For your Lever House installation, you're revisiting Hello Kitty in the form of a 21-foot-tall Hello Kitty wind-up in bronze, and her friends My Melody and Miffy. What's the grown man's fascination?
I've always loved Hello Kitty for her purity; she's a pure merchandising icon without a TV show, a comic book or anything else. She's just merchandise. As a kid, I'd always steal my sister's Hello Kitty miniature pencils and notebooks. But it's not just the purity of [Kitty's] concept, but also her design: Simple forms, primary colors, excellent plastic craftsmanship. Plus, she's cute. To me, making my work look beautiful is a priority.

Recently, you've also been interested in outer space. Are you taking Virgin Galactic if and when it launches?
I think Virgin Galactic's great and I'm really interested in it. But my only criticism is that it seems a waste to take a suborbital flight with the same takeoff and landing point. Why not get a trip to China out of it? In a way, I guess that makes it more like art, because you're not really getting anywhere; you're just doing it in the spirit of it.

Your work has a lot to do with consumerism. What's the most decadent thing in your life?
Sleeping in, freshly cut pineapple chunks…um, what else? Pineapple chunks is pretty major. Also, ceramic skateboard bearings.

Your "Animals" show at Sperone Westwater includes a cabinet with guns and the tools used to make them. Any live bullets? [For a 1999 show at Mary Boone gallery, Sachs famously (and illegally) displayed a bowl of live bullets that landed Boone in jail.]
No, I don't trust my agent to not get arrested anymore and I don't want to put anyone through that again. I learned my lesson.

Daryoush Haj-Najafi pays homage to Queen Aggy...

Agyness Deyn's takeover as Britain's premier supermodel continues. Fresh from appearing on the cover of Time, she's now guest-edited the latest issue of i-D and appears on its six different covers, the first time the magazine has dedicated an entire issue to a model. For its launch party at David Waddington and Pablo Flack's Bistrotheque, a feast of fish and chips with mushy peas was served, cutely referencing Agyness's former stint at a fast-food joint—a far cry from where she is now. Guests included—deep breath—i-D's main man Terry Jones, Jade Parfitt and hubbie, avant-jewelry designer Judy Blame, DJ and magazine publisher Princess Julia, gallerist Maureen Paley (sporting a fetching Winehouse-like beehive), menswear authority Tim Blanks, designer Roksanda Ilincic and artist-turned-designer David Saunders of David David.

All eyes were on the naughty table, where London's new movers and shakers sat, including it-er than it artist Matthew Stone and his boyfriend (Jefferson Hack's favorite couple in London, as told to REM's Michael Stipe), plus Jodie Harsh ("I'm just a drag queen so I can become a household name"—and wow, hasn't she done just that?) and Carri Mundane of Cassette Playa, who was decked out in Pharrell Williams' Ice Cream label. (She occasionally styles shoots for his other line, BBC.) Also at the table were Burberry poster boy and pop star Patrick Wolf, fellow weird friend and singer Bishi, performance artist The-O and Pam Hogg, whose recently revived label, worn by Kylie Minogue and Siouxsie Sioux, is big London news.

At Agyness' table sat Kelly Osbourne and Henry Holland, while spotted elsewhere were Christopher Kane, accessories queen Katie Hillier (and consultant to Marc by Marc Jacobs), Arena Homme Plus's Jo-Ann Furniss, hot men's photographer Alasdair McLellen, dirtydirtydancing's Alistair Allan and set designer du jour Gary Card, a baby-faced David Hockney lookalike who's currently starring in a eight-page shoot in Another Man. Everyone was drinking "Aggy on the Rocks" (Belvedere vodka, Old Jamaica Light ginger beer, lime and angostura bitters), while the girl of the hour hosted a pub quiz with Sunday Times and Grazia columnist Paul Flynn, handing out top-dollar prizes from Burberry, Marc Jacobs, Zandra Rhodes and Vivienne Westwood, to shrieks of delight from the crowd. Following dinner, guests retired to the Napoleon Bar downstairs for après-dinner darts.

Haidee Findlay-Levin gets a shot in the Armory...

With my boomerang flu hitting me, again, as I came come home from an exhausting trip to Europe, I hoped to slip quietly and unnoticed back into the fabric of New York. I had visions of hunkering down into what I call business bed—and I don’t mean that in the money-on-the-dresser sense. Instead, I returned right at the start of the Armory Show, a week-long flurry of launches and parties around town, art and otherwise. Naturally, I couldn't miss it.

Making it to a group show at Terence Koh's space—Asia Song Society, aka ASS—was easy enough as I live right next door. And I've learned that if there's something going on there, it's better to join in the festivities than wonder when the noise will end. So I went with my dear Brazilian friends Marcelo Krasilcic and Renata Abbade, as well as fellow stylist JJ Farer. In the exhibit, Sack of Bones, I saw works by some of the old bones who used to show there, when it was Michelle Maccarone gallery, one of the first to occupy the Chinatown/LES neighborhood. While winding my way through the floors, I caught up with my neighbor Felix Burrichter, editor of Pin-Up, the new architecture magazine, and journalist friends Adriano Sack (German Vanity Fair) and Frank Hornig, whom Marcelo and I shot for a past issue of Fantastic Man. I also ran into the wonderfully exotic Avena Gallagher, of Preen magazine, wrapped in head-to-toe fur (I have very different memories of her dancing, scantily clad, at La Caverna a few summers ago). The evening evolved into dinner with most of the aforementioned, plus the talented make-up artist Maki Ryoke, the other token female.

Ignoring what was now a full flu relapse, I set out again on Thursday night with designer Tom Scott and art editor Aric Chen to no fewer than five parties, beginning with the new Acne store on Greene Street in Soho. I was happy to see the Acne team again and told Thomas Persson, editor-in-chief and creative director of Acne Paper (one of my favorite publications despite its unfortunate name!) that I'm practically an Acne groupie. I had already attended their event in Paris to celebrate the Gentleman's jean, a collaboration with those Fantastic men Gert Jonkers and Jop van Bennekom, and the week after that I attended Acne Paper's Exotic issue launch at Claridge's in London. And here I was again, this time in New York. I've decided to hold back (and, actually, an expired French visa prevents me) from showing up at their new store opening at the Palais Royal in Paris, which would certainly have confirmed my stalker status. Anyway, the brightly lit store, situated in the former Cloak space, was filled with all an Acne fan could desire. Not much of a jeans-wearer, I had my eye on a flesh-colored silk T-shirt and a black pair of wedge booties. I spoke to photographer Andreas Larsson, a regular Acne contributor, and Carol Kim and Humberto Leon, who seemed excited about the next event at his store Opening Ceremony, a meet-and-greet with Chinese director Wong Kar-Wai.

Next stop, the M/M (Paris) installation a few doors down at USM Modular Furniture. There, I ran into casting director Daniel Peddle, with whom I love to catch up and have a good industry moan, but was delighted to hear he had shot and put together his own book of photos. I ran into Alex Galan of DAP and caught up with him about my own publisher’s meeting the week before in Bologna, Italy, which he had arranged. Joining up with a gang of editors, including Hint's own Lee Carter, T's Armand Limnander and Hamish Bowles of Vogue, we set off toward Chelsea in a convoy to celebrate the launch of Style.com writer Laird Borrelli's third book on fashion illustration. Third? And here I was still in talks about my first. The party was full of designers and fashion peeps. I spoke to Phillip Lim and Richard Chai, and a had quick catch-up with Sue Stemp, who was accompanied by Olivier Van Der Velde, a dear friend from my early days in London, now working full time on shows and events for Alexander McQueen. I also ran into Albertus Swanepoel, the very talented milliner of Marc by Marc Jacobs, Proenza Schouler and now Alexander Wang. South African, Albertus was a renowned fashion designer in his own right while I was growing up there, and pretty much introduced me to fashion. I took great pleasure in sharing the news of my recently received green card, knowing he could appreciate my relief. His card, after all, had taken eleven years to my four and a half.

We then headed back to Soho, first to the Converse party, where loud music and alcohol were by now flowing freely through everyone’s veins. There, we collected Casey Spooner, Marcelo and a few others and walked to Submercer for the launch of the new issue of ME magazine in collaboration with Rodarte's Mulleavy sisters. I was happy to see Chris Bollen out celebrating his new position as editor-in-chief of the revamped Interview. He was in top form and anticipating the big change. Yet I noticed, hollering above the music in the packed-to-capacity space, that I had barely enough voice left to instruct the taxi driver home.

When I woke up Friday morning, it was clear it would another business bed day—until, that is, it was time to make it over to Dan Colen and Nate Lowman’s opening at the new Michelle Maccarone location. The show was a hit. I loved the installation of auto bodies juxtaposed with provocative posters and cardboard cutouts, i.e. a life-size Josh Hartnett in boxers and Tom Ford under the hood of a car. I was also impressed with Nate’s taste level in lingerie, which comprised the other part of the show: teddies and bras from Kiki de Montparnasse and Agent Provocateur mixed with re-appropriated slogan tees. If not confirmed already, fashion and art truly are bedfellows. I couldn’t help but wonder who had provided him with so intimate an education.

I rounded out my art weekend with a wonderful brunch at Freeman’s with Thomas from Acne Paper (okay, so I'm a groupie, its confirmed), who was completely partied-out. We eventually made it up to the main event of the week, the Armory Show, where a VIP card helped us avoid the endless line to get in. It was bustling inside and quite overwhelming. We pretty much loved everything, but especially the glass Pygmies dressed in tribal costumes. My darker side responded to Jenny Holzer’s ticker-tape messages about the horrors of war, while my sense of humor was piqued by a screening of ballerinas performing an erotic ballet. There were many other high points and we had a great time getting lost in it all while finding inspiration for his next issue. I ran into Danko Steiner, art director of American Vogue, and his wife Anna. Danko and I "did" the show last year, so it was fitting to see him there again. I was also very happy to run into Cay Sophie Rabinowitz, creative director of Art Basel, with whom I shared a beach house last summer. We're trying to do it again, but her crazy cross-continental schedule makes mine look like a walk in the park.

I rushed downtown to artists Frank Selby's show at Museum 52 on Rivington Street, the newly opened New York outpost of the hot London gallery. Stylists Masha Orlov and Christopher Niquet, accompanied by his dog Betty Blue, popped in as well. But soon I had to dash to dinner with Malcolm McLaren and his girlfriend Young Kim, who were leaving town the next day. During their long stay in New York, they were kind enough to loan me their apartment in Paris, with its view of the Sacré-Coeur and the rooftops of Montmartre. I felt like I was in a scene from Baz Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge!

I closed out the art weekend first with Julian Schnabel’s The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, which I still hadn’t seen. It's such a beautifully shot and imagined film that the images have remained with me for days. Then I ended up at a get-together chez Marcelo, where various people dropped by, from a very exhausted Eli Sudbrack (pictured, with Carla Machado) of Assume Vivid Astro Focus, who had survived the installation of a huge piece at the Deitch space at the Armory, to Slava Mogutin, who showed us a sneak preview of his newest porn video. The wonderfully talented jewelry designer Phillip Crangi, too, stopped in. The week had come full circle, a dizzying mix of art, fashion and too much partying so typical of New York. Welcome home, me. I could always recover next week.

Dean Mayo Davies rolls with the gang...

Picture the scene. London's hot "The Block" designers—Gareth Pugh, Henry Holland, JJ Hudson (of Noki-NHS), David Saunders (of David David), Louise Gray and Roksanda Ilincic—and their BFFs would meet for a late breakfast at Bistrotheque, the social hub of the city's progressive fashion scene. They would then party their way on the Moët Tour Bus (yes, stocked with champagne) to Nike Town’s NikeiD.Studio to personalize a pair of sneakers in a congratulatory post-show reunion.

Of course, there was chaos right off the bat, as the Moët bus broke down before it even reached us, and news filtered through that Roksanda wouldn’t be joining us as she’d had a fainting spell. Forming a protective ring around several icy cases of Moët, guests got their tribes (and themselves) together and waited for the replacement, a red double-decker bus. There was no killer sound system or cushy seating, but Moët more than made up for it by sending through yet more crates of bubbly. Hic!

On board, Gareth, i-D's Hanna Hanra and DJ Rokk (formerly of BoomBox, now of Popstarz) claimed the back seat like naughty school kids. Henry (already in eye-popping Air Max Classics) stretched out over two seats in deep conversation with his pal, as JJ got a little cantankerous with Jeanette. Louise and David giggled with their plus-ones while Abby Bennett, right-hand woman of publicist Mandi Lennard, held court in the front seats, keeping all under control and multi-tasking with a phone superglued to her ear.

When we finally arrived at Oxford Circus, the surreality continued. Seriously, if you could only imagine the stares as our gang walked into Nike Town, champers and Bistrotheque food in hand, through the busy public entrance. “What the ell's goin' on wiv that lot 'en? Who the 'ell d'they think they are? Look, an' they all drinkin’ champagne,” I overheard one flummoxed shopper say. Obviously not a man familiar with things fashion, east or The Block.

We hurried to the NikeiD.Studio on the second floor, where the "work" would start, while still more cases of Moët were brought in (really). As everyone set about creating their shoes, I looked around the room to see what magic was being conjured. Louise whipped together a pair of bright hi-top Dunks in pink, yellow, blue and black, with her name on the heel. She has, after all, won awards for her use of color. When her sneakers are delivered in a few weeks, she said she'll personalize them further by having her friend (who did the footwear for her show) add platforms. “I think they'll look great with a bit of height, don't you?!”

The party flowed, and the gang—which included guests Jeanette (who Hint readers will remember was the door bitch of BoomBox in its glory days), make-up artist Alex Box, performance artist Jonny Woo and DJ Matthew Stone—happily toiled away. DJ Rokk spun his way through tunes, which included a thumping Phil Collins remix (seriously) and Janet Jackson’s Nasty Boys (which got a hands-in-the-air response). But it was, alas, time for me to dash up the road to my last show of London Fashion Week, MAN. I was gutted I wouldn't see how JJ’s kicks turned out (he told me he wanted to cut out the swooshes, but somehow I don't think that's an option at the factory). And what would Gareth's shoes look like? I hedged my bets on all-black with a slick of high-sheen patent leather, but I'll just have to keep my eyes on the East End streets to find out.

A man's legs, clad in purple leggings, writhe in a circular motion atop a washing machine. A man in checkered sweats slides and wriggles across a linoleum floor, also checkered. A foursome of men, legs in the air, mimic the swirls of a dishwasher wearing only underwear and striped socks. And these same muscular men in torn fishnets and Lycra bodysuits lapdance on bar chairs in what could be described as Flashdance meets Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

Who are these men? They're dancers, and these moments are just a few of the homo-charged scenes in "Men In Tights," a short film and the fall men's collection from Bernhard Willhelm, which he screened last month in Paris and which he re-screened to a small audience at the Tribeca Grand during New York Fashion Week. The film—made in collaboration with Nick Knight—is at once funny, sweet, clever and sexy, and it put all those at the New York screening in the mood for the after-party at Arena, where In Flagranti pumped its salacious beats and rhymes, while mannish G. Rizo sang her husky heart out. Here, a quickie Q&A with Bernhard about his Men In Tights...

What's the concept of the film?
It's about body, movement and gesture. It also plays with the isolation of body parts, performance and conceptual art—think ['60s artist] Mel Bochner. Damien Jalet did the choreography.

And the collection?
The collection is a non-violent approach to dance and movement. The silhouette is based on academic dance; specifically, what dancers wear during rehearsals—layered but also skin-revealing. There are different color groups—gray, beige, blue and flash—with interesting elements, such as cutouts, cropping, draping and geometric zigzag patterns. There's also experimental stretch bodywear in Lycra and our new range of wild underwear and socks.

What’s your favorite memory from making on Men In Tights?
The last scene of the film was the most fun: Robin on the chair with red balloons. We kept the scene blurry so that you imagine a woman playing with her hips and breasts—very sexual. At the end of the scene, the balloons explode and you see Robin clearly. We had such a laugh doing it!

Who were the models/dancers? Were you one of them?
No, I wasn't. We used four dancers from London, all very different. Jason Beitel is Australian and he works with Kylie Minogue, Robin Dingemans has a more experimental dance background, Lee Bridgman is a young and elf-like dance student and Eric Underwood is from the Royal Ballet.

What else do you have going on these days?
Right now I have to finish the new women's collection that will be presented on the 27th of February. After that, hopefully I can relax in the Swiss Alps.

The night is young. Or is it old? Rebecca Voight finds out...

The evening began circa 1980 with a cocktail at Maria Luisa to celebrate issue 21 of cult French magazine Encens. Marc Jacobs, a recent convert, was so anxious to get his hands on a copy that he sent a messenger 150 kilometers outside of Paris to Epernay, in the heart of France’s champagne country, to pick one up hot off the press. Six years old, Encens isn't new, but it has reached critical mass. "Ah, when was the last time you saw a magazine that dared to talk about fashion, and nothing but fashion from cover to cover?" sighed proprietress Maria Luisa Poumaillou as she sipped on bubbly. Flipping through the issue, I tried to think of the last time I'd seen so many men dressed elegantly oversized, notably designer Christophe Lemaire in a sweeping herringbone overcoat. Sybille Walter and Samuel Drira, Encens' founders and principal collaborators, photograph and style most of the shoots and write the text themselves, with additional photo contributions from designer Bruno Pieters and the talented Miguel Villalobos, styling by Paris PR prince Kuki de Salvertes and English translations by the unruly Bruce Benderson. The result is about as close to a style time machine back to the elegant Parisian 1980s as one could hope for. A shoot of Jean Paul Gaultier's current spring collection melds seamlessly with a personal selection from his archives (house ads from 1984 with Claudia Huidobro in a fez and baggy pajama jacket, and tomboy Leslie Winer looking very Querelle in sailor stripes in another ad from 1983). Drira is passionate about vintage Marie Claire, when Claude Brouet and Catherine Lardeur were at the helm of the French magazine, both of whom were at the party. "We want to make an old magazine today," he says. "What we’re doing is like curating a show." The citation from Donna Karan in American Vogue from 1975—"I was working with a soft look”—sets the mood for an oversized shoot by Sybille Walter, featuring Number (N)ine, Haider Ackermann, Matthew Ames and Véronique Branquinho. So it’s everything old is new again ad infinitum.

Rejoining the present tense at the Maison de Verre in Paris' 11th for Walter Van Beirendonck's "Skin King" show, I found myself in the best seat in the house, directly in front of the lazy Susan on the runway. Tight pants with padded back pockets are one very effective way to enhance the gluteus maximus and Van Beirendonck is obviously convinced that everyone should have a pair for fall. Grass green, taxi yellow and lots of bubblegum pink are not for the retiring male, nor are rubber socks and leggings in flesh tones with painted toenails. Milliner Stephen Jones' "face frames" balsa-wood cut outs of the birds and the bees, as well as hands, feet, Walter and his willie, had a Hopi Indian-meets-Disney look that is so Van Beirendonck. But the best was saved for last when a hoard of sweaters with face masks led up to a finale of ruffled organza baby-doll dresses worn as burkas and topped with totemic wooden Walter heads. Backstage after the show, and before heading off to the after-party at l’Eclaireur, I caught up with Van Beirendonck, who cleared everything up. Sporting one the of collection’s "Sick of Easy Fashion T-shirts," he said an old song by Adam and the Ants had inspired him: “It's too easy today to dress in cheap copies from mass stores. I want to bring back a sense of couture." Or as Adam Ant once screamed:

I'm the dandy highwayman who you're too scared to mention
I spend my cash on looking flash and grabbing your attention
the devil take your stereo and your record collection!
the way you look you'll qualify for next year's old age pension!

Last night at the Guggenheim, the text on a Richard Prince painting said it all: "Was that a girl, was that a girl. That's what people kept asking." The occasion? A preview of Prince's handbag collaboration with Louis Vuitton (yes, orders were placed) and the closing night party of his Guggenheim retrospective—and the name-checking questions abounded. Was that Marc Jacobs? Richard Prince? Maybe Jocelyn Wildenstein? We thought we saw a lot of the latter, but the answer was invariably No. Socialite Denise Rich did show up, as did a gaggle of fashion press heavyweights paying respects to the big LV: Harper's Bazaar chief Glenda Bailey; T's Stefano Tonchi, Anne Christensen and Alix Browne; Elle's Joe Zee and Nina Garcia; and Work In Progress' Patrick Li. But, other than that, "Who are all these people?" wondered W's James Reginato. "You're the only person I recognize!"

Fortunately, Prince's eye-catching bags for Vuitton helped fill out Frank Lloyd Wright's atrium—as did a row of models, dressed as naughty nurses (a familiar Prince motif), spelling "VUITTON" across their caps. "Look, Vanessa Beecroft is collaborating now!" joked Vanity Fair photographer Todd Eberle as he snapped pictures of the girls. But alas, Beecroft was also nowhere to be seen.

Karl Lagerfeld swooped into London to present his "Paris-Londres" métiers d’art collection for Chanel—the only house to showcase the incredible handiwork of its couture ateliers—and so tout Londres was aflutter as Chanel taxis ferried the jeunesse dorée to the new Phillips de Pury gallery for the exclusive showing. And it didn’t disappoint, with a whirl of Victoriana—from frilly blouses and bonnets to neat little jackets and capes—and men's tailoring inspired by two of Coco's paramours, the Duke of Westminster and polo player Boy Capel. But it wasn't all an homage to bygone eras. As a nod to London’s hot music scene, Lagerfeld sent out models with punked-up styling and Amy Winehouse beehives, while Irina Lazareanu warbled alongside Sean Lennon. Perched on chairs with Chanel hangers for armrests (people were spotted trying to make off with them) were Daphne Guinness, Yasmin Le Bon, Claudia Schiffer, Charlotte (of Monaco) Casiraghi, Natalie Imbruglia, Lily Cole, Harry Potter's Emma Watson, Lily Allen and the Dellals, to name a few.

On the catwalk, Lagerfeld-favored models Agyness Deyn, Anouck Lepère, Freja Beha, Portia Freeman and Devon Aoki showed off the finery of the Paris ateliers—which were bought by the house five years ago to preserve their future as artisan industries. Every Chanel tradition was on display, often with a twist: outsized feathers, pearls and chains, as well as sweeping leather coats embroidered with crystal crosses. But the biggest cheer of the night went to a classic Chanel handbag embossed with the Union Jack. The entente cordiale continued at Bungalow 8 for a night hosted by Amy Sacco, where guests waited for Karl and partied until dawn.

—Gianluca Longo