IN THE RED: Annie Leibovitz Gets to Work

Renowned photographer Annie Leibovitz, who just recently staved off near financial ruin by postponing the collection of her outstanding $24 million loan, is still seeing red.

But this time, the color has a more positive association – that is, contributions to the Red Cross in the form of bespoke leather goods.

Leibovitz, along with five other artistic icons, is guest designing leatherwear to be assembled by Louis Vuitton's master craftsmen at its Asnieres workshop near Paris, which will then be sold at a Sotheby’s auction in London on November 17th, with proceeds benefiting the scarlet charity as it commemorates 150 years of global goodwill.

Having shot the likes of Sofia and Francis Ford Coppola for Vuitton's “core values” campaign, Leibovitz is familiar with spreading goodwill on an international scale – remember the Demi Moore-nearly nude-pregancy shot? That was groundbreaking. How could we as a society have possibly functioned without the decades of unclothed celebrity mommies-to-be that followed? (I’m only being half sarcastic here.)

The slightly androgynous photographer stayed true to her utilitarian roots when designing for LV. She requested a spacious backpack – no handbags here, ladies – to accommodate personal effects and photo equipment, while leaving her hands free. The monogram canvas sack is trimmed in black leather and lined with red, cushioned microfiber compartments, and it doesn’t stand alone. With her own extensive photographic paraphernalia in mind, Lebovitz’s design includes a matching rectangular shoulder camera bag, with external zippered compartments for accessories.

The other contributing designers are just as varied and unique as Leibovitz herself: There’s animal installation artist Damien Hurst, Oscar-winning composer Gustavo Santaolalla, Spanish chef Ferran Adrià, LV’s head of special orders Patrick-Louis Vuitton (also a fifth-generation family member), plus LV creative director Marc Jacobs.

While I’m happy to encourage the charitable spirit, I do wish Ms. Leibovitz would do some income-generating work so we don’t soon find her hustling chop-shop photos for NYC tourists in Central Park…

Photo credit: Louis Vuitton advertisement, July 2008.

THE GREAT DEBATE: Is Fashion Art?

Each morning, in preparation for daily life, we get dressed. Well, hopefully, anyway. For some, there is no philosophy behind the day-to-day ensemble; it is merely a reflection of practicality, affordability and climate. For others, however, dressing is an expression of their inner self. Clothing can be used to evoke feelings, inspire sensations and garner reactions.

In considering the possibility that there is a large population identifiable with the former (and surely not reading this blog post), questions abound: What is fashion, and what should it be? A practical warping of fabric for function? A pretentious, self-indulgent industry swimming in false importance? Or, as I prefer to think, is it merely an aesthetic representation of the time in which we live? And, for that matter, can fashion be all of these things at once?

Whether you’re of the mind that Rei Kawakubo is a genius or a quack – or you think that’s some sort of Japanese noodle dish – there is one element that can surely bridge this distinct divide. That is, the element of history. Fashion, like art, can often form a basis for historical reference. The clothing of a given era reveals many things about its wearers. Who wore what where? How much money did they have? What do they do for a living? What did they do for fun? What were their political leanings? What music did they listen to? The list goes on.

One of the most validating trips I’ve taken of late was to the Fashion & Politics exhibit at the FIT Museum, which completely justified my regular psychoanalytical fashion babble. The showcase, “a chronological exploration of over 200 years of politics as expressed through fashion…not only refers to the maneuverings of government, but also encompasses cultural change, sexual codes, and social progress.”

Despite the museum’s no-photo policy, my gorgeous friend Tom brought a bit of the exhibit back for you, via his stunning fashion illustration skills. Check-out his handiwork above – proof at the very least that to create fashion, one must appreciate art.

I’LL RACE YOU: Let’s Talk About Black Baby

Naomi Sims made fashion history. She was the first black model to appear on the cover of a mainstream women's magazine, Ladies' Home Journal in 1968. Then the cover of Life in 1969. The announcement of her death this morning, at the premature age of 61, was undoubtedly sad.

But I’m not one for morose musings, and I’m certainly not one to call a pig a cow. Before you immediately assume that I’m heartless and completely void of emotion, allow me to elaborate…

Often, when people die, we (family, friends, media, etc.) tend to romanticize their time on earth. We make them out to be better people than they were; embellish their accomplishments; inflate their level of influence; ignore their faults; forgive their sins; the list goes on. And, while I can jump on the bandwagon and commend Sims for her infiltration of the mass media and the magnanimous power she wielded over the "Black is Beautiful" movement in the 1960’s, what I’d really like to contest here is how far we as a society have come in our recognition and acceptance of multicultural beauty.

Sims certainly laid down the red carpet for future superstars – Pat Cleveland, Alva Chinn, Beverly Johnson, Iman, Naomi Campbell, Tyra Banks, Alek Wek, Liya Kebede, Sessilee Lopez, Jourdan Dunn – to sky-rocket to stardom in her wake. And last July, when Italian Vogue unveiled its black-only models issue (I bought all four covers), they demonstrated just how many successful black women have penetrated the world of international modeling. The folks in Italy also demonstrated a need that persists 40 years after Sims’ LHJ cover hit newsstands. If she was so influential, why were the publishers of Italian Vogue inclined to assemble this special issue in the first place?

Apparently, the world is still full of racist jerks.

That’s not to say this is anyone’s fault – I’m just pointing out a flaw in the system here. Sims worked hard to establish herself as a woman who cared about her legacy. In addition to pushing forward in her career despite early set-backs, she was adamant about maintaining her integrity even when it meant declining certain opportunity. She turned down the title role for the film Cleopatra Jones in 1973 after deeming the script’s portrayal of blacks as racist. And, after just five years in the business, she abandoned modeling altogether to make wigs specifically for black women. (Although I could point to the fact that these wigs were blatant attempts to mimic “white” beauty – the goal was to create a more realistic texture for straightened black hair; apparently a very desirable enterprise, because in just another five years, the manufacturer, Metropa Company, had $5 million in annual sales.)

Sims soon expanded into beauty salons, cosmetics and fragrances, and wrote several books, including All About Health and Beauty for the Black Woman; How to Be a Top Model; and All About Success for the Black Woman. She also wrote an advice column for teenage girls in Right On! magazine.

Jenice Armstrong of the Philadelphia Daily News wrote: “What Sims did back then for the collective self-esteem of black girls and women is incalculable. Women, particularly those with darker complexions, took pride in seeing someone who resembled them posing on magazine covers.”

I am unfortunately one of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed sheep that women of color often refer to when citing their distaste for the beauty status quo. And so, I cannot personally identify with Sims the way Armstrong does, but I’m a fan of her work nonetheless and I worship the ground that many contemporary black models walk on – Alek Wek: I would have your babies if you’d let me. My only hope is that someday magazines will be so thoroughly saturated with black, Hispanic, Asian, American Indian and white models – and all combinations thereof – that we’ll no longer need to dedicate entire issues to just one ethnicity, and we won’t feel obligated to herald the accomplishments of women who may or may not have spearheaded the development of social consciousness.

Photo credit: Life Magazine, October 17, 1969. Courtesy of Time & Life Pictures/ Getty Images.

CHANGING OF THE GUARDS: Valentino Red Fades

In honor of the news that select Italians may be rescuing Signore Lacroix from his near bankruptcy, I scampered off yesterday to finally see the Valentino docudrama with my lovely and dearest friend, Colleen.

Valentino: The Last Emperor is impeccably titled. Not only does the film reveal the state of unbridled opulence in which this famously tanned designer lives and works, it also showcases an amazing relationship that has withstood the test of time. That is, the relationship between Valentino Garavani and his business / life partner Giancarlo Giammetti; a relationship which, at the time of filming, had just capped nearly five decades, as the couple (not to mention like 50 billion other people) celebrated Valentino’s 45th year career anniversary.

In the film we witness the adorable pair preparing Valentino’s final couture show and accompanying celebration / exhibition, set appropriately, if not necessarily ostentatious, at the Colosseum in Rome. And, while I could gush over their precious bickering, emotional hand-holding and obvious mutual love and appreciation, I will stop myself because, really, you should just go see it. (That is, if you haven’t already. I am really behind the times with this one.)

Instead, I will focus on some other very interesting relationships that became apparent as Valentino sashayed one last time down the runway, following the models cloaked in his dreamlike creations. With tears in his eyes and a wave for Miss Universe to envy, the impossibly young-looking designer was greeted with a standing ovation. Among the celebrity-filled front row (Gwyneth; SJP; Anne Hathaway; Elizabeth Hurley) are Valentino’s peers, beaming like parents at a school play.

Karl Lagerfeld, Giorgio Armani, Diane Von Furstenberg, Donatella Versace, Carolina Herrera, Tom Ford and a gamut of others show support of Valentino with such gusto that I had to stop to think – in the new class of ever-evolving designers, who will be the cheerleaders of the next generation?

In effort to spread the love, I decided to play a fun game of mix ‘n match so our designer spring chickens can have BFFers, too!

PHILLIP LIM ~ ALEXANDER WANG

JASON WU ~ THAKOON PANICHGUL

ERIN FETHERSTON ~ LUELLA BARTLEY

PRABAL GURUNG ~ JOSEPH ALTUZARRA

Jack McCollough & Lazaro Hernandez for PROENZA SCHOULER ~ Kate & Laura Mulleavy for RODARTE

Stacey Bendet and Rebecca Matchett for ALICE + OLIVIA ~ Marcus Wainwright and David Neville for RAG AND BONE

Those are just some initial thoughts. Being artistically inclined, they’re sure to bicker, break-up, re-align and get back together. Lest we forget the celeb-set, I must make additional note of my superstar matchings, because we can assume that those famous outside of fashion would stick together within.

Sienna and Savannah Miller for Twenty8Twelve ~ Ashley and Mary-Kate Olsen for
ELIZABETH & JAMES / THE ROW

Gwen Stefani for L.A.M.B. ~ Kimora Lee Simmons for BABYPHAT

RACHEL ROY ~ Justin Timberlake and Trace Ayala for WILLIAM RAST

Now, if I only had paper dolls…

Photo credit: Image from VALENTINO: Themes and Variations by Pamela Golbin, Rizzoli New York, 2008. Red silk crepe batwing sleeve gown from Spring/Summer 1999 captured by photographer Ruven Afanador.

THE BODY POLITIC: War & Beauty

There’s been buzz about Agyness Deyn possibly leaving the world of modeling. This news saddens me for several reasons. Not in the least is the fact that she is my neighbor, and the thought of her packing up her East Village digs and heading back to Manchester or somewhere random like Bangladesh (she would do that) is just depressing. I like bumping into her on the street and seeing her in Mudd and Veselka. She is like a walking work of art for the neighborhood; one which never fails to excite me upon sight. (Admittedly, I’ve followed her into bars, and twice changed direction on the street so I could walk near her. If only I’d been blessed with similarly 3-mile long legs, I’d have been able to keep up!)

Reading Cintra Wilson’s profile of Aggy in the Times last week (which took place at my favorite Ukranian diner – noted above!), I started thinking about the shift in cultural ideals of beauty, and decided that it just might be a good time for Ms. Deyn to take a brief hiatus from the fashion world – for her to record a cover album of The Clash greatest hits, or something.

Cintra got me thinking here:

When war fever cools, hot new looks become less sex cue-dependant, and “unconventional” models — Twiggy, Erin O’Connor, Kristen McMenamy, Ève Salvail (Jean Paul Gaultier’s skinhead muse) — are free to rise. Ms. Deyn’s look captures a collective desire to return to the “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” pogo-punk unisex spirit of the irreverent and permissive early 1980s, when girls could wear combat boots and boys could wear eyeliner, and everyone could wear magenta.

While we’re still inundated with invariably edgy influencers like Erin Wasson for RVCA and JT’s William Rast, and while magenta is one color certainly not disappearing from the runways, there is also a brimming backlash.

We’ve seen it in the forms of Alexandra Shulman’s anti-size zero model crusade, and staring at us through the eyes of the Brigitte Bardot-reincarnation Lara Stone on the latest W magazine cover. Then there’s Christian Dior’s latest couture collection – a series of looks that could easily have waltzed through the very same salon in 1947 when Mr. Dior unveiled his heralded “New Look.” A real sense of femininity is creeping back to high fashion.

There were gloves and hats and A-lines frolicking down the runways of Fall Couture 2009 – but some shows had the power to transport me to another world. Elie Saab created an ethereal wonderland of white gowns and cocktail dresses – what Jessica Michault wagered may be “a youthful haute couture alternative to the shimmering, after-dark ready-to-wear made popular by Balmain.”

Valentino and Givenchy may have kept it dark, but the gowns shown were long and luxurious – oozing with ruffles and girly accolades – none, however, were quite so decadent as those dreamt up by Mr. Karl Lagerfeld. Chanel’s couture collection embodied all that it must have been to be female circa 1950. Gloves and tights made of lace; suit after perfectly tailored suit in varying shades and textures of tweed; LBDs to make even Coco swoon; plus hats and hair bows and winged eyeliner to put the frosting on the proverbial fashion cupcake. And, lest we forget the gorgeous white ruffled concoction that was Lagerfeld’s Lara Stone finale!

Even hard-assed Jean Paul Gaultier – whose collection vacillated from futuristic diva to 1920s flapper – seemed caught in the midst of our schizophrenic fashion shift. If, like Ms. Wilson wrote, our perception of feminine beauty is guided by the effects of war, then perhaps it is President Obama’s domestic focus that’s wreaking havoc on a collective vision. War may still be raging abroad, but we’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Photo credit: Photographers Inez van Lamsweerde & Vinoodh Matadin for V Magazine, September/October 2008.

HANGING BY A THREAD: Haute Couture Holds On

My version of cruel and unusual punishment was realized Monday when I read Suzy Menkes’ special report on the haute couture collections presented this week in Paris.

“In the closeted world of satin and sequins that is Parisian haute couture, there is uncertainty about the future.”

You may as well tell me there is uncertainty about the future of oxygen. Suffice to say, I was not appreciative of Suzy’s assessment, but I decided to cut her some slack and read on. Suzy’s article confirmed what we’ve been hearing for quite some time: The couture climate is looking bleak. No matter what John Galliano’s recession-resistant ranting and his gorgeous collection of Van Dyck-inspired gowns told us in January, one thing is for sure: High fashion is losing its foothold.

Christian Lacroix may very well be hawking fashion sketches beside the Seine before the seasons change; the models at Christian Dior walked shortened runways sans pants and John Galliano romanticized this year’s in-house show as an “intimate” gathering of 120 guests, notably minus the presence of one Anna Wintour.

“The change [to show in house] was made to express the spirit of couture rather than as a belt-tightening exercise,” writes Menkes, quoting Sidney Toledano, Dior Couture President and Chief Executive. Yes, yes, dear Sidney, of course it is. Does he think we’re blind, deaf and suffering from mild concussions? We’re not talking about a Marc Jacobs off-site show at The Armory here; this was inside Dior’s very own Avenue Montaigne salon. Sure, the show reportedly used some 4,000 roses as a backdrop, but think about what they saved on overhead.

Couturier Stéphane Rolland – who “gravitates to obvious glamour with plenty of artsy embellishment,” according to Women’s Wear Daily – was interviewed by Reuters before his show this week. His estimation of today’s market was thoroughly depressing: “The collections of the 1990s, the 2000s, which were all about spectacle – that's over." Instead, Rolland muted his latest work to a palette of soft white, grey and black, with the simplicity of draped dresses and tailored jackets, allowing peeks of decadence in exaggerated shoulders and pleated collars. This is still couture, after all, so the fabrics remained sumptuous and the shapes precocious, but Mr. Rolland was notably restrained.

"I think couturiers have understood that haute couture has to be about sellable, commercial pieces, exceptional ones of course with a true Parisian savoir-faire," Rolland said to Reuters. To that end, Dior’s Toledano also said he expected “very few haute couture houses to be in business in a decade's time.”

Sellable? Sure. Commercial? Ouch! Gentleman, you are making me sad.

Do not fear. In fashion, there is always someone showing silver lining. Gaultier, Givenchy, Chanel, Aramni Prive and plenty others put forth collections that appeared unaffected by the buzz surrounding the impending death of a fashion master. And, thankfully, the UK’s Daily Mail, whose tabloid-esque version of news is my guilty reading pleasure, jumped in to alleviate some worries about our dear friend Mr. Lacroix:

“If the reaction to Lacroix's show is anything to go by, the flamboyant designer will soon be back. Nearly all the 24 looks garnered a raucous round of applause, and loyal fans unfurled a banner reading 'Christian Lacroix forever' as the genial designer took a final lap around the catwalk.”

Long live Lacroix!

Photo credit: Getty Images of Christian Lacroix Fall 2009.

DUDE LOOKS LIKE A…POP STAR: Androgyny Lives On

Following the passing of two major celebrities last Thursday – Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson, for those of you living under a rock – I trolled the endless virtual photo albums showcasing decades of success, scandal, and of course, of style.

A flurry of outlets jumped to brand the deceased as “fashion icons” and pay homage to the stars’ respective glory days: Think Farrah’s hair and Michael's Brooke Shields-era sequined blazers.

Notably, Farrah kept her signature flip full-bodied and blonde through the very end – chemotherapy be damned, the woman looked amazing! And Michael, well, the King of Pop morphed so many times in the past 50 years, he should officially override Linda Evangelista as The Chameleon in the Fashion Hall of Fame.

That was the beauty of MJ, though. His never-ending spiral into the androgynous caricature we came to expect made quite the impression on le monde de mode. I’m not just referencing the resurgence of military jackets via Balmain designer Christophe Decarnin, although I commend the dedication of die-hard devotees like Beyoncé and Rihanna. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Michael pioneered modern androgyny, making gender bending a force so prevalent in fashion today that the latest collections would be unrecognizable without his influence. (For the sake of argument, I’m ignoring David Bowie and Boy George, so bear with me.)

Just glance back a few days to Spring 2010 Men’s RTW: A pervasion of floral prints and pastels – from periwinkle, lilac, and primrose at Ballantyne to candy-colored cashmere at Bottega Veneta and Thierry Mulger. Fast forward to male tube tops and sheer overlaid suits at Jean-Paul Gaultier, which bring to mind Guy Trebay’s posthumous account of Michael's “curious and repellent, beautiful and alluring, sexy and asexual, masculine and feminine manifestations.”

With this recent transitioning of traditional womenswear, a few male models have even admitted to the pressures of fashion week dieting. And our cultural preoccupation with asexuality goes both ways – look to the rise of Agyness Deyn, the British-born peroxide sensation who exploded in 2006. Without her pixie cut, boyish features and distinctive style, she’d still be little Laura Hollins folding clothes back in Manchester.

Jackson has had a profound influence on the way the world views fashion – from the inside out. In a bold look at the singer’s life and death, AP Music writer Nekesa Mumbi Moody summed it up: “His one glove, white socks and glittery jackets made him a fashion trendsetter, making androgyny seem sexy and even safe.”

So now I wonder…who’s next? Since Samantha Ronson dumped LiLo, maybe she’ll take a crack in her free time?

Photo credit: Michael Jackson discography.