This was a sunny, glorious week in New York City. I’m not sure if I should thank Mother Nature or Global Warming for that, but the days were brisk, warm and bright. The weather was truly inspiring, which is one of the reasons myself and a couple of friends played hooky on Friday morning, avoided the office, and hopped the 2 train out to the Brooklyn Museum to see the Keith Haring show. Making it more special was that we ended up tagging along with a kindergarten class who had also made the pilgrimage to the show, and thus re-saw all of Harig’s bright, festive cartoon drawings through the new eyes of a child. An unexpected treat.
Several of Haring’s video works were in the show, which I had never seen before and left a lasting impression. I had never seen at the speed at which Haring would create these works, which is probably an obvious hallmark of his work given that his pieces are often littered with drips and obviously quick brush strokes, and the fact that graffiti was such an important part of his artistic discourse. Another thing that put a smile on my face was a small room in the exhibit dedicated entirely to Haring’s nighttime proclivities. His was a different time in art, when clubs and galleries were often the same thing, a pristine, innocent time before Twitter and cell phone cameras. Keith was a club rat and also one of the most important artists of his time, which are, I think, mutually exclusive terms in this day in age.
Ultimately, at the end of our tour, the feeling that I ultimately left with was the same one that made me like his work in the first place: I was happy. Even when attending to serious issues (like loneliness, death, chaos and Christianity), the very nature of the cartoon drawings provided the arch of amusement. In the notebooks that he meticulously kept, which were also on display and one of my favorite features of this show, it showed that Haring was at heart a very funny young man. The artist died of AIDS related complications when he was only 31. But his legacy has lasted a lot longer.
The large scale work welcoming visitors to the exhibit on the museum’s fifth floor
I have seen many of Harings work, both in public and private settings. But something that I hadn’t been too familiar with was his meticulous notebook-ing. On display in the show were many of his private doodles, which revealed both a serious artist and a seriously funny young man. The below series was one of my favorites. They’re all phallic drawings.
Also in the show were flyers for his art shows and dance parties that had survived the past three decades. This one was my favorite, with it’s allusion to Gloria Vanderbilt and the line: “An Excuse For A Party.” In these days of alcohol sponsors and crappy red carpets, it made me wish I hadn’t missed the days of anonymous New York clubbing.
Yes, I know it is complete sacrilege to include one of my own meager attempts at illustration in the same post that includes the work of the ultimate artistic illustrator Haring, but I couldn’t help myself. When I came home from the museum I found a couple of Lancome’s Rouge in Love lipsticks and started . But maybe Haring wouldn’t mind. After all, isn’t all art supposed to be inspiring? (But then again, maybe Haring can’t take all the credit. I had just watched a RuPaul’s Drag Race marathon, which is a show that often uses lipstick as a marker, not to mention I’ve been in a doodling mood after my electronic attempts at artistry at Paris fashion week.)
Fashion is an industry that cherishes it’s old, but feeds off the new. That’s why we see so many archaic elements constantly come back into style with the passing of every season; and why, as I write about here, we can see a 26-year-old take the helm of a storied, historic fashion house. During the couture shows in Paris in January, I met two designers that are mixing things up on the other side of the Atlantic: Olivier Rousteing, who just presented his second full collection at Balmain; and Jonathan Anderson, an Irishman based in London, who designs for his label JW Anderson. I profiled them in the March issue of Vmagazine, and have included the text — and pictures of their handsome mugs — here.
Olivier Rousteing is curled up, catlike, on a sofa at Balmain’s headquarters on rue Pierre Charron. It is a rare moment of downtime for the 26-year-old creative director who, in the last two weeks, has shown his first pre-Fall collection in New York, a second men’s collection in Paris, and delved headfirst into his first solo Autumn effort for the house. Balancing three highly anticipated collections in less than a month is a daunting task. (To wit: the frantic pace and high pressure is what led Rousteing’s predecessor, Christophe Decarnin, to vacate the house amid reports of exhaustion and depression in the spring of 2011.) But the young designer, who is wearing a black T-shirt and quilted jersey trousers (i.e. rockstar sweatpants) is taking it all excitedly in stride. “Is it crazy right now?” he reiterates with a smile. “Yes, and I’m a little freaked out, but I thrive on the adrenaline and the excitement.”
Picking up where Decarnin left off was not easy for Rousteing, who was born in the South of France, studied fashion in Bourdeaux, and worked for Roberto Cavalli before joining the Balmain design team. “It was a weird situation,” he says delicately. “I really love Christophe, and he is an amazing person who taught me a lot. So when they told me what happened I reflected, but not whether or not I should take the job, more like what it meant to me. You can love fashion, but when you work at a company it becomes something different.” He took two days to accept. “What made me happy is that I was working with my team. In the end it was a really good decision.”
And one that has paid off. The buzz surrounding Rousteing has gone from a whisper to a roar since his debut, which paid homage to all of the body-con elements of the house while also subtly establishing his own footing. Fashion critics were pleased to see less flesh and more embroidery in the collection, which was playfully inspired by an imaginary journey Elvis took through Las Vegas dressed as a Spanish bullfighter. “I want to have fun,” he says jovially. “And then I want to have glamour. I mix that with tailoring and construction, which are hallmarks of the house of Balmain, and something I would never want to turn my back on.”
There are still some elements of the job that Rousteing needs to get more comfortable with—like the designer’s bow. “I went out there and didn’t know what to do,” he says of his Spring show. “I was super scared—but super happy.”
JONATHAN ANDERSON AT JW ANDERSON
onathan William Anderson, 27, whose line is called J.W. Anderson, manifested his label in a roundabout way. He came to New York to study acting, but when that became dull he moved to London to do a menswear course at the London College of Fashion. “It’s the only school that let me in,” deadpans the designer, who has a kinetic energy and fabulous sense of humor. He attributes his untraditional career arc in part to sheer boredom. “In 2008, I started making weird jewelry out of clock parts and forced them on friends and family,” says Anderson. “This went on for a while, and after I received my degree in menswear design I decided to do a show that summer in an old church, and I’ve never looked back.” He branched out into womenswear three seasons ago because, he explains, “I love the dichotomy of a man’s and woman’s wardrobe mashup.”
These days his men’s and womenswear lines are two of the London fashion calendar’s most hotly anticipated collections. Last year, Anderson was nominated for a British Fashion Council Award. The designer, originally from a small Irish town called Loup, fondly recalls that fashion is a family pastime. His grandmother would knit many of his childhood outfits, including charming but embarrassing sweaters featuring farm animals and tractors. “I realize now how much I loved the idea that something could be made from nothing,” he says.
His design process is as smooth now as his grandmother’s was then. It starts with what he calls a rat’s nest of ideas and ends with a rat’s nest of ideas. Anderson pushes himself to build many layers of concepts before building fabrics and prints. “A collection cannot be real if it has a single concept, or else it becomes costume,” he says. “Life is about lots of layers, and collections have to be built that way too.”
Photography Anthony Maule
Fashion Jay Massacret
As of yesterday, it’s officially spring time in New York! To welcome my favorite of the four seasons, not to mention the glorious weather that’s been taking over New York these past few days, I dug into our archives at Visionaire and dug up #56: Solar. This issue, which was sponsored by Calvin Klein, was one of my favorites: Several artists (Ryan McGinley, Inez + Vinoodh, Peter Lindbergh and more) contributed works that went from a monochromatic scheme to vibrant colors when exposed to sunlight. My favorite in the series, a paint-by-numbers contribution from the artist Alex Katz. Check out the video we made in the office of Katz’s piece above, and click HERE for more from Vmagazine and to see more videos about old issues of Visionaire.
First, a confession: I haven’t read a single one of the books in the trilogy, despite the badgering of my friends, and I walked into last night’s premiere of the ‘Hunger Games’ without having a slightest idea of the premise. That’s probably why I was so scandalized when I found out the concept behind the movie: Umm, did you know the entire plot revolves around a televised game where two dozen poor children have to fight to the death, merely for the entertainment of rich people? I joked with my friends that it was an accurate observation of modern society, particularly if we get some of those Republican candidates in the White House. But upon proper reflection, a poor people Super Bowl of death is pretty messed up.
Apart from this point – and I’ll get back to that in a minute – the movie itself was suspenseful, brilliantly made and captured my attention from the very first scene to the climatic, sequel-alluding final one. I didn’t look at my phone once; well, they had confiscated our cell phones when we came to the premiere, so I couldn’t have if I wanted to anyway.
Some other notes: I was surprised that there were so few scenes with Miley Cyrus’ arm candy and alleged hottie Liam Hemsworth (who is the other Hemsworth boy, who is not Thor), and I was thrilled to see Josh Hutcherson have such a major role, who played the sensitive boy in the Kids Are Alright. The majority of the film, however, belonged to Academy Award-nominated Jennifer Lawrence, who is a fine little actress. I saw flashes of a young Elizabeth Taylor in more than a few scenes, and I’m a big fan of her round, pleasant looking face. (Where are this girl’s fashion campaigns already?)
Since we’re speaking of looks, I was unexpectedly inspired by the costumes of the citizens of The Capital. I’ll throw one of Elizabeth Banks’ city looks below, seen with the dowdy poor people looks of Lawrence’s people. They were very old-school-John-Galliano-meets-a-young-Zac-Posen-and-this-season-Alexis-Mabille-couture, with Pat McGrath doing some colorful face painting. Stanley Tucci, who I love to see in movies even when he’s not playing a big gay queen (see: ‘The Devil Wears Prada,’ ‘Burlesque’), looked resplendent in a blue messy bun, blue eyebrows and Chiclet-sized artificial teeth. And who doesn’t want to see Lenny Kravitz in a gilded eye liner?
Final thoughts: It was a good movie, and a tense, enjoyable way to spend 140 minutes. Yet walking out of that theater and into the Calvin Klein and Cinema Society-hosted after party at the Standard Hotel, I couldn’t help but feel just a wee bit dirty that in this movie (and the book that inspired it), which is aimed at teenagers and young adults, there were so many kids actually killing other kids. One boy in the film, who doesn’t look old enough to legally buy cigarettes, is a trained assassin and snaps another child’s neck in broad daylight.
Look, I know adolescent murder isn’t a new concept or anything (Mark Wahlberg and Reese Witherspoon’s ‘Fear’ was my favorite movie in high school), but between the school shootings and all these anti-bullying campaigns being shoved down my throat, this seemed shocking. We live in a society that says violent video games and heavy metal music are responsible for spurring kids to go into their high schools with shot guns under the trench coats – but no one is batting an eyelash when Hollywood makes a glossy film that shows a beautiful black teenage girl getting speared in the heart by another child? To make this point even more ironic, across town last night, Harvey Weinstein had organized a screening of Bully, a documentary aimed at raising awareness at hostility and violence in high schools. To be clear, I’m not complaining. I liked the movie, and I know it will be a huge success. I guess I’m just scared that the premise is too on the nose.
In the April issue of Harper’s Bazzar, I did a story on a new documentary from the filmmaker and photographer Timothy Greenfield-Sanders on the idea of ageless beauty. He had spoken to some of the world’s most iconic faces: Jerry Hall, who we both agreed was one of our favorites; Patti Hansen, who I wrote about in the December issue of Bazzar; and Beverly Johnson, the first black woman to be on the cover of Vogue are just some of them women we discussed. There was a fabulous group photo, which actually inspired the entire project, and then we picked three of our favorites — China Mechado, Christie Brinkley and Isabella Rossellini — to get their take on their careers, on their own concept of beauty, and what it means to be considered a beautiful face today. My story, along with my interviews with these three lovely ladies, are below.
To make his latest documentary, renowned portrait photographer Timothy Greenfield-Sanders was simply in the right place at the right time. Specifically, a supermodel-packed party in 2009 at the New York pad of seminal hairdresser Harry King. “I said I’d go for five minutes, but when I walked in I was floored by all these gorgeous women in the same room,” he recalls. “It looked like a Charlie ad come to life. And I thought, This would be the most amazing group shot.”
He did it–and he was right. The resulting image—a portrait of the biggest faces from the 1950s through the ’80s, including Beverly Johnson, Carol Alt, Cheryl Tiegs, and Patti Hansen—sums up what beauty meant in America in the latter part of the 20th century. “I was so inspired by these women, I thought it would make an even better documentary,” says Greenfield-Sanders. “You wanted to hear what these beautiful faces had to say.”
So he made About Face: The Supermodels, Then and Now, which will air on HBO this summer. “They’re all survivors,” he says of his muses. “They defined beauty for their generations. And they have the most fabulous personalities.”
On-screen, Jerry Hall, 55, reminisces about her first job at a Texas Dairy Queen, and how her mother sent her off to the French Riviera with a suitcase of homemade dresses copied from the Frederick’s of Hollywood catalogue to be discovered. The iconic Carmen Dell’Orefice, 80, admitted that, when she began her career in 1946, models were thought to be “working girls,” while now they are considered businesswomen. Marisa Berenson, 65, the famed ’70s beauty and a granddaughter of Elsa Schiaparelli, “told us regret was a useless emotion,” Greenfield-Sanders says.
Shooting these cover girls was an education for the photographer, whose portraits have been exhibited everywhere from the Smithsonian to London’s Saatchi Collection. “These women are complex creatures; they’re smart women who survived in a tough business,” he says. “In front of the camera they come alive. But more important, they’re beautiful on the inside and out.”
Another tip he picked up: Never skip a party. If he hadn’t gone to King’s house (and, yes, King did the hair in these portraits), he wouldn’t have made the film. “So that’s the moral of the story: Go to the party if there will be beautiful women there. They’ll inspire you.”
Isabella Rossellini, 59
I was lucky, because I started modeling when I was 28 years old. Now they start so young and there is much more pressure. Modeling taught me to be confident and financially independent, but it’s not always the result today. When my daughter [Elettra Wiedemann] started modeling at 20, an agent told her she should get plastic surgery immediately. I was completely scandalized. I could have killed someone. I made a phone call that was one of the most ferocious I’ve ever made. So I was relieved that my daughter had me.
I was happy to be a part of this documentary because I was curious about what had happened to the other models. I wanted to hear about girls like Carol Alt, Beverly Johnson, and the other people I’d lost touch with.
I do miss modeling. In fact, I miss it terribly. But it’s the same problem in film: There are fewer roles for older women. I do think that there are women of a certain age who are in better shape now. There wasn’t an emphasis on women’s fitness when I was young, even with actresses. My mom [Ingrid Bergman] exercised at home every morning for 20 minutes. That was it. She wasn’t like me. I exercise every day for at least an hour, and on weekends I try to do two hours—everything from yoga to swimming to Zumba—but I don’t do anything too strenuous because I’m almost 60.
As for plastic surgery and injectables like Botox, some days I wake up and say, “Well, they have this new technology, why not use it?” And some days I feel the opposite: “Why don’t we accept what is natural?” I don’t think I’ll do it. It’s too late. My mother once told me that growing older was the only way to have a long life. So my attitude is, of course we are aging. And it’s natural, and it’s beautiful.
China Machado, 82
I was born to be a model. I don’t mean that physically because, as Dick [Avedon] once told me, “You’ll never make a lot of money in this industry because you’re too special.” But like models now, from an early age I was accustomed to moving a lot. I was born in Shanghai in 1929 and lived there till I was 16. We were forced out [during the Japanese occupation], and then I lived between Argentina and Peru before I came to Europe.
I fell in love with a bullfighter, Luis Miguel Dominguín, which was a very big scandal. My family didn’t speak to me for 15 years. But I don’t regret it. He was 27 and gorgeous, like Mick Jagger. In Paris I sang in a nightclub, and I met Hubert de Givenchy and started to work in his atelier. There were two types of models in the early ’50s: photographic models and runway models, which is what I was. It was different then. I would work with a designer for three months, as they would create dresses specifically for me. It was couture. I made $100 a month, and I was the highest-paid model in Europe at the time. I had a very distinctive walk.
In September 1958, I arrived in New York. Diana Vreeland cast me in a group fashion show, which I opened wearing a fabulous Balenciaga dress. Dick saw me, and the next thing I knew I was in his studio. I worked exclusively with Dick and Bazaar for the next three years. I stopped in 1962 because, frankly, I couldn’t give a damn. A model had so much to worry about: We had to get our own hair done and do our own makeup. I was happy to become a fashion editor at Bazaar [from 1962 to 1972].
I eat all the time. My favorite food is rice, and I eat it at least once a day. I’m always active. Perhaps that’s what keeps me in shape—I’m always moving. In 1972 I was on the cover of Bazaar, and I said the same thing: I don’t exercise, I don’t diet, and I dye my own hair. People thought I was lying. But it was true then and it’s true now.
Christie Brinkley, 58
I must say, when I look back on my career, I feel slightly cheated. Ha! Most of my editorial happened in the ’80s, and that is definitely not my aesthetic. I remember thinking, “Do my shoulders really need to be that big? And my hair?” I just joined Facebook last year, and people started posting pictures I hadn’t seen in ages, and some of it’s just really funny.
Even though it wasn’t really my style, I did get to work with legends. I did several covers of Bazaar with Francesco Scavullo, and working with him was fantastic. You would go into his studio, and there would be a big umbrella light with a string tied to the center of it. He would touch the string to your nose, and you just knew that, bathed in Scavullo’s light, you looked the most beautiful you ever could.
I was discovered when I lived in Paris when I was 19. I was living as a struggling artist, and I didn’t have a telephone or even running water. An American photographer saw me, and asked me to pose for him. Eventually I did, and he took me to an agency. I was mildly curious but I didn’t want to leave Paris. Finally, on a trip home to California, I met Eileen Ford. I had done a few jobs by then and skipped town on a little vacation, which the clients thought was a bargaining tool. So, unbeknownst to me, I created a demand. That was a good lesson to learn: Fashion people want what is elusive.
I’ve had a long career, even though for the last 25 years the press has referred to me as “the former supermodel.” It’s, like, Jeez, give a girl a break. They called me that when I was making a very nice living as a model, even before I branched out. A few things have changed in modeling. For one, we can become brands now. Before, you were just a girl, or a clothes hanger, but now you can have a name. You’re a real person, which is nice.
Apologies for the pun. I couldn’t help myself! And I hope that the farcical title of this recounting of my wonderful few days in Thailand don’t discredit the long journey and inspiring trip I’ve just came back from. Film on the Rocks was a festival that debuted this weekend at the Six Senses resort in Yao Noi, Thailand, spearheaded on the direction of Tilda Swinton and Chomwan Weeraworawit. There were screenings, artist workshops, screenings and lots of local rum. “It was all completely by chance, or perhaps it was fate.” That’s how Weeraworawit sums up the festival coming together. With beautiful scenery, inspired films and fabulous members of the cinema and art industry, I’m inclined to agree with her that there was some sort of divine intervention. Weeraworawit finalized the concept of the festival when she collaborated with the Oscar-winning indie-cinema icon Swinton when they discovered they had a mutual affection with the Thai filmmaker Apichatpong Weerasethakul. That was back in November, 2010; a year and a half later, and after moving dates around floods and filming schedules, they called on the services of the likes of magazine publisher Jefferson Hack, jewelry designer Waris Ahluwalia, actress Chloe Sevigny, photographer Ryan McGinley, artists Tom Sachs and Rikrit Tiravanija to cull together a group of like-minded and enlightened fans of spiritual films and sandy beaches. “I wanted to create a space, a physical one, in Thailand, away from everything where different worlds can collide,” Weeraworawit explains. “I was interested in bringing different disciplines together to see how they can interact, to start a dialogue and create new things.” Perhaps Tilda was feeling more sensual. On the first night, she implored us to participate with her on an “orgy of memories.” I was only too inclined to fulfill her prophecy, as was everyone else. And now, without further ado, are some of my personal snapshots from a truly memorable experience.
Chloe Sevigny, wearing one of her own Opening Ceremony creations, at a dinner on the beach
Famed and fabulous Paris-based fashion designer Haider Ackermann with the jewelry designer Waris at a dinner on Pradu Pier
Tilda Swinton, who helped organize the entire festival, with her boyfriend Sandro Kopp, on their way to dinner
The sunset on Pangha Bay
The magazine publisher Jefferson Hack and jewelry designer Delfina Fendi at a performance piece on Big Tree Island
Le Baron’s Andre with his girlfriend, the designer Annabelle Dexter-Jones, at dinner at Six Senses
The artist Tom Sachs, who conducted a fabulous workshop on To Do lists and screened two of his recent short films, with his fiance Sara Hoover
The artist Ryan McGinley with his longtime friend and occasional collaborator Chloe Sevigny relaxing on beach chairs
Our wondrous mistress of ceremonies, Chomwan Weeraworawit, on the dance floor after the first night of films and festivities
One of fashion’s biggest multitaskers, Opening Ceremony founder and Kenzo designer Humberto Leon, with his boyfriend Patrick Wilson, at dinner on the beach
Christopher Bollen, Interview’s editor at large and the writer of the recently published novel The Lightning People, and me at dinner on Pradu Pier
The Thai actor Ananda Everingham, who incited a riot when he showed up at an outdoor screening, taking his seat to watch a Thai horror movie
MORE PICTURES OF TILDA, CHLOE, RYAN, THE AMAZING SITES OF THAILAND AND MORE AFTER THE JUMP.
As my frequent flyer status indicates, I spend my fair share of time in airports. But coming back from the Six Senses resort on the outskirts of Phuket, Thailand, yesterday was a grueling experience, even for me. There were boats, buses, planes, taxi cabs and one really feisty female flight attendance on an OpenSkies trip from Paris to Newark that I wanted to strangle. The good news is that I got home late last night safe and sound, and the even better news was that spending nearly 24 hours in midair gave me plenty of time to catch up on so many of the films I missed last year. As I had joked around Oscars time, I hadn’t seen hardly any of the nominated films. (Yet, somehow, I managed to see the ‘Footloose’ remake twice. Not counting the premiere I went to as well.) So, without further ado, here are my thoughts on four Oscar-nominated films, including ‘Drive,’ ‘The Iron Lady,’ ‘The Descendants’ and ‘The Artist.’
DRIVE: When the movie first began, I thought ‘Drive’ would be an updated version of ‘Days of Thunder.’ (Yes, I just referenced that 1990 film. Remember Nicole Kidman’s old hair? And face?) Then the sexy, curvy red head from Mad Men gets her face blown off. Literally. Getting over the fact that this wasn’t going to be a romantic comedy was tough for me, especially considering the last thing I saw Gosling in was ‘Crazy, Stupid, Love,’ and I’m convinced his character was a gay gigolo on the DL. Don’t get me wrong: I was into Gosling in a gorier role, and for some reason I also really like seeing Carey Mulligan suffer, and it was a good movie, even if it did skew a touch too Bret Easton Ellis and Quentin Tarrantino in some spots. (Like, did we really need to see his foot in the skull of the dude in the elevator?) But still, maybe I’m too romantic, but I kind of wanted to see Mulligan get Kidman’s perm, Gosling to win the Indy500, adopt the Latino kid, and call it a day. But, oh, the soundtrack was so major. After Azealia Banks’ ’212‘ and Zebra Katz’s ‘Ima Read’, the title song was one of the most overused during fashion week.
THE DESCENDANTS: I’m just happy I watched this film, which starts with a woman dying after a boating incident, on my way home from Thailand. I had just spent five days frolicking on boats in the Thai sea, and something tells me that the wooden boats with car engine motors weren’t exactly up to the safety codes I have become accustomed to. ‘The Descendants’ was perfect for the plane, which I mean as a compliment but is probably slightly insulting too. George Clooney is a pleasant face to see when you’re floating above the earth, and since this movie had real no suspense or action it was completely palatable and enjoyable. Now, if I had seen it in a theater or on my couch, I may have been bored. No fist fights, and Clooney somehow resisted the urge to show any shred of sexiness or manliness by wearing flip-flops, baggy khaki’s and floral waiter shirts the entire film. (Really? No one even suggested a wet Tshirt scene?) I loved Shalaine Woodley’s performance too.
THE IRON LADY: The entire time I was watching this film I was thinking the same thing: Michelle Williams must be so pissed off this movie came out last year. She didn’t stand a chance against Meryl. No one did. (For the record, I still haven’t seen ‘My Life with Marilyn.’ I’m not ready yet, and that’s because I really like this Michelle Williams, and I don’t want to risk seeing her portray Marilyn Monroe, my childhood fantasy and the ultimate icon, and not liking her.) There isn’t much to say about ‘The Iron Lady.’ I know that some people complained of historical accuracy or whatever, but it’s the Meryl show, and she is so splendid in that role. A well deserved Oscar.
THE ARTIST: I have a confession to make: I went to some of the Weinstein Company’s buzz-creating events for The Artist last year, including a lunch at the Monkey Bar where I met Jean Dujardin and Bernice Bejo, before I saw the film. For some reason, up until yesterday, I just couldn’t bring myself to watch a silent movie. I could never someone to see it with me in the theater, and whenever I tried to watch a screener at home something (with sound) would always distract me. So, in a away, the plane was the perfect venue for me to shut up (no pun intended) and sit through it. And I’m so happy I did. I loved every minute of it. I found ‘The Artist’ to be a modern version of Sunset Boulevard, which anyone who knows me will understand is probably the biggest compliment I could give. (Seen the movie with Gloria Swanson, and seen the Broadway musicale with Glenn Close. But I guess Dujardin would have had to succeed in offing himself to make it a more apt comparison.) The film was lighthearted and fabulous. Since landing in New York last night, I had a conversation with a friend of mine who is a film curator at a large museum here in New York, who said the only people who like ‘The Artist’ are people who had never seen a silent film before. Even though he was being nasty, he’s probably right. But who cares? I have seen my fair share of silent movies — I watched a 1924 silent Peter Pan on Monday night, in fact — but that didn’t stop me from being intoxicated by the sheer joy in ‘The Artist.’ And the fact that the same intoxication became an international phenomenon and even won an Oscar? Well, that makes me want to smile as much as Dujardin did in the film. It also makes me want to pencil on a mustache, buy a dog and slick my hair back, but I’ll stop myself.
They were too much fun to stop! After biding my time before shows, after shows, and (when they were particularly bad) during shows in New York and in London, I continued my professional doodling habit in Paris. With the help of my handy, dandy new Samsung Galaxy Note, behold my handheld perspective from the shows.
Two of my fashion week buddies: Karlie Kloss and Cara Delevingne. I’m not really sure what the point of this party was, but they were giving out leis. And as anyone will tell you, I love an accessory.
I bumped into the legendarily lovely Liya at the Givenchy after party at L’Arc
Some people come to Paris for the shopping, or for the sites, or for the museums. Me? I’m a big fan of the cheese products.
Leigh Lezark is always very generous with her headwear. And thank goodness for that.
Natalia Vodianova celebrated 30 years of being beautiful while in Paris with a party at her preferred Paris address, the Hotel Bristol.
I <3 Sky
Nicky Hilton was my favorite unexpected guest at Paris fashion week. Here she is perched at the Valentino show, the only PFW outing she made this week.
Chanel is always very good about sending flowers. Which is a nice way to be welcomed to Paris.
THAT’S NOT ALL! MORE DOODLES AFTER THE JUMP!
It’s almost impossible for me to believe that fashion month, those glorious four weeks that begin in New York and end in Paris and set all the trends for the following season, have come to an end. (And I’m not saying that just because I’m swathed in a mosquito net in the middle of Thailand right now. More on that later.) The collections ended in Paris on Wednesday. And they ended on a high note. There were fabulous shows (Valentino’s romantic black leather comes to mind, as does the extravaganza that was the Louis Vuitton presentation), and fabulous parties (Dasha Zhukova held a small, sweet launch for the second issue of Garage magazine, Kanye West had go-karts to fete his sophomore fashion effort). But before we get into all the trends that we should be thinking about next fall — think pink, winter white, black leather, and so on — I’m going to take a few minutes to look back at the fun moments I had in Paris.
First, a little video of Alicia Keys tribute to Riccardo Tisci at the Givenchy afterparty.
The glamorous girls with Giambattisti Valli at his Moncler dinner at Caviar Kaspia. When dinner ended, they cleared the tables and brought out a DJ. The elegant dinner went from VIP rave faster than I could blink and eye!
Sarah Jessica Parker, who looked really lovely, even up close, backstage before the Louis Vuitton show
Nicky Hilton on the patio of the Paris Ritz, which caught fire just after the Paris fashion week festivities. (Thank goodness. Where else would the rich people have eaten?)
Arizona Muse and Cara Delevingne at the Garage magazine party
Alicia Keys with Riccardo Tisci at the Givenchy after party
Natalia Vodianova at the Bristol Hotel for a birthday party celebrating her 30th
Karlie Kloss, who was my most frequent date and quite possibly my favorite person in Paris, flanked by Jonathan Saunders and Craig McDean at Natalia’s birthday
The lovely and amazing Lauren Santo Domingo with Eugenie Niarchos at a party Santo Domingo hosted at home for her website, Moda Operandi, and the British Fashion Council
Lily Donaldson and my St. Louis sister Karlie Kloss
Me with Carine Roitfeld at the party for Garage magazine. I’m looking forward to Carine’s magazine’s party one day too!
Two of the chicest women I have ever met, who just happen to be related: The seminal romance novelist Danielle Steele, with her daughter Samantha Traina
Glee’s Dianna Agron on the set of the Louis Vuitton show’s train
The King of Paris: Marc Jacobs. Here is the designer amidst the media blitz that followed his fabulous Louis Vuitton show on the morning of the last day of Paris fashion week
The living legend Jean Paul Goude, who has one of the most fantastic and inspirational exhibits currently at the Louvre. If you’re in Paris, go see it today!
Three of the chicest women in Paris, with one of the nicest young men: Bianca Brandolini, Nina Flohr, Dasha Zhukova and Theo Wenner
Fashion’s favorite footballer, Hide Nakata, with Balmain’s wonderboy designer, Olivier Rousteing
Two of my favorite dance partners on Planet Earth (who aren’t so hard on the eyes either): Joan Smalls and Lily Donaldson
The lovely Liya Kebede and W magazine’s Edward Enninful
The #PFW version of Who Wore It Better? Leigh Lezark and Anna Dello Russo in matching Givenchy looks at Riccardo’s party
Me with a fellow Midwestern friend RJ King and the absolutely dashing Dasha Zhukova. Until next season!
NOTE; This is not a Christmas carol. This is not a family song either. It should only be listened by those with an open mind to ethnic subversive pop music with graphic language. So, there, you’ve been warned.
Perhaps it’s because fashion people find it so innately enjoyable to tell their coworkers, the people they spend all day and all night with on this month-long circus that is the collections, “Imma take that bitch to college / I’m gonna give that bitch some knowledge.” We do, after all, love to tell people what to wear, how to act, and what’s in and what’s out every season. Regardless, this has officially the song that has been in my head since it debuted on the Rick Owens catwalk yesterday. And it’s spread like wildfire: It’s the anthem in the Harper’s Bazaar car, the V magazine team knows every single word, Vogue Japan’s Anna Dello Russo just likes saying the word “bitch” over and over again, and W magazine’s Edward Enninful will sing it to complete strangers. (He’s good like that.) So, happy listening, kids.