Showing some flex

Based on no evidence, I'm willing to bet against myself that Louis XIV's shoes matched his furniture.

Feel free to agree, argue or judge me.

 

Patrik and The Mannerists

This is Patrik.

There is no C in Patrik.

This is Patrik's Siouxsie shirt,

these are Patrik's black jeans,

and I suspect,

 these are Patrik's white Doc. Martens.

This is Patrik on art.

This is a portrait of Patrik.

And these are The Mannerists

Longchamp: I'm theirs.

I said to the saleswoman, "You don't understand.  This is too much fun.  I gotta get outta here."  I wouldn't call it a problem, but more like a deeply rooted fanaticism, a sordid kind of love.  Bags:  they make me feel whole.  It is love, a rare and perfect kind.  And Longchamp is mixed up within that, along with numerous others.

Longchamp let me photograph.  It was the Thomas Heatherwick one on Spring Street. The more exotic skins were on the ground floor: leopard, snake, embossed animals.  And they let me walk right up to the grizzly bear.  They let me get close.

It's sadomasochistic in a way, getting that close to what I can't have, and yet I did it.  I do it to myself. 

I reached, picked it up, looked at it with my head cocked to one side like I could see through it.  I put it back on the shelf, stepped away, collected myself and shot.  A multi-tiered process and I did it again and again.  Out of compulsion?  For the thrill of it, I guess.  The adrenaline.  The smell, it sticks to the skin so that I remember.

Photos now, bags later.  I'll be back.  They know I will.  I'm theirs.

The It Bag Tote

The Veau Foulonne' Laptop Case

The Veau Foulonne' Spider Bracelet

The Parade Bag in Brass

The Veau Foulonne' Accessory Strap

Longchamp Ready To Wear Fall 2009 Coat Line

Downtown and Primary Colors

Primary colors, primarily exquisite.  Magdalena and Annet, different locations, both rustling through their bags.  I caught them mid-rustle.  Thank you ladies.

Magdalena Creujeiras, Lower East Side

Annet Ko, SOHO

Bryant Park: A bit of color

Bryant Park was pretty much what I expected it to be on a Sunday afternoon during fashion week: the  security, papparazzi, the starstruck and curious passersby spilling out of the entrances and onto the streets.  I overheard someone ask one woman who everyone was waiting for and she answered, "I don't know.  Anybody."  I suppose if you don't know who you're waiting for, you can't be disappointed for not getting to see them, in which case, maybe that woman was onto something.  I bypassed the papparazzi, walked opposite the models,  away from the Caddy Escalades and into the park, my personal runway. This Sunday, a bit of color.

 

Mark Connolly, 

Style Director, Conde Nast Traveler

  

 

Beatrice Panerai,

Journalist, Classeditori, Milano 

 

 Fashion Week Production Assistant   

Fashion's Night Out

No photos allowed at Prada.  Hmmm.  What are they afraid of?  Getting knocked off?  I snuck one in.  What the hell?  It was just one.  Ok, two, promptly provoking unnerving glares from a few paranoid Pradi and I left shortly thereafter.  Anyway, Fashion's Night Out:  lots of lines, lots of free alcohol, lots of refills, lots of shopping, lots of fine-looking people and lots of fun.  I don't think I got any of my margherita on that really nice cardigan sweater at John Varvatos.  Oh, I think it was around $500.  Actually $498 if we want to get petty.  But I'm pretty sure I didn't.  It's not important.  The point is, the nice people at John Varvatos didn't mind my taking portraits.  But then of course, Mick Rock was also there taking portraits for anyone who spent $300 or more.  The folks at Tommy Hil actually thanked me for taking photos.  But don't worry, Miuccia.  I still like you and if I had an extra two-grand I was itching to unload, I'd buy the Vitello Diano tote tomorrow, despite my mildly derisive commentary. 

Prada, Bd'way and Prince St., NYC

 

Darrin Blake, bringing it at Intermix

 

  

Laila Miroku at John Varvatos

 

A Fine Bunch

 

 

Joana Marquez and Demetrius Blocker at Tommy Hilfiger

Zane Lewis, "Watch Me Slowly Death," Mixed Greens Gallery, Chelsea, NYC, Sept. 8th, 2009

The good news.  Jesus Christ endorses Chanel.  Or Chanel debris dispersed about the body of Christ. Artist, Zane Lewis, marries the two at his exhibition, "Watch Me Slowly Death,"  at Mixed Greens Gallery in Chelsea, where an 8' x 8' head of the Passion of Christ (Jesus with the crown of thorns for those of you not up on your bible studies) is composed of layers and strips of Chanel and Dior ads, and painted over in rich swirls and drips of pink, red and gold.  I've come to the conclusion that it's nearly a faux pas to talk about the art at an opening so the Jesus connotations to be discussed at the after after after-party.  I'll just say, art for my sake:  photos.

Artist, Zane Lewis,  Watch Me Slowly Death, Mixed Greens, NYC, Sept. 8th, 2009

  

Close-up 1

 

Close-up 2

 

 The Glamorous Sophia Lamar, "Just google me."

 

 

Andrew Tatreau, Aaron Lyle Gelbman and Lazaro Diaz, extraordinary jewelry designer of his line, Lazaro, sold at Lazaro Soho.  www.lazarosoho.com

 2 Misshapes, 1 Missing