Happiness is to be found when in pursuit of it, in the soothed expectation, on the way, not only upon the arrival. Accepting detours, just going the way, which is anyhow not this obvious to anyone.
Happiness is just a hairflip away.
"The way the system works now, you see the clothes, within an hour or so they're online, the world sees them. They don't get to a store for six months. The next week, young celebrity girls are wearing them on red carpets. They're in every magazine. The customer is bored with those clothes by the time they get to the store. They're overexposed, you're tired of them, they've lost their freshness".
For his third collection for Jil Sander, Raf Simons’ ongoing redefinition of the label’s menswear was as subtle as a single chalk stripe trailing down a navy jacket, an echo of the pinstripes that can be found hanging in many a male closet. But there was poetry in that lonely line, because Simons was aiming for nothing less than a new geometry of the body. Show notes invoked the sculptor Antony Gormley, whose work distills the human form into a graphic frame. Simons attempted something similar when he trailed two horizontal stripes in a sparkling metallic across a sweater, or wove a grid of lines on a double-faced wool coat, like a degraded windowpane check.
But the graphics scarcely stopped with the woven and felted lines that framed knitwear, jackets, and coats. Simons also showed quilted-nylon blousons and coats in iridescent blue, copper, and green of an almost jewel-like intensity. He tucked a faux collar of metallic knit inside a navy sweater, then let a layer of the same knit peek out from under a sober cardigan (imagine discovering your granddad was a glam rocker on the side). Perhaps not exactly the revelation Simons had in mind, but certainly symptomatic of his knack for transmogrifying the mundane -even the toggles he used on his duffel coat made you sit up and look twice. And, since we’re talking about contrasts, the shearlings shot with a single vertical strip of metal looked like essential winterwear for this season. They may yet be the moment’s most artful comment on the crucial dialogue between Mother Nature and the Machine.
Posted by Lestat at 8:43 AM
The finale made the raison d’être behind Comme des Garçons show crystal clear : as Sid Vicious hollered “My Way”, four idiosyncratically stylish English artists shuffled into the spotlight. Like Sid, they’d done it their way, and Rei Kawakubo wanted to give them their due. She did that not just by inviting them onto the runway, but by sending out a collection that extemporized on what has made each man special to her.
Michael Kostiff’s store, World, was a fashionable farrago of ethnic style in London in the 80s. For him, Kawakubo offered pj-like prints in layers torn and frayed. Duggie Fields pioneered the appetite for 50s retro that gripped London in the early 70s. She nodded to his formal Teddy boy style in a 3-piece red suit with black revers. Andrew Logan’s Eastern leanings were reflected in a mandarin-collared brocade suit, paired with huge mirrored brooches of his own devise. And last but not least, Sebastian Horsley pranced down the catwalk in platform boots to the strains of T.Rex’s “Dandy in the Underworld”, the title of which accurately defined the cutaway Edwardiana of his look.
The sensibility of each man was filtered through Kawakubo’s own, so some fabrics had the washed, worn look that has become something of a CdG signature. Proportions were shrunken. And the designer’s eye for curious detail was evident in a covered button on Horsley’s tailcoat and a trompe-l’œil jeweled belt on Logan’s maharaja jacket.
It all made for a fascinating gesture on Kawakubo’s part. Though Japan’s affection for English idiosyncrasy is the stuff of fashion legend, it’s rare that you see a designer of Rei’s stature so openly and warmly acknowledging the people who inspire her. And by elevating their individuality, she encouraged the rest of us to take more fashion risks.
Posted by Lestat at 8:42 AM
Martin Margiela worked himself into fashion's consciousness as a re-animator, giving new life to the forgotten, the neglected, the worn-out, but with the direction his menswear has been taking, he's looking much less earnest. In fact, he's ready to party on down. That, at least, would seem to be the message of this collection, which extended Spring's razzle-dazzle with its emphasis on eveningwear and shiny, happy effects like a tee-shirt printed with a glow-in-the-dark neon tux bib. The gold and silver detailing that shot through the collection included Lurex thread on a sheer cotton shirt, piping on a tuxedo pant, and significant accessories (one pendant featured a razor blade, another a little silver spoon -Studio 54, anyone ?). A fox fur bowtie made a necklace that suggested a fuzzy Chippendale.
Such outré flourishes -not to mention other less flashy touches like a pre-pilled sweater and a felted overcoat that was riveted rather than stitched together- only served to emphasize Margiela's status as fashion's master arcanist. His Replica project, for instance, which reconstructs pieces from the past, included this season a beaver coat from Moscow (1990), a tweed trenchcoat from Portland, Oregon (1969), and construction boots from Detroit (1995). It would be pleasing to report that such items were worth rescuing from the scrap heap of history, but it was the less painstakingly literal items -like a shearling-collared metallic-blue nylon blouson with a Ziggy Stardust flare, or 5-pocket jeans in grey flannel- that had more impact. What Replica has done, however, is clarify how clever Margiela is at loading the clothes he designs with narrative weight. And who can resist a good story ?
Posted by Lestat at 8:41 AM
It would seem Morphosis' visitorship enjoyed the previous picture of Aitor Mateo (here). You saw him with clothes on, here he is shirtless, sexier than ever with arms akimbo.
L'Optimum has just released its February issue with no less than 120 pages of pure style, new fash tribes and sixty trend-making celebs. This editorial shot by L'Officiel Hommes's editor-in-chief and photographer stakhanovist Milan Vukmirovic features models Leif Stacey, Michael Leiva and Domenique Melchior.