Louis Vuitton Fall2014: Nichola's Ghessing Game

Considering Nicholas Ghesquiere's (pronunciation : Knee-ko-lah  Guess-ski-yair. Now you try it.) astounding coronation 12 years ago when he took up the scepter and Orb as Directoire Creatif of Balenciaga, (pronunciation: bah-Lawn-see-Ya-ga), (for fun let's try another. Lanvin is really Lawn-van...the last N is semi-silent) Fun, non?

When he took the wheel his first collections were homages to the master with faithful adaptations of original styles from the archives. They were a bit arch without the fluidity, loft and movement of the originals, in large part due to a possible lack of understanding of how fabrics must be left to lead, not forced to comply. Still, they were interesting in their newness to many eyes uninformed and unexposed to the originals. I'm sure Hubert de Givenchy (pronunciation: you-Bare De Zhee-von-Shee) twisted on his Louis Quinze  (Loo-ee  Cans) settee reading about or watching the proceedings.

Still the ever elusive DNA of the house was respected; the "codes"adhered to and all was well in the jungle. Then the inspirations of the Directoire bubbled to the surface setting off a DNA storm. One such burst of creativity was the appropriation of Koos van den Akker's collage vest that appeared on the runway much to the chagrin of those who knew who and what that was, creating a frisson of questions and doubts. For the following 12 years the house and its codes teetered off into space like a scene from "Gravity". Some people are just happier in space.

The clothes became harder and more self-conscious by the season. New"man-made" high tech fabrics appeared and all the talk became about the march towards modernity with Nicholas leading the charge, metal yardstick in hand and hordes of lemmings in his wake. Editors from here, there and wherever. Only one successful IT bag came from his tenure and a few truckloads of clothes that were increasingly more difficult to wear or grasp though liberally copied by many in the marketplace. Fashion at Balenciaga became a thing so precious, its siren song so high pitched that only dogs could hear it. Then the party stopped. Finis! (pronunciation: Fee-knee)

Fast forward to Marc Jacobs's exit from Louis Vuitton and enter Nicholas to the relief of all the major fashion mags, assorted hangers-on and every Intern (definition: Slave. Granted, minus whip marks and shackles. At least not obvious ones.) worth his weight in Starbucks coffee filled trays. Word next to the 3-D printer is that he's the Messiah.

The anthem that opens the show was so ironic. "Copy Cat", a cheeky drone of a tune frighteningly apt:

"OOO Copy Cat...You're my puppet...sit on my lap as I work, Baby Girl... I'm such a fan of this dress, I bought it 5 years ago" and on and on." That summed up much of what marched through a labyrinth of a place; stuff from 5 years ago."

The clothes were almost all an homage to Nicholas's glory days at Chez B. Hard, stiff leather a-line skirts zippered down the front, a billion of them cut the same with an added pocket, a printed fabric instead of leather at times plus or minus a single bold pocket. Lots of turtleneck sweaters and sweater vests tucked in, a white one with a wide lace band crossing the sleeves and body, the same shoe over and over paired with quilted little bags or rectangular metal mini-cases.

The coats and jackets in leather, bonded leather, patch worked leather, leather with the look of signature Courrege, especially a zippered knee-length black crocodile coat, slick and tough looked really right. Baby doll empire cut dresses appeared along with some regrettable softer ones that looked like he hadn't a clue what they should say or do. Booties with criss-cross straps and thorn heels (Roger Vivier-isms by way of Walter Steiger-isms)  completed the look. Leather and cloth high-waisted trousers looked sexy with their stiff zippered polo sweaters including a smart tan top were wrapped and tucked in. They were hot looks, like a taste of something great but then the waiter takes away the dish you've only just begun to savor.

The problem for me was that it wasn't a new message but the same one just moved  down the street from one house to the next. He plans to create a "total look" for LV as though one doesn't already exist. Marc Jacobs did a fine job of it, especially in the last 3 or 4 years. It wasn't broken, but now its showing signs of fractures. There were only 50 looks but it felt like hundreds with an audience of thousands looking kinda bored. But, hey, its the second coming so maybe I'm just blinded by so much divine light. You decide.


*images courtesy Style.com   *Video courtesy Fatalefashion   *Layout courtesy of Garnet

Vogue Magazine: The Final Frontier

 Dear Peeps,

Commanderette Anna Wintour and her crew of stalwart, stoic and steadfast recruits are not as dim as they sometimes appear. Where I've questioned her heavy-handed games of teacher's pet and her flip side as Miss Hannigan to an orphanage filled with the privileged, her latest move to offer up Kim and Kanye as poster children with the intent of a mass adoption is pure bizness brilliance. I shuddered passing the newsstand seeing the innocence in Kim's hooded eyes and Kanye's studied "baby daddy" pout. It was the dress that caught my eye. Following those "couture" folds up, up, up til my eyes landed on their faces, I was almost seduced to pick it up and thumb through. But above those mugs was writ large: VOGUE. Vogue? The Kimye Westdashians on the cover of Vogue? It must be a joke parody cover like MAD magazine used to publish...? well, um, no. It's real. I'm all for the zeitgeist but not when it is more the "Paranormal Activity" sort.

Lots of folks have been confused by this. I was until it finally clicked that Ms. Wintour is not so much the arbiter of taste as she is a balls to the wall bizness lady. Sell magazines? That's one thing she can see how to do through those sunglasses that increasingly remind me of the ones you can buy at 4 in the a.m. on an infomercial for Snow Birds nesting in Boca. You know the ones I mean... They look great at the early bird special at Olive Garden and perfect on the mini-golf course. So it looks like this issue will be a blockbuster. Perhaps with a slightly different demographic but money will change hands. Anna's explanation for her choice was straight out of the Cloud (gaseous and foul smelling):

Anna says,“There’s barely a strand of the modern media that the Kardashian Wests haven’t been able to master, and for good reason: Kanye is an amazing performer and cultural provocateur, while Kim, through her strength of character, has created a place for herself in the glare of the world’s spotlight, and it takes real guts to do that.”

So, there it is. The Oracle has spoken. If strength of character, making a place for ones self in the world's spotlight and guts is what it takes to be a super star, I probably would also have let some cretin make a porn video of me taking it up the chutney shoot with a look of wonder, satisfaction and surprise.... Just sayin'....

xo, Fluff

pics courtesy of P Hilton blog (couldn't resist)

Fashion: Don't try this at home....

I've been thinking a lot about this business and how it affects people. Especially, how a life in fashion is not for the faint of heart. It starts in a magazine or on a wretched reality show; The Face, Project No-way, All on the Line, and ad nauseum... The creative aspect is the most exciting part though many will argue it is the financial rewards are what its all about. Still others will rarely admit that it's the notoriety, attention, fawning press and glamor that is the biggest draw of all. The last is probably what draws the most moths to the blow torch. So what happens when you identify yourself with something that is fickle and fleeting? What happens if the warm glow of the spotlight shifts its focus to someone standing to your left, right or right smack in front of you? What happens if you just don't have the money to continue in a meaningful way? If you're somewhat secure and able to realize that a career can continue to grow and satisfaction can be found through the act of faith and sheer nerve, well, then you keep on doing the work. Or you choose to do something else.

I am uniquely qualified to weigh in on this topic. I had it all, defined myself and my self worth by the business I owned and never thought my life would be any different. Just up, up and up. I loved the press, the pictures of gowns from the red carpet, the profiles in newspapers and magazines, the stores and clients who celebrated my work (that meant me, right?) and that feeling that I was a player, even if a minor one compared to the whales. A Guppy with chops.
The smart showroom/workrooms, the beautiful horse, time divided between NYC, E Hampton and West Palm Beach (Wellington), a wonderful mate who loves me and helped me make it, respect from my peers and a feeling that I belonged to this very rare and exclusive club...It was exclusive then. And then the boom was lowered.

I had to make the toughest decision of all: Let It Go, or lose everything: sanity, security, and most of all my perspective. Depression and anxiety were just the ice cubes floating in the sea next to the iceberg of total defeat, shame and despair bobbing just beneath the surface.

Once the decision was made, it took about 2 years to make it, I was like an empty shell. It felt as though I no longer had any identity other than has-been, peon, loser. I had dark thoughts I admit, but they were thankfully shapeless and nameless. Running away and holding up in E Hampton was my solution. Though the New York Times sent me on my way with something much greater than a gold watch giving me the chance for a future, it still felt like death, my own.

Looking at the things written about L'Wren Scott brought it all back to me. That feeling of the walls closing in, the humiliation and shame I couldn't rationalize away and just feeling adrift and insignificant. I would never pretend to know what was in her heart or head. I do know that when one feels that all is lost it matters little what you "have", who you're with or what friends and loved ones think. But if in some way what I was plagued by when I stared at the precipice was even more acute for her, it's a very tragic loss... for her and for the others.

We often live and die by our own invention. If anything can be learned from this it's that one needs to use ones imagination to design a new possibility for ones self, the same as we start from scratch to create a new collection. Fashion is not for the faint of heart.

Exodus: The winter of our discontent.

Cathy Horyn

Has anyone besides me, Catherine, Jolain and others noticed that before the credits rolled the theater emptied? Where did everyone go? That goes for all of NYFW.....

Ok, so I did see a few shows, CH and RR along with a few others (Bibhu Mohapatra, Duckie Brown and some others not worth mentioning). They were each moving in their own ways. Ralph Rucci, of course, was the most moving, but in a static, frozen in time way. Carolina Herrera had some great moments that were so chic, so interesting, starting with an exaggerated Fez on the heads of many of the girls parading in DELUXE daytime clothes. Great fur treatments on cashmere coats, a turtleneck cashmere sweater that all but made the notion of a coat redundant. Day in the world of CH is more compelling than evening where the hand can become a tiny bit ham-fisted. Still it is the pervasive feel of chic, even modern at times, propriety that persuasively makes the argument for luxury. Ms Herrera is a classy Lady and her team led by Herve Pierre and crew are clearly a joyful gang with none of the angst that has riddled so much of the industry. Maybe that's because Mrs. H has nothing to prove. When you have IT why bother? It's a European sensibility that many of us inhabiting the New World are still centuries away from embodying.

Eric Wilson

The Ralph Rucci collection, due its own individual analysis, is interesting in a similar way with the exception that most every exit was its own show, its own statement on the nature of modernity in a time of social decay. I say static in that his themes were further developed, refined and distilled making the message, the sheer beauty and brilliance of idea/execution that much more obvious to see. The show staged in his own studio, a space that defies description other than to say it is part laboratory, part gallery and part heaven, was much more intimate than the tents so the clothes passed so close to you it was possible to see the texture of the fabrics, hear the rustle of fabrics and the sound of crystals and beads whispering to one another. It left me not so much stunned as satisfied.

Suzy Menkes

The strangest part of all was the absence of critical eyes. Ms. Horyn was not in attendance having left the Times only a week before to be with her partner, only for him to pass away within the following week. Her exit was the end of an era, or the end of an error, depending on how one chooses to look at it; glass half empty or glass bone dry. Though the uproar over her departure was such that some lamented that hers was the last voice of intelligent, objective discourse/criticism. Others mourned that fashion criticism is now the domain of ignorant uninformed bloggers. There may be some truth in that...

Watching Suzy Menkes shuffle in, then reading her reviews that parroted the hackneyed Horyn-isms (cutting on the "round" and "couture shapes", tropes, the notion of, etc.) and happy talk was distressing but not unexpected. Eric Wilson moved on to greener pastures too. I miss him. Eric's is an intelligent voice that is surprisingly objective. Rarely did he print a review that was oblique and freighted with meaning that couldn't be deciphered. I never had to read him twice... I even miss Cathy. She at least supplied the catnip for me and others to rake our claws over. I also feel for her Greek chorus weighing in on her blog with comments so dense in language and meaning that only she could "get at" what they attempted to "get at". I call them the Horyns of Babylon. Mrs. Menkes I understand is/has jumped ship to join Conde Nast so that completes the circle. The vacuum that's left is as disturbing as the legion of uninspired "designers" tossing looks down the runway like a pot of uncooked spaghetti at the wall; nothing much sticks just a mess on the floor to step in like the lazy entitled zombies in Brooklyn Heights whom no longer feel responsible for picking up after their mutts.

Europe, Paris in particular, is another story altogether. A story with a beginning, middle and end.

Golden Globes and Oscar: Red Carpet is a River of Blood

The Globes actually took me by surprise last week. All of my energy was directed to the National Figure Skating Championships and who would get named to the US team. The more time passes the farther away from the fray I've drifted. I remember the days when the award season was all that any self respecting designer thought about. This year's Globes limped along like last year and the year before with a red carpet that resembled a river of blood quite literally before air time when some water sprinklers got too hot next to artificial lights spewing filthy dirty water onto the carpet. The maintenance crews jumped to it mopping and drying it as best they could before the first regrettable train dragging gowns appeared. Tuning in for the pre-show fashion parade was not on my list but Anton suggested I might want to see first hand and not hear about it the next day. To give you an idea of the degree of my enthusiasm, I would rather have packed the car, gotten out of E Hampton and onto a Long Island Expressway traffic jam than listen to the inane people they've dragged the river to stand and ask the stars who/what they're wearing and little or nothing about why they were there.

I was neither surprised or disappointed watching the stars herded to the waiting mikes like animals going through a station by station check-in with an eventual neutering at the end (Fashion Police). It was a grim march that seemed completely lacking in excitement, surprise, wonderment or humor. A horror show in broad daylight without so much as a drop of elegance. From the moment I saw Woody Allen's "Blue Jasmine", I knew the award for best actress was Cate Blanchett's to lose and ditto for her appearance on the red carpet. No one has the ammo like she does with the exception of Charlize Theron.

Instead of drawing the whole spectacle out I thought I'd just say whom I thought looked best which includes everything: manners, grace, attitude, carriage, dignity, mystique, elegance, humility and humanity. That's a lot to cull from just a woman in a dress but hey, that's my criteria... Cate didn't disappoint. Not only was her Armani Prive couture dress beautiful and appropriate, it was unlike any of the other dresses there. Light, dignified and provocative in the same breath and fit like a second skin. If you noticed whenever the camera rested on her seated at her table she was a vision of self possession and an object of real beauty. Her static quality was like a still figure in a charging mass. But when she collected her Best Actress award she was as alive, unexpectedly candid and excited as a kid at Christmas. It was impressive. It was a classy moment.

Not so much the rest of the proceedings. The party line for the evening for the press and fashion hounds was that this year's key word was Haute Couture. The press starting with (maybe) the NY Times stated that any actress worth her weight in star power was ONLY being given couture to wear and they along with their savvy, brilliant stylists were"working" directly with the best fashion houses to make that couture gown uniquely and only one-of-a-kind-ish-ly JUST for that star. Sounds like a big deal only that's been going on for years. Sorry nothing new in that story except that it was the "official" story of the season. Still there were so many actresses that looked ok at best and awful in the cold light of a late Hollywood afternoon.

I loved the "homages" that kept me and  I'm sure many of you guessing. The first red flag were the pictures in the Times of Tom Ford's designs for Gwynneth Paltrow (white cape over white column) and Julianne Moore ( black and white gown in geometric wedges of contrasting color). One of the first dresses I saw was the red off the shoulder strapless gown with attached cape on the actress starring in "12 Years a Slave". It seemed so obviously Ford's design, but why when it was so identifiable with Gwynneth last year at the Oscar's. Even though it was more dramatic in red and strapless on this actress, it seemed lazy. Then the same thing happened moments later when another forgettable actress gallumphed up to the commentator in a halter that had almost the same lines as Julianne's Ford minus the sleeves. The halter was in fact Ford's, not a wise move. But the red was Ralph Lauren. Not such a wise move to copy so carelessly on a telecast that the world watches. So much for haute couture. for this league it should be termed " Ote Koo-chur".

Dresses fit the stars like skin for the most part. The lengths and trains were awkward and their ability to walk was seriously hampered. Lena Dunham of "Girls" fame should give Zac Posen a rest. He may be her friend and past classmate at Saint Anne's in Brooklyn Heights, but friends don't make friends look like shit on a global telecast. Just saying. And as far as the Haute Couture issue goes, 99% of the clothes worn can be seen in the collections of all of the designers from Spring14, Resort 14 or the couture fall 13 collections. So much for one-of-a-kind-ish-ness.

2013: More S%#t I loved...

Sounds like boatloads, but actually, there was just enough to fit into a long boat, the sort you see going up and down the Chao Phraya river that runs smack through Bangkok. Travel was a big exciting blast. It seemed every time I should be writing a post for this neglected blog, instead I was packing a bag and heading to the airport. I think I shared one account as I left the apartment to head for a flight to Amsterdam and some idiot locked her car doors from inside as I crossed the street to the sidewalk next to her parked car. My reaction to her actions was less than polite (I think I said F*** You), but it was so galling and uncalled for. Umm, life in the big city?

Still, I headed to Amsterdam, Belgium, Northern Germany and Denmark in search of the perfect dressage horse of international quality (competitive quality) with and for Matt. That trip of 8 days driving all over the Low Countries, visiting countless farms, trying out endless horses, many of outstanding beauty and talent, and staying at different hotels in out of the way places each night, was a wanderer's paradise.

We were rootless and in hot pursuit of the thing both of us love more than most everything in our lives; extraordinary horses. We didn't find the right one on our first attempt, coming home after a couple of very interesting and long nights in Amsterdam. That's a fun town. No one gives a damn about fashion, its simply a "quality of life town". To my mind, that's supremely stylish.

4 weeks later we were back on the plane and back to the task. That was a blast! To go and come home and just as suddenly, get back on the plane and go back for more. Punishing at times, so much driving and so many horses not meeting his standard. I was blind at a certain point and would have said yes just to get it over with.

One morning Matt sat across from me at breakfast weeping from frustration, exhaustion and fear that it was a pointless, self indulgent quest, but at that moment I could see how important it was to him. I was over it in a way, but that moment got me back to the point of the mission and I carried us both back out to the car and to the next barn in the next country hours away.

Sure enough in Aalborg on the far northern most tip of Denmark we found him: Qasanova, a 4 year old stallion with incredible bloodlines and as sweet as a puppy. But watching him move was like watching a preview of a great champion. So another memorable night back in Amsterdam, no shopping necessary, and we boarded our separate flights to return home. The horse would follow on his own flight about 6 weeks later. He's happily eating yummy grass in Wellington, Fla., just outside of Palm Beach, the horse capital of the U.S.

I was in Qatar in the late spring for 8 weeks in April and May. That was a fantastic experience. Between playing professor, lecturer and artist in residence I had a fabulous time. My function was to help design students from freshmen to seniors create and complete their final projects for the all important fashion show at the end that also happened to be the big social event of Doha.

I was invited to show a collection as the guest designer, an enormous honor and challenge as I'd put away my scissors almost 4 years before. Teaching was lots of fun and an opportunity to share almost 30 years of experience with young designers just taking their first steps. Hugely satisfying, if only because as a designer you rarely articulate what it is you do and think when you have a team so in tuned to you that much is communicated silently or with the simplest of words. Putting together a collection that was part archival pieces and a group of new things was  something I didn't realize I missed so much. I fell back into the process but with unforeseen hurdles, like always every season, but these due to work needing to be completed in Doha where I knew no one as far as a technical team able to work in a couture capacity. This wasn't about a few seams and a zipper. But I found them and they were every bit as good as my team finishing the last 6 pieces in a record time of 4 days, including the complete removal and re-embroidery of thousands of crystals on a hand made lace column created in India. The collection was a hit, I was on TV 3 or 4 times, interviewed on the radio twice and featured in the newspaper  6 times or more. Then the fashion magazines got into the game with a few profiles and images of the clothes from the runway. After such a drought it was like a flood and I loved it. Then home and back to the quiet life.

All along I've been working on a book. A lot of start and stop but over the last few months its been a steady flow. That has taken me away from writing here, but it is what it is. Its a pressing project that needs finishing, but easy it ain't. Memory is a curious thing. Mine can be spotty and selective. The stuff you'd rather forget is too often the stuff that needs to be shared. Otherwise, the story is a joyride and no one wants to read another story of a designer's glory days and nights romping from one success to another. My career didn't work quite like that, so it takes time to excavate. Maybe my story will resonate with your stories. No path from point A to point B is a straight line.

There's more great shit from this past year like my trip with Anton to Thailand (Bangkok and Krabi on the Adaman Sea) and stopping off in Qatar to say hi for a few days, but I'll break for now. Thanks for your indulgence.

2013: S&%T I loved last year....

It's 2014 and time to gird our loins for what could be a very interesting Fall season to come. As 2013 limps off to the place where bummer years go, the collections are just a matter of weeks away. For the diehards out there who just showed Pre-Fall a month ago, this spitting up of more, new and even more editorial stuff must kind of suck. There's no time to enjoy the fruits of ones labors before heading back to the delivery room. Last year was on the whole a very tame, monotonous period with lots of uninteresting clothes, tepid shows and high profile entrances and exits in the international HR offices. If anything it was the gaffes that were more interesting. Design has taken a back seat to banal PR for banal characters in the fashion business. Like a slow day in the newsroom, that day stretched for almost a solid year. When there's nothing to celebrate then you elevate the 2nd and 3rd tier and try to make the most of it. With that said, I do want to take some time to share the things I liked and the shit I loved. There were some shows that were outstanding.

Ralph Rucci staged 2 fantastic shows, spring and fall, and both were jaw droppingly beautiful. These are not clothes to look at on a video, you need to be up close just to take in a shred of his design brilliance. I know, big words for Ralph but hey, when it rocks, it rocks.

Valentino was consistently fabulous. Chiuri and Piccioli have taken that house to a new level. One that no one in Europe at this moment is able to touch. From evening clothes, amazing accessories to their budding daytime vision that's so smart and straight forward Perfectly illustrated in their Resort 2104 collection above, you wonder why no one else thought to do it. Unfussy, unstudied sportswear that oozes sophistication and ease. But their couture collections last year were splendid. Its so romantic and at the same time spare. Like a perfect meal it's all delicious and leaves you sated, not stuffed.

Maison Rabih Kayrouz (above) in Paris was a big surprise to me. He is so creative using the most basic shapes, combined and cut in sumptuous fabrics and eye popping knits. His Spring 2013 collection was full of inventive clothes incredibly modern and alluring. If I were a girl with an axe to grind I'd be covered in his clothes. Look and see what I mean. YUM!

Balenciaga by Alexander Wang was also a surprise. Chic, sleek, faithful and young, these clothes made Wang, the boy, a man. From the presentation of Spring2014, the mood of the show and the clothes were so assured, sophisticated. Its like Paris forces one to up his game or get out. I have to admit that as far as Wang/Balenciaga goes, "game on". Oddly, this new stage he inhabits has unfortunately upstaged his namesake gig. There was no pulse. Not everyone can juggle a ping pong ball and beach ball at the same time.

Carolina Herrera's Spring2014 collection (above) was a huge departure. Gone was the seriousness of hyper luxe and in its place beautiful simple sheath dresses and columns in graphic prints like angular Spirograph drawings in cream and brown among other chic color combinations and shapes. It was so easy and so rich it left you trying to figure out how she and her team did it. In a moment, they changed the mood of the house from self conscious to self possessed. There were lots of great clothes. I stood in the nose bleed section and still got chills. Just sayin'.

With the exception of some way beyond suits, jackets and some evening clothes and styling to make your toes curl, Lagerfeld at Chanel is starting to show his age. Sure, it's still the hottest ticket but more of that is built on hype and ancillary bits and bobs that somehow distract us enough to keep cheering. The show is the thing. Conceptually and scale-wise, Chanel is still the Queen but I'm not as curious as I used to be. The prospect of the future and the replacement doesn't keep me awake nights. Resort 2014 in Shanghai or Singapore, wherever, was pretty incredible. The girls with their 2 toned hair like a boy's cut with long unruly bangs made me wish I could throw my hair. It was very, very sophisticated. So worldly and knowing that it made you squirm...in a good way.

As far as extravaganza shows, one can not ignore Marc Jacobs staging of his Louis Vuitton collection delivered by escalator. That was in a class all its own. So beautifully choreographed. An army of checks in a myriad of soft compelling colors came and went in pairs, with matching shoes and bags. I didn't want it to end. That's saying a lot for Jacobs who too often leaves me cold. His Spring collection here in NYC for his namesake collection was also very interesting with a theme of bold stripes. Though it seemed a warm-up or afterthought in regards to LV it still had a nice kick to it. Very Edie Sedgwick, but Edie before the fall. Happy before the sadness.

 I'll share some more things I loved from this past year. Books and scents were a large plus and travel was maybe the best of all.

* Images courtesy of Style.com
** Image layout courtesy of Garnet Spagrud