Gossip Central

Fashion Week

Are designers merely modest or timid? After the shows, where a half year's hard work is paraded in front of celebrities, photographers, Bloomingdale's buyers, etc., the custom is to venture out for a nanosecond, air kiss the applauding crowd, and quickly retreat behind a curtain. Betsey Johnson is of course an exception with her signature runway cartwheel, and Maggie Norris simply entertained off site with her model Keira Chaplin (yes that's Charlie's granddaughter) prefiguring the red dress debut inside the tents the next morning featuring surprise model Laura Bush. But what about Joanna Mastroianni, Charlotte Ronson, Lela Rose, Erica Davies of Development, whose exceptional shows were the highlight of my fashion week? How do they remain demure after displaying their gorgeous wares? Memorable were Mastroianni's Morocco inspired lapis/alabaster embroidered silk organza hooded robe, pomegranate strapless dress with fan bodice and asymmetric hemline, and black lacquered silk “croc” used on a number of ultra chic ensembles.
Eschewing that Ozian don't pay attention to the man behind the curtain, you can count on the Blonds, Phillipe and David to take the catwalk. That's because their show defines drama. Fashionistas Patrick McDonald and Kenny Kenny supplied high wattage from the front row, both impeccably accoutred for the occasion, Patrick in what I could describe as embellished fox hound hunter and Kenny in a jacket that looked like vintage Thierry Mugler accessorized with black rabbit ears cocked to the side just so. No, he told me, the jacket came from a former Marc Jacobs designer. The Blond's collection went from black lipsticked monster haired women in leather spiked corsets encrusted with Swarovski crystal to bare gloss lipped fairy goddesses in blond tresses in white silk chiffon with ostrich and pearl detail. “Le Blond Angels” mugged in pink, canary, and turquoise sequined jumpers. But nothing, not even the Barbie corset dress with blue fox Marlene coat could not top the Blonds themselves walking the walk--Phillipe especially styled as Gwen Stefani. Illustrator Robert W. Richards whispered, “It takes a special woman to wear these clothes,” to which I replied with an eye on Patrick and Kenny seated in front of us. “No, it takes a special man.”

Regina Weinreich             

Graphic Design: Salpeter Ventura

Stilettos and Spandex

More was more at last night’s launch of Mao’s Mag celebrating those who march to a different drummer fashion-wise: The large glossy semi-annual, its cover a signature psychedelic dreamscape by Peter Max gorgeously printed, begs the question: where have all the Originals gone? Brothers Roger and Mauricio Padilha noted a paradox: while we live in an era where individuality is encouraged, everyone looks pretty much the same. Bored of being bombarded by images of gaunt movie stars donning the same designer gowns picked out by stylists, they want to bring attention to those who have created their own style by being brave enough to be themselves. And so their spotlight shined on counter-culture celebrities in the “History of Cool:” Deborah Harry, Brigid Berlin, Michael Musto, Marisa Berenson, Jane Forth, Ann Magnuson, Norma Kamali, Kenneth Jay Lane, Kenny Scharf, Julie Newmar (“who will forever remain the original and best Catwoman to us”), and others, in photo spreads and interviews.

The Broad Street Ballroom was abuzz: dancing in between its early 20th century mosaic columns were a chandelier headed man in baroque, women in outsized wigs in bubble gum pink and tutti frutti, Jayne Mansfield blonds, the usual dandies in tweed waistcoats over leopard ballet flats and small brimmed befeathered fedoras, someone tall in a suit elegantly coiffed with bull horns—these looks suggest that massive amounts of mascara and sequins do not alone make the man. A hybrid gender now marks the official start of fashion week, neither fish nor fowl, even though some were distinctly wearing stuffed birds. Hard to say how “Original” this remix really is, in its borrowing from a vaguely defined past of camp meets colossal, sort of John Waters dressing Divine. Or an evocation of the Metropolitan Museum’s “Glitter and Gloom” exhibit of German portraits of the 1920’s redubbed “Glitter and Glee.” A dapper gent asked me the question of the night, are you Old School? I countered, are you? Oh yes, I’m ‘80’s and ‘90’s, he said. Amazing what is nostalgia for NOW! Meantime projections of the original Originals flickered overhead. Onstage, defying the anorexic aesthetic of runway models, large women in scanty retro bustiers and gartered nylons draped their round rippled rears over a couch. Odalisque, anyone? Proudly they mugged for the crowd who mostly had eyes for one another, snapping shots during sets of naked painted performers in blues and grays with cat’s eyes in the image of Karen Black.

Regina Weinreich

Fashion, Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week, New York Fashion Week, Fall 2007 Collections, Mao Mag, Fashion Designers