Questioning Beauty, Considering The Greatness Of Johnny Weir

There's no questioning the greatness of certain athletes. From somewhere in the mix of sweat and torn muscles, the meditation of constant practice, their extraordinary discipline, they are formed. Short careers and extreme adulation, they are cast as role models and sports agents show them the money. I love the possibilities of a human to reach beyond good, to endure pain, to focus. I love that Michael Jordan was not accepted on his high school basketball team and that every day he practiced. Practiced to achieve the perfection of an athlete.

Johnny Weir is a great athlete who loves wearing flamboyance, whilst appreciating the work of Chanel, Balenciaga, Lanvin, and designs his own costumes. His personal collection of Balenciaga bags in every color reduces me to awe, as does his ability to endure the personal and professional scorn heaped on him by some of his peers, some of the public and some of the gay fashion community.

I'm more than tired of the Fashion Police, the Who Wore It Better, the Rules of Fashion, the tight little box that no one who has attended middle school can escape without wounds or wild poetry in their blood. It hurts. It's small and often banal, which is far worse than extravagant excess or a bad outfit or, as the beyond great screenwriter Susan Estelle Jansen wrote for Hilary Duff in the Lizzie McGuire Movie, the outfit repeater.

For some horrible reason, my 7th grade PE teacher made us dance once a week in the gym. I don't remember the tune but I have never forgotten the boy who said loudly to me, "you don't know how to dance." He walked off and I don't remember what happened. I do know that I didn't dance again for years. I believed him even though I had taken ballet classes three times a week since I was three.

Years later in a pink dressing room in my Sunset Plaza shop, a very famous and extravagantly beautiful actress said to me, as she scoured her black Dolce & Gabbana dress image in the mirror for faults, that she couldn't wear black because in middle school she'd been teased for having very pale skin. The same translucent angelic appearance that made her a constantly working actress.

Life is short. Wear a bad dress. Wear a purple tux. Wear sequinned shorts and a Thom Browne jacket when you support a foundation that works to prevent teen suicide.

Question beauty and strive to be around it while inflicting no pain on another because of your failure to accept and understand others.

I am choosing to ignore all the Mean Girls because ... oh, because they're stupid. And if you have a Mean Girl in your life, don't accept it and speak very, very loudly to end it. No one should be torn down for amusement. Shout it and make it end. Do it. Make your kids do it.

Congratulations to Mr. Weir for being a great athlete and that Balenciaga collection and the goodness of your life.

Sebastian Errazuriz: The Dichotomies Of Mortality And Art

Sebastian Errazuriz is young and his portfolio of product design, art, sculpture and product design is ferociously good and challenging. Religion, life, death and the strange wonderings free from the constraints of the usual. Sothebys had auctioned his work, he's Chilean Designer Of The Year, something akin to John Galliano and Alexander McQueen being British Designers Of The Year. Mr. Errazuriz is fabulous looking, always a satisfying thing. MOMA has commissioned pieces for its shop.

His website is here.

Zevs, Visual Violations

Artnet has a few Zev Visual Violation pieces and his work is represented by Lazarides in London.

Not everyone loves visual violations or visual kidnapping. Giorgio Armani was not happy that his Hong Kong boutique became a Zav art installation and took him to court.

Of course there are as many street artists shown in museums and galleries as there are people disturbed by it.

Banksy pieces begin in the low six figures. "If graffiti changed anything it would be illegal" is a Banksy vandalism on a wall.

Sylvia Heisel: Some Random Thoughts

so here go some random thoughts…..

i can't believe i still do this…..i'm not sure i still love or understand "fashion" but i still love designing and making clothes…..

my business has gone through a lot of different stages and identities in all these years….

20 years ago i was a young hip downtown NY designer…..no money, lots of press, very creative small company designer fashion…..then downtown got claustrophobic and being poor stopped being okay and i moved uptown and my clothes lost a lot of their creative edge and became more commercial and i made money…..then i ran the business sort-of on autopilot and renovated an apartment in manhattan and a really rural home in the Catskills….then i fell in love and married an artist…..then the economy crashed and i stopped making money……….now my business is a lot smaller and i've moved back downtown with my artist husband and i'm trying to be as creative as possible and make beautiful clothes and places and events and whatever else inspires me….

the bridal came about because someone (Robert Taylor) in the bridal business approached me about doing it….i don't understand the bridal business at all but the dresses are a lot of fun to design….sort-of like decorating giant cupcakes….

the apartment was incredibly much fun to do and has inspired us to pursue a lot of great new projects….it came about because we were renting an apartment in a very fancy new construction apartment building and everything was falling apart and the management fixed nothing….at a certain point almost everything had been put in storage because of leaks and nails that came through walls and other stuff and we knew were leaving at the end of our lease (4 months later ) and it just seemed like a fun thing to do…it took about a month to complete, cost very little (lots of tape, some fabric and a little paint) and we removed everything when we left….NY Magazine seeing it was random lucky break….

from that my husband and i have started doing other temporary design projects….Scott is a sculptor who was a bartender at Studio 54, an owner of nightclubs in NY and LA, and an assistant to event florist Robert Isabel at other times in his life…..we both have a love of crazy over-the-top stuff and like making things….

we're especially interested in making things and places that are temporary and made from recycled or recyclable materials….also what i've become very interested in with clothes….

fashion is really strange right now and i have a really hard time wrapping my brain around it…..to me, a lot of what the world thinks of as fashion is luxury product and very conservative and even more of it is just stuff that celebrities wear…..and a lot of what we all wear (myself included) is very function and comfort driven and not particularly creative….

these days i'm much more interested in making clothes that are either a part of other larger creative projects or are more conceptual and less functional as ready-to-wear clothing…..

the thing about couture and me is I love creating one-offs and special pieces but I hate working directly with the customer…..the moment it becomes about dressing mrs. cinderella for the ball and can i make the dress match the diamond earrings the emperor just bought her and haggling about the $'s  i'm miserable…..i like creating creative couture stuff more than dressing the rich and famous in luxury goods…..

Sylvia Heisel website here.

Why Don't You? A White Victorian or Edwardian Skirt

Romantic white skirts from long ago are not fragile and have become a goodly part of my summer wardrobe. Covering up a bathing suit at the beach or all prettied up with a little top, a crushable straw hat with flowers and big sunglasses that separate this from too sweet. Flea markets, vintage shops, eBay and Etsy. When they need to be freshened up, I boil them with Rit White-Wash for twenty minutes on the stove, stirring with a heavy wood paddle. Rinse in cool water and lay on a towel to dry, preferably in the sun.

I love this one from The RedHeadedPrincess at Etsy.com and it's perfect, no boiling required. My wonderfully generous friend Judith sent me an amazing Kenzo black leather obi sash, perfect for this.

Jeffrey Felner Talks About Fashion, Then And Now

Growing up fashion

My growing up took place somewhere around age 26 when I realized that I had to be involved in the garment center, as it was called then, and not the “fashion business.”   Starting as a textile designer with staff of 20, I then went to work as a buyer for one of the most prestigious specialty stores in the USA with branches in Scottsdale, Palm Beach and Birmingham, Michigan. We bought everything from Valentino, Montana, Mugler, Armani, Ungaro to Nancy Heller and so many more….from there to buyer for Elizabeth Arden, when they had 12 retail outlets, to being VP of design at Miriam Haskell to designing clocks.  My soul always remained in the”business.”

The biggest difference from then to now is that then, fashion was not so democratic, meaning that the “step down from couture” was reserved for those who catered to maybe 2% of the female population and did so unapologetically.

There were fabulous specialty stores like Martha in NYC, Grace Jones in Saledo Texas, which boasted its own air strip, Lou Lattimore in Dallas, Lina Lee, Charles Gallay,Giorgio’s, those 3 just in LA.  Imagine there was no Neiman’s yet in LA, no Barneys, but there was I.Magnin in LA.  The small specialty stores were for the most part owned and operated by the eponymous owner who “owned” his or her clientele.  Albert Lidji of Lou Lattimore could charm the chrome off a bumper, Grace Jones was as gracious and low key as any heiress you might have met and Martha was the grandest dame of all who would have made you believe she was a Rothschild when in fact she used to sell coats on the lower east side of yesteryear.

There wasn’t a “wealth pocket” in any state that didn’t boast at least one of these specialty stores who carried the finest and most expensive that money could buy.  I got to know so many of them and was able to live as they lived on the sales floors or in Europe where we were treated as Gods.  I can safely say it was a sort of elitist private club that had its own set of unwritten rules.

Imagine that one felt honored to be “accepted” into the club and that there was no blogging, there were really fashion critics who had opinions and that WWD even had an opinion and wasn’t afraid to put it in writing.  There were no Tavis or Bryan Boy’s, whom I find absurd, there were only people who earned their stripes in the trenches and not by simply saying “oh that’s pretty,” or posting a photo on their blog real fashion folk who actually knew their customers and businesses and bought specifically for them.

I feel badly for  those of the 21^st century “Fashion Business” who will never again know what life was like without printouts and computers and cell phones and instant communication.  We had to be invited to a show and it wasn’t because we were fans, it was because we were customers and when you attended you were dressed for the occasion.  Imagine that there were place card lunches when you went to your writing appointments at the Crillion and Hotel Particulieres which were rented for the “season” when writing.  It was a glamorous business that allowed me to meet the greats of who built the business to the  institution that it is today.  I would never trade  a second  of who I met, legends of fashion, whether designers or shop owners or buyers who the newbies will never meet and probably will never hear of ….I am happy to be blessed with memories that few can speak of and not even if I could be 20 years younger would I want to change that part of my life.

My suggestion for those of you who might be contemplating a future in the “business” is to have a look at the list I have complied( http://jeffybruce.blogspot.com/2011/06/designers-who-have-all-but-been.html ) and study the names and study what these people did that made them famous …without the past there is no future.

Jeffrey Felner
http://www.oligoville.com/category/fashion/fashion-by-the-ruleshttp://jeffybruce.blogspot.comhttp://www.nyjournalofbooks.com/search?q=JEFFREY+FELNERhttp://www.examiner.com/user/2062506/2038116/articles
https://www.facebook.com/#!/JEFFYBRUCE?sk=notes

Madame Gres, A Guest Post From The Licentiate

This wonderful guest post is from Licentiate.                                                               
                                                                     
                                                                     
                                             

“I wanted to be a sculptor. For me, it’s the same thing to work the fabric or the stone” - Madame Grès' 

Museum poster
The Fashion/Art debate rages on.  While a Jean Paul Gaultier retrospective opens in Montreal and the news that Rodarte's first couture collection will soon appear at The LA County Museum of Art, one exhibition continues quietly on in Paris.
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Madame Grès, La Couture à L’Oeuvre’, which is showing at the Musée Bourdelle in Paris will close on the 24th of July.  In this exhibition is a lifetime of work and has possibly the closest examples of fashion as an artform on display.  It's only good and proper that sculptural dresses lie next to more conventional mouldings.  It's a move that legitimises the claim of fashion as a real artform. 
Photo from Carmi's Art - there are some great close-ups here
The eighty examples of Madame Grès' are not outlandish, or controversial.  They do not assume lofty themes or have pretensions of grandeur.  They are sculpture in fabric.  Self-assured, impossibly executed and classically beautiful, the understatement of the simple forms emphasises the now extinct craftsmanship and inherent knowledge of a woman known first as Germaine Krebbs, then Alix, then Madame Grès.
Spring 1944 - source
Spring/Summer 1946 - source
Autumn/Winter 1952/3 - source
It's a shame that the Grès name isn't better known.  On trying to explain who she was to the boyfriend, he thought that she had something to do with fine dining.  Perhaps a partner without an interest in fashion is a bad example, but this is a woman who existed in the golden age of female couturiers - she operated in the same city, within the same timeframe with Coco Chanel, Elsa Schiaparelli, Jeanne Lanvin.  She should have been incredibly famous, but she died aged 90, in a home for the elderly, practically penniless after her name had been sold to a swiss licensing company, which now manufactures (not particularly good) perfumes. 
Even though the archives of Chanel and Lanvin may be raided to provide inspiration for Lagerfeld and Lanvin, the craftsmanship of Gres cannot or will not be copied.  Her vast, intricate pleating was time intensive and took up yards of material to create mere centimetres of a waistline.  Her dresses were not tailored, they were draped and built around the body - a skill that is taught at precious few fashion schools, which are more geared towards fast fashion and profit margins than ever before.  Each dress was different and special - true to the spirit of couture.
On reviewing this exhibition, Suzy Menkes said that "fashion can be an art form only with rigorous craftsmanship".  Is that is true, then Madame Grès must be fashion's Michelangelo.

The Licentiate blog is stylish and intelligent; relishing views of fashion and its inhabitants with humor, kindness and honesty. I fell in love with her consideration of Anna Piaggi and Tavi Gevinson as kindred souls; of course she is correct and not bogged down by preconceptions. Thank you so much for our conversations and your work on this. Beautiful .. wicked good actually. 

On Father's Day

"I'm your father and mother," my mother would say when I was quite small. It made me cross because of course, I as a snarky five-year old would think, she was only my mother.

She dropped me off at a birthday party in Silverlake, admiring some very modern houses on the way, houses very different than our bungalow in Hollywood on a street where cars drove too quickly to leave it and there really was a stranger offering candy to children. I leaped out of her car into a happy house with its father sitting in a comfy chair with a cacophony of little girls, an entire first grade class. I handed off the present my mother had wrapped and noted that in the hierarchy of size and beautifully wrapped presents, it was small and the ribbon was tired.

The bow on my dress was generous and my black patent Mary Janes were shining, white lace ankle socks were clean and the memory of the baby powder sprinkled carefully into my shoe my mother remained. The father held up a book and twenty scattered girls flopped at his feet in unison, as we'd learned to do at school. I shut my eyes while he read, wondering again why I didn't have a father and a little angry at my mother.

My mother had told me stories that didn't make sense to a five-year old, that she'd loved my father so much that she'd torn up all his photos. She held my hand at an amusement park as she instructed the sketch artist on the details of my father. When it was done, she looked at it and remarked that my dark hair was very much like his. I liked that much more than the vague sketch of a father.

She sent me to private school, drove me to ballet three times a week and made my costumes, she found an upright piano and a teacher, she kept me home from school for an entire morning to make me learn the multiplication tables. She and I played dress-up and glided through the small house with books on our head. She let me wear her cherry red lipstick pretending not to notice that I'd taken it, again, from her purse. She clapped too loudly at recitals and spelling bees and unlike my classmates, she sat alone.

It was hard and would get harder for her as she struggled with secrets and mental illness. As her world fell apart, she kept my tutus hung carefully and smiled at me when I came home from school.

I miss her. My mother who was both mother and father.

When There Really, Really Are Fashion Police

Someone asked me to send a pile of Aperture magazines to a photographer living in Iran he'd met online. The postage was shocking but the very sad part was the photos he posted showing that Iranian censors had gone through each page with a fat black marker to obliterate the "offensive."  

There are now 70,000 "morality" police officers in Tehran.

Basic Black Classic And Psychedelic

The short psychedelic film Basic Black made in '67 opens with a veiled Peggy Moffitt, the era when she began modeling and became Rudi Gernreich's muse and then guardian of his legacy. 

Basic Black ..  timeless. Images tell the story here.

The Cristobal Balenciaga Museum

A rare Cristobal Balenciaga coat with the label Eisa B.E. from 1935 - 1938 is part of the ninety piece collectiion on exhibit at the Cristobal Balenciaga Museum that opened last week in the northern Basque region of Spain.

Like Bill Cunningham, his sexual preferences were discrete and unknown; his private life remained his.     He closed his House in '68 because he didn't like the direction of fashion.

Nicholas Ghesquierre is also a master of black.

Retrospective of Yves Saint Laurent Haute Couture 1962 - 2002

Pierre Berge maintained a complete archive of over 5,000 pieces which allowed the depth of the exhibition at the opulent Le Petit Palais. Cocaine nights and Haute Couture days, an antidote for the pain of L'amour Fou. 

Karl Lagerfeld once said to Chanel's chairman, Alain Werthheimer, "Chanel is an institution, and you have to treat an institution like a whore - and then you get something out of her." While luxury can be vulgar in its extravagance and hauteur, the beauty is compelling and in the fabled story of Yves Saint Laurent, heartbreaking and overwhelming.

This Is What Dreams Are Made Of, Well These Are My Dreams

This is what dreams are made of ... today, with the encouragement of a friend who loves stories and fashion (but mostly Azzedine, of course) I sent off the impossibly daunting proposal, something that seemed impossible to complete, to sort through the possibilities. "Elegance is refusal," a good Diana Vreeland saying for getting through a project, sorting through a closet, considering excess which is not decadent. Decadent layering of accessories is different, I think. It can happen. Just like reaching for what you want, which is the good thing .. dreaming.

Stan Rogow produced the Lizzie McGuire television show, which made him the King of Tweens. And made me a Hollywood Wife for a long time (and now Hollywood Mom; Jackson is filming his third season on Cartoon Network's Dude What Would Happen). Sadly that fell apart, not really over a white belt but that was part of it. Don't ever hate a white belt!! 

We went to Rome to make the Lizzie McGuire movie written by the extraordinarily talented, amazingly comedic, brilliant Susan Estelle Jansen, with Jackson given eight weeks of school work and homework. On breaks and at lunch Jackson tried to keep up with homework when he wasn't hiding in Hilary's trailer. Huge tables at lunch with Hilary and Jackson doing math together, curling up on the floor of our hotel elevator to see who the tinier was. Jackson is the Curly Haired Boy in the credits; he's the young boy at the airport. 

Hilary's dress for the video just wasn't right and the movie flailed for a little. It was crazy important and all I could think of was Alexander McQueen's ruffled ballgowns. His office told me they couldn't do one quickly enough. Dave Robinson, the costume designer from Zoolander (ok, yes, the world's greatest movie ever!!) designed the ballgown that can be ripped off so she can dance.

I hit send this morning on the proposal email humming this song because This Is What Dreams Are Made Of. Oh, and plotting out the next one ... The Hollywood Wife, Hollywood Mom one. Dreams.

I'm Confused, Counterfeits Are To Be Celebrated?

Sidney Gittler was the world's largest buyer of Haute Couture at a time when line for line copies were cool. I know; my mother oohed at some and others that did not meet her standards reduced her to a haughty churlish glare, flaring nostrils and tightened cherries-and-snow lips. Well, that was a long time ago. Yves Saint Laurent sued Ralph Lauren over copying the iconic YSL tuxedo dress he first showed in '66 and again during the fall '91 Haute Couture collection, collecting 395,000.00 for the finding of "counterfeiting and disloyal competition." Azzedine Alaia flew to Los Angeles to sue a local manufacturer for outrageous copies of his things purchased from the Alaia chez Gallay boutique on Rodeo, Alexander McQueen and Balenciaga both sued Steve Madden, and Louis Vuitton even goes after artists incorporating its iconic LV's.

I like Alan Schwartz. He's urbane and handsome and charming. I first met him at Helena's the night I met Eddie The Hat, the best "bad boyfriend" ever. I remember a Thanksgiving at his house crawling with football stars. His things were of fashion and affordable. I bought a few things for my shop, and they sold as well as the spendy, edgy European designers on the racks.

Sidney Gittler paid a caution, a fee to attend the Haute Couture shows with a commitment to buy a guaranteed amount of models, to be able to produce line for line copies. It's arguable whether copies impact  designer goods. Certainly there are wealthy customers who are proud to have an Hermes Birkin for 199.00 .. but each year, even in the dark shameful days of the recession, business at Hermes thrived. The Balenciaga motorcycle bag was copied even down to the under 20.00 level sold at Target; soulless, ugly things unlike the original.

Princess Kate seems very cool and unlikely to be riled up by the silliness and commercialization surrounding the Royal Wedding.

I wish Alan had resisted this time.

On Beauty And Papa Bear and Who Wore It Better

beautynoun1 the beauty of the scenery: attractiveness, prettiness, good looks,comeliness, allure; loveliness, charm, appeal, eye-appeal,heavenliness; winsomeness, grace, elegance, exquisiteness; splendor,magnificence, grandeur, impressiveness, decorativeness; gorgeousness,glamour; literary beauteousness, pulchritude. ANTONYMS ugliness.2 she is a beauty: beautiful woman, belle, vision, Venus, goddess,beauty queen, picture; informal babe, hottie, looker, good looker,beaut, siren, doll, arm candy, lovely, stunner, knockout, bombshell,dish, peach, eyeful, fox. ANTONYMS hag.

Papa Bear is my very glamorous 120 pound Bernese Mountain Dog. While he is not show dog calibre having one brown eye and one blue, cars do screech to a halt to smile at him. The perpetually drunk homeless man who is partial to sitting in the shade on the steps of a walk street near me in Venice smiles and lurches at Papa Bear, hugging Papa Bear and burying his head in his fur. Maybe for a moment he is at peace.

While Papa Bear is probably the most beautiful Bernese ever (I really think so), I've noticed his delight at sniffing the rear of almost any dog he sees. His tail wags and he strains on his leash, my big lumbering gentle giant wants to play. Remarkable he doesn't notice that it's he who grabs all the attention. He's not the breed standard but somehow he exists in a world that wants to love him for his uniqueness and that can see his great beauty.

The labels of beauty/non-beauty are not going to go away in a flood of acceptance as easily as Papa Bear's differences were accepted; this planet has not managed world peace yet either. 

Sunday morning musing after learning of a freshman at Bennington that died in the common room last week. A couple of drinks and falling asleep to never wake up again, her friends that cannot make sense of her absence. A cup of coffee at my computer this morning and wondering why People Magazine does that who wore it better section. Voting on whether black shoes look better than gold? Is cleavage good or gross? Who's got cellulite at the beach that you didn't know had issues with it? Interviews with plastic surgeons commenting on the appearance of someone who may have done something? Just for right now, I'm really, really tired of it. The fashion police inviting you to laugh at some silly faux paus? Oh please.