Ethereal. Sparkly. Feminine. Striking. At once, the pieces are implicitly tender and explicitly strong. They can be worn, layered, loved.