NYCweboy

The Return Of The Brown Years

Back in the eighties - when, in an un-ironic manner, we thought we were having a blast reviving the sixties - the worst thing in the world (no, really) was expressing any kind of positive nostalgia for the... *shudder*... seventies. Spy Magazine was the first place I saw the decade referred to as "The Brown Years", and the moniker seemed so appropriate: that awful mix of wood paneling, "harvest gold" appliances, plaid upholstered furniture... oh, the horror.

Somewhere along the way - I blame grunge - all of that got reversed: the eighties were suddenly tragic, plastic, big shouldered, mulleted and overly bright... and the seventies were sublime, underrated, and a design feast. (And of course, somewhere along the way, Spy turned into a pale imitation of itself... and now we get former Spy-meister Graydon Carter draining the joy out of Vanity Fair.)

The re-appraisal of the seventies, at first seemed fair: sure, much of the fashion was tragic, the polyester blends unfortunate... but reinterpreted and re-styled, it was clear that indeed some adventurous notions of interior design had been abandoned too soon. Dark wood floors, modernist furniture... even, as Jennifer notes to me frequently, the return of "wear what you like" fashion  had a liberating quality that had been missing for a while.

Well, all good things must pass... and the past couple of years have been a tipping point of figuring out what comes next in design and fashion, without a lot of clear indications. In th meantime, the celebration of seventies-chic appears to have run its course... and we are back to: The Brown Years.

By Love (Of Fashion) Possessed

A while back, my friend Jennifer wrote a great post about Coco Chanel and Jeanne Lanvin and a lecture she'd attended given by author Dean Merceron. The happy result of that post, among others, is that Jennifer got to start a fashion dialogue with Dean.

Now, the rest of us have a similar opportunity; Dean has started his own blog, Man Possessed, discussing his passion for fashion, and specifically for Lanvin, with the promise of more to come. He is at work on a new book, which, to hear Jennifer's enthusiastic description, sounds quite fascinating.

Anyway, partly to support a new friend of a friend, and partly because I share these fashion obsessions (and I know some of you do as well), I urge you to take a look at Dean's blog.

Mens Fashion: The Pajama Game

Among the topics I've been avoiding lately is fashion, where,as with a lot lately, nothing seems to inspire. My interest in women's fashion has kind of abated, altely, a combination of not seeing a lot to love, and feeling that the economic downturn signals a great disaster especially for fashion generally.

This week, though, is Men's Fashion Week in Milan. Men's weeks are even more oddly scheduled than women's - mostly because the lead time for complex menswear, like suiting, is longer. Thus, while Women's Fashion Week in March was about this Fall, the June Men's shows are for Spring, a year from now.

Over the past few men's seasons, one look has dominated: the narrow, nearly waifish look pioneered by Hedi Slimane, first at Yves Saint Laurent Men, and then, more comprehensively, at Dior Homme. Slimane is decidedly genius, but the absoluteness of his vision was, as these things are, eventually limiting. Last year, he left Dior Homme to strike out on his own, and that change helped signal a shake-up in the dominant trend.

This year's Spring/Summer collections reflect the tensions in searching for a new look - a number of designers still seem to be caught in Slimane-like tight, narrow clothes, while others attempt to defy the convention altogether, notably, in Milan, Giorgio Armani and Dolce and Gabbana.

And then there's the other message of the season: the reign of the boytoy is over. Let's go to bed.

The Kennedy Endorsement That Matters (Or WWJD)

In contemplating whether or not to write a "post mortem" on the primary, I've found myself unable to say that we're really at a point to evaluate. Too much, it seems to me, of the "how he did it" or "how she lost" evaluations that came out this week was the way they fed the all too American need to have our history here, now, in easy to digest form, so we will never have to look back on it again. And it's not that easy - there are things we don't know (some we can't know) about developments behind the scenes, what motivated several key players, and the like. Saying confidently "he won because he did X" or "she lost because she failed to do Y" seems too easy, just now.

And if I have to hear another round of Clinton-opposing women say now that sexism is a problem... I'll just scream.

I was reminded of all of this, doing the aforementioned dishes, catching up on last weekend's podcast of Washington Week. One of the especially painful aspects of the primary season has been that Gwen Ifill, a woman I've respected tremendously, and whose success as a key Washington reporter has been heartening generally, has failed me over and over this primary season, unable, really to conceal the kind of natural preference for Obama so many reporters share, and letting that color her coverage. That was true in her "post mortem" discussion, one where Clinton did no right, and Obama did no wrong.

Still, one interesting observation that came up was when Dan Balz pointed out that "Kennedy's endorsement was key," and it occurred to me that I agreed that a Kennedy endorsement was key.

Just a different Kennedy than most.

U Sho Nuff Do Be Cookin, In My Book

Pardon me for being ramblefag...

I was drying my hair this morning, and it occurred to me: I think the people who don't get Sex and The City really don't understand fashion or dressing up. They talk about labels and exploitive consumerism, but really, that's not what the tv show was - or the film is - to people who care. The thing we appreciate, along with beautiful things, is the work involved,  think.

I mean, I've just finished my 45 minutes of preparation; it takes 20 minutes to blow my hair (you, the long of hair, know what I'm walkin' bout, I hope. And may I just add that here's another reason for the Asian straight perm: it cut my drying time in half). This stuff is work. People don't understand, I think, unless you've done it, the effort needed to wear a backless minidress. Or sky high Luboutins. I've done drag... believe me, I get the work involved. It's why, when a woman says to me, "jeez my bra is digging in" I can only say "I hear ya, sister."

With The Devil Wears Prada, and with SATC, I think a lot of people leap to the advanced course without doing the 101 work: you don't just wake up one day and instantly get it (Jennifer, I suspect, may take issue with this; I don't mean one doesn't start with some skills... just that like anything, there's a learning curve) - you experiment, you make mistakes, you learn a color looks wrong on you, or those shoes are hopeless, or no, you can't pull off the dominatrix look. And when someone else can, you appreciate that they can do the work... even if you can't.

I'm not sure this post will be entirely clear to anyone except the knowing fashion person, but that's okay: I'm not, necessarily here to educate people who want to understand "what fashion is all about." I already do. What I mean to say is: I look good today, and it takes some effort. And I don't mean anything like "looking good is the best revenge" because I'm not in this for vengeance. I like the effort because I like the result. I like a movie like SATC because I appreciate the work that goes into making 4 very different women look so good (and the person who did it - her name, by the way, is Pat Field). And if I have to read another amazingly dense review like Anthony Lane's or Manohla Dargis', I suppose I'll just shake my head, yet again, at how some people just don't get it. As a critic myself, though, I wonder... "why review something you just don't get?"

As I said, pardon me for rambling; as I keep trying to hone my writing on fashion and beauty, I struggle with talking about it in a way that doesn't, as people point out, seem too superficial or saying, in some way, "you don't measure up... and never will." I think looking good is possible for anyone, at any age, at any size, in the way that works for them. Sure it takes some work... but when the result is U Got The Look... why not?

YSL

Yves Saint Laurent was the only fellow couturier that Gabrielle Chanel “approved” of.  She hated Dior for putting women in clothes that set them back 100 years-the tight jackets and corsets, the spike heels.  The freedoms of movement and independence for a new day that Dior took away.  She hated all the other male designers who came before or were her contemporaries and she tolerated Elsa Schiaparelli.  But in Monsieur Saint-Laurent she recognized a kindred soul (even though she wouldn’t have admitted it) in dressing women in clothing that was beautiful and elegant but gave them independence and power.  His work could have almost been a continuation if hers. 

YSL reached his apex at a time when women were beginning to become truly important and successful in the world of business giving us elegant and exciting clothes to wear each day.    And pants were instrumental to that success.  

The fashion lexicon that YSL gave us has seeped into the rich language of our clothes in a similar to Shakespeare’s language still present in our language today-sometimes it’s so subtle you don’t even realize it.  Certainly the obvious references of chic and severe pants suits and the safari looks but also all the interesting sleeves we have today, the jewel colors, the way women can be successful in business but wear gorgeous over the top clothes, really tall boots, using street fashion to inspire the couture. 

Yves Saint Laurent

As I remember it - and it's a selective memory, I admit - the idea of fashion and being fashionable seeped into my consciousness as a child in the seventies and came attached to one name: Yves Saint Laurent. Before I completely understood what "fashion designer" meant, the idea that Yves Saint Laurent meant "fashion" and style was very clear.

Over time, I learned more and my appreciation of Saint Laurent only deepened; for more than 40 years, Saint Laurent designed collections, first for Dior and then for himself, with almost no misses. He helped create the modern notion of the designer brand, licensing his name to more than 500 different lines from eyewear to bedsheets to cigarettes. My mother, for years, wore Rive Gauche, his main fragrance. My sister, as a teen, loving the rose scent, wore Paris.

His vision was amazing, and in many ways unmatched: he created some of the best clothes for high society women, yet never lost sight of the many sides of a woman's life - he created clothes for women who worked, and clothes that acknowledged women's sexiness without being obvious or sleazy. He was the one who made pants dressing for women into high fashion, who made the "peasant look" a staple of high style. It was he who could make a widow's black dress look like a come on for husband number five... and yet, respectable. He effectively adapted modern art to fashion, famously using the prints of Mondrian, Picasso, Matisse and others in his designs to amazing effect.

And the women he dressed! Catherine Deneuve, Charlotte Rampling, Jane Birkin, LouLou de la Falaise, Nan Kempner. Actresses and socialites, professional women and models. Saint Laurent made women look beautiful, alive, and sexy. And classy. Nothing underscored his amazing vision as much as his retreat into retirement, when The Gucci Group bought his house and installed Tom Ford as his replacement.  Where Ford's louche obviousness updated Gucci's staid image, his similar approach to Saint Laurent only took an elegant line and made it something tarted up and obvious. Only in recent years under Stefano Pilati, has the line begun to approach returning to the power of the master.

Driving home this afternoon, the news announced that Saint Laurent has died. It's easy to see what we've lost as immeasurable, and irreplacable. There will never be another - indeed it takes many current fashion names to equal one of him: Gaultier has his skill if not his panache, Galliano has his verve and vision if not his subtlety, Elbaz has his technical gifts... and on and on. Couture is not dead because of Saint Laurnet; it's near death because women's lives have changed dramatically, and fashion has changed in response. And the person who saw that, in no small part, was Yves Saint Laurent. There will never be another... but I think that's what he intended.

Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes

If you need it in brief: The Sex and The City Movie is fabulous. Go. Now.

If you need it longer, then perhaps you are more like Samantha.

I'm not; but beyond all of the "which SATC girl are you" (the quizzes where the gay boys wind up choosing between Carrie's Stanford and Charlotte's Anthony), is where the heart of the matter actually lies. The Sex and The City Movie succeeds best - and it frankly exceeded every expectation I had - because it's all about not believing your own press. Because it's not about Cosmos, or Manolos, or gay pals, or even man candy.

It's about love. And what we'll do for it.

Coming Home... Just The Way I Left It

I had brave plans to get home and blog at length... but the trip was long, it's late and I'm tired.

I will say this, though, now that I'm home... I like being home, just the way it is. One interesting thing I got exposed to this weekend was a plethora of decorating shows on the House and Garden channel (thus providing a double edged cable experience - more channels, but more time spent watching landscaping than I would have picked for myself).

What fascinates me is how thinly the concept of a decorating show can be stretched.  Basically, show after show was ordinary shlub with a decorating problem (ugly living room, bad garden, house that won't sell), where a stylish - often gay, or in the case of the women, exuberant - "designer" came in and redid the space, usually along the lines of what you see in most of the magazines. It's nice enough, but four or so of these progeams... and you're not getting a lot of new insight.

I really thought I knew what this stuff was about... but I had no idea: there's a whole, endless, industry around this. Video crews wandering around dull neighborhoods, watching unconfident people get generally browbeaten into submission by urban types with a sense for clean lines and occasional dashes of color.

Knowing that Jennifer will get on me mercilessly for seeming so dismissive (never mind Ray, who was one of the design watching culprits), I still can't resist wondering what the appeal is here. It made five hours of SVU reruns, with every creep and kink on display in gruesome detail, seem like a welcome respite.

In any case, good to be home. Hi Mom. More here tomorrow.

So What's The Use (Wow, Bam) Of Falling In Love?

Meanwhile... though it seems I wrote nothing today,that's just because you don't check me out at New Critics, as I try to tell you... and this one, about the lead-up to Sex And The City... well, it's not bad. :)

-- Weboy