Victoria Beckham SS2011: Portrait of a Working Girl

Ms. Beckham doesn't give up easy. She's going to have the last word and make creatures like me gag on humble pie....maybe. Despite the fact that her "collection" is a top seller at Neiman Marcus and Bergdorf Goodman, each previous outing has left me cold, even colder than I am without the benefit and protection of fur. It appears that she's determined to join the dysfunctional family that is Fashion. There are many posers and opportunists who see this business as the perfect launching pad to celebrity. She always struck me as a person who would do anything to be noticed, talked about and envied. That she would decide to become a creator and not just a hanger was always something that left me stymied. With this season she has taken a step forward. I don't know who's doing the work but things are beginning to take some shape. The voice I hear still sounds like that of others, but she has given this collection a twist that is her own.

Imagine bits of Beene, Alaia, Lanvin, Balenciaga and some delusions of grandeur to taste and you have the meal she plated for a select few in a smartly tarted up townhouse uptown. The setting looks like an ersatz couture house anywhere on the Avenue Montaigne or Marceau depending on your point of view. The dresses, sunglasses, very smart bags and carrying cases all looked much more grown up they did a season ago.

Fit, fit, fit was the leitmotif. Shapes were subdivided in lines that called to mind Alaia. Farther into the show I sensed I was seeing reinterpretations of Geoffrey Beene and Balenciaga. The empire line was a verbatim Beene-ism as was a dress in black with an embroidery on the skirt in the same way the master would apply a top coat of lace. Inspiration comes from all over including vintage shops and in some cases ones own closet. What really matters is the way you choose to express that inspiration. I have to say she did a good job of it. There were some very cute dresses. It still smacks of the work of a dilettante, think the finishing school of someone like Jacqueline de Ribes and you get the gist. Getting the nod from players like Marc Jacobs, Tom Ford and the like, it's not surprising that she is starting to believe her own press. I love the portrait of her that looks like the face of a working girl. Her new face is that of the serious designer hard at work in her own personal sweatshop.

Costello Tagliapietra SS2011

These guys ROCK. They are the Kings of Jersey, not to mention NYC, Brooklyn and points north, south, east and west. The way they handle matte jersey, silk crepe and silk organza in this collection is way beyond the technical ability of many others. This collection was so assured and brilliantly balanced. Color, prints, dresses draped as though from nature; all elements of this picture were so right. A sense of calm drifts like a fog when you look at this collection. There was little that wouldn't look great on every sort of body and age which is so hard to find. I could imagine women wanting these clothes. The mustard dress, at right, is nothing less than a work of art. This is the sort of design that gets me excited about the power of fashion.

Their razor sharp eyes and aesthetic sense are so advanced that they give real meaning to that tired term Modern. Looking at each of these dresses I'm reminded how difficult the craft of dressmaking is. It's one thing to have an idea. It's another thing, altogether, to make that idea a reality minus all the little trips and falls along the way. Fit and quality of make go a very long way. Out of a possible score of 100% these guys would score at least a 97%... it's that exact. With absolutely no surface detail to hide behind each dress was as good head on as it was from the side and back. I admire their imaginations as well as their skill. It's just not something you see from any but the best and oldest in the business.

Experience may not mean much to the fickle stores or press but it screams LOUD and CLEAR when you look at the rookies coming up. Perhaps some of the praise being showered on the Next Wave could be spread to honor designers like these two guys who are an example to the rest. There's a lot to be said for taking one perfectly clear idea and delivering it without going off on unrelated tangents. There's no confusion here. Cool.

Prabal Gurung SS2011

This was a very ambitious collection. The size and mix of this message alone was a big leap forward. It's understandable when you consider the microscope that Prabal lives under with so much promise and little chance for a misstep. That Anna Wintour was sitting in Roger Federer's box at the U.S.Open and not perched on his front row to witness this show was a double fault on her part. Clearly, he appears to be preaching to the choir. I say ambitious also because of the complexity of techniques he employed for many of the dresses and separates that strode down the runway. One technique that was impressive was one that gave the impression of the fabric having been braided. It appeared down the front of a saffron silk crepe dress and on a printed silk top. Beautiful treatments of pailletes like elongated scales placed in asymmetric planes on columns and long skirts mirrored the lines of a group of color blocked dresses and separates. His choice of fabrics and textures were especially effective in setting him apart from many in the pack. Surface decoration whether achieved by ones own imagination and the hands of skilled technicians or the bounty that can be fund at the best of fabric mills in Switzerland (Jakob Schlaepfer) and other countries can make the task that much easier. In some cases the real job is to stay out of the way of the fabrics and embroideries. Let them do their job and leave more than well enough alone. That might be my only complaint. Sometimes Prabal seemed too eager to flex his muscles when the heavy lifting was already done. There were some details that just looked too tricky. This mashing and twisting of fabrics, extraneous slits, and three dimensional appendages just remind me of work one sees from design school students. People rarely cotton to theses styles and they mire work that is memorable. That said, I liked this collection and appreciate his years spent at Bill Blass. Looking at his aesthetic, I can't help but think that the principals at Blass wasted so much time and money betting on lame horses when they had a winner right there in their stables.

images courtesy of Getty.

Anna Wintour MIA after FNO.

Now that the Night of a Thousand Bars has lurched by with little more than an inebriated whimper, it seems the editrix whose global muscle strong armed the planet into her idea of a good cause has gone missing. No front row can lay claim to her attentions. No air kisses can be had and no knighthoods have been bestowed. Noteworthy collections, even some that count her as a patron saint of sorts have had to do without her presence. The sting of her absence must be privately galling though I doubt any would dare to comment let alone complain. It just doesn't seem right or politic that she go missing just at the beginning of the fray. There must be others besides myself that ask what she can be thinking. Isn't this considered a work day? Aren't these next days and next week part of the "season"? Doesn't she have a duty to tramp from show to show like everyone else? Isn't she the reason that so many have spent so much for so little but to amuse and entice her? It's like throwing a party and the guest of honor chooses another party they prefer to yours. Perhaps she feels that her efforts last night earned her a pass. Considering that she may feel that for a few consecutive days she's carried the world's fashion gorilla on her slender shoulders and deserves some "MOI" time. Maybe she has. I'm not convinced. Either way you slice it, the Lady is MIA and don't bother looking in the Blogger's pit or the ladies room of Lincoln Center. She's far, far away. I caught sight of her at the U.S. Open. I'm pretty sure it was her. The camera scanned the VIP boxes and I could have sworn I saw a bob with big dark glasses camouflaged in what must have been a red, tweed Chanel dress. If today were the finals it would be understandable. But today is only the semis. What's worse is that Desiree Rogers is the sub.

Duckie Brown SS2011

This was an amusing show. Whether you want to dress head to toe in the feathers of the Duck or just choose to wear pieces of their dream, I found it pretty cool and seductive. The message is a loosely tailored, slouchy and layered one in a palette that is decidedly grey or colorfully tweedy with blasts of color in draped, droopy yoga pants. The lack of seriousness and the feeling of freedom was clearly expressed from the layers on layers of crisp linen down to their new take on the iconic Clarke Wallabee shoe, which was great. A lot can be said for a presentation that hammers the message home in a clear succinct voice. Seating the audience on one side of the tent and leaving the other clear for the models to line up on different levels of the bleachers was a great way for us all to view the collection against each exit that came after. The reference points were never far away from what you were seeing. I kept looking at the whole puzzle as all the pieces took shape. The sound track was also very effective in that it was one piece of music for the whole show that continually grew in shape and volume supporting the collection that unfolded before us. Probably one of the most clever tricks of this one way mirror was that the audience never had the chance to study itself when the opposite side of the runway was peopled only by the models and the clothes.

There was the theme of grey, smoke, taupe and nude that I saw before in previous shows I talked about, but this was more urban in its look and feel. Duckie Brown is always about cool, edgy clothes that push the boundaries of what constitutes menswear. I always have the feeling that their men are not hemmed in by accepted views of masculinity. They blur lines with pieces and styling that appear androgynous like sunglasses on guys that say Jackie O or clothes that are draped in ways that make me think she, as well as, he. I enjoy that walk on the wild side because it tests my limits and makes me question just what it means to dress as a man. That isn't to say that I am going out and stocking up on kilts and trading my brogues in for tranny heels , only that Duckie Brown makes me question.

The tide of solid neutrals that opened the show shifted into a mix of pieces in colors and prints that had a very different feel. What had been almost monastic switched gears to a tone of playful abandon. There was a bug print that showed up on an over sized chiffon shirt in black on white paired with droopy pants in a bold plaid. Multi-colored, over-sized tweed jackets came with knit tops and pants all in a riot of colors. It all seemed to say that any and all things go. Butch or fay, it's all good. Young or old, whatevahs.....

This collection like many is a very personal one that will appeal to some and not to others. What I like about their work is that it gives you the chance to see things from a different angle. It never feels tired or derivative in that mind numbingly obvious way that some designers do with little imagination and even less skill. On top of making great clothes, these guys know how to cobble a killer shoe.

photographs courtesy of Fluff Chance.

Isn't That Karl Lagerfeld?

Immediately following the Duckie Brown show yesterday, I walked out into the blazing light of the plaza at Lincoln Center. It was a very interesting space compared to the spit of sidewalk just beyond the entrance to Seventh on Sixth of last season. This new venue is as grand as the tents that have taken over Damrosch Park. Everywhere you look you see the monumental theaters that make up Lincoln Center and feel a different energy buzz of the Upper West side. I really like this new stomping ground. It seems that it is a very effective stage for not just the shows but also for the silly floor show that is the "Fashion crowd".

There were so many characters standing around the fountain preening and posing for tourists, the ubiquitous camp followers and bored photographers. Every time I see that guy with the home made eyebrows and the beauty marks along with his garish suits and absurd hats, you MUST know who I mean, I'm reminded by his now famous line on that ill-fated reality show. When asked to go find inspiration and figure out the trends of Venice beach for some inane design "Challenge" he whined, "I don't follow trends, I set them!" Well, each and every time I see him I wonder exactly what trend that is? He was with 2 other older men who were as exaggeratedly attired as he, so I stand to be corrected. Maybe he does set the trends, one dandy at a time.

I was walking and talking with John Bartlett as we passed through this vapor trail of glamour. We were taking the measure of the good ship MBFW. She is definitely jumbo-sized and not for the shy or the fiscally challenged. You must have money or some corporation behind you to pay the price of admission. If you thought it was expensive before, it's even more expensive now. You get plenty of bang for your buck, but what one puts out on that runway is held to even higher scrutiny than before. In one sense, everyone gets a pass when you consider that many in the audience are too concerned with what they have on to notice what is marching before them. As sleek and shiny as this new set is you can't get away from the sinking feelings that must go on backstage for many of the designers. They can't help but feel the tug of emotions that come with epic anti-climaxes. They work for months for what amounts to 10 minutes of glory and then it's all a memory. Granted, that moment is streamed live all over the Internet, it nevertheless is fleeting. Unless you hop a plane to Santo Domingo to your palace by the sea or hit your oasis in the Turks and Caicos for a bit of Ohm-ing it can be a bit crushing and almost impossible to keep that high spiking. Even the heart stopping magnitude of FNO is not enough to take the edge off. Perhaps a sighting of someone way larger than life like, maybe, Karl Lagerfeld strolling by with a gaggle of Ladies and a horde of cameras flashing can do the trick. Well not really but it was enough to take my mind off things for a good 5 minutes or so. Hey, it's not everyday you see the Kaiser a few feet away. He looked sort of nice in an interestingly severe way. His suit and tie were extremely refined in an extreme sort of way. I couldn't help but feel that the guy in the loud suits and the out of control eyebrow pencil wasn't the trend setter he professed to be. He was just copying Karl and still getting it wrong.

photograph courtesy of Fluff Chance.

The Audacity of Taupe.

Hurricane Earl narrowly missed us but another looks to be beating a path straight towards NYC. It's the beginning of the new and improved Fashion Week for Spring2011. Lincoln Center is the new turf for a war that appears to be already in full escalation. Urban warriors have taken to the stark, crystalline runways for an assault on the Old Guard. It looks like a teen army of androgynes all in shades of taupe, grey, silver, khaki and steel have taken control of what used to be the territory of older Generals. If the collections of Nicholas K and Richard Chai are any indication of what is to follow we're in for a changing of the guard. These collections presage a shift that just may alter the battle ground of American fashion. It's looking like a turf war that only the truly fearless or in some cases, the clueless, would engage in. These are not clothes for Rachel Zoe (they're WAY OVER her head), Red Carpet Rangers or the idle Rich. They are the uniforms of their kids. It looks as though a wave washed over the collective psyche of the Stylish leaving them with a new set of demands. Guerrilla gear for women and men all in tactile jersey, reclaimed cotton, linen and farm raised leathers and all dipped in vegetable dyes are layered and mixed creating interchangeable wardrobes.
There was something very seductive about Nicholas Kunz's collection for women and men. Though I was initially skeptical watching the first exits all in a melange of greys with crotches of yoga pants knocking the boney knees of the models who were layered in draped T's, languid shirts and endless windbreakers, I involuntarily fell into the groove. What looked like reconstituted Army Navy duds with a mix of Moroccan tops and bottoms came into focus as something more subversive. It took on the look of a new and improved vocabulary based on the somewhat archaic teachings of DKNY. The words are all there but the language has shifted creating a new poetry. I don't say that lightly...it was poetic and it spoke volumes. Almost everything worked and it worked as well on the girls as it did on the guys, which is rare. That is no small feat on the part of a designer who in past seasons has been busy working up to this point. Not that much is said about this collection but in contrast Richard Chai, about whom much has been written came up a bit short. The mind set was very much the same but the final result didn't have the mastery of Nicholas K's. This invasion of Upstarts is hyped to the rafters as is the Age of the Blogger. I find it all a bit exaggerated and just fodder for a puerile Press. Chai's collection was just as youthful, there seems to be a shift to the Twenty-Something crowd, but ultimately flat in its delivery. There was a decidedly Young Designer aspect that was very simply that; the work of a young Designer. It didn't measure up to the level of noise in the fashion community that he has garnered in recent months. Metaphorically, it was a lot of grey parading as taupe. Layers and layers of tissue linens and liquid jerseys were interesting in their combinations of tones and volumes but still a bit shy of nuance. I found myself coming back to Nicholas Kunz who was successful in all areas: accessories, the boots for that shod both sexes, and the clothes which I loved. I ask myself if these clothes can be worn by adults and I've decided that they can and they should.
Lincoln Center is looking like a set for the future. One look and Bryant Park is forgotten. If only the Old Guard would take a cue from today and "LOOK ALIVE".

images courtesy of Getty.