In an effort to discover just how much fashion has changed over the last decade, we stumbled across this Charlie Rose interview with Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour. It was conducted in September of 1995, which gives it a kind of fascinating edge. Ms. Wintour also comes across as rather endearing, which is sort of Read More
For more than two centuries, just three miles away from Helmut Lang’s oceanfront summer house on Tyson Lane (the kind of place where rubbernecking at the hedgerow is a summer diversion for the less well-heeled), there sat a little farmhouse, far from the glitz of the current Hamptons scene. It was a place reminiscent of Read More
I was scampering through midtown on my way to COOGI–yes, the Australian company responsible for those endearingly cheesy, Technicolor-vomit, Bill Cosby sweaters was having a fashion show–when I noticed a homeless person half a block away, clutching a cardboard sign. The scurrying fashionistas ahead of me were responding to this bedraggled unfortunate with alacrity–reading his Read More
Sept. 14. Dear Diary: C’est moi , Phyllis Stine. C’est moi . It’s nearly two months since I’ve written anything-sooo sorry. Y2K has come early here. I’m totally wiped out. A turmoil of churning nothingness. Flat waves between invisible shores. Help! Someone!
Still am a hullabaloo of unemployment, oy vey . Thank God for alimony Read More
Petite retailer Jeffrey Kalinsky stuck an Hermès dingo boot out of his lady-chauffeured Lincoln Town Car onto far West 14th Street on a recent sunny Saturday afternoon. A few men in white, blood-stained aprons and a couple in errand wear were the only other living beings on the carcass-filled street in the meat-packing district. The Read More
March 30: C’est moi , dear diary, c’est moi : Phyllis Stine. Sorry I haven’t written in a while, but deliver me (C.O.D.). I’ve become the veritable “b” in the word busy lately.
Because why? First, the prospect of employment–in just two days, two days dear diary , the Mayor will announce my job as Read More
