BIENNALES & FESTIVALS — MARS 2009New York Fashion Week Diary — New York
Cheong Kwon, 05 March 2009

12 FEBRUARY 09

Stand the queue for press accreditation with anticipation for the week to come.

OPENING DAY

Mercedes Benz Fashion Week begins! I hobble up the stairway into the tents with my five-inch platform boots. TV cameras abound, along with photographers hunting for celebrities. The Heart Truth’s Red Dress Collection is in the tent. I wander in and am bewildered by the massive international media pit teeming with hundreds of photographers with foot long lenses and videographers. This is what they don’t show you on TV. The lights dim, cameras flash, the sound of them clic clic clicks in a wave of song, as celebrity models walk the runway to an almost deafening soundtrack. Oh, wasn’t she Wonder Woman, I think, as I snap a photo of her.

Next show: Yigal Azrouel’s Woman’s Collection in the promenade. There’s Andrew Leon Tally in the front row with his sunglasses on. These are relaxed pieces that flow effortlessly. I like them, but would I wear it? No, I decide (except, of course, for one stunning cape like jacket). After the show, I follow Leon Tally into the lounge cum entryway and take a photo of him with his eyes cast downward. He is swathed in an enormous crocodile trench and wears a berry colored skullcap with the word OBAMA on it. Charming.

Onto Duckie Brown in the Salon. I spot the infamous dandy himself, Patrick McDonald, dressed in a three-piece plaid suit, as he settles into his seat. This time I avoid the media pit and take a seat. I’m looking forward to seeing the collection. The show begins with great coats and jackets that have knife edge precision. Think Akris for men. Incredible bright pom pom hats, enormous scarves, and shearling gloves accessorize. Suddenly, I notice the models, each one more stunning than the next. My jaw locks. These are gorgeous young men, the beautiful of the beautiful. Where do they find these guys? From all over the world, clearly! I have difficulties after that, looking at the collection.

After Charlotte Ronson, I head out for lunch and go home.

DAY TWO

It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m off to a late start. I kick myself in the morning for having skipped out on the Arise African Fashion Collective show last night because Grace Jones made an appearance and I would love to photograph her. For the holiday, I decide to wear something homemade and construct a cashmere cape and strange leg shields from a shrunken sweater that I could no longer wear. I look like a fashion superhero and laugh as I take the train to Bryant Park. I miss Lacoste, but am wondering about Barbie, in which 50 American designers celebrate Barbie’s 50th Anniversary. I never had a Barbie.

I get photographed as I enter the tent. Someone else must think my outfit is funny too, or at least fun. At Barbie, all the seats have a gift of a special edition Barbie doll modeled from the 50’s. Excited little girls accompanying their moms rip the boxes open. I wonder if I want one of the dolls. The whole atmosphere is fun. I look at the glossy program: Anna Sui, Calvin Klein, The Blonds, House of Field and Christian Louboutin are just a few of the designers who each created unique looks for the fashion icon of glamour. The presentation starts with a video by Bec Stupak looking at Barbie’s lifestyle. Everything is pink and the music blares. I feel that I am at a nightclub more than at a fashion show. Suddenly, the models burst out and they are perfect, doll-like, Barbie incarnate. I love it. It’s the first notably spectacular runway presentation and part art spectacle, part fashion show. A dress for Barbie made with the American Flag by Catherine Malandrino was perhaps the most apt design, and is reminiscent of Jasper Johns’ seminal work « Three Flags ». Yes, indeed, a plastic tan never fades. Pink is a girl’s best friend.

I’m elated after Barbie and head to Patricia Field in the Bowery for some downtown fun. The sidewalk is overflowing with people when I arrive and I cut the line, proudly carrying my Barbie programme like a geek. Turns out there are cocktails. It’s four o’clock and I need one. I look around and apparently the Blonds also wanted some post Barbie celebration and they are there with smiles. I take some party shots of the scene and (turns out to be) Kenny Kenny. Michael Musto is manning the mic and a burlesque fashion show is about to begin. One by one, the models walk out, each with sass galore. Ok, they are not thin, nor tall, nor dressed. But models they are, as they striptease their way down the catwalk in old underwear and hordes of «outsiders» root and cheer. Thank you Pat Field!

I head back to Bryant Park, just in time to slip into a seat at Verrier. I don’t remember the show, just that they gave a nice gift of a silver and Swarovski crystal bracelet. Tant pis.

DAY THREE

I decide to start the day with an offsite show: Calvin Klein Men’s Collection. The street is blockaded and the police are out. It looks serious. I go inside, walking behind some unmistakable fashion victims since we are going to the same place. Lo and behold, they end up being stylists or celebrities because suddenly I am backstage instead of in the audience. Well, why not, I think. Live for the day. So there I am with a bunch of young boys with slicked hair dressed in space age wear. The fall collection is notable for its’ foam padding and Lycra. I take a few backstage photos. The actual show is visually interesting with the arrangement of three vertical and two horizontal runways; the color scheme works beautifully; the demanding audience leaves generally satisfied.

I take the bus back to the park for Diane von Furstenberg because I am not capable of walking very much further in my heels. After her show, I take the bus to Y-3 by Yamamoto, and am diverted, along with a crowd of international press, to the far reaches of Canal Street by a bus driver who has no idea where he is going. Worried they would miss the show; everyone got off the bus and started running toward Pier 40. You must imagine a crowd of platform heel wearing women toddling up the West Side highway. It was a great fashion moment. To make the situation worse, one had to traverse the perimeter of a soccer field after entering Pier 40 to finally reach the Y-3 runway. It was very Japanese of him, and turned the show into something to be experienced. The Y-3 presentation was one of the longest, and although somewhat repetitive, had many wearable looks.

Akiko Ogawa was next on the schedule, and presented well with a few magnificent high collared coats. Then onto Miss Sixty, after a break at the apartment to change into higher heeled, but more comfortable, shoes. A friend and I decide to head downtown to a party at the private British club Norwood House, where we wait out a strict door policy. (Saying the word Swiss works in New York). When we get inside, it feels like London all over again. Alas, hunger calls and the kitchen is closed so we head out before the celebrities arrive to get Steak Tartare at Pastis. I decide to make it a late night after my friend leaves and go to Greenhouse, a club that Kenny Kenny invited me to at Pat Field. There, I shoot photos until my nightclub heart is content. Call it a night.

DAY FOUR

Up early for Carolina Herrera. I brave the media pit for this one, because I want frontal views of her elegant gowns. I am not disappointed. Then its on to Carlos Miele. Jill Stuart at Astor Hall in the New York Public Library is quite cinematic and photogenic. Paris and Nicky Hilton are there with an entourage but I am busy shoe gazing. Back at the tents after Tracy Reese, I eye the crowd, only to meet someone who smiles and says he’s seen me everywhere. We chat. He gives me an invitation for Yigal Azrouel’s menswear presentation, and I decide to go, for a change from the tents.

At 14th street, the first thing I note is the champagne (finally!). The collection is impressionably wearable and I fantasize that it would be cut to fit my size. Here are garments whose comfort and understated luxury with a punk edge are absolutely essential to any man with a downtown flair. The color palette and textures were pleasing to the intellect; wearable art which asks to be touched. For his collection’s setting, Yigal Azrouel turned to artists Dror Benshetrit and Dov Talpaz to construct an architectural wall installation of closed squares in the foreground, which later became an open structure in the background. It was a black and white painting integrated with a live performance where the models each moved one of the 32 interlocking square pieces. Although I had hoped the models’ performances had been more active, it was nonetheless an effort to walk the line between art performance and fashion presentation. I was beginning to like Yigal Azrouel more. After the presentation ended, one of the models began talking to me, which made me nervous and scurry off to the next show: Betsy Johnson.

Also offsite, Betsy Johnson created a kitchen installation, called “Betsy Crocker’s Recipes for Dressing” complete with signature pop art wall murals. Mini hot dogs, burgers, and fries were served with prosecco soda pop. The models were at once languorous and playful. The collection was very beloved Betsy. I really enjoy myself there. By now it was raining but I knew I still had to make it through a few more shows, not to mention the much hyped one of Marc Jacobs at the Armory, where he cut the guest list in half in light of the financial crisis. So after Terexov and William Rast, I went to the Armory, only to find that it was already over because Marc Jacobs had started on time. This was apparently a shock to everyone since it is de rigueur that shows start a half hour late. It was not likely that I would have gotten in, nonetheless, even if on time. I watch Bill Cunningham, himself looking very photographable, as he photographs two well-dressed Japanese girls. He uses a manual camera too!

DAY FIVE

At Diesel Black Gold and G-Star, I start to recognize individual models and begin to wonder if I’m becoming too mired into the world of non-stop fashion shows, and decide to make it a light day. I bump into the guy who sees me everywhere again, who complements me on my white gloves and stares at my big sparkly ring, which happened to be on my left ring finger because it didn’t fit anywhere else. I wonder if he thinks I’m married.

DAY SIX

The spectacle of celebrity is at its’ height during fashion week, and at Michael Kors, as with at other shows, as each celebrity would take his or her seat, photographers swarm to them as bees to honey, and flashes of light ensue. Michael Kors surprises me with his collection. I have never been a fan, but now have to admit his collection has a fantastic color scheme with an injection of neon into his signature palette of beige tones. Slits on skirts run high and one shouldered geometrically constructed shapes work well. I leave the show thinking I should give his stores a chance next time I go shopping.

Richard Chai is next, then onto 1909 Victorinox in the Celeste Bartos hall of the library where the setting is classical and intimate. I am seated in the front row to my delight. This is their first presentation of the men’s collection. Strangely enough, the collection is of very casual bottoms with materials like jersey, (cut like long johns), mixed with finely tailored casual jackets. It is by no means what the Swiss would wear, and yet is a marked departure from their outdoors and sporting reputation. I try to imagine some of my friends wearing these pieces and must smile. But it is a good shift from their touristic image and I appreciate the boldness of gesture in their show. Afterwards, I discuss the collection with the publicist for Victorinox who informs me that they will be opening a flagship store in Geneva this autumn.

At 3.1 Philip Lim, flirty dresses are topped with long duster coats that are slit just on the front waist an interesting shift from his previous, more rigidly structured, pieces. Still, there are those special details of good design that make him standout. I then check out young designers Alexandre Herchcovitch and Milly by Michelle Smith.

Boho ethnic chic rules the night at Anna Sui, one of my favorite New York downtown veterans. I go backstage after the show and chat with Coco Rocha who mentions that Anna Sui was the first designer to ever give her a dress. I have some champagne and look at the models, thinking about how their jobs are more difficult than one expects. It isn’t easy to walk in those shoes, stay slim, and keep up the harrowing pace of a fashion week! On the way out I nearly bump into Lucy Liu who is much more beautiful in person. I end the day with Mackage, leaving the tents with a hop in my step.

DAY SEVEN

This day starts with Tommy Hilfiger, followed by Brian Reyes and then a much-needed long pause for lunch with an ex. Afterwards, I head to a presentation at the Chelsea Hotel, of Brooklyn newcomers Hayden-Harnett who outfitted the room as a secret society enclave for women who are shipwrecked and destined to eat candy all day while they pray for luxury goods, such as shoes, clutches and coats. One woman was laying on a coffin while others surrounded her and another woman lay in bed with a 15-foot braid in her hair, looking bored. There were masses of lollipops, doughnuts, chocolates, and tarot cards sprawled throughout the room, which served as an almost ready made installation for fashion photographers. I couldn’t help but imagine the bellyaches these models would have from eating all that candy.

Back in the tents at Custo Barcelona, I became entranced with the whole procession of the runway and how the models are so perfectly-timed. Zac Posen ended the night eventfully with five grand pianos set up on the runway played by a brother and sister group, the 5 Browns. His gowns and eveningwear were festively dramatic. And when Coco Rocha came strutting down the runway, one of the cameramen shouted, “now THAT’S a woman!”, to which both Coco and the media pit broke out into laughter. Who doesn’t love Coco!

* Photo Cheong Kwon, Fashion Week 2009, New York