Mercedes Benz Fashion Week And September 11

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It's still a tad hot and sticky here in my beloved Manhattan. Which only makes it all the more unreal that Mercedes Benz Fashion Week comes lumbering into town next week. AND during the media orgasm of celebrations/memorials/we will never forget thingies to commemorate the 10th anniversary of September 11th. Good timing, organizers.



Bad enough that we shall have to view the same horrific images countless times. Bad enough we have to view George W. Bush. Even worse, Dick Cheney. I might have had sex with him but I am still doing penance for it.



A ridiculously young moi with Dick Cheney back in the day



The schedule for MBFW is not on my desk. I plan to spend September 11 at home. With the flat screen off.



One good aspect to this is that the fashion world is probably too unimportant to the rest of the world to get blown up.



And your faithful correspondent is delighted to note that "vintage" is in again, as in mid-20th century. No amount of money would get me into a disco jumpsuit again. But as for the 40s and 50s, I'm ready to squeeze into my corset and wow the public as always. Fletcher is too much of a shy flower to accompany moi. One cannot risk him peeing in fright on Fern Mallis. One doubts she would have much of a sense of humor when it comes to canine urine.



So, good luck to all of my cohorts who are busily packing to come to New York. Take my advice and take the train. Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it, and we don't want anyone blown up.



Ciao,

Elisa

Roseanne Shows How To Age Gracefully

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First of all, HAPPY NEW YEAR! Apologies, but I was too drunk to post anything at the time.

But the hangover has ebbed, and I thought I would post about something that caught my eye.

Many stars fight the aging process with a tenacity usually shown only by male grizzly bears fighting for a mate. (And it's sometimes just as ugly.) The 59-year-old Roseanne is certainly no stranger to plastic surgery. In fact, she's had almost as many procedures as the Bride of Wildenstein, but at least Roseanne knew when to stop.

Recently seen in public and looking quite stylish, Roseanne has traded in her dyed brown hair:

for a more feminine, soft mane of silver.


It is ever so much more becoming. She looks rather like Fern Mallis. And notice that her skin is not pulled as tight as a drum. It looks like Roseanne can actually move her face. Try THAT, Cameron Diaz!

If only more stars would let themselves age just a tad, those of us over 30 wouldn't feel quite so bombarded by Olay ads.

Age is not a state of mind any more. It has become something to be avoided at all costs.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Bottom Feeders Of New York Fashion Week Spring 2011

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I am aware that I have been somewhat derelict in posting day to day reports about New York Fashion Week. So here are some of the rather, er, strange people one sees every day. Most of vanish into the darkness until the next Fashion Week rolls around.

Number One:

Painted Suit Man

A perennial habitue' of the central tent, this silent, eerily affectless gentleman shows up every day in a different hand-painted suit and matching hat. He never goes to the shows. But he is willing to stand for up to 10 hours, waiting to be photographed. The strategy rarely works. Note that with this newest suit, he is also rocking a pair of tight gold lame leggings. Dear God.

Number Two:

Milk Carton Man

This gentleman, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Seth Rogen, is the acknowledged master of getting into the front row. Even though he is supposed to up in the back in standing row. He tends to be dirty and disheveled. Often he is moved from the front row when a actual celebrity or Fern Mallis shows up. But in a few moments he pops up elsewhere. Nobody knows who he is. My image of this men is his photo on a milk carton, asking, "Have You Seen Me?" If anyone knows who he is, please tell me in the comments section.

Number Three:

Quiet Good Taste

You have to admire this woman. Her look is distinctive. The huge white bouffant can be easily spotted. Both she and her assistant wear outfits that defy description. Well, one descriptive would be "Huh?" Apparently she has a public access show based in Long Island. Which explains a great deal.

In the interest of fairness, this is what I wore today: a dress designed especially pour moi by SKWilbur, made of denim with satin detailing on one side front and back; and a hat from 1939, made of velvet with a large satin bow in the back.

More reportage on the morrow.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Fashion Week Fall 2010 Day Four Report

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I arose from my sickbed to return the Bryant Park tents because I know that is what all of my faithful readers demand from me. What would Fashion Week be without my discerning eye and my desire to bring all of it to you, mes fidèles lecteurs? A hollow shell, that’s what.

The untimely death of the genius designer Alexander McQueen has left a pall over New York Fashion Week. The atmosphere isn’t exactly grim, but it is definitely there. On Thursday, each show began with a moment of silence to acknowledge his passing.

I was supposed to start my day with the Simon Spurr show. But in the words of the late, unlamented Phil Rizzuto “WW (wasn’t watching).” It was almost too much to get myself to get myself together to drag myself to the Bryant Park tents. The level of fabulousity I struggle to maintain is hard labor, let me tell you! I was not at my best, which is why there are few photos .

The Diane von Furstenberg show was full of feminine delights and pushy media folk. Yours truly was almost knocked over by a peon with a Canon point and shoot. And still having a terrible cold, as I made my way to my seat, I sneezed on my former BFF, Andre Leon Talley. (The Rachel Zoe incident will take a long time to forgive or forget.) Unlike Alec Baldwin, he was not wearing suede. Be grateful for small favors.

"Bask in my awesome, bitches"

In my haste to get away before an unpleasant scene, I again met my new BFF, Tim Gunn. He was so delighted to see me he pushed Fern Mallis out of the way.

My BFF, Tim Gunn


















He particularly admired my mink vintage cigarette case, which I use as a business card holder. When rummaging through my handbag, the fur makes it much easier to find.

I shall never understand the double row of celebrities or whatever they are at the center of the runway. It reminds me oddly of cafeteria seating.

As for the show itself, there was an homage to her famous wrap dress and much of the collection was black. Diane clearly knows how to design for a woman’s body. Her clothes can be worn by woman 19-69.













Model waiting to go on the runway

The finale of the show was a sensational metallic pewter draped dress which on closer examination had a rather strange little edge of blue tulle.


At the end, Diane herself walked the entire runway with her family. There was not a dry eye in the house except for yours truly. I detest cheap sentiment, however sincere.




















DVF about to hit the runway

Before the Custo Barcelona show, I was (un)fortunate enough to interview the impossibly fey designer Vassilios Kostetsos, to which I will devote a separate entry. Suffice to say his aversion to larger women is only equaled by Oprah Winfrey’s self-loathing.

The Custo Barcelona show had, like all of his shows, a lot of thumping, thundering noise. With androgynous models speed-walking around the catwalk. Custo Barcelona designs for very young men and women. Since I am not very young, only ageless, he is not "targeting my demo," so to speak. To be honest, the only way one could tell which sex a model was, was by the size of their thighs. The men have a bit more meat on their legs.

The show was called “Hairy Metal,” which to your faithful correspondent is a truly disgusting image. It translated into something far more palatable, albeit a bit strange: large fuzzy tunics, clothing with random strips of fur applied as though the designer had thrown them against a sweater covered with superglue.

The coats were the strongest part of the show, thick with texture. Even though these designs are for club kids, I could have used one of them in the frigid February weather.

Some of the men’s suits were made out of faux reptile fabric, in yet another evocation of the 1970s. Of all of the decades to be inspired by, why THAT one?

When the designer came out, he wore a color-blocked sweater that underscored that he is too old to wear his own designs. Comment bien triste.

Off to a hot bath and one hopes a lessening of sputum. Next time I might sneeze on Fern Mallis, and that would be the end of the tents pour moi!

More later!


Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Photos not taken by moi are courtesy of Getty Images

A New York Fashion Week Thank You...

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Most of my staff may be total incompetents, but the people "behind the scenes" at Mercedes Benz Fashion Week have made many things infinitely more tolerable to your faithful correspondent. And so before I go on to review more shows or try to write something philosophical about The State Of Fashion today, I wish to thank those, shall we say, little people who grease the wheels of the mighty engine of MCFW.

1) The IMG press office. Despite being continuously deluged and frantic in their small outdoor cubicle, they consented to my bringing an assistant, were always polite and patient with my many requests, and remained unflappable in the face of hysterical reporters and photographers. And somehow found the time to send out media alerts every day. I can barely keep up with this blog-thing, heaven knows how they do it.

2) Citadel, the security staff. These handsome gentlemen (and a few women) turned out to be very pleasant company while one waited in the endless lines. Some of the men have to stand for more than 12 hours a day. If I had to do that and deal with the continual parade of lunatics who attend Fashion Week, I would probably bring a machete in my purse. Or Bucky, who could inflict just as much damage with his razor-sharp teeth. Plus, they are quite easy on the eyes.

3) McCafe. Ordinarily I would not set my high-heeled foot in a McDonald's. Too many of the great unwashed, you know. However, their coffee bar was a lifesaver! Especially when I asked for an iced mocha with an expresso shot and whipped cream! Those caffeine and sugar bombs kept me going for hours on end.

4) The Lu Biscuit girls. These beautiful young girls, mostly aspiring actresses, were always amusing to converse with. Intentionally, I mean. Highly observant and intelligent, and they gave one chocolate biscuits! What more could one ask?

5) Fern Mallis and Lynn Yaeger, for reasons they will understand.




















Fern Mallis

6) The technical crew, who kept the tents from collapsing on all of us, or the floors from collapsing underneath us. (Imagine the huge piles of fashionistas screaming "Don't you know who I am?" at the rescue crews.) Plus, they were good looking men, and you know how I feel about that.















(Hubba hubba)

7) The Information Desk Staff. Not only did they give me scads of reading material, they tried to help me when:

Un Grand Merci Not You To:

The French documentary crew who had me rush to Bryant Park at noon for an interview, only to stand moi up! Now you know why so many people do not like the French. And the phone number they gave me was in France! For almost an hour, the staff at the IMG Information Desk tried to help me dial the number, to no avail. Je crache sur les producteurs de documentaires français de films.

Off to the tents - more later, dahlings!

Ciao,
Elisa and Bucky the Still Sulking Wonderdog

Fashion Week Day One: Ports 1961 And Pink-Eye

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One approached the Ports 1961 Spring 2010 Show with great anticipation, more so because I was sitting next to the lovely Kim of Omnimedia (our paths have crossed so often that if one of us were male and Fashion Week was a bad romantic comedy, it would seem contrived).

However, it must be admitted that Tia Cibani’s abandonment of her usual formula resulted in a mixture of beauty and boredom. It was by far the longest show I’ve attended, and even Fern Mallis seemed distracted mid-way, as did many of the PYTs in the front row. The peculiar decision was to have the models wear make-up that gave them all a severe case of pink-eye. Fashion and disease do not mix well, unless it’s an AIDS benefit.

All photos by Marcio Madeira.

Many of the clothes, while in lovely materials, had strange bumps in them reminiscent of Project Runway.

Cibani presented some stunning draped silk dresses, in fact most of the materials were exquisite, in a pale pallette of pinks, pastels and metallics.


However, some of her concoctions were either minimal to the point of ennui or sported wide plastic obi-styled belts.


(All one could think when gazing at them was waist-sweat, a concept that was new to moi and most unwelcome.)

Is this a neckpiece made of clear plastic bags, or is it a pair of welder's goggles? You be the judge.

The best dresses had either marvelous draping or, in some cases, unexpected back interest that popped the look when the models turned. And the final gown was an absolutely show-stopper, in flowing white shot with silver.

In the backstage media madness, the extremely petite Ms. Cibani was quite gracious even under siege. And as usual, there was a buffet that nobody was eating. That’s fashion…more free cocktails than you can shake a stick at, but heaven forfend you touch the food.

More later,

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

The Fashion Show, Episode Two: Come Back, Heidi Klum, All Is Forgiven!

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So, the second episode of The Fashion Show has been inflicted on the American public. Your faithful correspondent was not impressed. At least they have toned down “Evil Isaac” to “Nasty Isaac.”

After being told last week by “Evil Isaac” that she had no business being in fashion, a weeping Kristin quit the show. So now we won’t have to look at that annoying hair anymore.

As before, Kelly Rowland still has absolutely nothing of value to say during the judging. Thank God for Fern Mallis, or I couldn’t sit through this idiocy. And the ending catchphrase from NI: “We’re not buying it. Bye, darling.” Somehow one doubts that will be on everyone’s lips. With Project Runway, fans said that the designers had been "auf'd." Saying a designer has been "bye'd" lacks the same zing, don't you think?

The mini-challenges aren't worth commenting about, other than they take even more time away from the workroom. AND they have 30 second segments of the actual show? Not teasers, but segments? Thank goodness for fast forward.

And how pathetic is it that the only visible sponsor is Tresemme? When they showed the fabric store, it certainly wasn’t Mood (which your faithful correspondent has visited many times), in fact, they could not show the name on the bags! And the winner gets…

A fashion show on the runway set. In the basement of whatever building that is. Combien peuvent-ils faire de plus faible des enjeux, chers lecteurs?

I never thought I would write this, but I miss Heidi Klum.

Well, most of the time.

This past week’s challenge was to design for…Tinsley Mortimer. Ms. Mortimer is a “socialite”, and she and her husband Topper (in this picture she told him to look at the camera, but this is the best the poor thing could do) are from that elite group that intermarries. Rather like Appalachians, but with far more money.


This is a woman so without personality that a planned reality show about her life was scrapped earlier this year. Do you realize how dull a celebrity has to be to have a reality show about you not even make it to air? (I know this fact because I have my connections.)



“My hair is my trademark,” she claimed about her bleached tinder-dry long bob with bangs. The bangs at least obscured the ridiculous amount of eye makeup she was wearing. Each designer was given $40 to create their outfits. As the young people say, WTF?

The designers were kept in teams, which is meant to promote conflict as these various social misfits clash with each other. Merlin’s flamboyance is starting to grow on me, and I suspect the producers will keep him until he makes something so unforgiveable that it actually catches fire on the runway and burns the poor model to death. Reco looks exactly Jimmy Walker on “Good Times.” One keeps waiting for him to shout “Dy-no-MITE!” I liked his design, if not the clashing colors. (That background designing for strippers is hard to shake off.)


During the 14 hours the designers had to create their pieces, Nasty Isaac and Useless Kelly visited the workroom several times. Determined to be as unlike Tim Gunn as possible, instead of giving constructive criticism and encouragement, Nasty Isaac tears down each design. Or if he can't think of anything sufficiently vicious to say to the designer, he simply sprinkles some bad karma around. Each time the hosts leave, the designers are visibly more dispirited. WHAT is going on?

Are they going to start waterboarding the designers as we get closer to the Final Four?

Laura was determined to put red tulle on a badly designed dress, despite the efforts of her team to talk her out of it. And the back! Dear God, the back!



During the final judging, an awful lot time is taken up with of groups of people getting up, sitting down, getting up, sitting down. I was starting to nod off from boredom, so I’m not certain why. Bucky was sleeping in my lap, so he was of no help.

Suffice to say that Daniella won for a cute jumpsuit with a transparent bomber jacket, nothing special except for a floppy blue bow that was completely out of place. Ms. Mortimer, the fourth judge, would “totally wear it.”


The loser was going to be either Laura and Johnny R., whose dress not only promised to malfunction on the runway (thank goodness models barely have breasts), but was put together with safety pins. When criticized, Johnny R. and Isaac had a bitch-slapping contest. Not smart, Johnny dahling. Isaac is the host, you fool. Obvious to us, perhaps, but not to Top-Knot Guy. (Unfortunately for moi, the nickname Samurai Guy is already taken.)


Backstage, Isaac pretended to be foaming-at-the-mouth furious while Kelly pretended to restrain him. The choice was between “bad attitude and bad dress.” I’m sure after consultation with the producers, they went for bad dress. Quel mauvais. Top-Knot Guy is more telegenic, and I’m sure we can look forward to more outbursts in the future.

Or you can look forward to it. I might wait for the real thing to come along later in the season, on Lifetime.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Project Runway on Steroids: The Fashion Show

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Now that Bravo has lost "Project Runway," they have seen fit to create, as they say in the fashion business, a knock-off. "The Fashion Show." Oh yes, the trim is different, perhaps the skirt is shorter and the material is definitely cheaper. But the echoes are there, and not to the show's advantage.

It is not meant to be "Project Runway"--there is no Tim Gunn mentoring the designers, the fashions are displayed at the end before a live audience--but of course the spirit of its predecessor hovers over the program. Fifteen designers compete to become the Final Four, with an elimination each week.

By far the best part of the show, IMO, was the runway show. The set is well-designed, and the excitement of a live audience makes it feel almost like we are watching a real fashion show. However, the lack of time spent in the workroom was a problem. Your faithful correspondent watches "Project Runway" to see the designers design, create and execute the challenges, but there was so much hugger-mugger on this show that the workroom barely had a cameo appearance.

It seems that the producers are trying to up the annoyance quotient with the designers, making it easier to root for them to be eliminated: Merlin, winner of the first week's challenge, a squeaky gentleman from Honduras, managed to wear the most irritating headgear since Madonna's appearance at the Metropolitan Museum Costume Gala.

And if he's 38, I'm five feet tall.

Johnny R., who has a topknot and is prone to other annoying things on his head; and Kristin, who has simply settled for annoying hair.


Most of the other designers have yet to display much personality.


Isaac, Kelly, and Fern, oh my!

The two hosts are designer/unable to escape from media personality Isaac Mizrahi and singer Kelly Rowland. Where her fashion credibility lies escapes your faithful correspondent, but she hasn't had a hit single in some time and she's very photogenic. (I think that's about it, so far, unless she has an evil twin side that hasn't come out yet.) Isaac, who I have adored ever since he declared "fat is the new black" two years ago, is amazingly cruel in his comments to the young designers, and almost none of the show outside of the workroom seemed spontaneous. Honestly, I don't know why they bothered to show Isaac and Kelly interacting; it felt as stiff as high school theater. Fern Mallis, at least, is the senior vice president at IMG, which produces Fashion Week.

The challenge was to produce a "must-have" item and design a collection around it, the designers working in teams. But honestly, baggy purple satin harem pants as a "must-have" item?

The other choices were a black bolero jacket, and an extremely tight camel-colored wool tube skirt/dress/sprained ankle bandage.

One hoped that Kristin would get the boot both for that hideous Alice in Wonderland on acid dress and then one wouldn't have to look at her hair again. (She concealed the tube skirt under all of that fuss.)

But, instead, Jonny (without an R)was let go because of his "slutty," amazingly tight dress. He went in the opposite direction and showcased the skirt! When an emaciated model can't fit into something, you know that the designer has an experience problem.

To sum up, the show isn't good, it isn't bad, it's watchable, and like every other competition show on Bravo. At least it's something to watch now that "House" has had its season finale.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Fashion Week Fall 2009 Trims The Fat But Not The Big Macs!

DAHLINGS –

What a week, vénérable mes lecteurs, what a week! On Wednesday your faithful correspondent attended a luncheon at Bergdorf Goodman (one of my beloved childhood department stores…dear darling Mama used to let me play at the fine jewelry counters because she knew how I cherished sparkly things).


The occasion was for the House of Dior, with several top executives there. If you have been following this blog with half an eye, you know my vast love for Dior! The lobster plates and champagne were courtesy of Dior executive Delphine Arnault-Gancia. It was attended by the typical pack of undernourished socialites and a model or two. Thank God I did not have to sit next to Tinsley Mortimer.


Photo of Delphine Arnault-Gancia and Jim Gold
copyright Patrick McMullan


(J'ai presque écrit socialistes, mais c'est le contraire, n'est-ce pas?) I wore a red velvet vintage Dior “spider hat” in honor of the occasion. Lovely how in this dreadful economy we can still look forward to the Dior Spring Line!

Speaking of the appalling economy, Fashion Week Fall 2009 has scaled back to an unprecedented level: fewer runway shows, and top designer names opting for “presentations” instead. It is something like putting live models in department store windows or something like that. They have to freeze in place for hours while fashion editors pluck at them. (cf. my post of January 26 2007 ‘Dead Brazilian Models: A Suggestion’.)

The most shocking development to your faithful correspondent was that menswear designer Duckie Brown has inked a deal with (ugh) McDonalds—speaking of places where never a model has been seen actually eating—holding the food does not count—to produce the show and have a “Mc-Cafe” backstage. So instead of snubbing the fruit bowls, the models can snub Chicken McNuggets. Well, one supposes that when you’re simply not used to ingesting food, an apple is the same thing as a Quarter Pounder With Cheese.

The star power in the front rows has also been considerably dimmed, if my experience is anything to go by. Where hast thou gone, Ashton and Demi? And why are you not missed?

Friday night I passed on the AMFAR benefit (one had quite enough of that sort of thing in Washington, thank you) to go to the actual Mercedes Benz opening party, held at Shang at the Thompson LES. Other than being extremely noisy, it was quite fun. I spotted Christian Siriano (one swears he would easily fit into Bucky’s Gucci dog carrier!).



One dearly wanted to thank the little imp for not being overly snarky on the Golden Globes Fashion Wrap-Up Show. Christian has strong opinions, but not the pure mean streak that many of the other commentators have. That might be because Christian actually has a functional talent in the real world…oh, dear, did I just write that? Mes plus sincères excuses. (Debbie Matenopolous’s dress on that show still baffles me…two, two, two necklines in one!)

Fern Mallis graciously took the stage to thank us all for being there. Things being what they are these days, she should have been grateful anyone was there. Nothing against Fern personally, of course. After all, she is the only woman who is allowed to look faintly normal at Fashion Week, presumably because it is her baby.

Photo of Fern Mallis copyright Patrick McMullan

A very loud band, The Virgins, took the stage, and I hied myself to my limo, along with a handsome waiter I’d met. I think his name might be Jose, or Julio, I can never remember these things. He was gone before daylight, which was the important thing.

There will be a great deal later, including reviews of the shows, but I have been far too busy and I must get some rest. Tomorrow: how Yigal Azrouel rocked my world, and ever so much more!

Here's hoping you all had a joyous Valentine's Day!

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog