Is Karl Lagerfeld An Art Form?

DAHLINGS -


This latest PR release found its way into my inbox, and it asks a burning question:






"Is being Karl Lagerfeld not an art in itself?"



Oh, dear, someone in the copywriting department got carried away again. And the portrait is disturbing. I wonder where I've seen that look before...

Ah, yes, that was before he lost all of that weight. If you need information on the app, I'm sure another more conscientious blogger will supply it for you.

Ciao,

Elisa

Infinity And Beyond: Project Runway, S8, Episode Two

DAHLINGS:

Bloated, long-winded, and faintly aggravating; no, I do not mean Rush Limbaugh. Rather, the new format of Project Runway. The ninety-minute episode.

What do we get for our additional half-hour? The only good thing I can think of is no more Models Of The Runway. Instead, we get more of the designers talking trash about each other, * footage of them in their rooms at the ATLAS (as is constantly pointed out), extended footage after the aufs, and most important, many, many more commercials. Second in importance is that none of the designers are particularly interesting people. A message to Bunim/Murray: Absence of footage makes the heart grow fonder.

There is little that can keep my attention for ninety minutes other than fantasizing about Alec Baldwin naked. However, I threw myself on the sword for you, my darling readers. Here is my “recap” of Episode Two.

Another change is that the Bluefly Wall (“Designers, use it very thoughtfully”) has been replaced by the Pipelime.com Wall. At least Tim Gunn doesn’t have to choke out “Macy’s” any more.

Right off the top, one of the designers nails the essential paradigm of the show: “Public torture of designers on television.” I hadn’t thought of the program that way, except for Heidi Klum’s new vampire teeth. (I still maintain she tortures small animals in her spare time.)


This week’s challenge is to create a look for a Marie-Claire Times Square billboard. Joanna Coles, an editor of the magazine, reels off a series of meaningless adjectives to describe “the Marie-Claire woman.” As opposed to the “Marie-Claire bedroom set” or “Marie-Claire baked beans”. I can’t remember them, but I’m certain they were along the lines of “strong, modern independent, feminine, has a vagina,” etc.

A.J., who obviously has his pulse on what the strong modern independent woman of today wants, decides to devise a “grunge/punk Courtney Love look”. Okaaaay.

Would Courtney wear this? Probably. She is on drugs.

Jason, wearing his bowler as per his persona, wants to create a dress of “infinity.” Because, really, what’s better than infinity? It left his peers shaking their heads. Throughout the program, the contestants in short interviews continue to tear apart everyone else’s designs. It gets as tiresome as one of those “Real Housewives” things, except less Botox and false breasts.

Mondo, despite having possibly the most irritating personal style, turns out to be extremely shy, so my viewing party didn’t have to hate him after all. (They get vociferous when the gin reaches its level.) Christopher, despite or perhaps because of being from San Francisco, looks like a Chelsea Boy clone through and through. Sweet little A.J.’s claws come out when Casanova asks him for help. If the tension level is this high on Episode Two, there will be blood on the workroom walls by Episode Five!

When Tim (God) Gunn, my BFF, enters the workroom, as per usual they skip some of the finale garments. Casanova has gone from stripper un-chic to country club matron, with a puffy black jacket and conservative white skirt that would not look amiss at the bar of a restricted private golf range.

"Henry, I think there's an octoroon in the woodpile."

Apparently when Casanova is alone with the other designers, his English is perfect. But let Tim or the judges be present, and he pretends to barely speak the language! One admits, the moment he’s “outed” this season should be well worth it.

Jason baffles Tim with his “infinity” dress, a gray-green thing with a lot of large curves that are safety-pinned together. For some insane reason known only to the denizens of his universe, Jason feels that safety-pins are excellent closures. As opposed to, say, buttons. Or hooks and eyes. (Has no one told Jason about the 80s?) In an interview shoehorned in, Jason feels that he is being punished for being a straight man, that Project Runway is heterophobic. No, Jason, you’re just an idiot.

Inevitably, as the designers rush to complete their garments, the Twist comes. The Twist has become such a PR trope that I simply can’t believe the designers have the capacity to be genuinely surprised. This week’s Twist is that all of the clothes will be part of a photo shoot. The designer’s choice of shot will also influence the judging of his design. As Karl Lagerfeld is the only designer who is also a photographer, I’m not sure I trust this batch’s judgment.

My guests cannot decide if Valerie looks more like Tracey Ullman (in which case the wig-like hair is appropriate) or Juliette Lewis (ditto). Peach made an unfortunate choice of fabrics at Mood and she knows it, ending up making three dresses in the time allotted. The final product is uninteresting, but at least it doesn’t get her booted off.

By the time my viewing party is quite ready for the show to be over and the serious food to be served, the guillotine/runway show begins.

Heidi again appears in age-appropriate attire. Is this a sign of the end of days? Blood trickling from her fangs, she runs through the usual opening, and Joanna Coles is this week’s guest judge. The models have either been swapped out or mercilessly drilled in how to walk. They do a far better job than Episode One.

Nicholas’s design is, as they say, a “hot mess,” but very well made. What was he thinking draping that circle of heavy cloth over a backless silk blouse?

Jason’s satin dress is the disaster we all thought it would be, both in the photo and the runway. If a “modern, strong, independent” woman wore this, it was probably because she had been unexpectedly been struck blind.

Ummm...er...yes.

Gretchen’s jumpsuit, while not my cup of tea, is extremely well made. I liked the shoulder and neckline the best. As a very tall, long waisted woman, I can tell you that jumpsuits are one of the banes of my fashion existence. I pull one up to my waist, then pull it over my shoulders and…

”Ouch” does not begin to describe the sensation.

Kristin sends down a strange mess of fabric that is gathered, bunched and draped, but does not resemble anything your faithful correspondent would call “clothes.”
Mondo’s creation is a bizarre combination of black and tweed with a pink lobster bib.
"For the seafood lover in you..."

Despite looking like an 80s prom dress made of upholstery fabric, I rather like Michael's garment.

It is a considerable surprise when Mondo's blob of stuff makes the top three. To cut to the chase (which the show seems unable to do), Gretchen is again declared the winner. This time, two designers are “auf’d”: Jason, who deserves it, and Nicholas, who does NOT. Nicholas breaks down in tears. His outfit, while badly styled, was finished and creative, if a bit on the not-well-thought out side.

This was the weekly “WTF?” moment in which all of my guests scream and throw things at the flat screen. (To guard against an onslaught of deviled eggs, I cover the flat screen with a thin layer of plastic before my viewing parties.)

Jason did not stick around to have Tim see him off, but Nicholas did. The other designers were stunned, as were all of us.

At the end, we watch Gretchen squeal at the billboard, which has Coco Rocha capering in the jumpsuit.

I’m guessing Ms. Rocha is short-waisted.

* This footage will be very useful for the "reunion" show.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

The Red Carpet Issue, A New Documentary With Moi!

DAHLINGS -

I was thrilled to find out that at last the Sundance Channel is airing The Red Carpet Issue, a documentary about the Academy Awards. I am more than ready for my close-up!

As the website states:

"French journalist and filmmaker Olivier Nicklaus explores the mystique, risks and rewards surrounding the fabled red carpet on which designers, stylists, and celebrities vie for the attention of the world's media. Featuring interviews with red carpet veterans Karl Lagerfeld, Marc Jacobs, Monica Bellucci, Milla Jovovich and Perez Hilton."

AND your faithful correspondent! I was interviewed during last September's Mercedes Benz Fashion Week. And of course, my fabulousness is to be seen in The Red Carpet Issue!

http://www.sundancechannel.com/fullfrontalfashion/series/

Do check the link for future showings on the Sundance Channel.

Plus (pardon the pun), I got a lovely write-up from the amazing Curvy Fashionista, whose blog is NECESSARY for those of us who want to be, in her words: Curvy. Confident.Chic.

http://thecurvyfashionista.mariedenee.com/2010/02/the-plus-size-insider-blogging-from-inside-the-tents-at-new-york-fashion-week/

Thank you, Marie!

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Film Review: "Valentino, The Last Emperor"

DAHLINGS -

Matt Tyrnauer's insightful, gossipy documentary about the twilight of one of the last great couturiers, Valentino Garavini, "Valentino: The Last Emperor", could be the flip side of "Eleven Minutes," the story of Jay McCarroll's first attempt at New York Fashion Week. Where McCarroll has to scrounge, scrape and beg for the money to put together his collection, Valentino is so unimaginably wealthy that at times it seems almost obscene. (And this from a woman who herself owns more than a few Valentino originals.)



Valentino owns a 17th century chateau outside of Paris, a villa in Rome, a ski retreat in Switzerland, a town house in London and an apartment in Manhattan. Not to mention a private jet and a yacht, all of which he shares with six adorable pug dogs and his lifelong companion (and business partner) Giancarlo Giametti. It is entirely possible that Valentino would not be Valentino without Giametti, a practical businessman who seems not to mind being in the background. (Giametti also prefers a more natural looking skin color than the designer, who resembles an oiled coffee bean for much of the film.)

Tyrnauer, a writer for Vanity Fair, and his cinematographer, Tom Hurwitz, were granted access from 2005 through 2007 to every aspect of the designer's life and to those around him. It is a pivotal moment, not only for the designer but for the fashion industry. As multimillion dollar corporations swallow up Valentino's company, they also make his amazing skills oddly obsolete.

We not only see Valentino working through his creative process (where every dress is hand-stitched by a team of perpetually exhausted seamstresses) but also the luxurious side of his life, throwing parties attended by the likes of Michael Caine, Gwyneth Paltrow, Elton John, Elizabeth Hurley, Anne Hathaway and others.

We also see the literally hundreds of people it takes to keep the Valentino machine running, whether it be his major domo in London or the set designer and workers who help put together the spectacular, excessive 45th anniversary celebration of Valentino's career that provides the climax for the film.

(Karl Lagerfeld, looking like a cross between an extra from Night of the Living Dead and a strange 1960s porno film, quietly tells Valentino: "There's only us. All of the others just make rags.")

Valentino seems strangely removed from those around him; he only once touches one of his pug dogs. His relationship with Giametti seems equally distant, at least on Valentino's side. My dear, dear friend Andre Leon Talley livens up every scene he appears in.

To moi, the gowns, the lavish, beautiful gowns, eventually begin to seem almost much of a muchness. I even found myself nursing the traitorous thought that perhaps Valentino had run out of creative steam. It seems that I was not the only one.

Valentino has dressed Jackie Kennedy, Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, Princess Margaret, and apparently every famous woman of the last four-plus decades. At the end of the film, we are informed at Valentino has retired. Despite a faint feeling of sadness, one feels that the time has come.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog (who gets cuddled on a very regular basis!)

Top Ten 2008 Fashion Outrages! Part Two, Belatedly

DAHLINGS –


What with all the hugger-mugger of recent events (and my recent absence), I completely forgot to update my TOP TEN FASHION OUTRAGES OF 2008! And here it is, nearly mid-year! My head is hung in disgrace. For the moment, anyway.

And, how can I detail current Fashion Outrages if I don’t dispose of last year’s? So, without further ado, I present Numbers 3-6!

Number Three: Karl Lagerfeld's Hatred of Fat People, And, Well, Everything

In 1977, after gaining weight, the designer was quoted as saying: "I don't like skinny people, I think it's very démodé."

In 2002, 35 yrs later, after losing 103 lbs. Karl said: "Muscles are out. Bones are in."

And in an article in Prestige magazine, Lagerfeld proclaimed: "this is a subject I won't discuss. You know why? In France there are a large percentage of young girls who are overweight and less than one percent are skinny. So let's talk about the 25 percent who have a weight problem, or are overweight. We don't need to discuss the less than one percent. Anorexia is nothing to do with fashion. These Russian girls are so young. Chinese ones are skinny, too, and bony. I don't think it's a subject to discuss. And in today's world, many people take drugs, not only models, hmm? It's an unnecessary subject. Let's talk about the fat ones. "

Where on earth does this man get his medical information? From airplane magazines? Oh, dear, I forgot, he always travels alone on his private jet. Emphasis on alone, because he has no friends. Your faithful correspondent didn’t say that, Mr. Lagerfeld did. At least his stated hatred of all children means that he won’t be reproducing any little Lager-fiends.

Methinks that tight collar has cut off circulation to his brain.

Number Four: Hideous Footwear

Every generation gets the footwear it deserves. Take,for example, Uggs (aptly named), Flip-flops, and Crocs. Crocs are a well-documented eyesore, whether working in the garden or, God forbid, wearing them out. Only those under the age of three should be allowed to wear plastic shoes. Unless they are Lucite.

Flip-flops worn by women on city streets (shudder) not only look ridiculous, they have no support, and expose your bare feet to the pavement and asphalt. I can only recommend this look to the homeless. As for Uggs, well, if wearing huge heavy fur boots on hot summer days makes you happy, dahling, you might want to have yourself checked by your physician. There is something seriously wrong with your inner thermostat.

Number Five: Sleepwear On The Street!

Wearing pajama pants in public! I cannot IMAGINE what possesses women to do this! Are they sleepwalking? Is it some twisted way of advertising how good it would be to share a bed with them? Is there some code I’m missing here?

Number Six: Barebellied and Pregnant

Speaking of sharing a bed, the current trend of going bare-bellied when pregnant. If we did not wish to see your midriff when it was its normal size, whatever that was, what makes you think we want to see it stretch marked with an “outie”?

(This applies as well to women who wear super-sheer tight clothes over their expectant swollen stomachs. We are all delighted that you managed to have sex at least once, dahling, but must we be forced to gaze at the results in such graphic detail? What’s next, customized t-shirts with photos of the baby’s head crowning?)

That is all for now, mes amis. Being exposed to this much bad taste at one time always leaves moi a tad faint. I must have the maid dab my temples with eau-de-cologne.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

A Fabulous Party--In Brooklyn, Of All Places!

DAHLINGS -

I am still not quite myself, but nonetheless, I simply could not RESIST when I received the following invitation:



Deb Malkin has dared to open a shop in these troubled economic times, and I say BRAVA! Yes, we sell similar merchandise in some ways, but as I have written before, a rising tide lifts all boats. And the shop is in Brooklyn, where my high heels have barely, if ever, trod. Nevertheless, I gave the order to my limo driver to take me there!

Well, it was quite the evening! Your faithful correspondent usually goes to soirees where Krug is flowing and the male guests are in black tie. However, this was a walk on the wild side if ever there was one! Male guests, when one could spot them, most times turned out to be female.

My wardrobe choice was a cobalt blue suit from the 1960s with a sheared beaver collar dyed to match (it was, after all, 7 degrees outside). As for the more obviously female guests, my beloved readers, they were almost entirely plus sized, and it was an absolute SEA of cleavage! Deb herself was wearing a tartan-trimmed bustier skirt combination that had been custom-made for her, and her bounteous bosom was certainly on show. I brought a hostess gift of eight polyester maxi-dresses...it seemed the only appropriate thing, don't you think?

Being a woman of broad mind and loose morals, I was not thrown for a moment by being probably one of the few heterosexuals there (and as my long-time readers know, I am ready to cross over if it means a particularly lucrative sale). In fact, it was delightful to be surrounded by large, lovely ladies in beautiful clothes from all eras, proudly showing what they had! Take THAT, Karl Lagerfeld!

So I drank sparkling apple juice served by a handsome woman in an impeccable suit and tie, nibbled on some nibbles. One friend who was in attendance was the ever-witty Stephanie Schroeder, my publicist, and our friend Lisa Haas, a playwright. However, they were fatigued and left before the show started.

They missed a treat! There were not enough chairs, but fortunately for moi, my height proves to be an advantage in these situations. Les danseuses were, with one exception, ecydiasts (look it up) from the old school of burlesque. World Famous BOB (not certain why her last name is all caps, but celebrities are funny that way) is called that for a reason...it was as if one was watching Gypsy Rose Lee crossed with The Lady Bunny.

Photo by Sara Macel

There were also go-go dancers of considerable heft, and a belly dancer from Washington, DC who proved that you don't have to be built like Madonna to shake it and not break it. Oh, mon Dieu, did I just write that? One believes one did. Her name is Miasia, and the photo does not do her justice! Her website is http://www.miasia.org/.

Now that I am feeling slightly better, you shall be hearing from me more often.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

"Project Runway" Commits CRIMES AGAINST FASHION!

DAHLINGS –

What can I say? My heart is broken. Project Runway has auf’d darling cuddly teddy bear Chris! CHRRRRISSS! Oh, dear, I am quite emotional. He was the only designer I could imagine spending any “face time” with, as they say. So sweet and so creative. Now we’re stuck with Hairthing, Spitting Earth Goddess and Sweet Trailer Trash. Ugh.

Yes, I know his dress was a bit dated, but I love drama in fashion.



Perhaps his teammates should have talked him out of the "Joan Crawford" shoulderpads. Oh, dear. The challenge was "outdated trends." As a vintage seller, I have to constantly watch fashion of the past being disparaged on clothing reality shows, but I have to admit many of the trends were thankfully out of date. But...

There has been so little imagination this season that I have had to switch from chamomile tea to a double espresso by Runway time, lest I have a fit of narcolepsy. Bucky doesn’t care, he’s curled in my lap while I sit in front of my plasma television.

And so many of the outfits were CRIMES against fashion! Poodle skirt? That is NOT a poodle skirt! Anyone with the faintest knowledge of fashion knows a poodle skirt is a simple circle skirt…and it usually has a POODLE on it! Couldn’t they have thought of some clever twist on that? What would Karl Lagerfeld have done? Instead, we were given that ridiculous square-dancing outfit, straight out of the glory days of Hee-Haw.



One waited for a couple of rubes to pop out from a haystack and crack a dirty joke in an Appalachian accent. At least Team Hairthing’s dress had some flair and was decently constructed. (It kills me to admit it.)



The drab colors! The lack of imagination! Even Heidi the Hun failed to get much of a rise out of me during this episode. And Victorya...if she was working for me, you know she would have been slapped into the middle of next month. NO ONE talks to me that way. But what do you expect of Ricky? The man has a stick of chewing gum where his backbone should be.

I can only hope this week’s episode is more interesting. Until then, I shall be in deep mourning for the loss of Chris. My dainty wisp of chiffon is trimmed with black marabou in his honor. Chris, we hardly knew ye…

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky The Wonderdog