Cosmic Cement

I haven't updated in an unforgivable amount of time. Please forgive me and blame it on the visual overload from the past six months. And a really slow macbook...

Moving forward I have a lot of really exciting things to share--new designers, amazing images, and lots of behind-the-scenes for a movie I'm working on in August. I'm going to try to find some way to facilitate uploading images to the blog. And of course make up for the last few months.

First though, look at these pieces by NOGA WINOKUR. She is a jewelry designer based out of Tel Aviv and the loveliest person i've ever encountered. She finds crushed cement pieces around her neighborhood and weaves these outrageously intricate pieces--both delicate and crazy hardcore, her work just blows me away. I didn't get a shot of it but the necklace is actually grounded by a metal car parts. The earrings are mounds of cement with mirrored porcelain. And just wait til i get a shot of the bracelet with shards of glass...

Miuccia Advice

"I'm tired of being so sweet," declared Miuccia Prada. "We women should go back to strength—and the sober side. Stop trying to appeal to everyone, and go out into the world."
[Fall 2006 Collection]
My favorite pair of shoes--towering and comfortable--a gift from the gorgeous and lovely Kalina, is from this collection. I look back on this season now, with a newfound reverence--no gimmicks, no elaborate references, just beautiful elements of a wardrobe. A woman who takes herself seriously, unwaveringly, is the most powerful thing--and something others love to trample on. Stop pleasing others. Beautiful parkas, knits, furs, and pencil flannel trousers help!

Kalina went out into the world, or rather, she left New York City for another part of the world. She doesn't realize that this was very brave and inspiring to me. This post is a highly-tangential-inter-continental vote of confidence that Kalina is going to come out on top. And a lot of the trick to growing up is that you can't sweet-talk your way there--that it's hard and isolating and a hotbed for self-doubt. I'm about to head to Los Angeles, and whether it works out or doesn't, it's important to remember to be your own thing and know it. Such a moody wardrobe for L.A. huh? Well I have to represent New York, in all of it's layering, blackgreytanbrownbeigenudeputtyeggshell glory.

Magic Eye

I'm of the belief that there's two camps of high design in fashion.* One's reductionistic--the stripping of all froth and excess down to the elements: wearable, effortless, beautiful, impeccable construction. Just think- Yves Saint Laurent, Raf Simmons, Yohji Yamamoto, Martin Margiela--and of course their offshoots (the perfect tee shirt crew). They strip style down to its most basic, beautiful, and exalted function: living.

Then there's the other approach, what I've read described as "Arch Style."** The mad geniuses like Alexander McQueen, John Galliano, Rei Kawakubo, Philip Treacy, Thierry Mugler, the couturiers. Fashion is to be pushed, molded, obliterated, and reconceived. Style is not for living (or necessarily wearing), it's about life.

Of course, designers can weave in and out of both camps, and the usual, if not always fulfilled expectation is that they can do both. The emphasis of late, since the recession, has been on the former camp. But i have to say that despite my personal preference for the simple, Alexander McQueen's collection was the apex of Paris, so beautiful, inventive, and forward thinking was it. The kaleidoscopic reptillian prints, the shoes that looked, in Cathy Horyn's words, like "the hulls of ships," and the narrative of evolution: the interplay between nature and technology.






















These are images from Style.com but do yourself a favor and go to the NYTimes gallery, where you can focus in. Simply mindblowing.

* By all means, if you disagree with how i've divided the above, or have other names to throw in the mix, please please do!

**Articulated by photographer Tom Hines in a Dossier article

Greyscale

He's in a band, and under a bridge.

For Tavi

I want a pony

Never did a pair of shoes find me so aggressively. The tips are steel, the hair pony.



Found at this great shop in Philly, i'll post the name when i can remember it.

Netherland on 23rd Street

I have serious style envy like the next person who works at a magazine i.e. Emmanuelle, Vannessa Traina, Chloe Sevigny. I devour pictures and style.com slideshows and tack inspirational clippings above my desk and aim to create beautiful images. This is all well and good, but not quite central to my idea of a whole life spent in this field. Actually there are very few people in my industry whom i look up to or correllate with any serious personal ideas of success. Or that I really relate to. Everyone in fashion feels they have to embody and inhabit what they do**, and i've never wrapped my mind around that. That is, except for Sally Singer, over at Vogue.



I've probably read every interview with her--the woman has a serious academic background. And her husband? Joseph O'Neill, author of one of my favorite books, Netherland, a very thoughtful and restrained depiction of post 9-11 New York City. And also, a very thoughtful and restrained depiction of a failing marriage, so clearly, i feel like i know Ms. Singer very well (since i'm sure some of the character traits are based on reality).



And then there's her awesome home in the Chelsea Hotel, as photographed here by The Selby. A last remnant of a bomehemian ideal that doesn't really exist anymore.



I think she's a really great example of someone in fashion who clearly loves it, outrageously respects it, and has found a way to construct her life with it but not by it. Note that her shoes are amazing.



If you ever see me, ask me about her kids....

**This is especially salient if you've seen the 60 Minutes special on Anna Wintour and the Vogue offices that aired last week (watch it here). Or if you've happen to see an advanced copy of the September Issue. It's completely mind-numbing how removed from reality that enterprise is----and how cultivated image is completely, unironically supreme.

Like a Tree

Breathing through it's spectacles?

Nina Ricci's never-produced monstrosities. Like a dripping Dali clock.

Obamaesthete

Is it wrong if my first response was actually "hubba hubba"--and i have no idea what unearthed this deeply lost phrase from the depths of my mind. But good lord....why all men should take styling notes from the President.

Also, I went to the Times talk about Michelle Obama with Thakoon, Maria Cornejo, and Narciso Rodriguez yesterday--moderated by Cathy Horyn. Here was my write up for Allure

I guess what was most interesting, besides what I wrote in the above link, is that all the fuss surrounding her choices, I feel, in fashion circles, has very little to do with the garments themselves--which for the most part are perfectly lovely, usually interesting, and mostly flattering--but rather the fact of the choices. Or rather, the choice in opposition to the expectations. It sends all sorts of subliminal messages that really enforce the ethos and branding of the administration: youth, awareness, ingenuity, change. These smaller designers, like Maria, whom i completely love and actually do support with my $, are the recipients of a certain prestige simply by the fact that 1. Michelle chose them out of obscurity and 2. chose them over the norm. She'd make a great magazine editor with this power...she understands (and is a part of an administration that understands) that the tiniest choices of style and presentation can actually transmit tacit, yet very strong messages. But it is delicate and one day J.Crew can be applauded as the "every woman" and the next day, it can seem patronizing....

Also, Maria Cornejo is pretty much the most beautiful, sophisticated woman i've seen in a long time, and her mannerisms are so effortlessly classy and gracious. It only reaffirms the girl crush: I love her silhouettes, loved her show, love her team (wonderful people), love her husband (photographer Mark Borthwick), and think her son is the cutest thing in existence. And she was wearing these amazing sandals, which i first thought was Margiela but then realized they're from her own line.

Photo from The Moment, NYTimes, pulled from the White House's Flickr account. Because, you know, the White House has a Flickr account....

Like a Friend

Reminded by one of Luxirare's posts how much i adore and am mystified by Camille Bidault-Waddington, insofar as an amazing stylist, influencer, muse of Lagerfeld and Olivier alike, and [FORMER] ladyfriend of the great Jarvis Cocker. Oh, Jarvis Cocker.

This Lula spread caught my eye because the aesthetic is less vampy and hardcore than the Purple Diary makes her out to be. Olivia--good idea with the mask, you have one on your wall just like it. Let's use it.Could you just die? The most enigmatic couple ever [was]. So jolie-laide, so languid, so sexed-up. She has such an illustrated face--as if it were drawn and then turned to life. Also, something about her reminds me of Angelica Huston.
Lula spread from Scout Holiday, 2nd photo from NYTimes

**Breaking: Apparently, the news came out today (same day) that they are no longer together, which is strange that I just posted on it and makes me believe in beta waves.

Frankie Says Relax

I know. For shame--I had a groove going, writing on the regular, and then I leave the city for four consecutive weekends and... I'm afraid this post will be all disjointed.

I just got back from 8 days on the island of Vieques: with a tan, a bit of a sinus infection (kicking the habit!), and a jellyfish sting to show for it. In my real life, I take astoundingly little time to slow down--if i have an hour free in the city, I fill it. Have we met? I'm the one on the subway tapping away at my phone furiously sending emails waiting to be sent. So it was oddly unsettling to be so relaxed and far from things for so long (but don't worry, we still had 3G service). It was also completely delectable not teetering on heels for a week or bothering to wash the sea water from my hair (um, the whole week). I can't help but think of that great quote from Mel Brooks' great Space Balls--"Princess, take ONLY what you need to survive" and she takes the four LV suitcases and the industrial hairdryer (druish princesses--my dad uses that joke with me entirely too often). Well, apparently what I needed to survive eight days (with my family!) on a tiny Caribbean island (wild horses! bioluminescent algae! roosters!) was an assortment of floral rompers (from my Baltimore thrift pillaging sessions), my Panama (from Argentina, hah) and one faded denim shirt with a black stallion patch on the pack. Needless to say, I was in early 90's (or Chloe Sevs for OC) heaven, while my mother raised her eyebrow at what really were some fugtastically bad looks.

Also, my brother was highly ashamed that against my better judgment I watched Twilight on the plane. I don't really want to discuss this, yet feel compulsive about admitting it.

To compensate for this, I immersed myself in some decidedly un-fashion reading: Frank O'Hara's anthology (worth its weight in gold even when you have to pay per pound on Cape Air). Ah, how does one even begin to talk about Frankie, brilliance upon brilliance, wit upon rythym, and the devastating kickers. Also, I finally cracked open Susan Sontag's Colected Essays which continue to blow my mind, and you should take the time to revisit her Notes on Camp.

With O'Hara and Sontag, all i could think was how relevant--their pursuit of taste, O'Hara in the 50's, Sontag in the 60's. Their words resound with the type of sensibilities I appreciate (or judge...or create) aesthetics by. It's all intertwined: fashion and social interactions and romance and revulsion and pleasure and beauty. Sontag writes of any aesthetic work, "in almost every case, our manner of appearing is our manner of being. The mask is the face." There's also that delicate balance of finesse and accomplishment and inauthenticity by way of force. "The greatest art seems secreted, not constructed." (Both quotes from On Style)

Her Notes on Camp is particularly relevant to the hipster phenomenon of sharply honed irony and meta-awareness and the obviousness of it all (see exhibit A), yet i find myself swimming in the midst of this quote: "To name a sensibility, to draw its contours and to recount its history, requires a deep sympathy modified by revulsion." Andre, are you feeling me?

I also dented distinguished art critic Peter Schjeldahl's Let's See (New Yorker writing compilation) at the behest of the wonderful Olivia. Each column is better than the next, and the man writes so well he clearly conveys the nearly unintelligible. Find his reviews of John Currin, Nan Goldin, Alexander Calder, Picasso and Matisse, and more, here! I'll pepper this post with more quotes from him later.

So the bottom line is that I feel all kinds of refreshed and invigorated, and when thinking about upcoming projects, just want to immerse myself in such smart challenging sources from obscenely intelligent people-- far away from all the same old shit magazines, street style blogs, and Balmain jackets (though they really are delirious on, $11,000 worth of love). And you should read all these books and please try and forget that I mentioned that thing about Twilight. And if you can't forget, read this amazing article published in the Atlantic Monthly about why its worth seeing.

Photo Credit, artist Shira Toren aka my mom

Even Children Get Older...

This is my brilliant cousin Lior at the Seder last night. I'm not going to even tell you how old she is (lets just say she rivals ms. tavi). But i'm ready to hand over my style laurels to her.

Fruits of my Labor

"It's like a rap video every time I see you, but instead of pouring Dom and Hypnotiq on me, I'm covered in Nars and Armani everytime you leave."
-Olivia, artist

These Three Things

"Every jacket I make has interior pockets big enough to store a book and a sandwich and a passport."
-Rick Owens, Rules of Style

Sometimes designers surprise you with surprisingly deep thought and integrated design.

And sometimes they don't:

"This outfit takes me to the gym, to work in the studio, and then to dinner with a mink coat over it," on his uniform of black sweatpants worn with black baggy shorts over them--and lean muscle mass. --Rick Owens, Vice

Louise Nevelson sculpture above, which Owens cites as his inspiration for layering basic blacks.

Check Out: Haider Ackermann

I have this gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous friend Jeanne, who as much as it begrudges me to admit, is always one step ahead of me, as far as taste is concerned. It doesn't hurt that she's Parisian, and a fashion student (at Parsons no less), but still.

Anyways, yesterday we were talking about the amazing shows from this Paris season, and she counted down her top choices, to my blank stare of unrecognition, and she pulled a "you mean you don't knowwww Haider Ackermann." No, i didn't. But you can bet i do now. Brilliant.

Love the jackets, again with asymmetrical collars. Love the tassels, so rich. The embroidery seemingly growing up the sleeves and shoulders (!) and the refined sense of color, deep and saturated but not blaring.




Thanks Jeanne. Because even though i'm one step behind you, i'm probably still x number of steps ahead of everyone else. And i'm okay with that.

Let it be, CdG

So here's the thing: It's perfectly okay if you don't get it or don't understand it or don't even like it. Just look at it, and let it lounge in the back of your mind. It's so rare to see things, especially in fashion, that are inconceivable. And Rei Kawakubo at Comme des Garcons is the master at serving up just that.

If you just let it sit in your imagination for a bit, you may find yourself a month or two down the line staring at a multi-leveled jacket, gauzy leggings, or, you know, a rug, and register the influence of why these items are new and fresh and appealing! Ah, Comme des Garcons. To like/understand/appreciate the line is like receiving a virtual high five from the master scribe herself, Ms. Cathy Horyn.

Color

This past weekend I went to my neighborhood laundromat and dropped off two shopping bags-full of dry cleaning. One of the particular joys of living in Harlem is that two shopping bag-fulls of dry cleaning amounts to $19. The drawback is having to have a full conversation in Spanish each and every time about the many god-children of Dona Francesca (not really that terrible, just time consuming) and often submitting myself to sartorial criticism. This ??? This can't be your size, its way too big. This??? This is a man's blazer. You wear things muy raro...

This saturday I received a full-on scolding though. Por que no te llevan colores?? She took me through my bags--blanco, blanco, gris, negro, negro--so deprimante! (depressing). Its true, I have items with color to liven up the rest, jackets, mostly, or say, a yellow cardigan, but i'm usually happiest with black, white, grey (my favorite), and nude-beige. It's almost as if color has lost its edge; its chicness. Editorially, in my industry, in New York, whatever.

Until now. Dries Van Noten, Wow.

Dries uses pastel colors that look more Eggleston than Miami Vice, rich, beautiful, sunny and greyed at the same time. Nothing contrived. Color with dimension instead of a flat pop. Couple that with splices--like origami folding papers--of DVN's signature patterns, and with every progressing slide, I am falling deeply in love.

A fait accompli of giving me something I wasn't looking for and didn't even know I wanted.







I'm not a full on convert yet though, these are still my favorite looks from his collection: