Monse (back) to Oscar de la Renta...where they belong.

Laura Kim and Fernando Garcia

 Enough with the bullshit. Ok, I've said it. Yeah, but what bullshit you ask? The story that just ran in the NYTimes about Laura Kim and her sidekick and ex-fiance Fernando Garcia returning in triumph to the waiting arms of Alex Bolen, tough-love Dad, son-in-law and acting toll collector at Oscar de la Renta. After a gloriously banal performance at Carolina Herrera, having taken the wheel for a season and a half, they are returning to the fold that spawned them. Like Zika, they hatched, flew around the immediate neighborhood infecting any and all in their paths, and now are returning to that puddle of standing water from whence they came. When Oscar lived it was a crystal clear pool but now... Why the harsh words? Because this is precisely the diseased behavior and magical thinking that has undermined the business of fashion.

Carolina Herrera

The piece written by Matthew Schneier is a regulation 'birth notice' of sorts, more press release than story touching on the few things that can't be disputed: They worked at Oscar for several years, Laura Kim became the creative director and Fernando chased celebs, Oscar became ill, Laura and Fernando auditioned for the permanent post of creative director and celeb chaser but were passed over for Peter Copping, Oscar's hand-picked successor, Laura and her celeb chasing fiance start their own 'brand' and jump ship to consult at Carolina Herrera, usurping Herve' Pierre, the creative director at CH for the past 14 years and one of the greatest working designers on either shore. The Kim/Garcia fit at Carolina must have been poor as they produced a forgettable couple of collections. The culture at Herrera is old school in the best possible way. A devoted staff directed by a very professional seasoned team led by Herve Pierre ran that ship without incident. The collections were ready on schedule and were eagerly awaited by stores and clients. Carolina Herrera is that rare company that worked civilized hours leading up to the show. Late nights and weekends were alien to their process. Imagine a company that could actually be ready for their presentation with samples made, fitted and styled on the models with time to spare. Images below illustrate the beauty and modernity that was CH under the capable hands of Herve Pierre and his team. The sophistication and chic of the collection is a stark contrast to the Resort 2017 collection by Kim and Garcia. The Resort 2017 collection, their first at the house, debuted weeks later than CH's customary timing, with a look both derivative and strangely flat and received with little  fanfare.

Herve Pierre's CH Spring 2016

Herve Pierre's CH Spring 2016

Herve Pierre's CH Spring 2016

Herve Pierre's CH Spring 2016

With Laura and Fernando the ship went aground almost immediately. As is customary with new hires some of the old regime has to go. Executives, design assistants and boutique staff were dismissed or left because of low morale and an environment of uncertainty. Digging around in the press I searched for the message, the grand design they had for CH. I didn't find one. It seems that Monse (Mon-say) is their priority and these 'jobs' are a means to finance their fledgling brand. CH was clearly a means to an (early) end. They got their paychecks and CH got, well she got what she got. And now Oscar de la Renta will assist with the grunt work of Monse in order to have the benefit of their vision and leadership. Think Galliano, think Raf Simons, think LVMH. Think again.

Kim and Garcia's CH Resort 2017

Monse Spring 2016

 The reviews for Monse were fawning, overblown and judging from the collection, overstated. The reviews they received for their CH Resort 2017 were luke warm in comparison. A few celebs wearing the clothes on the red carpet is nice but ultimately doesn't mean much. Freebies have always been a hit in Hollywood. Selling clothes in stores used to be the metric for success. Now you just need buzz and the press will anoint you. The story implies that they returned to Oscar having succeeded at CH. On the contrary. They were asked to leave CH before returning to Oscar. This was many things but it was not a victory lap.
It's fitting that they have returned to the house that Oscar built.  At least their culture is in sync with that of Alex Bolen, whose reputation preceeds him, and the shell that remains of that once powerful company. Peter Copping wasn't so bad. He benignly maintained the status quo and that's all that Oscar really is good for at this point. It's not about news and it's not new and hasn't been for several years. It's telling that Oscar did not choose them to take the helm. He must have had his reasons. Judging from their work so far, I'd say he knew what he was doing. Oscar's words of encouragement Kim shares in the piece sound more like encouragement than a benediction. SPIN is everything.

SJParker's collaboration with Kim and Garcia for Met Gala

I'm kind of curious to see what sort of clothes they'll offer up. Whether it speaks to the clients or not, the press is sure to love it. The depressing thought that I can't shake is the real loser in all of this: the client. Herve Pierre gave her what she needed and what she didn't even know she wanted. Now there's nothing for her but a lot of buzz and nothing to wear. Sounds kind of familiar, no? Something about new clothes for the Emperor or was it Empress.

Galliano and de la Renta Marriage cancelled!

a birdy told me...

What passes for news? It shows you just how far we've come when almost 2 years ago, the universal smack down of John Galliano from his Olympus perch was the passing of gas heard and smelled round the world. Remember how stricken the good people of Vogue, Harper's, International Conde Nast, and every other rag worth its weight in ads. The lines were so clearly drawn over this "problem" that you'd think the earth had cracked open with the beliebers on one side and the who gives a shits on the other, which would include all of the offended faith based shoppers and the shoppers who couldn't afford the high cost of faith or his clothes. The shock of his precipitous fall, the court appearances, the suave hats and soberly colored suits, the downcast gaze, the drooping mini-stache, his look of befuddlement, the constant airplay/YouTube play of the rants in question at La Perle, the offended patrons who baited him, laughed and kept their phone's video app rolling, the loss of his job at Dior, the loss of stewardship of his eponymous collection, the search for a suitably glamorous Centre de Rehab, the rallying of his friends using their pull at the same said Centre de Rehab where they've all taken the waters, as it were, all of that.... Remember? Barely.

No to the nuptials...

My Mom is the ultimate disseminator of news. If it's not on CNN, then sorry, it ain't news. Mommie doesn't let a moment pass on any given day that CNN is in her direct sight lines or loudly playing in the background. I asked if she'd heard about Oscar and Galliano's negotiations to take the wheel of La Finca de la Renta. "No, Baby", she said. "There's that terrible funeral for the firemen in Boston, the plane to nowhere is still, well, nowhere to be found and I heard from Aunt Willie. Her pneumonia is much better." End of news flash. It wasn't til I was at the gym, pumping iron, kicking ass and watching Maury Povich on the monitors with some Baby Daddy and his accusing ex he'd never to that moment met, let alone, lay with, in the biblical sense (straight out of Johnny Weir's lips re. his divorce proceedings against his Russian husband, make up sex was NOT happening after a fist fight. Some people just don't know when to kiss and lay) that my trainer JOE LAZO of LAZO FITNESS and a budding reality star of a pilot in the works for Bravo, "Fit and Frisky", that Galliano's demands for a studio of the quality he's used to employing was just too, trou, cher, (means expensive). I had to get the news from my fitness Guru who also happens to be my life coach and personal savior. I've learned more about women from him than in the 30 years I designed clothes for them, but that is another story, too long, too steamy and too damn fascinating to take the time here. He'd read it in WWD and though it was a Thursday, NYTimes Style section day, not a word was printed, not even on their blog. ZILCH. None of the important newspapers bothered to mention it at all.

I ran to the showers where Paul Wilmot, the uber-P.R. guy through the ages and yes, a member of my gym, was showering after his grueling routine. I whipped back the curtain just as the soap fell to the floor and asked him what the skinny was. He didn't answer, just kept reaching  for the soap. Dismayed, I ran from the gym, no towel, no clothes, NO HAIR and made a bee-line for 7th Ave to get to the bottom of the story. The cops grabbed me. They were unmoved by my plight and also unable to shed any light of the issue. With hand-cuffs and leg chains and a tranquilizer dart still dangling from my haunch, I wasn't moving either.

Joe Lazo/Lazo Fitness/my trainer and Guru

 Eventually I was released thanks to Cathy Horyn and Eric Wilson who vouched for me. As both are no longer at the Times they were as clueless as yours truly. Suzy Menkes was gonna come too but was still tied up at Conde Nasty hammering out her new deal with Madame le Ambassadresse de Wintour. But that's ok, Suzy never would have made it through security with that hairy nob on her head. It wasn't til I got home and turned on my computer that I dug it up under layers and layers of the 3rd rate news feeds online. Crap like London's Telegraph, Daily Beast, Daily News, The Cut and Fashionista, the blog that banned me and my comments in my infancy. What an afterthought it all was. The de la Renta's and their brilliant stewards, the hapless son-in-law and his spoiled, unpleasant wife whose mom is Mommy de la Renta. Between the two they could barely tie a bow or tell a sequin from a paillette. With so much money (maybe there isn't as much as there was) you'd think they'd do all they could to land such a big fish, guaranteeing buzz, the retreading of their listing brand and even make some great clothes in the process. well, um, no. Not happening. Hence, not newsy.

So back to ambulance chasing, searching for the next fashion star, continuing the search for missing fashion stars and waiting for the next episode of Game of Thrones. Now that's news.

ALT's Latest Labor of Luxe: Numero Magazine

As the new International Editor-at-Large at Numero magazine, Andre Leon Talley has shed his Vogue skin of the last 30 years and taken the helm of a new and very interesting magazine for Russia. Upon first hearing of his departure and the ascension of Hamish Bowles, the arch new lady in waiting to Anna Wintour, I was puzzled and not the tiniest bit skeptical. Why leave such an august world, one that has entre' into the highest echelons of fashion, culture, art and that rarest of worlds, the beau monde? Then I realized that ALT is a card carrying member of that rarest of worlds and has been long before Vogue came knocking. Shifting from Editor-at-large to Contributing editor and the phasing out of "Life with Andre"one of the more amusing and informative columns of the magazine all felt like a jolt to the status quo. Why would he take such a drastic turn and leave a position that one would think was not only lucrative but also powerful in a business where walking tall (he's VERY tall) and carrying a big stick is the ultimate dream? It wasn't until I spied Numero magazine volume 001 with Naomi Campbell towering on the cover like an otherworldly Amazon looking down at the world and all of us who worship at the alter of la mode.

Opening to the very first page with the requisite ad and the following 4 with more ads I was struck by the beauty and variety of images by the advertisers. There was something strangely different. It was not so much an act of looking at the pages but actually seeing them. This curious pull to the eye and the senses continued with stories on architecture (interesting homes/structures not drowning in pedigree and provenance with a smug society doyenne leaning against a wall of ancient hand-screened walls a la Japonaise), art, artists, interviews with a slew of designers from Hedi Slimane to Gareth Pugh and Ulyanna Sergeenko the latest couturier to emerge from Russia. Now the fly in the ointment to a large degree is the fact that the issue is 9/10 written in Russian. Fortunately many of the interviews and profiles appear at the back of the book in English translation. Still, there is something powerful about one's limited ability to read text. One is instead forced to take the measure of the magazine purely on its aesthetic merits and they are many.

ALT is clearly in charge. It shows from the very first to the last page. I asked him how much of the editorial pages, the covers, the stories and sittings was he involved in and he said, simply "All of it". It brought to mind the days several years back when he would descend upon the house of Oscar de la Renta just days before the collection and style the complete show, add (copiously) looks and edit (at times drastically) the clothes to make a cohesive and exciting presentation. Those were the last days that Oscar de la Renta commanded the runway and press. Andre's unerring eye makes the stories fresh and surprisingly accessible. Each issue has several pages of shoes, jewelry and accessories shot alone in collage form showing only the item against a blank ground. Those images make you want to shop.

Speaking of shopping, which used to be the function of fashion magazines, the editorial pages are a feast of color, graphically dynamic mixes of looks and atmosphere that is at once foreign yet seductive. To say that the book has a friendliness to it would be an over simplification. It's effect is more like a visual seduction and stimulation of the senses. When was the last time you had that experience looking at a fashion magazine? There's warmth and an invitation to enter Andre's world. All 6 issues thus far cleave to the same formula, with each better than the last. He and his team of editors and photographers are more assured with each issue.

Andre' Leon Talley, with his various projects (ANTM judge, lecturer, writer, curator, university trustee) shows through Numero magazine that the world of Conde' Nast is perhaps too small a platform. This is a man in his prime with a lifetime of the most extraordinary experiences putting them all to use. Underneath those majestic robes and hyperbole is a man on a mission. The world isn't large enough for his contributions but that isn't stopping him for a second. Numero magazine is one more grander stage for him to share his unique gifts with the rest of the world.

Louis Vuitton Spring2014: Marc Jacobs' Swan Song

It's with mixed feelings that I view Marc's departure from Louis Vuitton. The collection shown a couple of days ago strikes me more as an homage to his tenure there, the incredible shows he staged, the creation of a luxury clothing business where there was none before his arrival, the buzz he created in a city of staid fashion houses no matter their appearance to the outside world and the incredible success that Louis Vuitton and the LVMH Group enjoyed from his labors. 

I was never a big fan of the work as it struck me as uneven, sensational, too often mired in its own self-consciousness. Still there were moments, recently, where the work resonated with wit even brilliance. The sets and production values too often over shadowed the clothes but that was ok when the clothes benefited from that overshadowing. The fact that some of his most memorable sets were present for this final defile' helped to underscore just how incredible a mark he made.

This last collection is hard to judge as it feels more like a statement than something for the selling floor. Sure there were beautiful dresses in the beginning with beaded lace inserts. The chiffon tops sparingly scattered with jet crystals artfully covering breasts and baring all else over jeans with fantastical headdresses by Stephen Jones were dramatic but more costumes than clothing. The jackets with a profusion of embroideries will certainly become collector's items and treasured forever. The total blackout of the sets, the clothes and the environment was hauntingly beautiful and in some ways more dramatic than the productions of the recent past. They added a gravity to the proceedings that was a class act from start to finish.

It can't be denied that Marc Jacobs succeeded as an American in Paris more profoundly and for much longer than any who came before. If you remember Michael Kors at Celine and Oscar de la Renta at Balmain, neither of them lasted for more than a few years each. Their presence there was exciting and successful but didn't extend long enough to leave a footprint. Perhaps, that is due to the fact that they were burdened with existing collections loaded with baggage that at the end of the day were too cumbersome to overcome. Marc's unique advantage was that there was no collection other than hand bags and luggage leaving him free rein to create the fashion from scratch. 

The most success of his 16 years were the revitalization of the handbags which have become ubiquitous the world over. There isn't one subway car in NYC that isn't stocked with at least 10 versions on any given day. So too are the streets of NYC, Paris, Milan, China and Japan, not to mention Peoria, Kansas City, Jersey City, Tulsa and beyond that are jammed with Louis Vuitton bags of every shape and size. That's the true success story. I've rarely seen the clothes on the street, only in magazines. Nevertheless, his footprint is large and his international name recognition and stature is the stuff of a fashion fairytale.

I'm reminded of a Marc Jacobs show many years back where he bowed/knelt before Anna Wintour at the end of the runway asking, "Did I do alright?" Her benediction and act of almost knighthood surely helped pave the way. That fawning obsequiousness had a lot to do with his trajectory certainly. His adoption by Anna along with that of Proenza Schouler, among others, has been the guarantee of a future both bright and lucrative. That doesn't cancel his obvious hard work and singular focus despite the schizophrenia of the work from season to season. Some say he captured the zeitgeist and wrestled it into big bucks and big trends. A mind reader and a great designer are not necessarily the same thing. His gifts in my eyes were more as an idiot savant with a styling wand. Only last fall with his Marc Jacobs and Louis Vuitton collections with all their graphic bombast and beauty did I start to warm to his design vision. Hopefully, this move back to NY to focus on his own eponymous collections will bring more of the magic he's shown of late.

Marc Jacobs, like a good musician, has taken us to the bridge again and again, now it's time for him to bring it on home.

Dior vs. Balenciaga : Spring 2014

Dior

Balenciaga

Looking at 2 legendary houses whose creators helped to change the face of fashion and in doing so changed the way people dressed, moved and acted. You could characterize one as the ultimate romantic (Dior) and the other the ultimate intellectual. One's passion flowed from his heart and the other from his head. Still they both reached a similar point. Both were all about shape, volume, architecture.

With the passing of these giants, their successors have an enormous  responsibility to, in some fundamental way, honor the house's traditions while advancing the conversation. It can be argued that Nicholas Ghesquierre did just that as did John Galliano at Dior. I, for one am in agreement on Galliano's tenure, despite his untimely dismissal. Not so with Ghesquierre. His aesthetic I always found too hard, flat and forced. He is for me a stylist with a range that is neither very broad or deep, for that matter. All bark and no bite. Galliano on the other hand was a mad scientist; a theorist, brilliant storyteller, magician and above all a designer with more than  100 tricks up his sleeve, which brings us to this moment. Raf Simons is now at the helm of Dior and Alexander Wang is driving Balenciaga.

Honestly, I had little faith that either would add much to their new gigs but in one instance I was wrong. Alexander Wang appears surprisingly adept at steering that bus. I'd go even farther and say that he's quickly transforming it into a sleek sports car with 4 on the floor and a convertible top. If his first collection was rather tentative and safe honoring the master with a collection that tread the shoals with many shapes and references to the past. This spring is another matter.
With the opening exits he looked very assured with suits of woven braided leather sculpting short jackets with round shoulders and flared short skirts that never lost their sharp clean line. Added to that, leather pieces that came after, laser cut, buttery and substantial in subtle colors he seemed to be saying that he was clearly up to the challenge. There were some snoozey sections that if anything were a bit too contrived and stiff.

 Then Wang woke up and sent out a series of beautifully tailored jackets in white with precise tailoring and a row of delicate buttons. All of this was paired with a film of chiffon that floated over them like a mist. They were simple and superb. So many of the shapes had great flyaway backs that kept your interest coming and going. The more artful evening pieces with stark corsets anchoring draped and tucked silk cloque' with blown out short skirts banded with what looked like wide satin ribbon. They were new, sophisticated and beyond what one would expect from such a young and relatively inexperienced designer like Wang. Let's be real here. The street rarely gives way to the boulevard without a slew of pot holes and construction cones along the way. In short, he was full of surprises and almost all of them welcome.

The Dior show was a very different affair. One would come to expect greater things from a designer like Simons who has had years of experience at Jil Sander as well as designing his own collection. The set was yet again a cavern of abundant flowers both real and fake creating a space that looked claustrophobic. Like his debut collection I couldn't help feeling that the set was a foil for the clothes. Unintentionally or not he seemed to fall back on the same formula of presentation. You could squint and imagine you're cruising on a chic glossy surfaced superhighway with lush rolling hills covered in all manner of flowers real and imagined. So fast and so intense is the passing landscape until the camera pulls back and you realize the only thing moving is the backdrop. The actual vehicle you're supposed to be in is just a side window a partial hood and no seats at all.

This time the clothes were more adventuresome with jackets, the strongest statement throughout the collection, paired with all manner of skirts pleated and printed. There were beautifully cut coats with oblique shapes and eliminated details like closures and collars, pockets, etc. Underneath were stretch tanks with asymmetric cut out in back and askew cut necklines front and back giving the combination of coat and top or jacket and top a dynamic game of hide and seek. It was a chic game of graphics catch with beautiful saturated colors given to each player. It reminded me of how seductive Galliano's haute sportswear for the house had been in the past. Talk about a frisson. Then the heavy hand of self consciousness creeped from behind the bushes and sent it all to... well, off the highway and onto the shoulder.

Printed and pleated floral dresses with black bands circling the busts, wrapping around the high hip (to show a division, some clever redefining of proportions) with word embroidered bands of cloth saying things like"Whisper" and "Primrose Path"the pleats were arrested and so was our imagination just as it was about to be set free. This annoying trend of words printed on clothes and dangling from necklaces and plastered on bags is less than imaginative. It does for me the exact opposite. It forces the issue making you react and respond in ways that is as stage directed as the clothes. I can't imagine a woman with personal style wanting to walk into a room like a bit of graffiti, essentially a sandwich board advertisement for designer's stalled agenda.

Once the audience was passed that detour the show with a dizzying number of exits (70+) continued with more and more variations on shapes that either Dior or Simons had introduced previously but in those all important "new fabrics" that the press craves. I don't think the consumer really gives a shit about new fabrics. She just craves new and beautiful ideas. When the ideas are rehashed but worded in a way that is over the heads of the most curious of consumers and then re-interpreted by editors imposing all sorts of cultural, political and implausible meanings to the dress, jacket, bag or skirt we all end up in a crowded ditch.

 Seriously, most designers just want to design something that for them is beautiful. Beautiful means different things to different people. But statements about the human condition, the bashing of tropes, the annihilation of notions and the Nobel prize for most humanitarian IT bag, are not really thoughts swimming in the heads of most designers. Its more like, who will come to the show? Can I get so and so for my front row? Will Anna let me close enough to kiss her ass? Can we get Karlie to open and close? Do these short shorts make my ass look big? You, know, stuff like that. Oh, and if we send this fur to Mrs. Roitfeld will she keep it, maybe even wear it? You know, shit like that. Still there was a dress in multi-colored stripes that was great. In fact there were 2 of them back to back that looked fresh ans sexy and unforced. A few of the Diorisms in stiff metallic silk with fitted bodices and dropped waists exploding below with skirts held aloft by means of some serious underpinnings. I loved these dresses though like Oscar de la Ho Hum they have become to look like a recipe and not a bold new nibblet.


So in the final analysis, when you look at these 2 shows your conclusions be counter to mine. Fine. But you also may see that Balenciaga has a powerful punch. Great clothes with real style and an elegant aspect that will make some women and others swoon. Dior, in contrast, is a whole lot of synthetic noise with little bite, just a cloyingly artificial aftertaste.

Too little is too much

You wonder why I've taken a break? Where have I been and why did I go? I just needed to get some air. It's gotten so thin up here in the cheap seats. Watching the action from such a remove with the specks parading coolly down the runway as though they were game changing ideas has given me vertigo. What is the point and what is the message? The answers don't appear on the runway and they haven't appeared in the press, either. If anything the game of bait and switch has reached a level of complexity rarely seen in the last 45 years. For some of us, we can do that math, subtracting accurately without the help of a smart phone calculator, and come to the moments when order shifted to chaos. Granted it was a slow moving tsunami, but one that nevertheless mowed down and washed away so much that was beautiful, coherent and yes, even forward thinking. Modernity isn't something that happened post 9/11.

Beyonce was not the first superstar with processed hair (extensions). Reed Krakoff was not the first one note designer going for 3 notes. Anna Wintour was not the first visionary at Conde Nast, nor the first influence peddling adventuress. Oscar de la Renta was certainly not the first Latin lover to dress a society matron. Andre Leon Talley was not the first editor to become a caricature in search of a gig that would restore him to his glory days as a bonafide editor, once more. John Galliano is not the first genius to go down in flames at the height of his powers, though he may be the richest. Dior, (Y)SL, Balenciaga, Ungaro, Balmain, Blass, Rabanne, Anne Klein and Ferre were not the first powerhouse design establishments to suck wind. Anna dello Russo was not the first fashion victim who will live and die by the dress hanger. Some editors/fashion critics of the New York Times, The Washington Post, The International Herald Tribune are not the first oracles to be sniffing toxic fumes sending out mixed messages that mean nothing to even the most educated of ears. I can't tell you how many times I've spoken to people in the press (yes, I know some interesting people who write for real newspapers and magazines) who ask me if I get what's going on or if I'm as confused as they are. I've come to believe that confusion is merely a state of knowing but an unwillingness to believe. Sort of like realizing Santa is really your parents doing the best they can.

What once flew high is now skimming and skidding along the ground. Sitting in Gregory's on Seventh Ave. between 39th and 40th minding my own business, I watched the river that is New York's fashion industry meander by. It was busy and at the same time strangely empty. Tourists taking pictures of the tailor hard at work on his sewing machine were cheek to jowl with young fashion workers busily making a display of their presence and profession or just posing as fashionables like those who crowd the tents at collection time. This blond woman in a dress so short that she spent every second tugging at it to attempt to cover her almost completely exposed lower half. Her example was the perfect illustration of too little being way, way too much. The spectacle has replaced the spectacular. Chaos, the new order of the day. Still, I am fascinated by the ebb and flow of culture and the highs and lows of fashion. That said, I'm back in my seat way up near the roof and straining to see all that there is to see. Welcome back to my world.

It gets better,one day at a time. (AA mantra) Spring 09 Collections

Things start to percolate with Oscar de la Renta,Calvin Klein, Narciso Rodriguez and Ralph Rucci.The sun came out, the tackiest Russian Fashion Casualistas were EVERYWHERE, and some memorable ,even directional collections hit the runways at a full gallop!

Mr. Costa at Calvin presented a beautifully austere and even antiseptic collection , all geometry realized in fabrics derived through pure physics. It was a heady, intellectual romp down a dead serious runway. But what was so refreshing was the notion of his collection practically whispering to the gathered crowd,"Walk don't Run." The shapes were exactly that...SHAPES. These clothes challenged the imagination, created illusions on the body that were totally unique , spare and so very very modern. Ok, so they are a self conscious effort that only really strong independent minded women will look natural in. All the others will doubtlessly look in over their heads in angled ovoid dresses and covering layers over separates. I say covering layers and Ovoids, because these clothes and shapes call for a new vocabulary. They are the future,with which we've been visited . But modern they most certainly are. His offering is an non-FDA approved drug that women owe it to them selves to test. I would take a handful, toss it all down with a big glass of TAP water and wait for the malaise to evaporate.

Oscar de la Renta is becoming a paradox. I can honestly, but not without a degree of shame, admit only 2 times at fashion shows did I walk out in tears. Once at a Geoffrey Beene show 13 years ago and a show of Oscars about 6 or so years ago. I cried at Beene because it felt as though I'd witnessed something so beyond belief and beauty, that I thought there would never ever be another collection worth considering. Like watching a first true love walk away and know what it was you had and also know you'd never see it or feel it again. With Oscars show, also a spring collection, my reaction was equally intense but for a different reason. I felt I'd witnessed the the perfect summation of the most classically chic ,sexy and perfectly proportioned collection that any one in America could ever create. It was so smart, had humor, an over the top quality, but all grounded in a reality to strive for. It was cathartic in its completeness. Everything fit. Everything worked. Yes, there was some gratuitous CHACHA in there but the balance was as sharp as a razor. No Waterloos in sight. I was moved, so the tears came and I went home feeling again like having witnessed a miracle of sorts.
So I was left a bit disturbed with this collection. All the requisite elements were present, the richness, the measured effects so as not to overwhelm, the assured sense of absolute purity of chic and glamour......just no soul. A bit like a sexual fantasy versus actual sex. Lots of pretty clothes, but not young like in recent seasons. The Saint Laurent effect seemed to invade the overall presentation. It felt like Oscar was resting on past laurels, not pushing the envelope nearly like before. I say this not without a heavy heart. He is one of my absolute heroes. I was convinced on 9/11 when his show was scheduled at 11 or 12, that despite what had just happened (not realizing the full and catastrophic degree of the tragedy) that I was sure as hell not missing the show and he sure as hell wouldn't cancel. Well we all know what happened..... I wonder where his business is going. The new guard there gives me pause. Just because Oscar is your step Dad and father in law and Mom is a fashion icon, doesn't give you a key to the kingdom, even if Daddy had a copy made for you.

Narciso Rodriguez had a good day at the races. He showed clothes that were a bit of a departure for him. More color, much more graphic in some ways and a little more overt in their sexuality. I liked the bold black and white striped dresses, as cool as narrow ellipses and the bandage wrapped dresses, which made Herve Leger dresses of the past look safe and predictable. There was a real freedom in this seasons message. I love the obvious technique, the balance between sleek and ease. The end result were clothes perfect for all shapes and all ages. These clothes are a clear example of needing no hype to get over. They stand on their own, they speak for themselves. Now if only the rest of the herd of so-called designers in this one runway town could take a few cues from him.

Chado by Ralph Rucci is really in it's own unique category. He is easily the most advanced couture informed designer on this side of the Atlantic. Part of the problem with that is that he is all too aware of that and makes too much a point of trumpeting it to any any all within range. That said, he is a master at creation. His metier, as he is so found of referring to, is one hell of a thing of beauty, that is if you go in for that sort of thing. It is an acquired taste and is not for everyone. This season's barrage of exits,almost 60 , were a tour de force of examples of his fecund imagination and the utter genius of his technical team. There was a lightness which was welcome and made the clothes so much more accessible and young. The surface treatments, which translate to mere beading or embroidery (for the Marchesas and BadgleyMischkas of the world and so many others) are completely re-invented in his hands. You have to see to believe the solutions he arrives at for solving this design conundrum. Important day and evening clothes call for a degree of decorative cuts and surfaces. Rucci makes his own rules, defies convention and does it in a way that changes your eye forever. His persona in interviews and on camera is overly precious, saying things like" a higher power works through his hands" (PLEASE) but the man is a force of nature.

One day at a time, things can change, even improve. We just have to be willing to put one foot in front of the other.

When did PRETTY become the new UGLY?

Was surfing the flatscreen and stumbled onto a fashion video channel from the U.K., a much better version of the drek we're forced fed on Full Frontal Fashion. No self seving, "listen to me pin superlatives to rags on the runway which have no relation to what we're not seeing and yet aren't I clever, informed, erudite in my total lack of a critical eye,an opinion worth sharing, taste or even the first clue as to what to wear in front of the camera.....They often seem to lose track , these industry experts,of which designer they're supposed to be talking about?"



WHATEVER...... Fashion is digression, but let me find my way back to the point of this pressing and important question.



While surfing, I came across this rather interesting show, which shared Valentino's last haute Couture collection , his swan song. Ok , so the man looks too tanned, too cupie doll lipped, rather short for standing so VERY TALL, and a comb over that could make the donald scream"You're Hired!", but the collection was so PRETTY. He kept saying that his intention was to"make beautiful, young MODERN clothes, the most toxically over-used adjective in the fashion lexicon, but bless his jet-setting, too many houses, too much stuff, too many wanna be and has been starlet pilot fish ,too many face lifts,(fashion is a permanent state/continent of digression) HEART, the clothes were heart breakingly PRETTY, I'd push that leaden envelope and go a baby step further and say, BEAUTIFUL. 10,20 50 100 looks; each as lovely as the 60 that preceeded them. Now these girls on the CAT WALK, you can imagine how fond I am of a walk way exclusively named for us ,we of the hair and the no hair..... these girls, and I must say in the world of Haute Couture, are the very best, hottest youngest,hippest,thinnest and coolest, looked MODERN, CHIC and yes ,YOUNG. My jaw dropped.



THESE CLOTHES WERE PRETTY!

So what happened to pretty? When did it become such a demode word? One sees a plethora of un-loveliness out there being lauded as directional, MODERN (again that word) when it does nothing but unflatter,de mystify and expose women in a way that God and His Disciples never intended: Worth,Poirret,Chanel,Gres,Fath,Mainbocher,Schiap,Dior,Balenciaga, St.Laurent,Val,Halston,Oscar,and Beene(there were some understudies included, in the event that a reigning queen could not fulfill her duties). These Masters of the Sacred Scissor did a fantastic job of elevating, liberating, glamorizing, deifying and just plain pretty-fying women for ages and it made for a much more interesting world in which we toil. Now , all we get is more reasons to stop hoping, and stop dreaming. Karl is thankfully still doing it, but no one has the guts to call a schnitzel a scnitzel and instead refers to his clothes as "BRILLIANT". I think that's a euphemism for pretty.



At the end of the Valentino Couture show, all the models , or to be couture-correct, the mannequin were all in the center of this fantastic circular stage, dancing, grooving, waving their r thin reedy arms in the air, an extremely chic RAVE atmosphere, all achingly beautiful , as he made his farewell promenade,shyly waving and mouthing the words"Thank You".



It was a bittersweet moment because one could actually feel the end of an era that cared only for beauty , artistry, creating a vision of loveliness and allure for women, for all of us, for the world; coming to a quiet end. I felt sad and just a bit more chilled in this world.