Style Illustrated : Jolain Bowen, the new girl in class!

Let's face it. The blogosphere is a very crowded corner with everybody and his mother fighting for a shred of space to spill their guts. Too often there's little worth listening to and even less worth looking at. So imagine my surprise when I came upon a fantastic new addition to the fashion blogging world (for lack of a better description) with Style Illustrated. Jolain Bowen is that rare creature who is a world class designer having had her own eponymous collection for several years before working alongside Calvin Klein, Carolyne Roehm, Joseph Abboud and Oscar de La Renta.The evocative illustration she creates to head her stories just begins to give you an idea of her talent. Her eye for the telling detail, gesture and subtlety of nuance is such a pleasure to behold. I, for one, will anxiously await her stories. There's something great to be learned in the art of connecting dots in this confusing game. Below, you'll see the second of her posts with one of my favorite subjects in fashion and social history who has shaped so much of what we see today. Wallis, Duchess of Windsor was one hell of a gal with whom the world never tires. Bravo Jolain!!!

Friday, March 9, 2012

Dark Duchess

Illustration by Jolain

Couture fittings, daily manicures and appointments with Alexandre, her coiffeur for twenty years, filled the Duchess of Windsor’s days. High style was her lifestyle. Though rigid by today’s standard, her aesthetic was apparent in the fall collections, most notably when imbued with a subversive edge hinting at a dark side.

Here’s what I deem Dark Duchess worthy.

Bottega Veneta

Bottega Veneta

Bottega Veneta

Aquilano Rimondi

Aquilano Rimondi

Nina Ricci

Nina Ricci Pre-fall

Nina Ricci Pre-fall

Nina Ricci Pre-fall

Stella McCartney

Valentino

Alberta Ferretti

Chado Ralph Rucci

Carolina Herrera

Above images from Style.com

Michael Volbracht (1989) Acrylic painting
Available now at www.onekingslane.com

Posted by Jolain Bowen at 3:17 PM 1 comments

Chado Ralph Rucci Fall2012: As Stars Fell

William Ackerman is one of those virtuoso Guitarists who creates music that is at once complex and almost heavy with a back story of experience, artistic experimentation and triumphs. Listening to his melodies can be almost an ecstatic experience. The strings, chords, the incidental harmonics all woven with voices like a choir chanting and repeating phrases transports you. In a matter of moments or in the length of a song you're taken away. It's all so personal that no two people go to the same place because that place is most likely your past or a dream of somewhere else. The beauty is in the fact that he provides the vehicle and many portals for you to choose. And what does this have to do with fashion, a season or Ralph Rucci? Depending on you, nothing or everything.

Ralph Rucci's Fall collection has a very similar effect. The work has a very clear and distinct voice of its own. Looking at it on a rack, not even on the runway, though a model was showing looks for a photographer as I walked through, spoke clearly with little need for music accompaniment, lights, an audience of preening somnambulists or explanation. From the first, I was aware of their unique history. It's a bit like walking into a barn and going up to a horse that's just won the World Cup, silenced a stadium as it performed a flawless test at the Olympics and now he's standing there letting you pat his warm elegant head and run your fingers through his mane. The collection's impressive pedigree by any one's standards makes you stop and think. Rucci's almost legendary status as a master couturier, able to manipulate the most precious fabrics, creating embellishment, textures, re-imagining the nature of furs as garments, creating volumes and re-forming things as utilitarian as a sleeve, in essence re-inventing the shape and language of clothing and changing the face of what many of us see as contemporary fashion is something larger than dressmaking. The effect of past ready to wear collections and the couture (hell, it's all couture) he showed in Paris a few years back all have the overwhelming quality of being aesthetically and conceptually beyond the scope of even the very richest of women. Money doesn't make one fabulous, it just gives you a financial edge. Style has a different sort of price point. In the past one needed to step up to the plate to wear these clothes without looking like you were trying. My definition of trying too hard: think Daphne Guinness in just about everything she owns, and you get my drift.

With this collection, Ralph has done something unexpected. Without a conscious effort he has presented a collection of supreme simplicity. He moves from A to Z without so much as a blink of his eye. The volumes are there, the language that he created and whose nuances he's expanded on and added to is all there but now it stands before you as an invitation. Instead of commanding, "look at me" it whispers,"come with me". That's a huge difference. Decoration is less intense, less fraught with a brilliance that was at times over bearing. A sable cardigan is knitted and is as plush inside as out. He found a way to make sable "double-faced" with none of the structure or weight of a fur coat. The sweater has become a fur, stealing the thunder of cashmere and almost apologetically so. He prints on double face cashmere what appears to be the image of ruined fabric like artifacts found from some lost civilization. There's more than a shred of irony in his choice. Fisher, a poor man's sable is used beautifully to create a tiny jacket of ribs held together with strips of leather braiding. That elimination of structure also applies to his "Infanta" gowns near the collection's end. In the past, these dresses which were the showstoppers were wonders of construction with layer upon layer of precious detail, sweeping trains, wildly intricate and as dramatic as a complete opera in one dress. This time, it was like the first few bars of an overture, a magnificent melody laying out a theme, suggesting a story of love, loss and redemption but with only two layers: a column of copper patinated sequins with a gazar scrim of a different shape layered over top. On that scrim was a large Orientalist image that changed the hue and texture of the sequins below like a story told from different voices. And yet, it was as light as a feather requiring a single pair of hands to put on and take off.

Beautiful treatments of alpaca lined in Mongolian lamb, black heavy gaged knit dresses with a single front zip and artful rib placement were the ultimate day to night dresses. Double faced cashmere suits with trousers in wool, cashmere or leathers were smart without being clever. The high luxe pieces were there for those whose lifestyles demand the grand gesture, but there were many more styles that quietly spoke volumes. There is an annoying misconception out on the street where people think that these clothes are for a "mature" customer. That means old lady clothes. Sure, there are some very visible older women out there making their presence known conspicuously dressed in Chado. That is more occupational hazard than a statement of the limitations of the clothes. They(the clothes) also cost a fair amount of money making them accessible to women of means, most of whom tend to skew older. The fact is that they are not old clothes and they look fantastic on a woman in her 20's to 40's and equally great on a woman in her 60's and above. By pigeon holing them as old is unfair and short sighted. The press who consistently short sheets Rucci on the beauty and breadth of his offerings does little to change the minds of the public. Perhaps his resistance to play jester to the court of the press doesn't help his cause. When the New York Times gives him 3 or 4 sentences of a review and the other Ralph 3 whole columns, there is something off balance. Anna Wintour's complete lack of attention and unwillingness to editorialize any of the collection is just beyond the pale. It's not so much conspiracy theory as it is conspiracy fact. Jason Wu or Chado? You choose. All the press about musical chairs at the big houses in Paris. Its a lot of talk to take the focus away from what is.

Fortunately, there is much more to life and success in fashion than a page in Vogue or a pat on the head by the cloven hooves of its principals. Making the client happy, making women look and feel better than they did before you touched their lives and the journey from one's imagination to a place on the world stage can be reward enough. Take a long look at this collection and see if the music in it does more than make you tap your foot. It's a melody I can't get out of my head. As stars fall so does the night sky become illuminated. Just look up and see.

Oscar de la Renta Fall2012: The Escher Effect

In the late 70's when many of us were off to college, some to boarding school and still others just getting into the groove of high school, the age of the poster was at its apex. As I hailed from Groton, Mass. the Harvard Co-op in Cambridge's Harvard Sq. was the place to go for posters. I'm not talking just Led Zeppelin, Farrah Fawcett or Beatles posters, but fine art posters of some of the greatest Old Masters to the Contemporary greats of the time. I was partial to the Abstract Expressionists like Franz Kline, Mark Rothko, Helen Frankenthaler but more than anything, I was a freak for Adolph Gottlieb. I guess I've always been a special case in most things that interest me. Many of my contemporaries at that time were particularly fond of Escher prints. You know the ones of lizards, fish and birds all going to and fro morphing in an out of each other, all positive/negative mind bending images. Honestly, I think the attraction had everything to do with getting high. In those days all of us were stoned 24/7 and anything that enhanced that permanent state of twistedness was, well a necessary accessory.

I'll never forget a night at a friend's parent luxury apartment at Charles River Park that had a sign saying, "If you lived here, you'd be home now". High above the Charles River we had taken over the apartment which was really 3 connected apartments filled with art and beautiful antiques. Judy's parents were competitive ballroom dancers and were in NYC for the weekend and we were getting"primed" there for a Bonnie Raitt concert later that night. It was one of the few times I took acid and my imagination which was very active on its own went through the roof. Looking down at the river from 20 stories up the water lapping at the edge looked like millions and millions of serpents and lizards scurrying into the grass just like an Escher print. I don't particularly like reptiles so I failed to be amused at this hallucination. For that reason and others, Escher didn't really speak to me. But he sure spoke to others. The poster I remember seeing the most were the labyrinthine staircases that at once looked to be ascending and at the same time descending. That's what Oscar de la Renta's collection looks like to me. On the outside it looks like its on the rise, with its sweaty-browed attempt at youthful irony. On second glance, one realizes it is working its way ceaselessly down the ladder of relevance and stylistic importance.

His choices of color for Fall2012, namely palest pink, cream and "Wallis" blue are not in themselves wrong. The reference to Wallis Simpson is a cloying one especially with Madonna's tepid, revisionist story of the grasping, brittle, tough as nails, arriviste, American social climbing, bigoted creature who stars in the new film W.E. The recently published biography "That Woman" by Anne Sebba, cleaves a bit closer to the truth, but I digress yet again. The cotton candy colors are neither here or there, but the motifs, styling and decoration employed all adds up to a question mark. Prints of jumbo-sized brooches on skirts, gowns and jackets look poor. Oscar is an elegant man with very refined tastes. Don't forget he goes home to Annette Reed de la Renta of the Charles Engelhard Court, Metropolitan Museum Trustee, and all around super swell pillar of New York and International society. When you do the math it all adds up to the best, not the least. So what gives with the rat's nest hair, regrettable tiaras, shoes that look uncomfortably like those worn by Minnie Mouse, not to mention the clothes? I love horses so I will refrain from beating this one. Obviously, it needs attention, care and a re-boot. You all can look this over and decide for yourselves.That isn't to say that there weren't a handful of looks that showed his elegant eye. A black paillette cocktail was free of tricks and simply beautiful. Another standout was an unadorned "Wallis" blue faille cocktail dress wrapped and draped at the waist with a signature portrait collar. The same can be said for an embroidered dress and jacket in black that echoed his tenure as designer for Balmain's couture, but they were buried in an endless parade of banal costumes.

I loved this collection for many many years. It was one I'd never miss given an invitation and the opportunity. I cried after one of them, it was so fantastic. Now I just feel empty, even bereft. The most unexpected development that happened almost simultaneously, was the ascent of Carolina Herrera up that same funhouse staircase. For all of her blanks she's fired the last several years, suddenly she presented a collection that should have had Oscar's label in it.....

Ralph Lauren Fall2012: Downton?

What is it about the obvious that everyone finds so appealing? A leaden foot is so much more interesting than a bit of mystery. It's almost as though the whole idea (or notion...I HATE that word, trope is another one...) of a point of departure is nothing unless one spells it all out in really large letters. So what if the spelling is wrong, mis-spell it anyway. And if you're going to beat a dying horse why not club it with a wrecking ball, just in case your aim is as faulty as your spelling.

That is what I came away with after seeing Ralph Lauren's silly show. After so many years of his Gatsby routine you'd think that even he would tire of its predictability. With the this country and the world entranced by the Crawleys of Downton Abbey, Ralph and his team would have to pay homage to a story that I'm sure he claims as his own. After all, anything with a manor house, a horse and an heiress is fertile ground for him to plow. Actually, a tenant from the estate known as Polo Court would do the actual plowing. Ralph, Earl of Lauren would likely be sitting in the morning room looking over the paper's financial pages and planning shooting weekends (that's photo shoots not the bang bang variety). The crystal chandeliers in the great hall would be polished, the fires laid by noiseless upstairs maids, rugs beaten, and Ricky, Countess of Lauren would busy herself with the seating, menus with cook and doing her best to keep track of her delightful issue: Candy, David, Lauren squared, his wife, and Osiris the pet Labradoodle.

In his haste to top the show with his own show, I think he mixed up his metaphors and did Albert Nobbs by accident. Unless I was watching the wrong show I saw about 250 cross dressing girls march down the great hall in everything from "beaters" tweeds to smoking jacketed ladies with ascots to dressing gowned girls getting ready for dinner complete with argyle socks, velvet slippers all sorts of mannish accessories. Once dinner was set these same "ladies" appeared in formal wear, white tie, tails and the like before he realized his mis-step. At the last moment they quick changed into heavily beaded tea dresses and flapper drop waists ready to Charleston their way to the new century. There was one smart little black crepe dress with a bit of fun at the neck that looked like it had been plucked right off the boney shoulders of Wallis, Duchess of Windsor. Another gold bullion embroidered evening jacket over something long and silky was the spitting image of a smart little ensemble Coco Chanel was photographed in. The point I'm making is that it was another show of a bygone era ripe from the make believe world of an everyday grunt from the Bronx. His exceptional success is to be commended but fashion, it's not. It is more "Of A Fashion". The design was period-perfect, the fabrics exquisite, the detail is top notch and the atmosphere is, well, atmospheric. But when the press gushes over it I'm reminded that the Lord of the manor is too often cheered simply because of his wealth, not his ideas.

Musical Chairs

Right on the heels of the announcement of Raf Simons' exit from Jil Sander comes the not too surprising announcement that Jil Sander will return to the company she started so long ago. This all fits a pattern when I think of Uniqlo's announcement that this past fall's +J collection would be her last. The dominoes just keep tumbling and where they scatter nobody knows, or maybe not.

As much as I enjoyed +J, it was a frustrating experience on 2 levels. When collections broke it was a stampede to get in. In a matter of days merchandise for men would sell out and not be restocked. Women fared better with more and greater selection and they kept it coming. The other bummer was the fit. It wasn't ideal if you were an average height with an average body, meaning a bit of muscle and/or flesh depending on the mirror you consult. The other issue was one's ass. As it happens, mine is convex and connected to thighs that are wider than my lower leg. +J designs for the concave ass and the stick leg that loves to be embraced. Needless to say, the pants were not coming home with me. Jackets had unusually high waists and the shoulders and upper arms were always just a bit too snug. I know the fashion is skewed towards a Thom Browne ideal, but I feel stupid in clothes that make me look like I'm wearing womenswear, as much as I love womenswear and not that there's anything wrong with guys wearing it. Still, I'll miss the outerwear and cashmere sweaters I scored. The bottom line is ultimately one gets what one pays for. The cheap end is not without its pitfalls. The same can be said for the high end. The problems there are ones of a more luxurious nature. They're too expensive to be fraught with such absurd flaws like quality of make and fit.

I liked Raf Simons at Sander. It was interesting, fresh, irreverent but with integrity and style. Unlike Marc Jacobs, it always felt like he was invested in advancing the conversation and not tossing out sartorial bon mots in search of the biggest laugh. Smart and clever are worlds apart. The inevitable chatter leads us to the gold caned chair in the gilded salon of Christian Dior. One senses the music is about to stop and there are maybe only one or two players still circling. I'm ambivalent about Simons taking up that baton, but it could be a very interesting development. The travesty that was Jacob's collection for Fall2012 here in NY is proof that his brand of humor would in my estimation fall flat at Dior. Better that he stay put with a house whose most important product is a logo-riddled bag that even he wouldn't be caught dead carrying. (He lugs a jumbo-sized Birkin).

So this passes for news, and I guess it is news, but it feels a little like bad news. Bill Gaytten has done a commendable job under very stressful conditions at Dior. His Pre-Fall a few weeks ago was nothing short of beautiful. The Couture was also better than his previous offerings though it still felt haunted by the ghost of Galliano. It seems that with time he would find his voice, but no one seems interested in listening. Unfortunately,the business of fashion is tone deaf and sightless.

Fall 2012: Who will buy?

For the most part I passed on the spectacle that was MBFW Fall2012 but not completely. My enthusiasm for it was dimmed by the cancellation of, for me, the most anticipated show of all, Chado Ralph Rucci. After last season's collection at Lincoln Center, not to mention the 3 previous collections I'd gone to, I was primed for the experience. Alas, it was not to be and that took the shine off the upcoming week. Nevertheless, I tuned into Style.com and took in much of what paraded by and found it impossible to avoid the reviews in the New York Times. So, without the benefit of the scrimmage before showtime, the posturing of the front row, middle and standing room sections with the attendant swarm of cameras and TV crews aimed at the front row, or the mood of the show by way of music and in some cases incredible sets and staging, I just took in the clothes one look at a time. Considering the number of shows that were staged, that's a ton of clothes. Fatigue set in early but that made the bright spots that much brighter when the banal gave way to the brilliant. So much is printed about the Blogger as being the most sought after guest. I am one blogger that seems to come up with very few invitations. So as much as I'd prefer to see the circus under the big top, I satisfy myself with viewing it from the comfort and safety of home.

Initially, I had the feeling that the party line was waving the same flag: black, red, gold and oxblood sportswear-heavy looks with a lot of hair, or more precisely, fur. I was surprised to see the editors give approving nods to Jason Wu for a collection that was as one-dimensional as it's consistently been for some years now. Wu who embraced his Asian roots with an ode to Tokyo Rose or Shanghai Express, put together a collection heavy on the red, black and gold. Military details and the cheong sam of the 50's, all tight bodied and above the knee felt about as authentically far eastern as a trip to China town. The lines of his shapes are a bit more wavy, giving the clothes a hint of technique. The saccharine cocktail looks that weighed it down in the past were replaced with more sportswear that was just as aimless as the cocktail but that seems to be the thing that makes editors happy. Nothing gets praise more than another tedious line up of soulless separates. But it's the tortured evening looks with as much life as a dress cut from a McCall's pattern that make me question why he is touted as the heir to Oscar de la Renta. But the way Oscar looks these days it's not too far off the mark. They both make Zang Toi look like the elder statesman of the Park Avenue two-step. These clothes are fit for a Real Housewife and little else. I still don't get it.

Prabal Gurung did a nice job this time out with a collection that had some muscle behind it. The look is quirky with sour and sweet mixed to give it that international feel. I get the feeling that the race track is starting to be a bit less crowded with the fastest and flashiest horses breaking away from the pack. Prabal Gurung's collection felt vast with a multitude of ideas that could easily have been a few collections. There was a slickness to it that belied its relative freshness on the scene. The black embroidered chiffon cocktail dress and gown at right were 2 examples of his maturity that impresses me. Some of the looks in the front end of the collection in black with sleek trousers, cashmere cape or jackets look like a seasoned designer's output. As polished as it was, it felt like the product of a stylist operating from a road map. The public who buys it didn't appear to be included in the conversation. More than for the consumer it had a feel of being produced for an editorial or a red carpet moment. Not that there's anything wrong with that. There is a feeling of overarching ambition to define the brand in as little time as possible, as though the clock is off and the idea of time and taking time is a notion for the past. Unfortunate, in my book.

Joseph Altuzzara who is annually pitted against Prabal in some minds was celebrated as having one of the best collections of the season. Having just won the CFDA/Vogue initiative with a cash infusion, he seems to have put it to good use. This season was more valid in my eyes than last fall with his one big idea; the parka with fur trimmed hood just like the one I wore along with thousands of kids in 1973. This time we were taken along a gypsy caravan to Morocco and parts unknown. Where the points are scored is consistently in jackets, a few coats and belts. There were great big stamped, tooled and gypsy coin laden belts that would let anyone know you were coming or going. The shapes and details of a few felted and cashmere peacoats with toggles (gold plated horn!!) were cool and looked well made. The under pinnings like sweaters with paint by number horse heads left me cold. It's become such a "thing" to do the animal thing on clothes that it just looks derivative and unoriginal, not to mention awkward. The jodphurs in wildly printed gypsy/moroccan rug motifs look as buyable/wearable as the low slung tight, cropped cargo pants. Not good on the models so most likely heinous on a real woman with a shape. Still there was a cohesive, complete harmony look to the clothes. Fur is used with little or no thought to correctness or not. One has the feeling that fur is a detail that designers today feel validates them as being players in the high end, luxe stakes. I'm not convinced of that, but hey. There you have it.