I Thee Wed.

In anticipation of an exhibit on wedding fashions to be held in 2013, The V&A Museum is creating a database of reader-provided wedding photos that showcase the dress, the tux, the sari, the lederhosen, or the kilt that the bride or groom donned for their trip down the aisle from 1840 to the present. The photos will include as much contextual information as possible regarding the date, place, time, and names of the betrothed. With years to go before it's done, the database promises to be a rich resource for anyone interested in wedding dresses. If you have your own wedding photos, you are invited to upload up to three snaps featureing the bride and or groom. If you are always the bridesmaid and never the bride, you are invited to view the photos wistfully (or with rage or ambivalence, whatever) and learn a thing or two about how we dress to profess our love.

I do love wedding photos.

Keep It All.

The Chinese contemporary artist Song Dong has installed his piece "Waste Not" in the large atrium of the Museum of Modern Art. The large scale piece neatly arranges and displays each and every single item he extracted from his hoarding mother's home. Every article of clothing, every plastic bottle, every button, and every shoe the home contained is stacked and grouped in precise arrangements.

The show, which looks amazing, is on view at MoMA through September 21. Check it out on a Friday night and Target foots your bill, it'll be as crowded as "Waste Not" but it'll be free.

Photos: The New York Times

The Drugs Don't Work.

Dash Snow photographed by Mario Sorrenti.

Artist Dash Snow existed at that border that draws its perforated line between art and fashion. His bearded, tattooed self, his penchant for suspenders, hats, and long hair landed him a spot in front of some of the fashion world's most celebrated lenses, including those snapped by Terry Richardson and Mario Sorrenti. But, Snow's main occupation was that of an artist. His Polaroids, collages, drawings, and graffiti pieces all documented a life of raucous partying and drug use. On some level the artwork read as a record of fun high jinks; a kind of "kid with a camera" aesthetic used to capture graphic sex, public pranks, and disappearing lines of blow. But now Dash is dead and his photos of himself covered in blood, of his friends smoking crack and sticking themselves with needles, are more disturbing than ever.

The idea that creativity requires some sort of artificial lubricant, some substance, some energy that burns it's purveyor like explosives at both ends, needs to be fought hard. That idea kills people, and it sends a message to so many middle Americans that creativity is deadly, insanity-inducing, and dangerous. Yet, people of all ilks could use the release and transformative power of creative expression. It is sad that another talented person succumbed to addiction, very sad. To me it is even sadder that he was venerated for the clear signs of his self-destruction. People bought his art, funded his projects, put his bloodied photos on their gallery walls long after it was quite obvious that he was not well. There are aspects of our culture that are so disturbing. One is that desire to watch people unravel, to get just close enough to their incinerating selves to feel the heat, but not to scorch ourselves.

I have nothing but compassion for the struggle of addiction and substance abuse. I don't mean to be insensitive to Dash Snow's memory by speaking of him in this way, quite the contrary. It's just sad that there is yet another exemplary warning against glamorizing the self-destructive lifestyle. There is nothing edgy about it. There is nothing cool, nothing glamorous about tearing yourself apart from the inside out. It's torture and pain. Nothing good comes of placing it on a pedestal, or a gallery wall. For the sake of his family and friends, I hope his death means there will be less cautionary tales to come. And, may he rest peacefully.

Installation shot of Dash Snow and Dan Colen’s "Nest" (2007).
Image via NYmag.com

Creationism.

Issey Miyake is a clean palette in fashion's hyper trend-driven world. His designs are calming in such an organic way, without reaching for their end result. It's as if calm is their natural state. If they aren't light and transparent as the atmosphere, his sculpted garments appear to have protective, cocoonlike qualities.

In a poignant Op-Ed piece recently published in The New York Times, Miyake shed some light on why his clothing is the way it is. In his piece he speaks openly and honestly for the first time in a public forum about being a witness to, and survivor of, the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima by The United States in 1945. As a boy of seven that day Miyake saw things "no one should ever experience: a bright red light, the black cloud soon after, people running in every direction trying desperately to escape". He sees them still--every time he closes his eyes. He lost his mother to the blast. Her health failed within three years of the bomb.

Miyake attributes his reluctance to share his Hiroshima experience before now largely to his life long desire to focus on the beautiful things that are possible through creativity, rather than the things that were so devastatingly destroyed right before his eyes. His clothing is his salvation, his healing and his way to prove that beauty and peace can outlast, or rather act as a salve for the scars of so much indigestible violence. Sometimes design (especially in the realm of fashion) is perceived as something other than art, something less than. But, when seen as an expression of someone's healing, or their communication of such a humane state as serenity, it is remarkable in its ability to express ideas that go well beyond form and function.

Miyake's formula for healing unimaginable hurt has brought decades of beauty to store shelves and closets and the backs of people attending special events. That may seem trite to some, but to me it is a bold example of the transformative quality of pretty things. Next time you doubt the place of beauty (be it fashion, sculpture, painting, etc.) in today's financially strapped, bare bones, material world, think of how you feel when you see something visually pleasing. Do you feel like destroying? Or, do you feel like creating? It always makes me want to breathe deeper, to be more present, more thankful. Maybe that's just me? Hope not.

Miyake's Op-Ed piece was written with the hopes of enticing President Obama to participate in Japan's observance of Universal Peace Day so that he can take a step "toward creating a world that knows no fear of nuclear threat." While I think it will take a lot more than a ceremonial photo op of Obama crossing a peace bridge to bring actual peace, who knows? Sometimes pleasing visuals have a transformative quality.

To read the article in full, please click here. All images are property of their respective owners. Please click image for source information.

You Feel So Good Upon My Lips...

My friend Rahul Sharma is the blogger behind Rahul Owns Your Soul. He's the most amazing miner of cultural excellence from the sludge of the mainstream and he's deemed this newish ditty from Basement Jaxx one of his songs of the summer.



I couldn't agree with him more, and I can't stop rocking out to this song. Now that we finally have sunshine in our lives again (did you know average rainfall for the month of June is 3" and we had 10"!) this song is a sweet, bright ode to love and not a reminder of weather patterns. Makes me want a Ronald Wigman raindrop tee...

(Click it to get it.)

One/One-Thousand: David Sims

David and one of his subjects.

David Sims is British. That makes him preeety cool. He's also a fashion photographer with all the right stuff. His sharp, geometric, linear style is the go-to, bold choice for fashion publications and brands that want editorials or ad campaigns with an edge. He's one of the more distinctive photographers in the fashion realm and his style is super recognizable. Sometimes he gets all full of himself, playing with volume by shooting billowing fabrics on skinny models, but mostly he keeps the angles angular and the posers in quick motion. His shots are often black and white, but his color is captivating and rich. Here's some of his work:

In a fairly recent project for W Magazine Sims photographed French opera singer Alexandra Deshorties mid-aria and wound up with simply gorgeous results that are both moving and in motion. Here is a video of the photoshoot taking place and a selection of the finished product.

It's hard to describe just how beautiful I find these images. I think this project is the perfect pairing of Sims and a subject. There's so much emotion there. And, the fact that Deshorties is not a model makes it somehow more authentic, more genuine. Sometimes W Magazine gets it so right. Sometimes...not so much. But just scroll back up to refocus on the positive.

Sonic Boom!

I'm a big 'ol fan of the mere existence of Kim Gordon. While I can't quite claim to follow her career (music and otherwise) too closely, I do have to say that just knowing she is on the Earth, rockin' out for rockin' tomboy mamas everywhere just lets me sleep a little better at night. Sonic Youth headlined my first real-deal rock festival at the very tender age of 13, so they, and their blond frontwoman, instantly achieved mythic status in my mind. Their latest video, for their latest album entitled The Eternal, is for the single "Sacred Trickster" and it's both hilariously lo-fi and quirky fun.



To me this video is what it would look like if the MTA hired Kim and Co. to direct their PSA TV spots for the "If You See Something, Say Something" campaign with an edgy, fashion-heavy vibe. Even though the impeccably dressed, wigged-out girls don't plant their bombs on a train, the idea is still loud and clear. People: If you see something, say something. Otherwise blue stuff might explode on you!

Here's Kim telling Style.com about her fashiony side:



I love that she claims she doesn't have great style, and that she's not a musician. That's a big, fat bit of humbleness.

That's Not My Name.

TAG'D by Beebles is a line of graffiti (you know I'm obsessed, right?) inspired jewelry. If you give Beebles $25 he'll create you a nameplate necklace that could have been lifted straight off a ding dong (click the link to get with the lingo). What's that you say? Your name isn't JoJo? That's not my name either. Don't you worry your pretty little neck! Beebles'll make you one that correctly tags you.

You Look So Pretty In Your Underwear.

Will I ever get tired of looking at pretty things? No. Watching couture move is a special experience. It's enchanting.

Crew Colors.

I find J.Crew's catalog color spreads to be one of the more soothing things in the retail universe. I swear, they make me dreamy. I love the names as well, but for now I just want to visually feast on the colors...

PS: did you know that there are entire fan-made blogs about J.Crew? J.CrewAholics and J.Crew Aficionada are both dedicated to the "classics with a twist" catalog-based co. I can't figure out if they are marketing ploys created by the company or really fan odes, but either way they are proof that to some boys and girls The Crew is crack. Pretty, pastel, all-lined-up-in-a-row crack. I almost kind of get it. Almost. Kind of.

Cozy Beach.

This photo from Garance Dore's style collage in Australian Vogue is gorgeous. The colors? The cozy sweater on a cool beach at dusk? That beautiful, simple cocoa-colored hair? Yes, please to all of it.

Tutu Good.

I told you I would find an expose on the tutu! I love peeking behind the scenes at storied institutions that consistently amaze with their productions of lovely, wonderful things. The Royal Opera House Ballet of London offers up a great discussion of the tutu by the dancers who wear them, and the costumers who construct them.



I love the stacks of tutus at about the 1 minute mark. And, who knew tutus could be treacherous, resulting in tutu face burn? I didn't think it was possible for me to have more respect for dancers, but I now do. And for tutus.

It's Like Riding A (Dream) Bike.

Couture season always gets me into a built-to-order kind of mood. I start craving customization. I want options and I want to say what goes where and what looks like what. It's just the diva in me. Thanks to Urban Outfitters Bike Shop, I can exorcise a little of that diva demon and wind up with something that will get her some exercise too. Check it out...

You can build your own bike! All the parts have different color options! You can change the color of the front tire, the back tire, both tire rims, your seat, your chain, your handlebars, and your pedal crank. I mean, come on? That's cool, right? Click the pic to make your own colorful creation. It's $399. No sneeze, but an absolute steal compared to this awesome yet $3,200 Benedict Radcliffe Fluoro bike commissioned by Andy Spade for his Partners & Spade concept store.

I saw this crayon-colored two wheeler on the Style.com site as a "Vogue's Most Wanted" pick and I was all like, "Damn! That's cool!" then I saw the price and I was all like, "Damn! That's rich gear!" then I remembered the UO Bike Shop and I was all like, "In your face, Vogue!". Ok, not really but I did get rather excited that even high concept, designery, customizable, cool stuff is becoming more and more attainable for the average Joanne. I know $399 isn't pocket change, but it's doable if you save your allowance. Go babysit. Eventually you'll be able to ride your (dream) bike to go babysit.

Collector's Collection.

Lacroix working on his latest couture collection.

I can see it now: A tawny cultural institution, who benefited greatly from the government's infusion of funds into public works and culture, hosts a survey of how the credit crunch, the housing crunch, and bubble bursting of the first decade of the 2000s impacted the fashion of the times. In its look back, prime positioning will be given to pieces from Christian Lacroix's most recent couture show.

A simply beautiful gown.

Staged amidst the uncertainty of the future of the house, the show was a mere glimmer of Mr. Lacroix's usual style. His signature favoring of colorful fabric collages, of intricate, bold, and delicate details, of volume and brocade and crystals gave way to the restrained, deft precision of expert tailoring in midnight hues.

It was a definite break in Lacroix's tradition, but it showed the designer's dedication to, and love of his craft. The garments were indeed constructed and finished as a labor of love, with seamstresses and assistants donating their time and skills for free. The clothing's restraint led to such an unusual sight-- the visual communication of sadness and mourning and honor through couture. But, this was no theatrical display, no over the top prop-festooned, dramatic interpretation of those emotions; it was plain, simple, honest and true. It was a tribute to the art of making clothing. Lacroix could have scrapped his plans, could have said no to showing at all, if his true vision could not have been realized to its fullest. But, instead Lacroix and his talented team got to work. He made clothes, he stitched and sewed and cut and draped, just like a designer who must design because he's a designer and that is what he does.

I can't stop thinking of how timely and poignantly the collection came across. It is a time capsule, a communication of how the fashion world is not immune to the workings (and failings) of the world at large. It may seem to occupy its own sphere, but really fashion is a business, one full of people who want to believe they can create the rules and the game. But, when you strip away the pomp and the circumstance, the fashion world is an arena of artists. The true artists in fashion will humble themselves to their craft. That's what Lacroix did, he humbled himself to his craft. He left his ego out of this collection, showing the world that without the bombastic embellishments, his clothes still speak volumes because he is a designer with talent. That talent is not for final sale. He will always have it. It's his own, and it leaves me with no worries that Lacroix will find a way to surface again. He will find his way to crystals and lace and color explosions again. It's inevitable. Til then, his honorable collection will be sought after by any true fan of the saga of fashion, any collector of couture.

Images: Getty via Fabsugar.com

Dazzle Me.

I want glitzy overalls now.

I love when unexpected things glitter; it's just so refreshing. This pair of sparkly, studly overalls made its way down Jean Paul Gaultier's couture runway, and I hope they just keep walking until they arrive in my closet.

I'd rock the heck out of those things with a wifebeater and some Chucks, and maybe a fur stole too. Well, does anyone have a fur stole I can borrow?

Photos: Monica Feudi and Simone Manzo/ Gorunway.com via Style.com.

Watch It Happen.

One of my favorite Youtube genres is that of the video filmed photo shoot. There is something so strangely intriguing about watching still images get made. The video below is of Karl Lagerfeld shooting Lara Stone and a male model and a bunch of Chanel gear in a dressing room. Some of the shoot is so awkward to watch, while other moments of it show Karl's visual genius.



Modeling is a kind of acting for flashbulbs, it's interesting to see what gets mimed, what gets barley done, kind of like watching someone speak sign language. Movements and poses are gestural and heightened. It's all very theater of the absurd. Enjoy.

Like Photography, Only More...Homo.

Homotography, the self-described site for "photography with homosexual tendencies" is my inner gay man's new favorite web spot. Fashion is teeming with homoeroticism, and there damn well should be a site to catalog its everpresence. Consider yourself warned: There are bare butts all over this site, as there should be!

Good lord, there is so much hairlessness and shiny musculature to be seen here! I love men's fashion and I love Homotography!

Stay Inside The Lines.

There is something so beautiful about these backstage photos of Peter Phillips' cat eyes for yesterday's Chanel couture show in progress.

It's like coloring. Inside the lines, of course.

Photos by Luca Cannonieri / Gorunway.com via Style.com

You Know You Are A Fashion Geek When...

...the new Style.com app for your iPhone makes you so happy that you could soil your stilettos!

Fashion coverage in the palm of my pretty little hand!

I have no idea what that even means, but I know that I now have up to the minute access to all of Style.com's amazing fashion coverage in the palm of my pretty little hand. Good fashion gods, that's a serious happy-maker! Get yourself the app and see if it makes you just as happy. If it does, we should definitely be friends!

Michiko-A-Go-Go!

Well, hello there Empress!

I have a new love. She's an older woman, much older. But her chic elegance and undeniable style make my fashion heart go pitter-pat, thump-thump, and wubba-wubba. Seriously, I haven't felt this way about anybody since, well, since M'Obama first came on the scene. She's got kind of a long name, but I think it suits her very well: Her Imperial Majesty The Empress of Japan. Empress Michiko (if you must shorten it) is the wife of the equally well titled His Imperial Majesty The Emperor Akihito and together they are the most enjoyably cute bearers of such titles ever.

Empress Michiko and her children, whom she insisted on raising herself.

Empress Michiko was the first commoner to be married into the Japanese Imperial Family when she took her nuptials back in 1959. Her goal throughout her reign has been to connect more with the Japanese public, easing the distance between the royals and the common folk, a matter close to her heart. As Empress of Japan, Michiko has broken all kinds of stodgy rules, choosing for instance to raise her children herself, rather than entrust them to the care of court chamberlains. She's radical. I love radical; radical=admirable. She's also impeccably styled.

The Imperial Couple, Empress Michiko and Emperor Akihito doing their Imperial, ceremonial duties.

I really don't mean to be pejorative when I say that she is cute. I'm not trying to belittle her, I just have never seen such a textbook example of cute embodied in a woman.

How elegant and lovely is she? Very.

I'm in platonic, fashion love.

All photos are property of their respective owners.

Black and True Blue

With Madonna's Herb Ritts-shot True Blue cover as a reference point, Cameron Diaz does the cover of V Magazine and makes Mert, Marcus, and V Mag look all edgy and relevant again. Painted on tats? A corset of electrical tape? Some waders, and cone boobs? I'm liking it.

Madge's inspirational true blueness:


Madonna is the eternal pop culture godmama. More than ever, I see her as a survivor. She's still here, still doing her thing, still a reference point for cool. I say she's got even more in her. Let's see it...

Construction Worker.

How badly do you need a couturier? Well, how badly do you need pants?

John Galliano's recent collections for Dior have made the art of making clothing visible. He's been sending gowns down the runway that show you what they're made of. He's turned them inside out, with crinoline as their top layer and gorgeous brocade underskirts peeking out from beneath. No, he doesn't don a hard hat (or maybe he does? I could sooo see that happening.) but Galliano's workmanship on these transparent garments qualifies him as a very fashionable construction worker.

Half dressed, full-on.

With the start of couture season in Paris this week, the inevitable question on everyone's mind in the current economic climate is, "What place does couture have in a recession?". Galliano's most recent collection, shown on July 6th, deftly answers that inquiry. In fact, Galliano's penchant for exposing the underpinnings of his garments in recent times has been building this answer all along--it's an artform. There are so many skilled laborers involved in making couture. It's an industry that employs specifically capable hands, many of them. Showing the bones and bearings of his well-built gowns puts the craft of couture on clear display and claims it as an art.

Gowns show their underthings.

There is always a place for art in society, rich or poor. There will always be people wealthy enough to purchase couture. That's just a fact. Dior is synonymous with couture and the art deserves to go on, whether or not the public at large deems it necessary. It's art. It makes life magic. To fully illuminate that magic Galliano smartly curtailed his usually lavish staging and theatrics, choosing to show his latest collection in the cabines of the Dior studios. That restraint allowed people to focus on the art of his craft even more.

Shoes were all corset hooks and bra clasps.

Pat McGrath's classic cabine mannequin makeup and Orlando Pita's kinky crimps.

And crafty it was. In various stages of unreadiness and undress, Galliano sent his models out to be viewed by the invited guests half-clothed. Bras, panties, garters, and girdles made very prominent appearances. In my mind this is Galliano's tongue in cheekiest statement about the relevance of the couturier. How necessary is a couture-capable designer? Well, how badly do you want your skirt? You need him, ladies and gentlemen, you need him. That black bra, while smashingly sutured and well-built, is no proper lady's day dress. Ensembles are in need of a capable designer and some rather skilled hands, otherwise, they are just bits and pieces. They are unfinished and unready. You need the couturier; you need Galliano. And even if you don't need him, he's not going anywhere. He's too smart to disappear. And, he's fun to have around, isn't he?

The construction worker and his girls.

All photos via style.com.

Hey, Smarty (Couture, Tailored, Suit) Pants!

You think you know about couture? You think you are haute stuff? Prove it! Couture season is coming at ya and it's time to grease your fashion gears in preparation. Our friends over at Style.com have put together a little Haute Couture Quiz to test your catwalk IQ. I did remarkably horribly, but took it as an opportunity to learn a few things. Here, click the pic to test your skillz:

How'd ya do? You are haute! Or, maybe not.

Keeping It Teal.

Blue is the new Amber do.

I'm all about this wackiness because the girl has enough confidence to pull it off, put it on, and pull it off again. I've been hungry for some real live frisky fashion players, and Amber Rose is no subtle lover of the game. I'm just really hoping that the blue green baldy is not actually hanging around with Chris Brown. That will automatically discount her from my good graces. For now, I'll admire her for her shocking shade, because I wish I could roll that bold.

I've Got That Boom Boombox Bag.

I'm in love with my new found go-to happy doc for bad day brightening. It's Style Wars, the late 70s/early 80s PBS documentary that got the word out on writers, b-boys, bombers, and rappers before they were mainstream. It shined a flashlight on the urban art of graffiti that either adorned or debased the MTA's fleet of 70s subway cars in NYC depending on whether you asked the bombers or Mayor Ed Koch. The doc is pure pleasure stocked with characters quirky and confident enough only to be found in real life, and it makes me crave early 80s gear, like a boom box and a Sugarhill Gang cassette. I know, I know; I'm a white girl from the 'burbs who missed the height of hip hop by a few years, but I can still appreciate its flavor. I'll rock the boombox bag I saw in the window of the ICP shop (pictured above) instead of embarrassing all of humanity by pumping up the volume on an actual handle toted ghetto blaster. You want to watch what's got me so excited? Start with this:



Parts two through eight are all on Youtube.

Line Them Up.

I did a scan of Dazed Digital this morning and found a feature on the thesis project turned actual modeling agency, Nine Daughters and A Stereo. The Cologne, Germany based agency has set themselves apart from the competition by creating a unique web presence. Their site's splash page is a large, looping film of their models looking lithe, and plainly, strangely pretty.



Skip past the film and the site morphs into an inventory of all their "boys" and "girls" lined up in a pale grid of skin, or white tanks depending on gender.

There is something so unsettling about this site to me. Largely my inner monologue is stuck on how strange it makes me feel. Yes, the specimens assembled in this virtual cabinet of human curiosities read as ethereal and striking, but they also give me the deep creeps. I feel like I'm trolling some underbelly site not suitable for work, or directly via the feed of some other planet that has captured humans and is selling them for a price. It's the music, it's the homogeneous skin coloring, the slight builds that look a little malnourished. Is this what we find beautiful now? Compare it to what was on offer as model material a few decades ago, and maybe you can help me connect the dots as to how we've gotten here (pale, soft, sad-eyed).

Beefcake vs. angel food. What's your pick?

Calm Down.

I had a slightly nerve jangling morning. No, the details are not juicy or particularly interesting, but it left me craving something serene. Perhaps, something saffron and simple? Like a monk wrapping his robes. Yep, that'll do it...



Mmmm. That was like hitting my reset button. There is something so soothing about witnessing the act of traditional dress. Monks, who symbolically don their robes in allegiance to the Buddha's dictation that they must only dress in cast off rags, have the most comforting three piece suits I've ever seen. The upper robe wraps the torso, the inner robe wraps the lower body, and the outer robe is worn as a shawl or overgarment, depending on the weather needs of the monks. So simple; so form and function related.

Serenity, now!

To Be Worn On The Fourth of July.

Designed and released just before 9/11, Catherine Malandrino's flag dress has become an iconic article of clothing. Her West Village shop's windows are currently crowded with mannequins donning the patriotic shirt dress in honor of the 4th. I don't know about you, but I would love to watch fireworks boom and fade in this lovely number. Happy Independence Day!