Random Musings On Fashion Week S/S 2010

DAHLINGS –

I have a few moments to sit quietly at home, sipping a cappuccino. Bucky is in my lap; he's been in a deep funk because I have left him at home this time. In February, his lunging at Anna Wintour was not to be tolerated. Bad enough he's already bitten Andre Leon Talley! (Search this blog for the entire story.) I've been musing over the first four days of New York Fashion Week.

THE AUDIENCE

Cathy Horyn wrote a brilliant front-page article in The New York Times on Friday, about high fashion falling to earth. As much as your dutiful correspondent adores the shows, one has to ask oneself at this time: is it worth it?

On the one hand, the spectacle, the showmanship, the exquisite workmanship of some of the clothes is simply breathtaking. Some garments have brought tears to my eyes for their sheer beauty. Some outfits have made me wonder what drugs the designer was consuming when he created them.

On the other hand, the voracity of the media is one thing. But observing the same voracity in the eyes of desperate “people of the moment” and want-to-be “people of the moment” is another thing altogether.

For instance, last night, backstage at the Custo Barcelona show I was SQUASHED between Mr. Dalmau, who is tiny, dozens of PYTs and show-crashers. Some of them leaned back on my capacious bosom as if it was an armchair. (One knows they have an exaggerated sense of entitlement, but my breasts are not included, thank you very much.) Somehow one simply could not escape being next to Mr. Dalmau; the crowd simply carried me across the dressing room.

Moi, trapped behind Custo Dalmau (and holding onto a dress rack for dear life)

My face was also pinned by the back of a television camera. When I howled, the swine of a cameraman was completely unapologetic. If it had been Tori Spelling, who was at the Christian Siriano show, he would have been groveling. God knows she probably wouldn’t have even felt it through the Botox and the heavy makeup.

Backstage Tori glued herself to poor Christian’s side until he grabbed his bodyguard and ran out of the room. True story, dahlings.

My dear friend funkoma wrote a blog post on a related topic, “To Be Young, Pretty And Stupid.” http://funkomavintage.blogspot.com/2009/09/oh-to-be-young-pretty-and-stupid.html/

The shining exceptions to this behavior, besides my wonderful on-site assistant Bella Fierce, have been the darling Tim Gunn (who remembered me, causing a girlish blush to rise to my cheeks), the ever-gracious Fern Mallis, Marc Bouwer, Jack Mackenroth, Christopher Straub, and many of the bloggers I have been fortunate to meet this time at the rodeo.

Tim Gunn Greets His Public

THE UTTER LACK OF FOOD

It should not come as a surprise that, in addition to the paramedics outside the tents with crash carts of Ensure and methamphetamines, there is no food served inside the tents. Free cocktails abound, as does some sponsor's water, Muscle Milk (blech) Coke and Diet Coke, and “mocktails” served up at the Fashion Week juice bar by Belgian restaurant Rouge Tomate, prepared by Rouge Tomate’s mixologist, Rainlove Lampariello. I have no responsibility for the person's name, but let me tell you, the drinks are actually quite delicious. The lemonade with cucumber and mint was an absolute lifesaver before getting back on line for a show. (Your faithful correspondent holds off on the liquor until after the shows are over...one must keep a clear head.)

However, backstage at the Vivienne Tam show, there was an array of goodies. I was so surprised, I photographed them. Then I grabbed a goat cheese sandwich and broke the symmetry of the display.

REMARKS AND RESPONSES

Overheard at the Wednesday night Saks Fifth Avenue celebration: “Saks is a legend," gushed Rachel Zoe. "You come to New York, and this is where you go! It's been around forever, and it's one-stop shopping. Plus, it's Saks! It's Saks Fifth Avenue.”

Stylist Philip Block on clients with bad taste: “I’ll dress them, but they’re not to give me any credit on the red carpet!”

Tim Gunn after the Christian Siriano show: “I feel like a proud papa!”

Half the people one stood next to, usually to a bored, footsore security guard: “Don’t you know who I AM?” Invariable response: nothing. They hear it all day.

Almost any designer save Marc Bouwer when I ask, “Would you ever consider designing for a woman my size?” Invariable response: a frozen stare, and then a few gulps.

That’s all for now. I’m off to prepare myself for my interview with Frazer Harrison, celebrity photographer, so I need to write out a list of rude questions.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Sulking Wonderdog



All photographs Elisa DeCarlo

Fashion Week 2009 Wrap Up Part One: Cathy Horyn Calls It!

DAHLINGS –

Fashion Week is over at last.

I am having to write this blog-thing myself. I cannot reach my assistant, damn the woman. I’ve had no rest at all, I tell you, no rest at all, and neither has Bucky.

In a rare moment of confession, I have to tell you that Cathy Horyn’s article in The New York Times yesterday (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/21/fashion/21REVIEW.html?_r=1) sums up much of my thoughts. I was not allowed into Marc Jacob’s collection, I shall not lie to you. Your high opinion of me means too much.

Your faithful correspondent enjoyed Ralph Lauren’s collection more than Ms. Horyn, but I am a bit more of a traditionalist than that fine critic.
(All photos by Marcio Madeira)


Note that this one example of the Omnipresent Silhouette (above) is covered by a gorgeous coat!




And yes, Francisco Costa of Calvin Klein knocked it out of the park for yours truly. Cathy and I are in agreement. Creativity and elegance, my favorite combination.


Although even the great Mr. Costa could not resist the lure of the Silhouette...I was asked repeatedly what it means: youth, hope, optimism? To tell the truth, mon cher lectuers, I have not the foggiest idea. But that's fashion. Silhouettes happen.

More later,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Fashion Week 2009 Wrap Up, Dahlings!

DAHLINGS –

I am simply wrung out, exhausted, barely able to move. I am dictating this blog-thing to my assistant while getting a foot message and pedicure (there is another masseuse giving Bucky a full-body message…the poor little dog had been banged around in so many different bags by frantic crowds! I do hope she remembers to put a muzzle on my darling before she paints his nails).

Because of my extreme weariness I shall simply give some thumbnail descriptions of various shows I visited during the past week. First of all, Diane von Furstenberg’s show was delightful, the dresses flowing, airy and comfortable. And many of the models were SMILING! Mon dieu! How refreshing! (Methinks Diane has found a man to have sex with, unlike her husband?) DVF even created a way to conceal Coco Rocha:



Brava, Diva!

As regular readers know, Marc Jacobs is not one of my favorite designers. However, one must reluctantly admit that his collection was…yes, I can say it…marvelous. Over the top, colorful, but so well-edited and with a sense of humor. It was at the Armory, and actually started on time! Last time spectators had to wait hours, and then MJ went ballistic, as they say, in the newspapers no less. One must do some reconsidering.



I am not usually a woman who is wrong, but in this case, I won’t say I have been wrong, but I will say that I have reconsidered. It was one of the best collections of the week. Cathy Horyn of the New York Times mentioned, that in this year of women in elections, perhaps some of Jacobs’s outfits were referencing turn-of-the-century suffragettes. Of that, I can only approve. And Cathy is simply one of the best, if not the best, fashion interpreters out there today.

Out of sheer curiosity, I would have gone to Michael Kors’s show, but participating in the New York Reality Television School the night before (how ironic!) left me reluctant to leave my bed until the Oscar de le Renta show.

And of course, your faithful correspondent was in the front row, across from the luminous Jennifer Lopez, who for some reason was wearing a black strapless ball gown for early afternoon (I mean, there are photo ops and there are photo ops, but really.) and Rachel Zoe. About the latter, my lips are sealed, friend-snatcher. Of course I wore Oscar from head to foot (well, not foot, because I have to have my shoes custom made, but I had managed to color coordinate my stilettos). So that I wouldn’t look too—I despise the phrase—“matchy matchy”, I carried a Louis Vuitton carrier for Bucky and a bright yellow Toblerone, extra large. One of those bars can get one through an entire day, provided one also brings a Red Bull or two. Yes, I do get a bit snappish at times—

WHY ARE YOU ROLLING YOUR EYES? WHAT AM I PAYING YOU FOR, YOU IDIOTIC SWINE? GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY FEET AT ONCE! GET OUT! NO, LEAVE YOUR ASSISTANT HERE! BUCKY'S TOES HAVE NOT BEEN PAINTED YET!

Ahem. Je ne souffrent pas des imbéciles heureux.

Absolutely beautiful, dahlings. One can always count on Oscar to deliver the goods.
And while we are at it, compare Oscar's swimsuit to Yigal's

Francisco Costa’s collection for Calvin Klein seemed a wee bit bizarre to your faithful correspondent, but he was going for an “architectural” look. For those of you who criticize moi for suggesting many of the models might have Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome, Serena Williams and Tyra Banks were in the audience… what a relief to see “real” women!

Christian Siriano executed a marvelous collection. He is truly growing as a designer, even though he’s almost as small in person as Bucky. (Seeing him stand next to my ex-friend Andre Leon Talley is seeing Mutt and Jeff personified, pardon the antique reference.)

As for the Project Runway show, my lips are sealed. You’ll simply have to wait, dahlings.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

R.I.P. Yves Saint Laurent, Part Deux

DAHLINGS -

It has not escaped my notice that the so-called "vintage community" has simply exploded with tributes to the late, greatly lamented Yves Saint Laurent.

And along with these tributes, there are usually several listings of vintage Saint Laurent, should you not be too grief-stricken to buy them. I admit, I have some Rive Gauche in stock, but the thought of listing it now sickens me.

In the meantime, I wish to draw your attention to a brilliant article by Cathy Horyn, the fashion critic for The New York Times, "Yves of Destruction," published in 2000:

http://tinyurl.com/5zwewv

It is truly one of the most penetrating, least cliche'd examinations of a tormented personality that I have ever read. Absolutely devastating and brilliant.

I know at times I throw those words around lightly, but not now. And her blog, "On The Runway," puts Saint Laurent into historical perspective better than anyone else I have read.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky The Wonderdog