Hint Video: Paris Men's Week

Ten minutes backstage with Dries Van Noten, Ann Demeulemeester, Tim Hamilton, Damir Doma and Romain Kremer...



video production by Crystal Snow Films

Flyer on the Wall

Hint Tip: Costume Institute

Here are three reasons to revisit the Model as Muse exhibit at the Costume Institute: Carmen Dell'Orefice, Dorothy McGowan and Isaac Mizrahi. They star in three fashiony films to be screened at the Met, respectively: Funny Face (July 10), Qui êtes-vous, Polly Maggoo? (July 17) and Unzipped (July 22). Each of them will be introduced by Harold Koda and guest co-curator Kohle Yohannan. Click for ticket info. (BTW, we read recently that Carmen was discovered while riding a bus to ballet class at the age of 13. Amazing!)

On the Campaign Trail: Yves Saint Laurent

Stefano Pilati serves up another clash of the titans for YSL's fall 2010 campaign featuring Christy Turlington, shot by Inez van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin. Who else could follow up the veteran glamour of Claudia Schiffer, bleached and resplendent under the Hollywood sun? Looking toned and timeless (and not in a plastic kind of way), Christy's otherworldly beauty offsets the hard elegance of fall and its slightly sinister edge. You can never go wrong with leather bustiers and biker jackets—and the bags aren't half bad either. Get ready to start fawning over Christy in your fave glossies come August.

—Franklin Melendez


courtesy YSL

Headline Trip

Prada's Transformer cinema project launched in Seoul, South Korea, sans Megan Fox or other annoying starlets. [Prada]

Lower East Side boutique Project No. 8 to open a men's counterpart, No. 8b, at 38 Orchard St. on Thursday.

It was all a Blur, not mud, at the closing of Glastonbury. [NME]

Marlon Richards: "Glad I'm not at Jacksonbury." [Facebook]

A preview of Karl Lagerfeld's Hitchcockian Chanel campaign for fall, shot at his new Vermont estate for the second time...

Chanel, fall '09

Paris Men's Week: Raf Simons

Ah, Raf, if only your show had begun really late. Instead I found myself on the other side of a firmly closed door just after it began, with the haunting piano from Eyes Wide Shut (Dominic Harlan's Musica Ricercata N°2) wafting over the garden wall. Why was I late? Just before, John Galliano had held Napoleonic court at the derelect Piscine Molitor in a sleepy neighborhood on the other side of town and there were no taxis afterward. That meant a harrowing, sweaty, doomed metro trip and, between shows the next day, a trek to Simons' showroom deep in the heart of the 9th arrondissement to finally ogle his wares.

First of all, suck it in because you will need a waistline to wear Simons' new suits, which come with their own wide, webbed belts, or feature incorporated leather belts (some with snakehead buckles) that twist around the torso like, well, a snake. Some jackets have a layer of satin lining fabric over the sleeves, which you can roll like, well, a snake. After browsing through the racks in the showroom, it became apparent that Simons has been struck with a slithery reptilian obsession.

The tailoring has body, thanks to high-tech constructions like a rough-edged overcoat—look ma, no hems!—in thin cotton fused with polyurethane. Imagine a filmy, slightly rubbery handkerchief. The raw-edged sweatshirts in Japanese jersey (currently Simons' favorite material, I'm told) are bonded, which stiffens them to give the wearer a chest he may or may not actually possess. The best one is in dusty pink like a blush.

The style, at times, is downright Cavalliesque, with white canvas jeans in a coiling snake print. Only, the canvas is workwear thick with industrial zipper pockets and the cut is square—so it's really Belgian, not Neapolitan. Simons appears to be toying with menswear's smarmy side. His stint in Milan as creative director for Jil Sander, and the Italian production for his own brand, has opened the door onto a world that makes the sincerely boyish clothes of his early days seem like a lifetime ago.

—Rebecca Voight

Paris Men's Week: Dior Homme

Kris Van Assche is a realist. And the spring '10 collection he produced for Dior Homme is full of soft, flowing, even tempered modern classics for men who don't/can't/will never take it over-the-top. Transparency was the big statement, with the see-through appearing as layers, as in jackets over open shirts over tone-on-tone silk T-shirts—all in cool hues like dove grey and flesh tones. Sleeveless was the other statement. When sleeves do appear, they're in silk top shirts with rolled-up sleeves over a jacket to accentuate softness. The effect is ethereal and quite a contrast to the boldnes, or should I say brashness, elsewhere. I think this might be the guy who gets the girl after all his friends have overplayed it. Thanks to cool-hand Kris.

—Rebecca Voight

Paris Men's Week: Romain Kremer

Ever since Romain Kremer's fantastical world was first shown on a catwalk, he’s been watched with great anticipation—even by those who don't live in a computer game. His graphic sense of shape has done much to prove that Paris menswear can think beyond romantic reworkings of bourgeoisie classics. His spring '10 collection saw Kremer still focused on underpants. While this fear of trousers is interesting, and certainly spangly knit briefs are fun, it would be great to get a clearer look at his ideas for alternatives. Meanwhile, an almost-tuxedo jacket with a navel-to-neck circular opening that managed to look chic and futuristic was one of those how-did-nobody-ever-think-of-that-before moments.

—Daryoush Haj-Najafi

Paris Men's Week: Lanvin

When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Was it only last January that Lucas Ossendrijver and Albert Elbaz presented the fall 2009 collection for Lanvin in an old school courtyard: a marvel of flowing, pleated pants, billowy silk shirts, romantic neck scarves and cinched waist coats? That collection was a first response to the financial crisis and it was deemed appropriately somber. It was also very romantic.

This time Lanvin showed in the rococo gilt Salle Wagram, looking decidedly dance-hall louche, lit in lurid red with techno blasting at 11:00 am. Gone was any trace of somber romance as models emerged like a gang of toughs in skinny, sleeveless jackets and stovepipe pants with narrow, turned-up cuffs, hair in almost punk spikes topped with visor scarves in tie silk. These new Lanvin guys meant business and one suspects it was of the shakedown variety. There were knee pants with knee coats, confirming menswear's move to a more boyish silhouette, and still more louche details like black shirts with a sliver of white handkerchief peeking out from the breast pocket. Patterned T-shirts were studded with sequins and leather blousons showed up with matching leather shorts. The new coat was aggressively cinched and worn bloused for an hourglass shape, and there was a wider trouser which was very high waisted, marked with a narrow belt and offset with ample hips in a sort of Fred Astaire dance shape. The pants were paired with 50's patterned shirts with short sleeves rolled as high as they will go.

The end result looked like a lean, mean fighting machine, ready to seduce a younger, more body-conscious customer for Lanvin and not afraid of being pretty ferocious in the process.

—Rebecca Voight

Paris Men's Week: Dunhill

One of the biggest misjudgments I've ever made was dismissing Stefano Pilati’s talents. Though I could see his early YSL collections were meant to remind us of the greatness of the brand, I was impatient for progress—which he's delivered in spades in recent seasons. Kim Jones’ position at Dunhill is similar. Transforming one of the world’s oldest and biggest global luxury brands—they make pens out of meteorites and black diamonds!—into a fashion label for today was always going to be a lengthy, difficult project. That Jones has so quickly created a believable base to build on is commendable.

New Order’s The Perfect Kiss, a love song to fearlessness in that optimistic 80's synth way, set the tone as boys stepped onto a revolving carousel heavy with polished aluminum luggage before traipsing down the runway. The shows predominantly blue-gray palette was modern and light, and materials were wow, but never crossed an un-English line into fey snakeskin vulgarity. It was a brilliant interpretation of traditional tailoring, military and safari blazers. Accessories included blue straw trilbies, hand-carved flint sunglasses and a holdall in carbon fiber, a material first used commercially in Rolls Royce aero engines. How absolutely right for modern Dunhill is that?

—Daryoush Haj-Najafi

Paris Men's Week: Thomas Engel Hart

Thomas Engel Hart has decided he "just isn’t going to make fashion that's about proving how rich you are." Engel Hart clearly wishes he could sell this approach to a skeptical fashion media, but their myopia only seems to make him more determined. And this season that meant acting on his lifelong love of punk. If London’s club kids, with their biker jackets and torn denim, are any measure, this looks set to be a smart move.

Engel Hart’s presentation consisted of a short film by portrait photographer Eric Nehr, screened in a tiny Paris gallery as the models, press and cold beer mixed in the alleyway outside. While Engel Hart’s pointy blazers and shirts looked more Johnny Lydon than Rotten, he managed to combine the energy of punk with his tailoring skills, producing barely-there knits and slim white jeans dotted with eyeholes—not for the squeamish.

—Daryoush Haj-Najafi

Paris Men's Week: John Galliano

Deep in the heart of Paris' 16th arrondissement is the Piscine Molitor, a graffiti-covered carcass of an indoor pool, known for its deco décor and as the site where, in 1945, the bikini first appeared. Its resonance must have appealed to John Galliano, who staged another one of his epic men's shows here.

Galliano designs for men like a wide-eyed boy steeped in tales of daring heroism. There were two characters on his mind this season: Lawrence of Arabia, as portrayed by Peter O'Toole in the 1962 classic, and Napoleon Bonaparte in Abel Gance's haunting 1927 silent film. Galliano began with Lawrence, who went native in a mix of early 20th-century military tailoring and harem-like sarouel pants—worn out, distressed, exotic. And he ended up with a goth Bonaparte as the Emperor of France, a menacing regal figure in brocade evening shirts with jet black embroidery and great coats with still more shirts wrapped around them like sashes. Somewhere in between he slipped in a Sicilian escapade inspired by the pre-WWI homoerotic portraits of Wilhelm von Gloeden, whose juvenile models with wreaths in their hair evoked Grecian antiquity. Galliano's Sicilians, however, were in floral speedos and blousy scarf-print blousons—mama mia!

—Rebecca Voight

Paris Men's Week: Tim Hamilton

Tim Hamilton is an American wunderkind. I was first alerted to this by the buzz preceding his first Paris men's show. Hamilton is from Iowa, but he's also slightly exotic (his mom is Lebanese and his dad is English-American). He's earned his design stripes with stints at J.Crew and Ralph Lauren. And, besides menswear, launched in 2007, he also has a women's collection that he debuted in Paris for fall 2009. That's pretty spectacular.

So what can be said about Hamilton's first menswear show in Paris? He touched all the current bases: a lab-coat trench, a tailored jumpsuit, a filmy nylon parka, long johns, cropped boy pants—in short, all the musts. And yet I found the proportions slightly pinched. There were also so many trends, but not enough Hamilton. Tim, Tim, come out wherever you are! This was a first which begs the question: what's next?

—Rebecca Voight

Paris Men's Week: Hermès

It smelled liked horses, thoroughbreds of course, at the old refectory of the Cordelier convent, which had been transformed for the Hermès show with a pressed-earth floor. A dedicated team of men with these big green roller devices was on hand to constantly repress the floor until the models arrived.

Imagine your entire spring '10 wardrobe cast in tone-on-tone shades of leafy greens and dusty browns, like the color of shade under a big tree on a scorching day. Véronique Nichanian worked such a palette of natural hues, from verdigris and taupe verging on olive drab to apple and various bronzed browns. This gave the clothes an aged patina, as though they'd been plucked from an old photograph—which isn't to say there was anything retro here.

A blazer in solid taupe seersucker just looked like an interestingly wrinkled jacket rather than that old prep classic in blue and white pinstripes. All the pants had rolled cuffs. Calfskin shirt jackets and super-soft trench coats were practically cut with a scalpel. And the linen suit looked perfectly blasé. Sleeveless cardigans paired with sleeveless silk T-shirts over roomy trousers, or boxy Bermudas, were in such perfect French taste that one was tempted to ask, What ever happened to vulgarity? The answer is: Hermès just doesn't ever do that. Standouts were a chunky sailor-knot sweater in tart green and a windbreaker in paper-thin calfskin, as soft as a glove.

—Rebecca Voight

Paris Men's Week: Bernhard Willhelm

Conceptualism gets a rough ride, and deservedly so, but this show-installation hybrid was a real piece of theater. As people—including Willhelm's former tutor, Walter Van Beirendonck—were seated, no one seemed to know if the show had begun or not. Why? Because the models were being dressed in full view, amid the baroque magnificence of Paris' old Bourse. When the show finally began in earnest it became clear we were looking at a kind of mad artist's studio and the models were his works of art, slowly transforming into something more and more extreme. Some grew a giant Brothers Grimm-like dreadlock, others had lampshades or buckets on their heads, and all were given crazy prints and folksy patterns.

But strip away the heavy, clowny accessorizing and the main pieces were clean and sharp enough to work in the real world. Silhouettes and cuts were slim variations on tracksuits and pajamas. Willhelm is still meditating on ways to bare flesh, with increasing success. He himself looks hot, not silly, in his little shorts.

The show ended as it began, with the impression of chaos. Art and weirdness that resist the authority of menswear, with its rules about luxe and snobbery, are Willhelm's humanistic approach. The free-thinker is back.

—Daryoush Haj-Najafi

Paris Men's Week: Rick Owens

A particularly hard remix of Human Resource's Dominator, which sounds like a buzz accompanied by heart-vibrating break beats, played throughout Rick Owens' second men's show. The lyrics—"I'm bigger and bolder and rougher and tougher in other words, sucker, there is no other"—perfectly summarized the strong masculine pomp that defined the show. Even many of those in the audience were styled like members of Nitzer Ebb, Front 242 and DAF. Paris has been crying out for a serious, credible challenger to Raf Simons' hold on wearable cutting-edge. Rick Owens looks to be a contender.

The long-haired, high-heeled American hasn't sought to be another feminizing force in menswear. Instead he mines that adolescent love of tribal allegiances and rebellion. Think youth cults, i.e. skins, industrial punks and anarchists. Sure, there's an age limit to leather hoodies, just-below-the-knee denim shorts and sneakers that appear almost triangular in profile, but the sort of warrior men attracted to Owens' designs don't want to dress as feeble updates on their fathers. That’s not success, it's surrender.

—Daryoush Haj-Najafi

Paris Men's Week: Walter Van Beirendonck

Some of Walter's shows have resonated in the fashion industry; others have signaled Walter's changing style. Spring '10 was one of the latter. Day-glo cyberwear was nowhere to be found, though pastel-acid greens and blancmange were still on view. Walter also used plus-sized bear models exclusively. Even if half that bulk was muscle, the show seemed to challenge the fashion media to separate good design from good packaging.

The collection concentrated less on Walter's imagination and more on the sort of clothes he, or the heavyset objects of his lust, might wish to wear. Baggy, loose lines dominated, with galabiya-style shirts and multi-pocketed jumpsuits very much in abundance. A blazer in a blue croc print proved Walter isn't short of ideas.

As if to push home the practical appeal of the collection, Walter modeled the last look himself. Anyone who’s had the misfortune of seeing certain fashion editors squeezing themselves into menswear’s edgier designers will be thankful for Walter's example. All this gave time for half of Walter's bears to gather on a stage previously hidden by a curtain and reemerge in Walter’s new line of underwear—filled out rather splendidly.

—Daryoush Haj-Najafi

Paris Men's Week: Louis Vuitton

Maybe it's because Marc Jacobs has been baring his tanned legs in skorts lately that Louis Vuitton studio director Paul Helbers has picked up on menswear's current bike vibe in such a big way that he dedicated the entire spring collection to New York messengers—or, as they refer to them in the show notes, "Gentlemen Papillons" (butterfly men). Nigerian singer Keziah Jones, who I discovered I'm in love with after the Yves Saint Laurent show, was back, sitting right across the runway from me and looking sublime in a T-shirt, trilby and skinny suit with contrast edging, no doubt from LV because similar models showed up for the show's finale.

This was a great collection, an about face from all that triple-ply luxury LV has specialized in up until now. It's not that these clothes are any less elegant, but they're younger, less concerned with luxe and more interested in young men in their physical prime. The standouts: taxi-cab yellow racing jackets in washed linen, rolled-cuff shorts, a Taiga leather bum bag, an ottoman nylon trench coat, anything in tricky tech fabrics, a braided straw hat with a reflective band and those keychain necklaces worn with everything—even suits.

—Rebecca Voight

Paris Men's Week: Adam Kimmel

Adam Kimmel and his fiancé, the actress Leelee Sobieski, are heading down to the Camargue in southeastern France, where French cowboys herd bulls in the salt marshes and where Leelee's father, the painter John Sobieski lives. This couldn't be more timely as Kimmel has just finished one of his big dreams, a cowboy collection inspired by Roy Rogers and the Marlboro Man. Kimmel worked with Jim Krantz, the Marlboro campaign's original photographer, on the look book, featuring real-live modern cowboys, and video artist Meredith Danluck shot the making-of on the original Marlboro ranch with bull-riding champion Rocky McDonald.

What's particularly nice about Kimmel's westernwear is that it's actually wearable compared to the real thing, which is usually a bit heavy on the embroidery, or heading towards polyester. At Yvon Lambert's Paris gallery, where Kimmel held an informal collection fete, Charlotte Rampling, actor Gaspard Ulliel and the transatlantic art crowd picked out their favorite pieces while Stefano Pilati recalled his first visit to Texas at the age of eighteen. "I didn't know much about cowboy clothes when I was growing up. I just wore jeans," he said, "but later on I discovered it all in Texas—the boots, the shirts, everything—and brought it all home with me."

—Rebecca Voight


photo Karl Hab

Paris Men's Week: Jean Paul Gaultier

Jean Paul Gaultier can't stop putting boys in girls' clothes. Following skirts, his new feminine preoccupations are bustiers and halter tops, which he pairs with broad-shouldered suits for men who want to show off their pecs and don't mind if they have to dress like a girl to do it. His sailor boys look kind of girlish, too, in pants so wide they could almost be skirts and school uniform-style midi blouses. The collection's masculine side comes through in 60s futuristic-style tailoring—à la Pierre Cardin or André Courrèges—in sparkling white, brights and candy stripes.

—Rebecca Voight

Paris Men's Week: Dries Van Noten

Even Dries Van Noten, who has never been the flashy type, has toned it down this season. For spring, he's taken a megadose of prints and put them everywhere, from pocket scarves to thongs. The print parade works because they're quiet, often bleached out prints in muted colors, i.e. dark plaids for raincoats and faded ikats in super-thin cottons for his new three-pleat trouser. Like Stefano Pilati at Yves Saint Laurent, Van Noten is perfecting a sharp-shouldered, double-breasted jacket that's cut very close to the body, giving the wearer a delicate, gangly look, like a young man who is growing too fast.

—Rebecca Voight

Hooked: Tatty Devine for Peter Jensen

The quirky lasses at Tatty Devine have teamed up with Peter Jensen to bring to life (or at least three dimensions) his too-cute-for-words bunny logo. In the spirit of previous collaborations, the gals have tapped into their cartoonish whimsy, whipping up a line of accessories and prints for Jensen’s 2010 resort collection. You can find the silly rabbit, designed by illustrator (and longtime Jensen pal) Charlotte Mann, frolicking on everything from shift dresses and swimsuits to oversized tees and charm bracelets. But our favorite, hands down, are the plastic rabbit sunglasses, available in black and a variety of pastels. Daring yet adorable, the wacky frames are perfect for poolside lounging or foiling the plans of a wabbit-hunting baldy. A limited number will be released into the wild in November.

—Franklin Melendez

Just In: Giles Wins ANDAM

Decided today by an international jury in Paris, Giles Deacon has won the 2009 ANDAM Award and its prize of €160,000, following fellow Brit Gareth Pugh last year. Details are scant as a press release won't be issued until tomorrow, but we do know this means he'll be showing in Paris. Congrats, Giles!

Sao Paulo Fashion Week: Day 6

—Franklin Melendez

Last day of shows and everyone is in a complete daze. Telltale signs a fashion journalist is burnt out: an eerily attentive face, overly styled ensembles (drop crotches, gladiators), a disregard for the cardinal sin of a repeat outfit or no outfit in favor of sweats, frazzled laughter followed by some reference to your editor. We suffer acutely from all of these symptoms, but soldier on.

Isabela Capeto provided a haunting presentation, with a bare backdrop and elaborate choreography that culminated with a ghostly line-up of models. The collection continued the week's strongest trends: slouchy tailoring executed in killer prints, which the Brazilians excel at. Later, Movimiento was exactly what you'd expect from Brazilian swimwear, including tropical foliage headpieces and wooden jewelry. The effect was slutty Chiquita Banana, but in the best way possible.

But the day's highlight was, of course, Alexandre Herchcovitch menswear, separate from women's and surprisingly restrained. “I wanted to play with the idea of dress up,” Alexandre said after the show. And true to his word the collection was a witty unraveling of a suit, replete with references to Clockwork Orange and Magritte.


Alexandre Herchcovitch

We headed backstage to document the glory. Despite the generous bounty of hunks, we quickly discovered that interviewing male models is a difficult science. Rather than providing witty sound bites, they prefer to rough-house, dig into their backpacks, blast their earphones or make stupid jokes. It's all very charming, but not very interesting. I was about to settle for leering when one of the veterans, 22-year-old Alex Schulz. Asked for reasons to love Sao Paulo, he gave us an extensive list, becoming for a moment an impromptu Goodwill Ambassador. He offered up historical tidbits, restaurant recommendations, and even a travel tip (allegedly a small island off the southern coast remains a paradise unspoiled by tourists). “You should definitely stay another week,” he urged. We thanked him profusely; I may have offered a marriage of convenience in gratitude. We turned to leave when Alex, recalling another reason to enjoy the city, said, “I forgot to mention, there’s a lot of good-looking boys, no?” Maybe I can manage another week.

Headline Trip

Adam Kimmel goes west for spring '10, roping Marlboro Man photographer Jim Krantz into shooting his look book. [WWD]

Despite bankruptcy, Christian Lacroix forges ahead with a couture show on July 7. Couture, daahleen! [The Cut]

Patricia Field can't follow Vivienne Westwood's "mind-process." [The Advocate]

Guy Trebay improves model and race relations backstage in Milan. [NY Times]

Billy Eichner thinks that Black Eyed Pea should change his name to Will.i.am.probably.gay. [Facebook]

Priest and drag queen bursts out of the closet with a hit dance single. [On Top]

Father Anthony, aka Big Mama Capretta

Your First Look: Woolrich Woolen Mills

Daiki Suzuki's surf-inspired spring '10 collection for Woolrich Woolen Mills...

Sao Paulo Fashion Week: Day 5

—Franklin Melendez

Like a true fashion editor, today I refused to take off my glasses, but mostly because I’m dreadfully hungover, so much so that I have the shakes. Jeremy is faring a bit better, though he still dons industrial-sized shades. Hovering between the living and the dead, I drag myself to the shows. Thankfully, I'm immediately perked up by two of the best collections so far. The first homerun comes courtesy of Neon designers Dudu Bertholini (a legend in Brazil) and Rita Comparato. The show, staged outside, included a live band playing a medley of James Bond themes. Fittingly, the show served up resort wear in the truest sense of the term, all caftans and turbans—the kind you'd see on Peggy Guggenheim in the 40s, lounging on a Riviera yacht, or perhaps Lou Lou de la Falaise in the 70s, reclining poolside with Yves in Morocco. There might be a little with Mrs. Roper thrown in, but I'm not one to judge, and the result is still lush and chic. The crowd went bananas when a particularly nubile model stomped out in a full-body flouro thong—now that's Brazil.


Neon

Next is Ronaldo Fraga, who is the polar opposite. He falls somewhere between the Brazilian Junya Watanabe and Henrik Vibskov, but like all the best shows so far he takes culturally specific references and twists them into his own rich, sexy idiom. With Day of the Dead paper decorations as its reference, the collection offered a strong point of view, blending an unmistakable Latin flair with a conceptual edge. Highlights included woven fabric crosses, cutout paper skirts and hammered-tin necklaces.


Ronaldo Fraga

The rest of the day is a blur, but a bit of fashion grit shamed me out of my torpor. Allegedly, one overzealous Russian editor walked nose first into a glass door at the hotel, fracturing her Slavic schnoz on the spot, much to the dismay of the PR crew. Asked if she’d like to go to the emergency room, she simply shrugged and said, “Mmm…later?” And there she was, front row, in five-inch Lanvin pumps. And that, my friends, is dedication.