Does this make my ass look big?

Who out there besides me thinks Jenna Lyons of J.Crew fame looks kind of stupid? For that matter, what about Michael Kors and Reed Krakoff? Come to think of it, what about Vera Wang? Why is it designers feel the need to make up a cartoon image of themselves and then stick to it forever? What happened to looking your best? Isn't fashion about looking good? Even though Alber Elbaz is full figured, why does he make himself out to look like the moribund clown in Leoncavallo's opera, Pagliacci?

Of course, these are questions that will never be answered. But if you look at photographs of Mademoiselle Chanel, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Balenciaga, even man-tanned Valentino, they all looked elegant in their own inimitable way. Exaggeration and silly props were not necessary.
Lagerfeld was perhaps the first to pervert the image of the designer followed closely by Claude Montana, he of the tight, basket revealing jeans, high heeled cowboy boots and a heavy handed application of base make-up, lip gloss and the mascara brush.

Still, that playfulness had its place back in the rocking 70's and early 80's. Now it's just a tired retread on what should be a new-ish wheel. Perhaps Anna Wintour is the only person capable of working a pair of shades without looking silly. I would venture to say that all the others and that includes Vera Wang, who might consider putting down her cocktail long enough to eat some solid food, look like big butts in poorly cut Jeggings.

But maybe that's just me. I'm only a cat who has chosen to dispense with fur. That's my attempt at political correctness.

Now back to the shows. I promise.

White Noise.

Joan Smalls Vogue September 2013

  
Diversity in fashion, that ugly, fear inducing word that raises its unruly head every 10 seasons or so has once again become the battle cry of the disenfranchised. Looking through a handful of magazines rife with (September) issues brought that point home in a staggeringly BIG way. The endless parade of collections from here, London, Paris, Milan, Hell and back are all a sea of sameness. Sullen, soulless faces of androgynous men and women, all pale and blonde with the occasional almond eyed Asian and in all of that army of recruits you might see one person of color. What I'm trying to say in plain English is this: there's one black face or none at all. This has become the rule and no longer the exception. The list of designers who no longer feel that a black model has relevance, beauty, allure, sex appeal or at least, the ability to "sell" a look, this list of designers is about as long as Vogue's September issue is heavy. I was shocked. You'll be shocked too. Actually, I'm not shocked or even surprised and I'd hazard to guess that many of you reading this won't be either.

Looking through all 902 pages of September Vogue I counted about 10 black girls in ads and there were 1000's of ads. In the editorial pages I saw maybe 2 in total and that wasn't until I got to page 848. There in the "back of the proverbial bus" of the mag was Joan Smalls in a lonely spread wearing some great coats. Sure, she had 8 pages and looked fantastic but nevertheless, it stung like an afterthought. It was as if someone said," Um, I'm like, not, like, sure if we remembered to have, like, A black girl in a story." And someone else said, "Geez, um, like get someone, like to call someone who, um, like has one and get her over here. And find some stuff we forgot to shoot." "Oh, and also, stick a wig on her head." A hollow victory. Believe me, I'm not someone with a clicker counting all the brown faces on a runway or in the pages of a magazine, but hey, when it's stark white I wonder who forgot diversity.

I guess we have Paula Dean to thank for opening up the discussion once again. That chicken frying, bucket o'grits slinging shrew who barely cooks but makes her fortune on the backs of her underpaid, under-appreciated staff of black women and men, has fo' pawed her way to infamy. That's some of the nastiest, small minded white noise I've listened to in a dog's age.

On BalanceDiversity.com I came across a scathing letter written by "The Coalition" addressing this issue.  They were penned and sent the governing bodies of International Fashion Week (MBNYFW, London, Paris and Milan) stating that this appalling absence of diversity and overt racism is no longer acceptable. For each location the Coalition goes 1 league further to name the designers whose women's and menswear collections have been found guilty of this racism.When you consider that most of these shows average about 50 exits with one model per look and not more than maybe one of those models is black, that's quite a pointed statement being made.

It will be interesting to see what, if any, response will come from the industry. I expect it will be a roar of just more white noise.

...and now the lights have dimmed, the music rises and the shows begin.

Racism is so unfashionable.

Me coming of age at 1977

I rarely make a point of sharing what its like to be black in a white world. Partly, because it's a simple fact that racism is something that all black people and other people of color face every day, everywhere to some greater or lesser degree. Also because I've been fortunate in my life for the simple fact that thanks to my parents, I was made aware of these blunt,distressing facts but also that I could move as far beyond the confined space that (white) society attempts to pigeon hole me into by force of will and a steely determination. 

So thinking about the Trayvon Martin verdict and President Obama's words on the subject with his impromptu press conference stopped me dead in my tracks. Obama's statement that it could have been him is the same for me. His listing of just some of the humiliations black men face was so true and galling I had to say something about it instead of trying to rise above it all. 

#1 Being followed in stores by security is a FACT of LIFE, even when you're the designer invited to show your collection for 3 days, have been advertized and even introduced to the staff. STILL FOLLOWED and asked degrading and obnoxious questions like," What are you looking for?".... and it comes not from a salesperson but security. 

#2 Walking on the sidewalk behind white women who either clutch their purses and pick up the pace looking over their shoulders, or crossing over to the other side of the street. That is so common that I've become more uncomfortable knowing that reaction is likely to happen and cross the street myself just to avoid feeling that sting of being perceived as a threat and someone to be avoided. I'm tired of crossing the street and accommodating ignorance just to spare an idiot's sense of security and my own pride. FUCK THAT. 

#3 The click of a car door's lock is a new one but one I experienced just last week. It galled me so much I was (almost) speechless. Coming out of my apt., (a brownstone on sunny Willow St. in Brooklyn Heights) carrying my luggage to head to the airport for a trip to Holland, I noticed a woman sitting in a parked SUV across the street watching me as I came down the stairs with my hands loaded with luggage, well dressed and obviously on my way somewhere. As I crossed to the sidewalk where her car was parked I passed in front of her car. At that moment I heard the loud clicks of the car door's locks. At first I didn't think anything of it and then realized, Oh, it's because of me. I saw people walking up ahead and a couple of guys on the other side walk and did the math. It was me that she was protecting herself from. I stopped , turned and looked straight at her tense face and said, " SERIOUSLY?". Then I mouthed, " FUCK YOU" and headed to the airport.

Let's play TAG !

I saw this very funny video the other day and had to share it with you. It is so on target that it left me laughing so hard I cried. If you think hard on this you'll see that this is what it's come to. Pretending that it isn't just shows you what a victim you've become. It also says to me that we've pretty much circled the drain and the only way to go is up. I hope that that's true no matter how long it takes. I, for one, will not go down without a fight. So let's have some fun and play a rousing game of Tag. You're it!

Ticked Off.

dangerous.

 Fashion is a bit sleepy these days with the Resort shows winding down, though they'll go on for still weeks to come, it's a slim news period. For that reason when things of interest or just the curious pop up they are that much more compelling. Like Jason Wu taking over Hugo Boss women's. A good match, I'd say. The clueless leading the rootless. His brand of ersatz glamor will dovetail perfectly with their penchant for retread Armani cast-offs with a twist of Prada. Oh the archness of flat-footed brilliance. Award night was a non event as well. Vera Wang as a Life Achievement honoree? Pro Schouler as a 5th time winner in 10 years? Thom Browne over Duckie Brown? Surely that was a typo.... Grim proceedings in my view. I almost prefer Marc Jacobs just for his sense of humor and showmanship alone..... Just puttin' it out there.

let's do this...

Now that summer is in full swing and the monsoon season is temporarily on hiatus, I've started to get back into the swing of running out here (East H). The deer population like the summer pilgrims are bigger and bolder than ever. It's impossible to go anywhere without dodging leaping deer or texting tourists who think nothing of walking straight into traffic. A moment in the lush undergrowth of the nearest woods leaves you covered in ticks and chiggers that are as unnerving to behold as they are to remove. I miss my run through the woods so I must stay along the roads and the beach just for the sake of my health.

the best of friends

ummm.

Still it ticks me off. I'm lost in thought as I run and listening to music is too distacting.
One thing that came to mind was the interview last week on Charlie Rose with John Galliano. For those of you who saw it, were you as perplexed as I by the time it finally drew to a close? Did you have the feeling that his desire to "atone" was genuine or a scripted response to just about every "tough" question Charlie posed? Did it seem that Galliano was seeing the damning "video" in question for the very first time, considering that it so flustered him that it derailed his train of thought again and again? As much as I admire his talent, I couldn't help feeling manipulated and even preyed upon by his disingenuous attempts at sympathy and bathos. Was it me or could you hear the grinding wheels of the Conde Nast spin machine and the ever complicit Oscar de la Renta, egged on by his helpmate Annette Reed de la Renta. One could imagine Mr. de la Renta designing colostomy bags if Anna Wintour said,"do it". Did any of you read the oblique article by Cathy Horyn exhorting Galliano to "prove himself" to her and that if he were serious about a come back he should use his own dime to make that gesture mean something? Excuse me? When has a designer of note ever used his own dime? Even the designers of 1 note (or less) don't use their own dime. I saw it all as a trick question.

 Either way you squeeze that pimple it will swell and become angrier before it succumbs. Meanwhile, we the unwitting public are again left with a weeping sore, yet another feast for ticks and chiggers alike. For those of you who missed this incredible bit of soul baring television, I've included the link to the interview. Watch. Ponder. Discuss.

* click on picture or link to begin interview.

 


http://www.charlierose.com/view/content/12975

I didn't run away. I left....just for a while.

the view from my balcony

Some invitations are just too good to pass up.I'm talking about an invitation that honors your experience, your ability to communicate coherently with others and not by means of Twitter. I'm talking about an invitation to visit as an Artist in Residence at a university in Qatar for 6 weeks and best of all, design students who value what ever pearls of wisdom you can share....some days a few and other days a truckload.

2 of my students

And then when it's almost all over you're the invited guest designer to show a collection in the big end of the year student fashion show at an amazing venue in the heart of downtown Doha for 3 nights in a row. Some of you might say," Meh". Or "Qatar?...too far". Well let me tell you it's the farthest thing from Meh and its closer than you think considering they have the front row seat before the world stage. In fact, their seats are on the stage. They are aware of everything going on around them and have the wherewith all to plug in, experience and buy it all.

Homage to Franz Kline in micro bugle beads

Every major designer has an outpost or 4 in that city that is the definition of the luxury mall. They even know all the little itsy-bitsy details of who does what where, even the latest updates and past stories found in blogs like mine.
Fluff Chance is better known there than me. Who knew? And for that reason I was invited repeatedly to TV interviews, radio talk shows and lots of press coverage. No one was more surprised than me. As much as I dreaded the time alone and so far away, it was just what the doctor ordered.

 a sweet moment

Each day spent with students articulating the science and craft of design, helping them find their way as they prepared for the jury selection of their work for the big show was more stimulating and challenging than I expected.

Marianna, my bride

Making a difference in their lives and sharing information that was never shared with me when I was starting out was a gift all around. Being around so much energy and enthusiasm was the polar opposite of NYC fashion, that old, bitter broken hag with a painted mouth that could be a smile or just a grimace.

In short, I had a blast. Its a fascinating place filled with the strange and the wonderful. Best of all, its exotic, mysterious and crazy rich. Its never a question of if, just when and how big. A young designer need only whisper that they want to stage a collection and the finest hotels, car manufacturers and corporations are rushing one to have the chance to sponsor it. No joke.

my wheels....not.

I was shocked. There's much more to the story, but I'll save that for later. Let's peek at Resort and see what's good, what's bad and what's hideous. The hideous is too easy so I will get serous and dig deep for what seems good to my eyes. I've missed you all more than you've missed me, I promise.

love,

Fluff

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.