The hotel guests at Dream Downtown had suitcases, satchels and children piled up next to the check-in counter, waiting interminably for a chance at a room, and as they did swirls of fashionable men and women speed-walked by without a word or a look—they were headed to the last big event of the week, the after-party for Marc Jacobs and his spring and summer collection. The hotel guests ventured an occasional glace at the well-attired cohort with the mysterious wristbands, striding confidently toward the tucked-away area in the back, but mostly they slouched on pieces of luggage and scratched at purple eyes, unknowing of the scene unfolding out of sight.
“You could identify one another in the Castro by a certain leather jacket in the ’80s,” the photographer Catherine Opie said last Thursday afternoon. “Your jeans rolled up, a pair of Doc Martens and cock rings on your jacket: ‘O.K., I know exactly who you are.’ And then Michael Jackson wore the leather jacket and it fucked us all up.”
Ms. Opie, 50, was sitting on a stage in the basement of the New York Public Library as she explained the sartorial codes of San Francisco’s queer community. She was wearing a flannel shirt, a brown newsboy cap and chunky white glasses. Next to her were sisters Kate and Laura Mulleavy, the women behind Rodarte, the Los Angeles-based fashion label that, after only six years in existence, has reached the pinnacle of couture.
The three women, along with Minneapolis-born photographer Alec Soth, have just released a book through the Swiss art publisher JRP-Ringier. Ms. Opie photographed some of her longtime models wearing the Mulleavys’ clothes. The Mulleavys sequenced Ms. Opie’s photographs in the book. “It taught me to give up some of my control,” Ms. Opie told the crowd, which was filled mostly with women, most of them very young.
Did you wake up today with Fashion Week withdrawal? Craving a runway in New York, and unable to hop a flight to London? Remnick & Co. have you covered: The New Yorker‘s style issue hits stands today, and there’s plenty of hemming to fill the pages. Susan Orlean has a nice snapshot of Read More
The Observer stood in the middle of a first-floor studio tucked into what may be the last ratty stretch of Avenue B, eyes closed and arms held aloft, and ducked into a leather chrysalis.
We were being fitted for a “man-corset,” an anachronistic emblem of female oppression that once gripped only courtly ladies but now in New York can outfit any gender.
Our shit was about to get tight.
The name of the exhibition says it all: “David Bowie, Artist.” The Museum of Arts and Design’s upcoming retrospective intends to demonstrate how Mr. Bowie’s work “has become the blueprint for contemporary artists working in performance.”
What does it mean for a contemporary recording artist to “work in performance”? Consider a star who has absorbed Read More
Men in kilts marched down the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art to begin the Costume Institute Gala’s procession of celebrities. The kilts-like the exhibit the gala was to fete, and the clothes many attendees wore-were intended as tribute to the late Alexander McQueen, though early arrival Anna Wintour, in glittering purple striped Chanel, Read More
Lavish is not a word normally associated with book parties. Most of them are characterized by warm white wine and pallid cubes of cheese. Unless you are a member of the celebrated Guinness family, in which case your guests will be treated to Blood Orange Bellinis and delicate crab cakes in a mind-blowingly glamorous apartment Read More
Elle‘s fashion news director Anne Slowey gave birth to a baby girl yesterday. Her name is Afton Florabelle Lawson Fairey. [The Daily]
Karim Samii, a hedge fund executive who lives below Daphne Guinness in the Stanhope Hotel on Fifth Avenue, is suing the socialite for taking too many baths and flooding their Read More
PALM BEACH—The first thing I do whenever I arrive in Florida is carry our Norwich terrier Liberace into the ocean and wash away any dingle berries from his most private arena. I have become quite skilled at routing them. No dingle berry can escape my detection. Just call me “the dingle-berry whisperer.”
Canine hygiene Read More
Look who Page Six spotted together again: French writer Bernard-Henri Levy and brewery heiress Daphne Guinness—”in her black-and-white-striped mane and 7-inch heels”—dining at Da Silvano with the author Salman Rushdie and his date, the scandal sheet reported on Thursday.
For the past year, gossip columns and society spies have breathlessly reported every Read More