The Emperor's Old Clothes

The Inaugural: From the Sublime to the Regrettable

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Fri, 20 Jan 2017 23:51:00 +0000

PresidentTrump parading down Pennsylvania Avenue with Baron in tow.

Like so many of us who can't resist a good, slo-mo 2 million car pile up, I woke with the birds to turn on the TV to watch the circus come to town. Ringling Bros. may have cashed in last week having dispensed with the elephants, the unicorns and irritating clowns. I would have suggested that for those of you pining for the side show with Bearded Ladies, Pin-Headed children and Reptile boys just head over to Coney Island. If today is any indication we'll need go no further than our TV's to catch a glimpse of the 3-Ringed Side show.

Bits and pieces of the festivities from last night still ring in my ears for their incredible paucity of talent, enthusiasm and just 3rd rate quality. Historically, Inaugurations tend towards the grand with tons of ceremony, pomp and gravity. There were no signs of that last evening. Instead there were a few Country Western acts looking more like lost tourists carrying guitars instead of guide books. Trump looked lost sitting there 'making some noise' of gratitude. To coin one of Trump's phrases, "It was sad, very SAD".

Obama's Inauguration on left. Trump's on right.

This morning looked much the same only without the fortunate cover of darkness. When my mother attended the Inauguration of Obama, there wasn't a spot on the mall to stand. They came down by bus from Massachusetts and the Mall was beyond jammed with celebrating hordes. Today, the Mall looked like part empty skating rink and part partially full parking lot. The weather wasn't brutally cold and wet like the Inaugural of 2009, yet where was everybody? Side by side images taken of the Mall for Obama's Inaugural next to Trump's shows a Mall that is, well, pretty EMPTY.

Kellyann Conway, um...

The first signs that things were amiss was the appearance of Kellyann Conway in front of the Chapel where the Trump klan went to pray. In red, white and blue Gucci, Ms. Conway gave new meaning to the phrase WTF? I guess Baron Trump's suggestion to wear one of his Ninja Turtle costumes didn't resonate. Still, she should have taken the kid's suggestion. Not to put too fine a point on these things but the press used the excuse that Conway's regrettable choice of outfit cost $3600.00 somehow legitimizing it. Money legitimizes nothing. MONEY EXCUSES NOTHING.

The Obamas always gracious.

The Obamas and Bidens very graciously welcomed the Trumps to the White House for tea. With the cameras capturing every expression, every gesture, they could not have been more warm or correct. Trump and his wife shook hands and embraced the First couple as they entered. One could see the effort the Obamas made to welcome them to their new home. The Trumps for their part looked tense even frightened, as they should be... Michelle was elegant and appropriate in a subdued burgundy coat and dress. Melania looked fantastic in her pale blue cashmere Ralph Lauren. Glamour she can do. Communicating, expressing an idea, writing or helping to write a speech, taking a position on anything other than where to turn her head, which eye to squint or which is better; leading with her left leg or perhaps with her right, all of that remains to be seen.

Tiffany Trump

Tiffany looked like what I'd expect; not much. An arctic white coat with a bad bleach job and fringed black ankle boots is the perfect recipe for ridicule. Her road in and out of this town is sure to be rutted and treacherous. She should leave now as it's only going to get so much uglier. The wives of the sons, who look more like their stand-in Moms were each an ad for long blond extensions. Dull clothing, dull eyes, and a marked lack of warmth between them all spoke volumes. Donny, Jr. and Eric are just odd to watch. Between their put on seriousness and their tendencies to gloat, brag, lie and all while looking totally lost is just the apple not falling far from the tree. Like Papa, like sons. The slicked back hair is some Bryl-Creme aberration they picked up from Dad or from looking too closely at their Stephen Baldwin posters. Looks like they copy his facial expressions too. So does the President.......

Ivanka and her brother Eric? Donald, Jr?....

Ivanka, God bless her, tried to hit the ball out of the stadium with her all white confection from our pre-school design team Laura Kim and her sidekick (the one who can't design a gerbil's throw, BUT the one with Mama and Papa's fat bank account keeping their sodden MONSE collection listing in the shallows) from Oscar de la Renta . Their break out moment came on the back of Ivanka Trump in all of its asymmetry and confusion. The only thing clear about the look was that it was white, the same white that Hillary Clinton was wearing. Beyond that, it was no Ivanka Trump branded outfit (even I can't believe I said that)...... Somehow I don't see the women in the audience racing to Saks to pick up the look.

I guess he means business...

The side of the aisle with all past presidents, Supreme Court Justices, etc had such a downcast look. It was more funereal than celebratory, with the exception of Paul Ryan and Judge Clarence Thomas who looked like he was at someone else's family reunion, you know, the semi-invited guest that no one wants to speak to but nevertheless is just SO HAPPY to be there.

I guess we did...

The 'entertainment' featuring not-so-little-anymore Jackie Evancho with her freakish, untrained and unlistenable (faux) operatic voice tentatively sang the National Anthem, going for the big applause with an octave leap on the last note. It was ill advised. She shouldn't have. Her arctic white coat with some stuff glued on the back of it and on the lapels didn't help her patriotic cause. Nothing helped, until I got up, turned off the TV and stood for a very long time in the shower.

I still feel dirty.

Monse (back) to Oscar de la Renta...where they belong.

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sun, 04 Sep 2016 04:03:00 +0000

Laura Kim and Fernando Garcia

Enough with the bullshit. Ok, I've said it. Yeah, but what bullshit you ask? The story that just ran in the NYTimes about Laura Kim and her sidekick and ex-fiance Fernando Garcia returning in triumph to the waiting arms of Alex Bolen, tough-love Dad, son-in-law and acting toll collector at Oscar de la Renta. After a gloriously banal performance at Carolina Herrera, having taken the wheel for a season and a half, they are returning to the fold that spawned them. Like Zika, they hatched, flew around the immediate neighborhood infecting any and all in their paths, and now are returning to that puddle of standing water from whence they came. When Oscar lived it was a crystal clear pool but now... Why the harsh words? Because this is precisely the diseased behavior and magical thinking that has undermined the business of fashion.

Carolina Herrera

The piece written by Matthew Schneier is a regulation 'birth notice' of sorts, more press release than story touching on the few things that can't be disputed: They worked at Oscar for several years, Laura Kim became the creative director and Fernando chased celebs, Oscar became ill, Laura and Fernando auditioned for the permanent post of creative director and celeb chaser but were passed over for Peter Copping, Oscar's hand-picked successor, Laura and her celeb chasing fiance start their own 'brand' and jump ship to consult at Carolina Herrera, usurping Herve' Pierre, the creative director at CH for the past 14 years and one of the greatest working designers on either shore. The Kim/Garcia fit at Carolina must have been poor as they produced a forgettable couple of collections. The culture at Herrera is old school in the best possible way. A devoted staff directed by a very professional seasoned team led by Herve Pierre ran that ship without incident. The collections were ready on schedule and were eagerly awaited by stores and clients. Carolina Herrera is that rare company that worked civilized hours leading up to the show. Late nights and weekends were alien to their process. Imagine a company that could actually be ready for their presentation with samples made, fitted and styled on the models with time to spare. Images below illustrate the beauty and modernity that was CH under the capable hands of Herve Pierre and his team. The sophistication and chic of the collection is a stark contrast to the Resort 2017 collection by Kim and Garcia. The Resort 2017 collection, their first at the house, debuted weeks later than CH's customary timing, with a look both derivative and strangely flat and received with little fanfare.

Herve Pierre's CH Spring 2016

With Laura and Fernando the ship went aground almost immediately. As is customary with new hires some of the old regime has to go. Executives, design assistants and boutique staff were dismissed or left because of low morale and an environment of uncertainty. Digging around in the press I searched for the message, the grand design they had for CH. I didn't find one. It seems that Monse (Mon-say) is their priority and these 'jobs' are a means to finance their fledgling brand. CH was clearly a means to an (early) end. They got their paychecks and CH got, well she got what she got. And now Oscar de la Renta will assist with the grunt work of Monse in order to have the benefit of their vision and leadership. Think Galliano, think Raf Simons, think LVMH. Think again.

Kim and Garcia's CH Resort 2017

Monse Spring 2016

The reviews for Monse were fawning, overblown and judging from the collection, overstated. The reviews they received for their CH Resort 2017 were luke warm in comparison. A few celebs wearing the clothes on the red carpet is nice but ultimately doesn't mean much. Freebies have always been a hit in Hollywood. Selling clothes in stores used to be the metric for success. Now you just need buzz and the press will anoint you. The story implies that they returned to Oscar having succeeded at CH. On the contrary. They were asked to leave CH before returning to Oscar. This was many things but it was not a victory lap.
It's fitting that they have returned to the house that Oscar built. At least their culture is in sync with that of Alex Bolen, whose reputation preceeds him, and the shell that remains of that once powerful company. Peter Copping wasn't so bad. He benignly maintained the status quo and that's all that Oscar really is good for at this point. It's not about news and it's not new and hasn't been for several years. It's telling that Oscar did not choose them to take the helm. He must have had his reasons. Judging from their work so far, I'd say he knew what he was doing. Oscar's words of encouragement Kim shares in the piece sound more like encouragement than a benediction. SPIN is everything.

SJParker's collaboration with Kim and Garcia for Met Gala

I'm kind of curious to see what sort of clothes they'll offer up. Whether it speaks to the clients or not, the press is sure to love it. The depressing thought that I can't shake is the real loser in all of this: the client. Herve Pierre gave her what she needed and what she didn't even know she wanted. Now there's nothing for her but a lot of buzz and nothing to wear. Sounds kind of familiar, no? Something about new clothes for the Emperor or was it Empress.

Bill Cunningham 1929-2016

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sat, 25 Jun 2016 23:33:00 +0000

I've just read that Bill Cunningham has died. An unassuming man who moved within the highest circles of fashion and society, chronicling every moment through his ever ready camera gave so many a reason to get up, get dressed and get on with it. So many women and men made it their mission to catch his eye hoping to be captured through his lens or just having a good time crossing the street, posing in front of a shop window or shamelessly planting themselves directly in his path. For many Bill was the barometer of their getting it right or not. And all who came in contact with that voracious viewfinder looked longingly in the Style section of the sunday New York Times to see if they'd made the cut.

Peddling his way through the streets of New York he was a man possessed. Like a little boy looking hungrily through the candy store window, Bill would shoot any and everything that caught his fancy. From fashion shows to big flashy benefits to his beloved summer carriage meets in Newport, he expressed his love of life and humanity through his photographs. With his passing we see ever more sharply the shift and progression of time. The Golden Age of fashion as we once knew: Bill, Oscar, Yves, Emmanuel, Hubert, Valentino, Jimmy, Donna, Calvin, Geoffrey, Carolina, Carolyne and on and on...well, the bright lights of that era have all been dimmed. It's somehow fitting that Bill would in essence close the book on that period.

He functioned like social media before social media became a thing. His pictures gave so many of us an inside look at a magical world we could only dream of one day entering. In the film that documented his life a few years back, we all saw his humility, his Yankee spartan way of living that he fiercely guarded and maintained. Like a monk, Bill eschewed all offers of entertainments and gifts by the grateful hosts and hostesses, whose parties he covered. I always found that really admirable. He was his own man and refused to be beholden to anyone, including the New York Times.

He will be missed by many here and abroad. I expect out of respect for his passing the Bergdorf Goodman corner at 57 and Fifth Ave will close to all pedestrians and traffic on Sunday, which was Bill Cunningham's day!

Who's Afraid of Kanye West?

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Mon, 29 Feb 2016 16:44:00 +0000

Kanye's Army

Silly question but it seems like just about everyone is. Even his Kardashian family other than his long suffering wife are afraid to voice their opinions showing up in public wearing those chewed up rags and re-purposed, re-dyed and re-labeled American Apparel merch. To look in the stands of Madison Square Garden and see Anna Wintour nestled with his homies/family is to understand the degree to which he's cowed the general public. COW is the operative word here. Cathy Horyn is one of the few journalists to call it for what it is: dreck. To give him any more attention is only to encourage him. I for one won't. Make music not t-shirts and while you're at it spare us all your frustrations for having been born witless.

Alber Elbaz and the neutering of Lanvin

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Mon, 29 Feb 2016 16:22:00 +0000

* this was stuck in draft phase and then i decided to tie it up and send it on. forgive the old news-ness of it, but it still rankles, maybe for you too....

what can i say? everybody else has said it already. the firing of Alber Elbaz came as a surprise. to me anyway. hadn't he just been given a big deal award at someplace in nyc just a couple of weeks ago after having shown his Lanvin collection to rave reviews a week or so before that? wasn't the world feeling nothing but love for the designer considered by many to have the biggest heart and one of the greatest talents for keeping the world guessing and wanting? hadn't he turned around the oldest remaining french house of fashion from a sleeping beauty to a lively robust force? he of the exposed zipper, artlessly tugged, twisted and tacked cocktail dress. the chunky, naive jewels that celebrated humor, caprice and iffy taste. the jersey dresses in moody color combinations, draped, and held in check with unexpected leather leashes. inverted seams, raw edges, the dressmakers version of dangling participles.

those are just a few of the things that made Lanvin special. the other thing was a sense that the message came through loud and clear. a message that didn't so much change as become deeper and more emphatic and consequently more clear. clarity in fashion is in short supply and when you find it you absorb it. think chanel, rick owens, Ralph Rucci. crystal clarity. in a sea of murk with sand falling away under foot it's refreshing to witness a designer who can string together ideas, moods and propositions that go further than from just A to B. Alber is one of the rare few who does. though i am guessing, i'd say he looks like the consummate team captain. in the press he appears almost without ego and self deprecating to a fault (that humility and sad clown Pagliacci-ishness got old, but whatevs...) which in itself is novel, even rare. so with all the years he invested, the popularity of the brand, his 10% ownership stake, and the presses' support and the publi'c's embrace it seems such a waste. but all is waste now. the throwaway generation where the next idea is tossed aside for another and another til the idea of ideas is no longer the idea. now just shake, bake and fake.

i started this months ago and then stopped in disgust. now it seems there's a storm in the courts between Elbaz and the company's owner. certainly, he'll be fine and land again on his feet. it could be dior or saint laurent, again, or perhaps his own eponymous label. either way, the system has broken and we have people like anna wintour and her ilk to blame. as they say," a fish rots from the head down.

RR331 Fall 2016: Return of the Master

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Mon, 29 Feb 2016 04:24:00 +0000

Ralph Rucci is back. Actually, he never left but instead, took a sabbatical, regrouped and cleansed his soul. With humility and a simple desire to create, Ralph Rucci has returned to his chosen metier and like the moon setting and the sun ascending, a new day is upon us. His exit from the company he spent the last 35 years building shook many of us with its inexplicable timing. Why would a master of Haute Couture exit his house from one day to the next after having created a language that defines luxury here and abroad? The answers are many and at the same time painfully singular. That modern phenomenon of teaming talent with money is the cautionary tale that is playing out to disastrous and destabilizing effect. And despite the "marriage" that took him from the sublime to a quagmire of ridiculousness, Rucci has risen far above the petty wars of his recent past to begin again. With not a word of rancor or accusation, Rucci has done what he does best: design.

This season RR331 (which stands for Ralph Rucci and 331, the number of steps in the traditional Japanese tea ceremony) eschewed the runway for a still-life presentation in a gallery space on the far West side. Approximately 25 looks were shown on mannequins throughout the space. The crowd of well wishers, clients and press were a crush making the event more of a celebration than your typical static fashion show. It seemed people were there just as much to show their respect and appreciation for the master as much as to see his new collection.

Without the ubiquitous front row it was a decidedly democratic event with the big guns, his friends and admirers having to line up to get the chance to greet him. Gone were the annoying security phalanx with their myopic way of handling the pilgrims. The crowds were so thick it was difficult to get close enough to the clothes to see the intricate, mind boggling details. Even from a distance you saw the double faced wool suits and dresses with his signature details employing his suspension technique, slivers of silk tulle exposing the contours of the body, tissue taffeta with snaking zippers to define and abstract the shape of a gown and the Infanta dresses of digitally printed Gazar and Duchesse suggesting antiquity in its most modern iterations.

Unlike some collections in the past with their hyper technique this time there was an almost palpable desire on his part to draw the viewer in. Like the true artist Ralph is, he consciously engages and challenges us to approach his work, to take its measure. I watched as people shyly touched the velvet of a sweater and full trouser and weighed the stone printed chiffon as if it might have weight.

The sable coats and trimmed pieces were impossible to view at a distance. Their color, texture and details were like siren songs. One sable coat in particular was inside out with the fur as the natural lining. The hides were stitched together and inscribed with calligraphy by his own hand. It wasn't the first time he employed this medium, but the audience lingered over this artistic masterpiece as they did so many pieces in this exhibition. And perhaps because Ralph has walked away from the fashion system as we know it, he has freed himself to express himself more fully as an artist. He's an accomplished painter, sculptor and designer of clothing. He is a man obviously at ease with himself and his gifts. He no longer seems driven to prove something. His mere presence is proof enough. Fortunately, Ralph Rucci no longer must toil under the ham fisted hooves of an industry whose only aim is to stare at its reflection in a pond dense with scum.

Dior up. Designer down.

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sat, 31 Oct 2015 20:46:00 +0000

We all know by now that Raf Simons has sent in his letter of resignation. Another visionary sees black and we get an earful of white noise. Reading the accounts in the press leads one to believe that the couture crown is just too heavy for all but the most buff among us. Alexander Wang is just too lean. Galliano, too fragile. And now Simons is perhaps too sensitive, too distracted to continue. I'm ok with it. I won't say I'm happy, delighted, thrilled or even vaguely amused by the turn of events. As much as his work leaves me cold, even irritated, I don't wish him ill. To make it to the top of one's field is an accomplishment worthy of respect; not something to be taken lightly. In this case, my feeling from the beginning was one of skepticism. Sure, Simons did great things at Jil Sander but Jil Sander isn't Christian Dior.

Having spent the last 30 years in this business, having started my career in Paris and watching the action up close, the houses of Dior, like Givenchy, YSL, Chanel, Ungaro, and Valentino, were almost sacred. What came from them was taken by the world as near holy writ. The authority of these design houses were beyond challenge. To work at one of these houses was considered a gift from the Gods, one taken on like the royal families of Europe; it was an ordination that one carried until the end. That end was decided by the fates. Meanwhile, you did your best for the glory of the house. Like the many "petit mains" upstairs toiling in the ateliers, one worked selflessly to that glorious end. At Givenchy, Monsieur was the ultimate team leader. His success was in large part due to the master technicians who realized his dreams; even realizing them in ways that exceeded the beauty of his initial dream. I sat a few feet from Monsieur's desk and often stood over him as he sketched. (sounds far fetched, but true. He was a patient man with the likes of me, a recently college graduated apprentice, invading his studio) In the fittings that followed I saw more than once the original sketch was improved upon by the most capable technical hands in the world. The respect for the métier superseded other more self aggrandizing motivations. As much as it could be a team, at that time it was like an extremely well tuned team working as one. That included the models and stylists. Well that quaint idea is history. It's a free for all now.

At the risk of sounding hopelessly lost to the past, it's exactly that PAST (the Paris days and the NYC decades that followed) and many other experiences which inform my opinions today. Upon hearing of Simons' hire my first thought was why? How could someone who's aesthetic was antithetical to the Dior oeuvre be considered relevant? In simple terms, there was little romance evident in his approach. If you could characterize Dior in the simplest terms it was a very romantic way of dressing. And not just due to Galliano, but historically starting with Christian Dior to Yves Saint Laurent to Marc Bohan and on through the glorious tenure of Gianfranco Ferre to Galliano. Each of those designers added layers of mystery to the house's history that only enhanced the original mission statement of the master. With Simons it felt like the opposite. Other than his penchant for flower arranging on grand scale, the work was more about peeling away to the point of no return(s). The couture was no more or less interesting than the RTW with the same dead eyed girls marching to a beat only he could hear.

So with the benefit of a week's reflection, Simons looks like a man released from a velvet prison. Or perhaps he's feeling sympathetic pains of the mass exodus of men, women and children from the Middle East and chose to save himself; an innocent swimming to a safe harbor. And then maybe he just wasn't the right fit for a behemoth that no longer can even fit in front of a mirror, let alone take it's own measure.......

Us vs. Them: Paris SS2016

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sun, 18 Oct 2015 21:21:00 +0000

Remember way back when the calendar was such a big deal? New York was suffering penis envy in relation to Paris and Milan and took the lead so as not to be accused of copying. That little switch in dates put us on the big stage before some of our best laid plans had hatched, or even formed. The stalwarts at that time: Calvin, Donna, Bill, Oscar and an upstart named (?) , you know, the Austrian guy (Helmut Lang) who's no longer bothering, all of them ran to the starting line desperate to be first. This ego trip proved very expensive and detrimental to all the others who raced right behind them. Still the NY output was forever considered quaint on a good day and lackluster the rest of the time. Sure, trends like Grunge benefited by the schedule, shooting to the heavens and influencing unfortunate generations (seasons) to come. Fashion on these shores didn't benefit so much as strain itself to the point of herniating the whole sacred process.

Chanel

I would argue that in many ways it was a curse we still labor under to this day. When you toss in the immediacy of social media we see in many cases that fashion has been substituted for a quickie InstaStyle that has nothing to do with the original mission. We no longer celebrate the clothes, but instead the brand and all of its soulless elements. The runway has become the featured attraction with bigger and more distracting pyrotechnics. The clothes are little more than afterthoughts. It's no longer enough to design a collection. Now one must art direct a happening, a fitting setting for the vaunted front row. We must play to the sun glassed, the jaded, the counterfeit in hopes they'll grace our front row the next time around. That's a sad commentary. The progeny of our reality TV fixation have infiltrated the casting, scooped up all the juicy contracts, and all before they've learned manners, how to dress or how to walk. That may sound harsh but it's not that far from the truth. This fork in the runway has sent us hurtling on to the land of irrelevance.

Valentino

Looking at Paris collections that stun, amaze and delight (Valentino, Chanel, Stella McCartney, Celine,Versace) you get the feeling that the one thing that many here forgot was to stop and think. Really think. Though I'm not of the school of thought that a collection only counts if it's tied to a current event (mass migrations of people from war torn countries) or a current cultural fixation (what the editor wants, what Kim wears, what Kanye appropriates). What does speak clearly are clothes that allow the audience to dream, to want and hopefully to buy. I'm talking about design that goes beyond the obvious. Maybe that means revisiting an idea from a completely different route.

Stella McCartney

A polo shirt and skirt at Stella McCartney comes in a crisscrossing pattern of hand painted stripes. At Chanel there would be the familiar tweed jacket beautifully tailored with hidden closures and devoid of all surface decoration.

Phoebe Philo at Celine takes the familiar and makes it extraordinary. A simple top, pants and coat become the agents of change. Sportswear is elevated to the divine... At Valentino a caftan takes on the identity of cultures far removed from Madison Avenue. None of it feels gratuitous or forced. None of it feels lazy and derivative or worse, self indulgent (see: Saint Laurent, Balmain, Balenciaga, Dior).

Versace

Donatella Versace sent out a platoon of foot soldiers in fatigue green and crazed camo-printed dresses and suits. The only thing that felt familiar or sentimental was the energy behind the clothes. Donatella's indomitable spirit shows through in their insistent relevance. The conversation moves forward with every look that stalks her runway. She gives you something to think about. She gives you something you can want.

Celine

Showing a collection on the grounds of a chateau outside Paris (The Row) isn't enough when all you're offering is pared down, pared-down-ness. Staging a show at an iconic NYC theater (Marc Jacobs) teeming with a grab bag of looks that reference your oeuvre isn't enough when all of it feels trite, derivative and just "cool". Who needs it? No one does. If it's all in service to a bag, then why not just show the bag and be done with it?

Maybe we should consider the long game and not the Instagram/Twitter quick fix. Maybe we should try doing things differently. Perhaps, we should put down our smart phones and take a look around. It's a jungle out there and the natives are beyond restless.

New York SS 2016: Dingleberries and Cream

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sat, 26 Sep 2015 18:19:00 +0000

For all the hurry up and wait, the collections here went by relatively quickly with little or no fanfare with the exception of a couple of spectacles (Givenchy and Marc Jacobs) and a whole lot of partay-ing. Sticking one's finger into the scrum would feel more chilly than warm to the touch. The in-ness of it all has done the opposite of what one might have expected.

One's attention now must turn to the wattage of the attendees and not so much the subject: fashion. There's lots and lots that passes as fashion but like the crowd of bright lights it's way more styled than actual style. Unless your thing is Kimye, Kendall and Ko. there's not much to hold onto.

Zac Posen Spring 2016

Still there were some surprises that were, well, surprising. The first of which is a feeling of the spirit of Ralph Rucci in the air. Well, the upper layers of air, at least. You could see traces of his oeuvre in collections from Zac Posen and Carolina Herrera.

If you look at the details of Posen's cuts they are rife with RRucci's little worms connecting the suspended elements. It feels clumsy.

Carolina Herrera Spring 2016

At CH the picture is decidedly different. The clothes are really nice. I mean yummy yummy nice. They look good enough to eat! The colors, the shapes, the chic of it all. Maybe, because I have a very warm spot for RRucci's aesthetic, I'm swayed by it. But in this case not.

Carolina Herrera Spring 2016

The work at Carolina Herrera just gets better and more interesting every season and this season it made another leap in my eyes. They are the last remaining house that exists in NYC from the Golden Age of fashion. They are informed by Haute Couture and have always worked in a similar way. It's not about tech packs and samples being done in some foreign country there. They do things the old fashioned way. They make it. And they make it in all of it's blinding, complex, envelope pushing, luxurious, modern and romantic yumminess. In this instance, she paid homage to his genius.

The Frick Collection was the setting for the show adding a quiet grandeur to the proceedings. It was first class from start to its assured finish. Wow, who knew you could see design at its most beautiful and forward reaching at New York fashion week? Especially, since the closing of Ralph Rucci. But that may have been just a momentary absence from the calender. My sense is that RRucci is not finished pushing the envelope. And if CH and Zac are any indication, his oeuvre is far from forgotten...

Givenchy Spring 2016

Givenchy's presentation was very interesting. A setting outside on the water, ubiquitous in its location but seriously beautiful in its offerings. That it would all be held up waiting for the Kimye juggernaut to be seated makes me wince, just slightly. But that's what you have to do nowadays. Take the bitter with the sweet. Prabal Gurung proposed some very nice clothes. Great dresses are at once unassuming in their complexity.

Altuzzara Spring 2016

Bibhu Mohapatra Spring 2016

There were also moments at Altuzzara and at Bibhu Mohapatra. Rosie Assoulin is another collection that intrigues. She makes a feast of her pants. They are a ball gown's version of a pant. Unlike a few season's past where her energy was more successfully channeled with graphic color plays and skirts constructed of straw, this outing felt decidedly tame. The same can't be said for Wu, Boss by Wu and a handful of other notable stars on the horizon. I won't list them at the risk of being vague. Those collections are vague and freighted with expectations not yet met...You can start with A for Adam and work your way thru to W, X, Y and so on.

Delpozo Spring 2016

Delpozo was an event. Especially, with the clothes standing still. That is an imagination with all its engines firing. The shapes, colors, details, etc. were traffic stoppers. But in motion they look more like floats, barges and luxury liners. It's hard to imagine coexisting next to many of them but harder still to imagine trying to navigate your way from say point A to point B. Still, what a treat to have what looks like the work of a youthful couturier shown on these barren shores.

Delpozo Spring 2016

What can you say about Michael Kors other than he's got a death grip on the middling bag market. The clothes just go past. It's a formula that neither excites nor disappoints... Marc Jacobs is in the same vein. The grand gesture of a staggering production does little to explain what we see. It's just a ton of styling with some nice moments. The glittering paillette wrap skirts paired with bits above and over pieces below are great but in the larger scheme it's just show biz.......

Balenciaga: Have at it!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sat, 01 Aug 2015 22:39:00 +0000

First of all, Hi everybody. How are all of you? Still engaged in the discussion that is fashion? I've been very much distracted of late with the mysteries and magic of plain, old, simple, everybody-can-participate in: Life. For all its dullness and repetition, life seems to hold so many more surprises than fashion. For one, it never ceases to surprise and stimulate one. Fashion doesn't do much of that. Life instructs and even rewards one. Fashion doesn't do much of that. Life has a way of taking one from point A to point Z with a million stops along the way. Fashion appears to do that until you realize it doesn't. It may seem like it's taking you along but in reality it's the train that rarely stops. It doesn't so much pick up passengers as it runs them down, even barrels over them.

The news of Alexander Wang's departure from Balenciaga comes as no surprise. That 3 years have come and gone with 10 collections under his belt is more surprising. The time just flew and to a large degree due to his positive contribution to the house. To my surprise, Wang's Balenciaga was refreshing, respectful and elegant. Contrary to Nicholas Ghesquierre's monotonous, self referential and tepid displays of (dud) pyrotechnics, Wang stepped agilely into the fray giving us a vision both sentimental and forward reaching. His use of the man made with techniques informed by the past, to my mind, was a masterful balancing act worthy of applause. I went into his tenure with little enthusiasm but the surprises kept surprising. Shapes, textures, color and their successful marriage is that near impossible trick so many attempt. Again and again, he succeeded or came that much closer, keeping this watcher on the lookout. Wang made Balenciaga cool. Something Ghesquierre could rarely do, certainly never sustain. I would hazard the same will be Louis Vuitton's fate.

So with the news of his departure, the question is "who's next?" Who cares? In a world obsessed with Khloe, Kendall, Kim, Kylie and Karlie, the lows are so low that the idea of high is just too foreign to imagine. Maybe they (Kering) should just break down and let Kimye, even Caitlyn have at it. Stop fighting that red tide and let the barbarians in. They can't do much worse than Nicholas or Lindsay Lohan or ... Maybe Raf Simons should climb off the back of Dior and go cock up Balenciaga. The fit makes more sense even if Simons makes little sense there or anywhere, for that matter. Watch the film "Dior and I" and you see how limited, soulless and dull are his gifts. It's all about his assistant......

Cecil Beaton's "The Fashion Glass", first published in 1954, reissued by Rizzoli and RIFE with typos, has recently re-landed on book store shelves. This old read is as prescient as if written earlier this month. It should be required reading for any and all. Perspective, that rarest of qualities is exactly what this tome delivers in spades. Perspective is that thing that's been hopelessly skewed, clouded and hijacked by the likes of our most feared of leaders, Mistress Wintour. I fear its a vision permanently changed, forever dimmed. The likes of Edna Woolman Chase, Carmel Snow and eventually, Diana Vreeland are discussed in detail. You never get the sense of their intrusion in the process. You don't worry that they had 3-D printers stashed in their purses for the sole purpose of creating their idea of the perfect designer....One wonders what he would have made of Anna Wintour. Unholy comes to mind. So does unfortunate. Her "involvement" in the process is not so much about the betterment of fashion but a flexing of her muscle. That her favors can be bought is a story too old and tedious to tell. The result of this meddling is what we are faced with today; musical chairs, whereby all the music and the few remaining chairs all are controlled by her. Not much game in that. This shepherdess is leading her flock right over a cliff.

I get it that the times change, that rules change and the needs of people change. Perhaps editors should be a bit more like presidents. After a few terms, it's not the worst idea to pack up your things and let someone else with some fresh ideas have at it!

Not my monkeys. Not my circus....

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sat, 30 May 2015 22:34:00 +0000

Please come to my party?

It was impossible to dodge all the news stories leading up to the party of the century, or at least the party of the month. Everywhere you looked there were stories about Anna Wintour and her visionary status. The queen of the zeitgeist. Or better yet, the createur of the zeitgeist. Considering, the shift from models as cover subjects to stars of the movies, reality TV and the music industry, and an occasional athlete (Serena Williams to fill the color quotient), has made her job really pretty easy. First off the gates are officially closed to all and sundry who do not meet the requirements of her stringent list. The ticket price which is nothing but a stab at democracy when in reality no invitations are "paid for" as Ms. Wintour instructs her sponsors (LVMH, etc) to pony up while she takes care of who comes with whom wearing what and where those someones will be seated. No longer is a designer on the rise welcome or even invited but only those who've ascended to her particular zip code in heaven....

It looks like a hell of a party. The decoration, food, entertainment (Rihanna singing, "Bitch better have my money") look grand compared to most "benefits" in town. The museum certainly is a huge draw with the costume institute exhibitions only getting better. The Alexander McQueen "Savage Beauty" exhibit set a new bar for the subsequent shows. This show, unlike Charles James which to my eye was a rambling mess of a show was well thought out and beautifully arranged. At the James show I trekked upstairs, downstairs, around the corner, all over the place and in the course of trying to find another part of the show, I found the front door and called it a day. This show is pretty fabulous in that it is beautifully integrated into several of the museum's galleries culminating down below in the original galleries for this show. The dark, dank basement.

My beef with this rite of spring is the sheer level of crass self regard, not to mention a noticeable lack of restraint on the part of all the women who came in nothing more than a spangle (partially) covered slip that couldn't be bothered with covering her nether regions. Between the utter scale/degree that "entertainers"went to to get a little love from the press was nothing short of taking to the steps and dropping all pretense, starting with a silly article of clothing. What does that say about China and a looking glass? Beyonce', Jlo, Rihanna, Kim K and others seem not to have gotten the memo that perhaps it's a good idea to show positive examples of womanhood and beauty for the little girls out there looking and yearning to be just like them. Images of Kim K and her rear end were like looking at a sideshow star on the night the circus is closed. Even Anna Wintour was dressed in a not so flattering look. That dress coupled with a smiling, de-spectacled Wintour was like looking in the tent where they keep the babies floating in formaldehyde. Unsettling. Even nightmare producing.

The Costume Institute Ball was once a party to end all parties, if you cared for fashion and the world that made it up here. It was elegant. Exciting. You got to meet the players and dance til dawn with a whole mad mix of New Yorkers. Amazing things could happen. It was Vegas jackpot experience for me one year. A stylist from Vanity Fair complimented my date and muse Bernadette on her gown and next thing I knew there were 6 looks at a cover meeting for the Hollywood issue of the magazine. I ended up with 2 gowns on that cover. The only guy with 2 and on the backs of Jada Pinkett and JLo that year. Who knew? For 150. and a tux the world could be your oyster. If it were today? Well, if it were today there'd be no story to write. Still, go see the show. It's great.

Copping to Oscar... Fall/Winter 2015

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Wed, 18 Mar 2015 18:20:00 +0000

I suppose next to the shows of Marc Jacobs, Carolina Herrera, Proenza Schouler, Tom Browne, Calvin Klein, Alexander Wang, Joseph Altuzzara and Jason Wu, the debut collection of Peter Copping for Oscar de la Renta was the hottest ticket of the season. So much anticipation and speculation roiled the denizens of Park Avenue and points farther east, south and west. What would he do? How would he handle the enormous pressure of moving the storied house forward. Would Annette, Oscar's still-in-mourning widow and all of her ladies in waiting give the nod to Mr. Copping? Forget the singing, the dancing, and courtliness of that legendary man of the world. Those arts died with him. Instead, what of Oscar's 6th sense for knowing precisely what his Ladies wanted, needed and craved? Could this Englishman schooled in the subtle art of French Haute Couture come to this raucous land of snap crackle pop and actually make an argument for the house's future? The answer to that question is a qualified yes.

Qualified simply because it was neither a triumph or a failure. The 47 looks added up to a safe, at times sparkling, but most often an almost quaint display of artistry. The first looks out with their lovely, weightless silk and lace trimmed blouses over short bias striped wool skirts had a youthful quality. So delicately wrought were those blouses that they looked untouched by human hands. That's technique at its best. Perhaps the absence of jackets or coats over those looks gave them that schoolgirl feel that every matron over the age of 60 craves. Though lengths were short, the high waists added that extra above that had so skillfully been excised below. One detail seemed to cancel out the other and all in the same piece. Then came the suits, the suit and coat dresses and printed silk dresses. Sweet but redolent of the days of Jack Mulqueen and the $150.00 silk dress, a working girl's dream! With prim coats in plaids and fur trim circling the hems and cuffs, this was not so much a fashion question as it was a style statement; familiar and yet hackneyed. Styling becomes a thorn at this moment as that sense of mad mixing and matching begins to color and underwhelm the work.

The Lady never slips off her pedestal. Instead that pedestal becomes crowded with the "codes" of the house we hear so incessantly about: sweetheart necklines, skinny belted uptight suits with little sex appeal, jeweled pumps and smart bags of indeterminate origin. Cocktail dresses abounded in racy lace, nude appearing bodices armed with boning to keep all that order in order. About now I started to yawn.

Gowns followed with many in black and white. For all those women who beg to have a dress with sleeves, well, come and get it. Copping showed his ability as a colorist with rich saturated mixes in short and long dresses. Nice. Where I found issue was that some of the colorations felt like timid YSL mixes and shapes smacked of older Oscars by way of new Diorisms. Nice but not great. Nicole Phelps of Style.com fame went further to question the fit of the clothes. The clothes fit. The studio there is so deeply schooled in the discipline of quality, make and fit that questioning that is utter nonsense. But like Vanessa Friedman of the New York Times, Ms. Phelps is a dilettante better suited to chronicling her own outfits than analyzing others, like the pot calling the kettle a plate.

Perhaps in time the collection Peter Copping wants to propose will appear without the weight of other's expectations, mine included.

New York collections Fall/Winter 2015: Wu, Altuzarra, Wang, Rosie Assoulin, Proenza Schouler,Prabal Gurungetc

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sat, 14 Mar 2015 22:24:00 +0000

Jason Wu

The mundane in fashion is like a floater. No matter how many times one attempts to flush the low, the pretentious and the banal that crowds the runways here, they all seem to congeal creating a scum trapping the new and the inventive below its ever multiplying mass.

Wes Gordon

That statement succinctly identifies most of what passes as fashion in New York, and not just here. There appears to be a dearth of little to say in many design studios around the city. Popular belief is that the fashion designer is something of an oracle, sniffing static spray, inhaling fumes from "new" developments in man made fabrics and suffering vertigo due to a lack of solid ground below. One is supposed to believe that with each collection there is a story told that identifies a designer's particular world view; the intersection of art/craft with real life loaded with an antidote to the poison of the past, the past being last season's prescriptives. The fact is there are few if any oracles in the fashion world other than the conglomerates who manufacture the fumes by means of blanketing the media, internet and stores with its toxic perfume. That's what it feels like these days looking at shows. Program notes by the designer is no help at all. It's just more gas floating in the air.

Altuzzara

Prabal Gurung

I passed on attending just about everything I usually go to see. Instead, I went up to Massachusetts during NY Fashion week and sat through 8 solid days of snow storms with only the company of my sister's cat Tito. She and Mom headed south to Peru and Macchu Pichu. It disturbed me that I wasn't there to watch and worse, I didn't feel one way or the other about it. The New York Times can be found in my hometown so I trekked into town and got it to read reviews. Unfortunately, the new NY Times fashion editor at the wheel, Vanessa Friedman, was busily talking folksy and dumbed-downedly to the masses. A quip here, an aside directed at you or me there and all with such earnestness I thought I was being nursed at my mom's breast. Yet, no nourishment. Only burps and a lot of gas. Her praise of Jason Wu who changes stripes this season to stretch those arms and show us he can do a good rendition of sportswear ala Oscar and Kors. His collection along with Altuzarra, Wes Gordon and Alex Wang read more like a women's wear daily review issue. Short, sweet and empty. Not all were written by her. Some were from her team of editors, but the tone was distressingly similar. The customer be damned. These clothes are playing to the front row of editors. It's a branding game where the substance is overshadowed by the performance. It's also a game of designers once noted for a preponderance of evening clothes have opted for sportswear as that is the category that wins one prizes....

Proenza Schouler

Proenza Schouler took the crowd on a romp that showed a degree of considered madness. Great jackets and coats have come out of there but the sheer grommetted and knitted bits are just that, madness. Unappealing shoes and derivative bags finished the look along with models whose look was all stringy, sweaty hair and a pallor just this side of jaundice. But hey, that's the look of love.

Rosie Assoulin

Prabal Gurung made a good collection after a few seasons on listing in the shallows. When he does what he does best, real and glamorous clothes, and not the collage/construct looks that say "forced", then the outcome can be pleasing. Still a collection should rely on more than just a change of fabrication. There can be a variation in shape, as well.

Rosie Assoulin

Rosie Assoulin is a gem. Not even a diamond in the rough, but polished, expertly cut and gleaming. Her ideas all are based on the idea of scale. Shapes, colors, graphics are designed to make the grand statement. Her message appears simply as one of glamour, mystery and a celebration of women. With expert craftsmanship and a love of the finest in fabrication and technique sets this designer apart from the little boys scrambling to be king of the hill. No designer is without a Waterloo in most every collection and she is no exception. Though I liked her most recent Spring and Resort collections more, the beauty of this rare talent is that she continues to develop and explore themes from the previous seasons.

more........

Bring It ! *some of this is foggy as I don't remember the facts or care.... Like Fashion.

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sat, 14 Mar 2015 17:48:00 +0000

One night several months ago I was watching some of my favorite escapist television shows: the reality juggernaut of (un)Real Housewives from hell and worse (Orange County, Miami, Sydney, Jersey, New York and Beverly Hills, oh, and Atlanta). Nothing new ever happens except maybe a husband cheats, dick-tates, and even commits suicide. The wives do pretty much as they please and all under the guise of self empowerment, sisterhood, and brazen uncontrolled self delusion. In short, this is a documentary on the lives of Americans with not enough of one thing and way too much of the other. Visually, it's all the same no matter the zip code or their nationalities. Cheap clothes, joke jewels and houses parading as homes. By sheer accident, I found another show whose characters watch these shows and are filmed reacting to the action/inaction. It's called The People's Couch....something or other. A few of the families watching are really fascinating. Actually, they're all fascinating. Much much more so than the crap they're watching. The mom and dad and their 2 precocious sons all crowd into the parent's bed to watch with food and withering commentary. That the teenage sons sit between mom and dad and have an acute understanding as to how the world of fucked up TV works is in itself disturbing. At the same time, their parents show love and understanding for their sons, who act more like daughters, giving their reality a refreshingly nonjudgmental aspect.

There are 2 other characters who hold my attention almost as strongly as say a State of the Union address or a winter storm warning: namely 2 women, both white, one a lesbian and the other not...? or at least a sympathetic/empathetic BFF. These women never fail to make me choke on my popcorn or blow a mouthful of Root Beer straight out my nose laughing. The matter of factness of their reactions are almost completely impossible to dispute let alone ignore.I have this very same feeling when I look at the collections. Hang on....this is getting to the collections. (indulge me just a bit longer, please.)

On one evening the girls were watching a dance show, called Bring It! or Dance Moms or something, and the teams were doing a medley of Beyonce' songs with seriously athletic death defying moves. Kind of a pissing contest in tights and outfits of questionable taste. Team one was given a rousing pep talk from their no nonsense coach. She impressed upon them that their lives, reputations, futures, even their self esteem, and hers by extension, were on the line. All the money, hopes and dreams were riding on the next 2 minutes or so and if they failed there'd be no more potato chips, fruit, hair straightener or even a bus to get them back (I'm paraphrasing and clearly driving without a Poetic License) if they didn't BRING IT! Watching the bathos their coach spews in that dingy dressing room is enough to make even the most hardened cheer leading dance squad weep into their pom-poms.

Their moment comes, the routine revs into high gear and their 2 most ardent supporters on the couch with their drinks in hand and their hearts in their mouths, cheer them on, pray them on and plead to the heavens to bring them through this valley of (dance off) death. Like an army of divine believers they face their opponents in formations and drop face first like a forest of felled (black) pines and fallen face first onto the ground and all at the same time. The lesbian on the sofa declares it a total triumph due to their signature move "the Drag Queen Death Drop". Well, I certainly was convinced that these little girls had done the job, rescued their dignity and would bring home the prize on a bus that had waited full of hopes, dreams and yes, popcorn. In short, these little soldiers of song and dance had done nothing less than "BRING IT!" but there was still the other team's turn; The Baby Dancing Dolls and the Divas of Olive Branch.

With a name like the Rudettes (Dancing Divas) or something this team stepped forward in answer to the question and started their routine. It was all provocation. Some neck waving, hand gestures, barely there costumes (on 13 year olds....) gyrating to a very "grown up" beat, these (little girls) had clearly been given a different pep talk altogether. These girls twerked, gyrated and teased to the point of embarrassment. It was actually hard to watch. One would imagine it might even be hard for their parents to watch. This routine was well past the border of propriety and firmly in that netherworld of questionable taste. I call this world Conde' Nasty. But unlike the previous team with their quaint naivete, the Raunchettes wore very little and all carried a CHAIR. WTF was the chair for? Well, these girls had a mission and it was punctuated by that chair; the coda and exclamation point to their routine. If I said they mounted more than sat on those chairs gives you enough information. At the end as the judges tallied their scores, the 2 BFF on the couch were appalled at the vulgarity of team 2's display hoping against hope that good taste would win out. Well we all know having watched the collections from here to Paris and all points north and south east taste rarely carries the day, Chanel, Valentino, and a few exceptions excluded.

As I feared, but knew deep in my gut, Team 4 the Little Vixens of Vacantville (The divas of Olive Branch) stole the trophy. All the lesbian could say in defense of the first team was that "We did what we had to do. But they had chairs...". She's right. All the collections in this land and farther afield that managed to twerk their way to reviews utterly devoid of comment, analysis or fact (a big hand goes out to Vanessa Friedman of the New York Times) had one thing going for them...they all came with a chair. A chair that fits neatly under the table at Cafe Conde' where the menu special each day and night is "Nasty in Asspic"! Now that that hairball is up and out, I can get specific.

Straight Talk: The Ralph Rucci problem, continued.

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sun, 16 Nov 2014 16:51:00 +0000

One has to wonder how a designer who's collection is on the same level or higher than the most important couture houses in Europe could remain almost permanently off the radar of fashion magazines the world over. With the exception of his ad campaign shot by Steven Meisel over the last 2 years, there is rarely if ever a sighting of his work in the editorial pages. Otherwise, one fails to see even that. The problem that irked me most was the almost deliberate refusal of these magazine and newspaper editors who had pride of place in the front rows of his shows. Anna Wintour was never in attendance, either here or when Rqlph showed the Couture in Paris.I have a problem with that as it makes little sense considering the description of her job.

The implied dismissal by a press that should know the difference between the mediocre and the divine, I know, big sweeping word, divine, but to many, including me, that's precisely what it IS. What were they so afraid of? Perhaps, his work would overshadow the formulaic contributions of others. Maybe modernity trumps the mundane. Possibly, it came down to whomever pays for ads gets to play on the swings. That rule is a very slippery one as so many exceptions are made. The Vogue Fund with its council partnership is just the perfect example. Check out the Ovation channel to see just how the "system" works.

My anger doesn't do anything but creates division and bad feeling, mostly for me. Ralph is a very Zen person. How can you create in the way he does and be anything but. His world is one filled with an appreciation for every single detail and element that conspires to be a thing of beauty. He's like a composer who's capable of playing every instrument in the orchestra. That is a wondrous thing to behold. It exists only rarely in precious few.

Perhaps this is an example of the new regime. Control is the new term for team playing. The owner rescues a struggling concern and then dictates without prior experience in the field. The designer must now march to the owner's beat or else... It happens everywhere now. The contract a designer signs serves management and benefits the designer, only temporarily. Management now controls the long game, the short game is the domain of the designing squirrels scrambling to get a nut.

It looks as though largess of the sort slithers from the hands of editors-in-chief to the head office of conglomerates. The tops of the mast heads "suggest" to the LVMHs, Kerings, Puigs to bestow plum creative directorships to the same stable of 10 spreading around their mediocrity. Throw around a name often enough, move them through a few old and true design houses and you may even create a new brand in the process. Fashion clearly takes the backseat. Few people seem to see it that way and yet it's writ large on every surface, shop window and page. It's something to consider. The new mediocrity is here. All else left the building before the opening credits.

I'm sure Ralph Rucci will be fine, even better than fine, happy even. At least he no longer has to submit to the whims of people who are better suited as extras on some regrettable Fashion based reality show. The conversation appears to focus on who will replace him. High stakes fashion has become a blood sport. One gladiator is mauled by the Emperor and another is thrown to the lions.

It's unfortunate.

Straight talk: The Ralph Rucci Problem

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Sat, 15 Nov 2014 23:46:00 +0000

Ralph Rucci Spring 2015

I've sat quietly digesting the events of the last week. I am not privy to the nitty gritty of the story but am imagining what possibly happened having known Ralph as a friend for the past 6 years or so. The departure of Ralph Rucci from his storied house sits in my stomach like a jagged rock. I doubt that I'm alone in wondering what went down. The press release states obliquely that he walked away willingly from his couture house to pursue other creative endeavors. Besides his furniture design for Holly Hunt, his painting and other activities such as speaking engagements, there don't appear to be any other creative pursuits beyond designing his eponymous collection. My impression from numerous occasions where we've spoken, dined, hung out and laughed is there is nothing in the world, nothing, that's more important to him than his chosen metier. Having had the privilege to witness 5+ collections seated in the audience, I can safely say there are precious few collections that have filled me with such wonder, amazement and satisfaction. And almost none where I felt that I was a witness to the very best that design and fashion in particular have to offer.

Ralph Rucci Fall2013

The audience at these shows would sit rapt in attention as every look came past. From the clothes, divine, to the accessories, unseen before, and the elegance of his models who never took center stage but showed the clothes with a quiet, hyper elegance transcending the almost banal concept of what a model is today. They were like a sleek army of reed thin Amazons doing battle with the status quo and then seducing a 1000 people huddled in a dark cavernous room. The ovations at the end were almost always standing and endless. More than that, one left feeling as though something important had just happened and we, the fortunate 1000, happened for once to be in the right place at a decisive moment.

The financial strain was certainly a herculean weight on his shoulders but it never stopped him from doing his best. His best can not be compared to others efforts. Simply, because his mission started 30 years ago and never wavered from its original target. Schizophrenia just doesn't exist in his aesthetic. The thread is clear, taught and reinforced with steel cables. This explains a clientele as loyal to him as say the Balenciaga or Beene client. These women just don't see fashion as having any weight, vision or ubiquity unless it is from the hands and atelier of Ralph Rucci. When Diana Vreeland talked about Mona Bismarck at the time that Balenciaga closed his house, she said,
"Mona took to her bed for 3 days...You have to understand that when Balenciaga stopped it was the end of a certain part of her life".
I'm sure that the same goes for the Ralph Rucci client. I saw women at his shows who wore his clothes from top to bottom. They didn't believe there was anything else worth owning and wearing. What of those women who ordered countless outfits each season, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars? What becomes of them?

Ralph Rucci Spring 2014

I have trouble believing he left willingly. It seems more plausible that the new management (the Marks, Nancy in particular, Guy the CFO and "Joey" the CEO) took steps to encourage his departure. What did they want that he wasn't producing? Fast fashion? Price points in the $500-$1500. range? Maybe they wanted him to design the couture and put someone else in place for the ready to wear? The bottom line is there was no ready to wear. It was either couture lite or Haute Couture. Meeting them briefly, they appeared to be the farthest thing from managers of a couture house. Hooking up a caboose of start-up designers in a mass showroom under the aegis of "Joey" to the Rucci organization is like tacking a paper tail onto a Grand Prix dressage horse. Then consider him, Joey, as the new CEO over Ralph and calling the shots along with Ms. Marks who's experience in the couture is writing a check and putting on the dress. Who does that?

The last time I visited I asked in the workroom what the gowns were that were on forms with the bulk of the staff working feverishly on them. I asked if they were new designs for the show which at that time was about 6 weeks off. The answer that came sent a shiver down my spine. They were all for the new owner. It seemed that all important production, that bane to the existence of a new collection in need of equal attention. Yet, production was on hold as was the creation of the new collection and all for the needs of the new owner. Priorities appeared dangerously skewed. The heat I took in my studio to start the new collection when production orders for the previous season caused shouting matches between me and my production manager. To stop all the works to make a number of very time consuming gowns for someone, instead, was met with a firestorm. It just didn't happen.

One doesn't expect this sort of behavior at a company as vaunted as Ralph's. But this is what looks to be the case. It's so unnecessary and wasteful in an age where nothing seems to hold any value. When investors come in to save a company and then turn around and strip it of its essence, Ralph Rucci, then the business model proves to be flawed and blind. The consequent exodus will prove this to be true. For the record, I've not spoken directly with Ralph since last week. This is solely my speculation.

to be continued....

Ralph Rucci to step away from his company.

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Mon, 10 Nov 2014 19:56:00 +0000

For those of you who've read this blog on occasion or followed it over the past few years know how highly I regard Ralph Rucci and his incredible contribution to the increasingly rarefied world of Haute Couture and fashion in general. Here in NYC, America and the world at large, there's no one who can match his particular gifts. It takes only a moment to get a hint of the genius behind most every single piece of clothing he designs. Taking the language of classical design and construction, he has inverted and invented whole new techniques. The work is so alive, dynamic and provocative in a most quiet way, that it's hard to look at his clothes or watch a collection on the runway without being moved in a physical way. They challenge and they excite. Most of all they satisfy in a time where there is little satisfaction in fashion to be found on almost every level. Ralph is that rare exception.

Today, the company announced that Ralph has decided to leave the company and "pursue other projects". This is a tragedy and travesty. Ralph Rucci has given his life to his metier, his family of brilliant technicians and a muse that has brought many of us to tears more than once. The pressures of maintaining an Haute Couture collection of such exquisite beauty, made of the finest materials, leathers, furs and embroideries has to be staggeringly expensive. Fortunately, or unfortunately at this juncture, a client who's husband is an industrialist bought the company and name, I fear, 2 years ago. The Marks control it now and have decided to remove him and reshape it in their image; pedestrian and soulless. They intend to name a new creative director in the next weeks and debut the re imagined RR collection for Resort 2015.

It's a sad day for many of us, especially his loyal clients who are practically collectors of his treasures. They will be flattened by this news. I'm stunned though I feared this was coming sooner than later, just not this soon. I hope that Ralph will continue to create if he chooses. More than anything I hope that he knows how much he is revered and admired. There is no one on this planet who can speak so poetically through fashion design as he. I miss him already.

Cushnie and Ochs Spring 2015: The Good, the Bad and the Commercial

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Tue, 09 Sep 2014 03:40:00 +0000

This pair has interested and confused me for several seasons now. Just when I think I have a fix on them they do something really great or the opposite. I'm constantly off balance and unsure how to call it.

Last year this time I was in the middle of a very interesting offer from a school of higher education. To be honest, it seemed so far out of my experience that I approached it more as an experiment/experience than something I might actually be chosen to do. In the midst of the 4 day obstacle course of meetings, lunches, interviews, demonstrations (on my part) I was given a book, The Little Black Dress, the catalogue of Andre Leon Talley's hugely successful museum show, and thumbed through it after yet another day of "vetting". That book was jammed with amazing images of black dresses by a mix of likely and unlikely designers. Cushnie and Ochs were included with a couple of the most astounding dresses in the mix. Andre has an incredible eye to isolate really great design in a sea of mediocrity. As I looked again and again at their work in that book I was struck by their obvious talent and unique point of view. Then today I took a look expecting to see more and found so much less. Confusing.

What moves me about their work is a natural bent towards abstraction. They take familiar shapes and upend them in a way that suggests a real sophistication and understanding of cut and proportion. The clothes for the most part swung from the banal to the obvious. Grommets on evening dresses without the Versace stamp too often tend towards the obvious. Pair that with a dress with 'cold shoulders' and car wash fringe and you have a perfect recipe for drive thru fast food. The long evening looks that make ample if uninspired use of silk crepe, charmeuse and chiffon and you get old fashioned lady like looks perfect for the New York Social Diary. Its the raped one shoulder dresses with one fabric and one sliver of a strap holding it all together and you have a look that will stop traffic. There were too little of those and way too many of the other. Knowing the marketplace and all it's contradictions this should be a commercial success (?).

A few looks in black and white stripes starting with a bikini that looked oddly out of place were interesting plays on graphics. Other dresses that were draped twisted and draped some more felt stale when one considers the freshness of say Donna Karan's nimble fingers. On a very critical note the styling was off putting. The makeup, hair and jewelry was distracting. The models looked like they came from the imagination of a novice. One can only hold out hope that they will some day settle on a language that is all their own. In the meantime I take more more pleasure in the 2 looks in an old (now) book. In closing I was offered the job...

Dion Lee Spring 2015: Fresh Air

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Tue, 09 Sep 2014 03:22:00 +0000

Wouldn't you know it would take a relative unknown to step up and and get this party started. Lee has done just that with an assured and original collection taking the language of active sport and translatin it into unique and wearable clothes that remind one of no one other than their author. Straps with buckles and zippers opening and closing areas of a given look are skillfully employed producing a feel of both utility and glamor.

A subdued palette keeps the focus on his technique. Clever cuts that fit are what stops the eye and keeps it focused. Whether separates or dresses the pieces fit and appear to mix effortlessly. Fit, that elusive quality that is increasingly a thing of the past, is firmly in his grasp. The knits and printed looks are well executed even if they are visually less arresting. Nevertheless, he uses them with deliberation cutting them to their best advantage. There is little sense that Lee is pandering to his audience. His commitment to his vision is clear. Inventiveness is his m.o. Dion Lee is a breath of fresh air and someone to watch.

Jason Wu Spring 2015: Into the Koi pond

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Tue, 09 Sep 2014 02:52:00 +0000

The big news at Wu is his new partner, or I should say boss, InterLuxe Investments. They recently bought a majority stake in the company giving Wu more financial Terra firma on which to do his modest dance. So the flagship, the accessories, the makeup, what have you, is soon to be out of the microwave and onto a plastic plate.

I'm sure the fans of Jason Wu will be ecstatic that their boy is soon to become a man among the big men. Think Michael Kors, Reed Krackoff and Christopher Burch. All in all, it's been a banner year for the designer with his overwhelming success with the rebirth of Boss Women and, well, other stuff I'm sure.

Boss women, briefly, a collection of sportswear, suits and dresses have failed to find any meaningful traction in the US market. Visiting the store, (factory store) and headquarters in Metzingen, Germany there's little sign it had much traction there too. Racks and racks of sterile looking numbers with bits of lace, skinny silhouettes, skinny belts and complicated seaming (too little or no effect) heralded this new aesthetic. Considering the factories of Boss with their German HIGH TECH facilities, one would think that some brilliance or just a touch of magic was one shazamm away. But all I saw was a spotted rabbit being pulled from a knit cap looking none too pleased.

This collection has a bit more life with some shapes that were new for Wu and even interesting. The white coat over a sheer knit (multi-seamed) top over a white skirt. The fabric looked rich as did the ovoid shape of the coat, all cut on the round (CHoryn-ism) and looking citified and sharp.

The same goes for a long sleeved white dress that followed with a dropped shoulder and requisite skinny belt. So much of the rest of day consists of Wu digging deep in his trove of go-to patterns and re cutting things like t-shirts, straight skirts and jackets and dull wrap dresses in suede and leather giving them the same look only in suede and leather. The little zip front knit tops are cute but do little to keep this stew all neatly in its bowl. The slouchy low-slung pants and corresponding big shirts suggest a languor and hipness that looks clearly foreign to Wu. His idea of sex is a dress or skirt slit up to the top of the thigh. Never other zones of suggestion. Necklines stay firmly set at the throat or demurely V'd or wrapped across the chest. He seems at odds with his subject. As though a woman, his chosen muse Charlotte Rampling this time, though there was little sense she came to mind in the collection's creation other than being a clever image/name to toss out to the hungry journalists, is as much a mystery as the numbers he whipped up for Michelle Obama.

The same goes for his cocktail and evening dresses with their self conscious 'sexuality'. The wrap, drape and tuck method is in strong evidence with the result of vague references to Halston and Elie Saab and even Michael Kors. He has consistently with his artistry de-sexified the likes of Karlie Kloss and Caroline Murphy which, let's face it, takes some REAL effort. The last 2 evening gowns were a case in point. The first in rust was all awkward peek-a-boo with an annoying strap grabbing the ribcage and buckling the bodice as it plunges to the waist sporting a deep to the navel V. Sexy? No. An attempt to warm up the fusty front row? YES... The navy one with the same idea was more successful largely due to his stepping out of the way. So into the Koi pond he goes. That place where little fish become big fish even when they have just one fin.

Prabal Gurung Spring 2015: Misappropriation and missed opportunities...

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Tue, 09 Sep 2014 02:23:00 +0000

It all started so well. Like his debut collection just a few short years back, Prabal Gurung showed more promise than most in the field of new, young talent. There was a purity of vision and purpose that was exciting to see. The opening to his spring 2015 collection had a similar feel. But from look 5 or 6 all the long, long way to 33-37 of 38 exits, there was nothing short of a drought.

Too many details and looks reminds one of others work: Dior, LVuitton and bits and pieces of Ralph Rucci. The trailing ties and tails were all too familiar from RRucci's last spring collection. The odd-ball patchwork of prints and solids in successive looks with asymmetric ruffles and feathers tacked on for good measure did little to strengthen his message. They brought to mind the retread of LVuitton. Ghesquierre sent out a group of dresses late in what was another endless show of banalities that also played the patchwork game to equally dull effect. Though Gurung has more drape in his arsenal the result was too similar. The question that dogged my mind was how many dresses can one dress be?

The references to tough chic moto cross trousers in silk complete with stripes across the leg, cargo zippers and all in multi-colors look forced and not particularly cool, though the accompanying blazers did have an interesting edge. That's the irony in all of this. COOL seems to be the very thing he's trying to express. Like in the beginning with a fellow contemporary Altuzzara, they both worked overtime to appear edgy and ahead of the curve. Altuzzara has moved on. Gurung is still attempting to draw water from a parched well. The small group of knits he showed over trousers was one bright spot an an area that could be further elaborated on.

Deconstruction is an interesting way to find the essence of an idea. Gurung appears to be committed to this idea but with mixed results. Not until look 33 appeared did it seem that he's found his groove. Still, the mix of shapes, eroticism and technique came together in an exciting way. Great gowns worth seeing on a great looking woman. Maybe less would go a long way towards more. His star shines bright nevertheless. It goes to show that clothes are not the most important currency of a designer.....

Hermes: What's in a name?

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Fri, 29 Aug 2014 12:52:00 +0000

Everything and nothing. If my memory serves me, Yves Saint Laurent had a series of French bulldogs during his lifetime. Each was named Moujik. When one died, he'd replace it with a new puppy and name him the same, Moujik. I think the Duke and Duchess of Windsor did the same at least with some of their dogs. This certainly is no crime but it begs the question, What's more important; the name or the dog that's branded with it? I'm sure the first Moujik was a perfectly nice little man but who knows the character of the characters who followed. Some I know were not so nice, even willful little creatures who thought nothing of biting and relieving themselves wherever they liked. Still the name remained despite an ever changing cast.

I, personally, have never named a pet the same as a previous one. Really, how do you name a horse Fluff? One was a tiny poof of grey fur that I could carry in my pocket and the other was anything but tiny and did all the carrying. Bailiwick and Gomer (Fandango) would no more answer to Fluff than I would, well, until I did but that's another tale...

Of course, companies and products have names that don't change no matter who sits at the front desk. What does change is the integrity of the product or services offered. Sometimes for the worse, hopefully for the better. It's the perception that matters most. If for instance a company like Hermes rests comfortably on a history of supplying the world with luxury products like silk scarves, beautiful timepieces and jewelry, exceptionally crafted leather goods from bags to belts to saddles, if Hermes' reputation is built on that and they then put that name on more transitory products like fashion for men and women one expects the same level of quality, craftsmanship and creativity. One does not expect a series of designers with such disparate views that none relate to the other. That isn't to say that they should or could be of one mind. But the company should be of a mind to create a continuity no matter what.

Margiela ran things early in 2002 or so for several years. Honestly, Hermes at that time was off my radar. The accessories were what I craved and none were in my reach until they were. My eyes were caught on the watches and belts and beautifully made notebooks. My eyes are still stuck on the same things. Not the big obvious, gauche "H" buckled belts but the ones that were so perfect and logo-less. The clothes just didn't resonate. Maybe they were too "mature" though I'm in my fifties. They were square in that Faubourg St.Honore' way that Japanese and Russian tourists and dim witted Americans love. The obvious.

Then Gaultier appeared and the women's ready-to-wear took off. He gave people a reason to go beyond the mere scarf or de rigeur Birkin, creating a hyper-luxe sporty collection that made me drool season after season. Then suddenly, FINIS. Gaultier made a strong argument for Hermes as fashion and not just as a bastion of the ultimate in accessories.

Christophe Lemaire

Along comes Christophe Lemaire from Lacoste and showed the saddest clothes to come out of those workrooms. Still the Dumas family gave it their stamp of approval. Why, when it took the perception of this storied house into a world of the mundane? Yes, in time it got better especially in the last 2 seasons, but never to the level that is synonymous with the grandeur of the Hermes legacy.

Now we have a new Chief Executive Axel Dumas with ideas to "capture" the market and imagination of a luxury clientele. In Lemaire's place they have installed Nadege Vanhee-Cybulski who most recently was the design director of the American brand The Row after stints with Maison Martin Margiela and along side Phoebe Philo. Certainly, Ms. Vanhee-Cybulski will up her game. Having come from Celine and the Row, one imagines monastic minimalist luxe fabrics and shapes. At the risk of passing judgement before the fact, I can't help wondering how this is an improvement. Looks more like "same name different dog".

Perhaps some houses are better off doing what they do best and what they are known for. Unless, it's an ego driven decision on the part of the Dumas family to compete with the likes of LVMH and their stable of luxury fashion brands, I see little point and lots of wasted Euros to carve a niche that is already glutted. I'm content to buy another notebook in another irresistible color, say taupe to go along with my black and brown ones. They never disappoint and only get better with age. Musical chairs is much more fun when you race against others who are racing as well. Stepping over dead bodies to grab a chair with 3 legs doesn't have the same excitement.

Flip Flops and other heinous gear: Just Say No

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Mon, 25 Aug 2014 14:46:00 +0000

The collections are just around the corner and I, for one, am curious what will waddle, slither and galumph its way down the runways. It's been slow summer with little to get excited over let alone talk about. Spotlighting every new trend just isn't that interesting when the street has more to offer than the design studio and that's not saying much for the street. Long, limp and lank dresses are dragging their frayed hems up and down every major avenue in this city, which means that all over the country women have decided that the beach "cover-up" is now just as de rigeur as their filthy, slap-smacking flip-flops you see on the feet of just about every person moving. Dirty feet with colored toe-nails are still just that: DIRTY. Whether that flip-flop is rubber, gold toned rubber, leather-look or even leather, it's a shoe meant for the beach, for weekend wear, but not something to get around the city in. Between dodging mounds of dog drop and sidewalks being hosed down to rid them of dog drops, this shouldn't be the shoe of choice for anyone: man, woman or dog. Still they are everywhere. Even on the flight to Germany/Holland a week ago they were in every class of the flight. Coach was a given but First class? There, too. Why did I bother to get dressed up? (Relax, I used miles)

The "cover-up" is the big winner. Is it because it's sold everywhere at every price point making it an accessible look for every wallet. It's always in some form of jersey, but most often the cheapest saggiest grade available. It takes a nasty print like a mismatched stripe, digitally printed florals or some combination of the 2 with an animal print wash just for good measure. What rankles is that the customer has this idea that whether strapless or halter-top, this tube is a default must-have. Most often the look is sloppy due to an ill fit (too tight) and horrible quality. Those offenses are so standard that a good one (designer/expensive) is as hard to discern as her poorer relation. When they come with built-in elastic waistbands things go from worse to awful. Yesterday I saw an older woman with a "real" body and she too sported one with one difference; it was mid-calf and cut like an oval skimming her body, narrowing at the hem. It looked great and so did she. I couldn't help wondering why I was the only one who seemed to notice?

Yoga gear is another culprit that's snared and skewered armies of women on the street. It's like too much information that none of us wants or needs. Call me a prude but I don't want to see the outlines of every inch of a person unless it's someone I'm in love with or at least in bed with, male or otherwise. So all this "information" traipsing up and down the street is nothing short of a lapse in decency.

there's other stuff, too: Yoga mats, water bottles, cell phones, men carrying totes hanging from their arms, flash dance off-the-shoulder tops, leggings, floor length chiffon skirts with short underskirt linings, hi-lo dresses and skirts for day OR night, short shorts esp jean cut-offs, sports bras worn off the court, Michael Kors totes and bags of any sort (see GLUT), LVuitton, too, oh and Tory Burch, as well, ALL BIRKINS, etc. Last but not least... "STEP AWAY FROM THE TATTOO PARLOR PEOPLE". ENOUGH. enough. Let's clean up the mess and make room for new No-No's.

Haute Couture Fall2014: The Valentino Method !!!

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Fri, 25 Jul 2014 21:04:00 +0000

All this talk about the past vs. the present, the old world vs. the new, Couture that addresses the now is what many espouse and precious few deliver. One could argue that new is the new old, but honestly it isn't. There's old and new but the bulk of what constitutes the new is only a gaping grey area, a mountain of scraps of this and that in a dull mix filling slop buckets to overflowing. The same slop bucket is what feeds most of our authorities on the subject.

At a discussion the other night after a screening of the Diana Vreeland film, "The Eye has to travel" by Lisa Imordino Vreeland, China Machado a famous model who worked with Balenciaga and then Givenchy was asked by a person in the audience if there exists an editor in chief of any major fashion magazine who has a vision that approaches that of Mrs.Vreeland. Unequivocally, China all but shouted, "NO". There's no room now for that when all that matters is the bottom line. "MONEY has killed what once was", she lamented to an audience that sat silently.

So what does it take to cut through the fetid cloud of mediocrity? As much as vision is of the utmost importance, it's a commitment to a path that moves ever forward that is the soul of the new. I'll go a step further and say that the designer who looks inward has a gravitas that the others who play to the crowd don't. Code fixated designers choking on a house's DNA have little room to move. Exceptions exist and that would be Maria Grazia Chiuri and Pierpaulo Piccioli of Valentino.

From almost the beginning, there's has been a contribution that is at once true to the grandeur of Valentino but goes steadily forward. The glamour associated with Valentino Garavanni's lexicon of exquisite luxury is the backbone that informs the new team. The techniques of the atelier at the fabled house remain in practice but turned to address a new aesthetic, one that is based in the now. Evening dresses and cocktail dresses are possessed of the same integrity and impeccable workmanship but distilled in a way that applies to women today, the working, the pampered and the young and old.

Whether its tailored jackets, suits, coats or draped dresses in chiffon, jersey, etc. the skill is apparent. Even in the sportswear looks, they too are imbued with couture technique of the highest order. The breadth of the collection is another difference from many other Haute Couture collections.

Whether bold graphics, completely new ways of handling lace, embroideries that suggest an odd romanticism vs. conventional sap add evermore mystery. Color is another element in the mix that arrests the eye. Combinations of color, often muted creates a mood, a feeling that touches the wearer and viewer in much the same way. It's an effect that draws one in, making one hungry to see more. Shapes are so varied that most women are included with a symphony of ideas, not 1 or 2 notes only. This is not Chopsticks but a Rachmaninoff piano concerto with full orchestra.

What speaks loudest is the fearlessness with which they work. Perhaps there's strength in numbers but I would hazard that their partnership is based on mutual respect and admiration. Even better, Valentino and Giancarlo Giametti applaud louder than the audience embracing the duo at each shows end. Where do you see that? At YSL? No. Rather than break it down exit by exit I wanted to speak more to the heartbeat of the house. The collection speaks for itself.

Now is no time to look back, whether longingly or literally. The world is reminding us of that ugly fact minute by minute. The mission we all face in all aspects of life is to move ahead. Mrs. Vreeland said, "Don't give them what they want (or what they abhor) but what they didn't even know they wanted"! There's only one way to do that. IMAGINATION. INTEGRITY. HONESTY... and WORK.
graphics courtesy of Garnet Spagrud

Haute Couture? Fall 2014

noreply@blogger.com (Fluff Chance) — Thu, 24 Jul 2014 04:13:00 +0000

Ralph Rucci

Good question... This most recent round of Couture presentations for Fall 2014 further defined the new as well as begged the same nagging question, "What constitutes Haute Couture?" It should be more than the sticker price. If you read the reviews of the collections on Style.com or in the New York Times you might think that there exists a collective brilliance that centers in and around Paris' Grand Palais. Names such as Chanel, Armani Prive', Versace, Givenchy and Valentino represent the 21st Century concept of Haute Couture, or they certainly used to. One must be vetted by the Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture to be accepted and invited to show. One must have a certain number of models (styles), the models must be made predominantly by hand, a minimum of Premieres d'Ateliers and Petit Mains working under them (the seamstresses and tailors) in order to technically apply. The larger question is a creative one but that's purely subjective though the Chambre Syndicale... is designed as an objective body of what at least used to be of the most stringent and high standards. All of these conditions as it were are neither here nor there when looking at an actual Haute Couture collection. Just for the record, I apprenticed at Givenchy Paris when Monsieur Givenchy was at the wheel. While there, I sat as an apprentice assistant and watched 2 Haute Couture collections and 2 Pret a Porter collections conceived and created.

The price of fabrics, embroideries and woman/man hours, not to mention the multiple fittings that are included make this the Grand Daddy of dress shopping. The luxury of clothing made specifically to fit, flatter, hide, transform and enhance a woman's body is, I guess, something so astoundingly satisfying that women who can shop the Couture, do and those who can't, dream. None of that is at issue here. What stymies me are the motley crew of collections trotted down the runway that look neither particularly astounding, trans formative, satisfying and least of all "Haute". To read it in the press one might think the price tag was all that mattered. There was no criticism per se, just a droning dialogue on the beauty and sociological implications of clothes almost completely devoid of context or message.

Christian Dior

At Dior, Raf Simons' re imagined Marie Antoinette was yet another trudge down a chic cul de sac. With his Resort collection I started to change my mind about him and the validity of his message. His recipe for modernity left me starving in the beginning and only began to tempt me with little bonbons that started to become cupcakes if not full on cakes with lavish decoration. Fall and Resort gave me a jolt like the best of his last work at Jil Sander. The double dresses that laced and played color contrasting duets in a single piece pointed to a path out of the thicket he's busily created since taking charge of the house. To my dismay, the collection shown a couple of weeks ago was so silly in proportion, detail, and (tired) concept that my eyes glazed over after the 10th exit. His explanation of drawing from the past to create a language that is new and modern was little excuse for these sad sack dresses. Over lunch with a great friend we got down to the nitty gritty of the discrepancies that pass undetected by "knowing" eyes. Poor construction, a paucity of creative curiosity and the fact that ultimately this demi-couture may very well become just good enough for a public no longer even aware of what this highest form of craft used to mean. I was distracted by the shape of the skirts that suggested panniers but without the structure underneath to hold them up and out. Beyond that there was the question of proportion that was exaggerated beyond reason as the shirts shot out in some cases well below the low hip and then stopping at the shin. Very bottom heavy milkmaids in dresses that read more as upholstery than rich fabrics. Still it was passed off as a deliberate manipulation but read to my eyes as just lazy, crazy chop shop drag. There was more said on this and other subjects but that's private.

Chanel Alexis Mabille

Chanel didn't fair that much better. Lagerfeld's was a collection of tweedy ensembles molded into rounded shapes like a series of ellipses. Coats over dresses and suits were all rounded front, side and back, shoulders, sleeves, you name it it was molded to a round plumpness that made the thinnest of his models look short fat and dumpy. The strangeness of shapes culminating in a series of stark white dresses at the shows end didn't suggest so much the future as it did an undecipherable present. Lagerfeld can do no wrong and the press never came close to taking him to task. Rarely, do they. It seems that everyone is so convinced of his brilliance that they fear questioning his authority, much the same as that of editors at most of the big mags. Think Anna Wintour and extrapolate from there.

Armani Prive'

Armani Prive' was just old. The shapes, the tame jackets that were straight out of his archives from 20-30 years ago and splashy beaded numbers were saying not so much about the future as they sat sleepily in the past. The sound was more the sharp outtake of a yawn. There looked to be no future there, only a past whispering its authority.

Alexis Mabille was just ugly. This young man who looks like a student or some one's kid has consistently delivered stillborn collections for years now. Poorly conceived, wretchedly executed and totally lacking in chic, his clothes leave me annoyed. There is no mystery there. Enough.

Versace

Versace is, well, Versace. Think of the girls who service oligarchs or Naomi Campbell and you get the picture. Vulgar displays, the lead foot instead of the soft touch, the obvious over the implied, blood and sweat instead of ease and elegance and you get where I'm going with this...

Giambatista Valli

The exceptions to this curious state of affairs would be someone like Giambatista Valli. His collection that played a symphony of stripes in black and white with his signature shots of yellow were a treat. It looked to me as though it were the collection that should have walked down the Dior runway. Valli is a clever iconoclast with marvelous technique that gets better with time but is it Haute Couture?
Ralph Rucci, the American Couturier based here will never lower his standards which are some of the most staggeringly high in existence. He shames the "competition" just by his mere existence. Valentino is another that shames the competition. The work coming from the team of Pierpaulo Piccioli and Maria Grazia Chiuri is exceptional in so many ways, but they are worthy of their own story as they showed us again what the Couture can and should mean for today and the future. Just look closely. You can't miss it.

Ralph Rucci