Angels and Demons.

I almost can't look at it. At McQueen's last collection, it's gorgeousness feels a bit sour, a bit lacking--but not for lack of flourish or astounding tailoring. Seeing the clothes is seeing the loss of him. I want to love the wonderful wovens, the folded/draped/gathered gowns, and gold-kissed jacquards. They are beautiful and expertly assembled into a cohesive angel-kissed Dark Ages collection about the handcraft of traditional fashion construction vs. the machine tech that starred in his last brilliant go-around. But all I see is an end of some kind of magic. Sad isn't a word that sums it up, but I can't think of any other. It's gorgeous--and sad.

In the words of Gaga: "We miss you so badLee."

Alber Teaches Us Something.

There's fashion, and there is fashion design. Fashion exists in image only--stalk-the-streets-attitude, what's next now, give it to me, make me a star. But fashion design is in the cut, the cloth, the way a garment hugs the body. Alber Elbaz is a fashion designer of the highest order. His work is crafted and thought out and reality-based; even when it's bigger or bolder than you might wear, it's still something that someone might actually wear. However, the electricity conducted by even one of his well-cut dresses is enough to fuel the Lanvin resurrection and keep things exciting at the same time. What do women want? Here, let Alber give you his take on things:




Is he not the most huggable designer you've ever seen? I mean really.

Quicksilver

Karl (l) and Armani (r) in cahoots.

I'm always a little suspect when more than one designer at a time is suddenly struck with a concurrent aesthetic revelation. This couture season has seen both Armani and Kaiser Karl take pretty drastic turns toward looks that aren't usually part of their output. The two showed collections based on silver tones; Armani stated the moon as inspiration and Lagerfeld abandoned his usual palette of black, white, and Chanel Gold for silver embellished pastels. Now, to be fair this could all be truth, but part of me wishes to expose to my audience a little known aspect of the fashion business: Trend forecasting firms.

Trendspotting: shimmering legs at Armani and Chanel.

Fashion in this capitalist society is first and foremost a business. It is a big business, a huge business. A massive business that fulfills one of the human population's three basic needs (food, shelter, and clothing). As such, there is a major motivation to keep product moving. Now more than ever fashion's fickle, fleeting attention span pushes anyone who cares to be socially accepted to buy new things so that they are on trend. And, those trends don't come from just anywhere. Trends in fashion are forecasted by huge firms whose job it is to do nothing else. They analyze data, form theories, and present evidence for what will tingle the senses of the stylish next. Nearly every single fashion house of note and large clothing retailer subscribes to their services. That is how there are these waves of seemingly divined similarities between any given season's shows. If the big trend companies say wrap dresses are next, or sky-high stilettos, or, perhaps, silvery moon tones then you are bound to see them surface on nearly all of the catwalks.

Call Vogue and tell them it's silver this season! Wait, they probably already know...

It's fine. Trend forecasting on a certain level just takes the temperature of the stylish. But, I do get a little vexed when designers play it off as their own flashes of brilliance, their own sudden revelations. Karl, did you and Giorgio have a sleepover the night you woke up stunned by the thought of silver in your head? I didn't think so.

Dollars and Sense.

Couture is a tricky sell amidst a climate of financial strain and humanitarian disaster; and not just in terms of dollars, but more in terms of sense. How much sense does it make to revere or celebrate a dress that could clothe a large village if you traded it for equal value at Target? That's the obvious question looming over the start of this particular season of couture shows in Paris; but isn't that always the question? Couture has been happening come snow, sleet, natural disaster, economic breakdown, feast, war, or famine for centuries now. It is a practice and a spectacle that exists largely in a bubble of wealth and comfort that few of us will ever know directly. But, thanks to the ever-increasing media coverage of high fashion, many of us will know it as the fantasy that it is. I won't apologize for reveling (and disappearing) in the beauty of it.

If I didn't have the escapism offered by the pretty people and things of fashion, I would have been gone or gonzo long, long ago. That sounds dramatic doesn't it? But in times of stress or emotional unrest, the sight of a perfectly formed Dior couture gown fresh from the hands of the undeniably haughty and theatrical Mr. John Galliano is enough to make my soul sigh in relief. I can't help it. Ethics aside, I have a visceral reaction to the pretty things of fashion. They make me happy. When I'm happy I can make others happy. Therefore, I'm going to watch a parade of sparkle and satin in jewel tones as The Telegraph's Hilary Alexander sings its praises. Won't you join me?


Le sigh.

Tres Bonne.

The Spring Summer show season seems to be only a distant memory in my '00s-age attention span, but that doesn't have to be. The Sundance Channel is showing an excellent docu-show of the shows called HABILLÉES POUR L'ÉTÉ 2010 (DRESSED UP FOR SUMMER 2010). It's hosted by the ever-so-Frenchly-cute Agnes and it is entertaining, informative, bananas, beautiful, and fun (just like fashion weeks themselves!). Also, you could put me in front of almost anything that features a French accent and I'd be lulled into various states of joy. Here, watch it:













Oui, oui. No? Oui.

Pussies, Swallows, and Naked Ladies.

Miu Miu's Spring 2010 patterns were Miuccia Prada's playful salute to all things Freudian. One question...where are the cigars?

Bits of photos from The New York Times website.

Proud As A...Lezark.

Fine feathers, there Leigh!

Snapped by Tommy Ton.

Lost World Found.

Life forms alight at McQueen.

The overwhelming crush of curious onlookers crashed the planned live feed of Alexander McQueen's latest show via SHOWstudio's site, but those who saw the spectacular event were privy to a peak performance. The opportunity to see a show in full, with the original music, timing, and every second left as it was originally performed, is a rare and well-appreciated happening for a fashion fan. But, even if you had no previous interest in fashion, this show held much to tune in for.

The hair and makeup were designed by Guido Palau and Peter Philips, respectively.

To say that the clothing looked new or different, is too limiting. It looked unprecedented. Simply and truly, it looked otherworldly. The fabrics were printed in patterns that were a mash-up of colors from a hyper-real natural world. Perhaps articles that resurfaced, direct from a fully modernized Atlantis, the lost wonderworld McQueen titled his show after. There were dresses con-struc-ted (emphasis for em-phas-is) of fabrics printed with recognizable elements of animal prints that were uncategorizable as a whole. There were reptile skins, maybe butterfly wings? Beetle shells? Bug bodies? Croc teeth? It was a slightly scary, but wholly intriguing take on nature. Something in the evolution of whatever animals McQueen was using for his patterns had twisted and combined. In fact, the prints looked to be based on new species, super species with no current place in our system of taxonomy.

McQueen's status as a clothes maker is unparalleled. There are others who make clothes out of ideas, there are others who execute collections that lead the community of fashion in new directions, but there are so few who seam and stitch and craft garments with as much finesse and talent as Alexander. His garments are works of a master craftsman, and show every bit of his early start as an apprentice tailor on Savile Row at the age of 16. In the early days, McQueen used his talents to shock, to show the industry more than a little rebellion in the face of their traditions. He was known as an enfant terrible, a prankster of sorts who freely used the grotesque as a point of inspiration. However, his construction skills quickly defied any misgivings his behavior or source material roused. Bumster pants that showed more crack than a DEA bust may have been his first hook in the biz, but his phenomenal sense of historic preservation mixed with a dark, humorous take, and an undeniable set of skills have kept him at the top of his game for a decade plus. All of those things were on display in this award-caliber performance. Do they give out Oscars for fashion shows? They should...

I find it remarkable how uncomfortable it is to look at the shape of these shoes. Not on a sympathetic "ouch!" level, but a gut level that can't see them as possible.

The models also deserve awards. They teetered on tall shoes that weren't the typical strappy, overdone stilettos that are so boringly saturating the fashion scene of late. They were like creatures themselves--either slick biomorphic forms with smooth slopes and strikingly skinny heels, or snarled wood looking, carved forms. They absolutely complimented the shapes of the clothing.

Really, I feel like I'm rambling a stream of effusive praise that's unnecessarily verbose. You don't need any more words to enjoy this show or appreciate it's presentation. The layers of influence, meaning, and successful expression are not important to the aesthetic experience. Go; watch it; see it for yourself. The two robotic cameras that captured and catapulted the audience and models into an infinite background caught it all. Like a net. Like a trap. Go peek! Oh, the things you'll see...

Click above to see the show in its entirety.

Images from Style.com.

Live Show.

SHOWstudio, in its ever brilliant, glorious wisdom, is doing a live feed of the equally revered Alexander McQueen's latest collection. The show starts airing on the SHOWstudio site at 20:15 Paris time, which is 2:15 this afternoon for us here in New York. For all my readers elsewhere (holler at ya, Argentina!) take advantage of this handy time converter tool to find out when you can catch the show. Here is a McQ show reel, and some really good examples of why you don't want to miss it:



Can't wait.

Through A Purple Lens.

Olivier Zahm, the spirited (read horny, eccentric, Terry Richardson buddy) editor of France's Purple Magazine has been snapping his Spring 2010 show season experience. Of course his images are dripping with quirk and sex. Prince, anyone?