blendnewyork…Fashion.Art.Style.Inspiration.Love

There was something decidedly less precious about Alexis Mabille’s girl this season. His show notes described a girl who’s in touch with her masculine side yet sticks to her womanly ways. That dose of sartorial testosterone seemed to be just the thing to temper Mabille’s saccharine leanings. Banker stripes merged surprisingly well with white lace as trim on sweet little shirtdresses, and even better when inset in the sleeves of a crisp button-down. One of Mabille’s twists was the shirt formed into a bustier, its sleeves knotted into a bow. One slip and it could have felt gimmicky, but he got it right, particularly on two evening looks near the end of the show. In fact, the best things skewed very XY, like another evening option of an hourglass-shaped waistcoat and sleek, toreador-style pants with the tiniest flourish of a Mabille bow at the calf. Inspired by the cinematography of the film The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, the show was staged in a picture-perfect greenhouse at the Jardin des Serres d’Auteuil. That gave Mabille full rein with the Laura Ashley florals in the middle of the show, which, when combined with tasseled fringe and lace, recalled a little girl’s ticky-tacky bedroom circa 1984. And in that vein, we can excuse it as a passing phase. (by Meenal Mistry style.com)

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Like Miuccia Prada, Akris’ Albert Kriemler got turned on by cars this season. Kriemler specifically referenced John Frankenheimer’s 1966 film Grand Prix, set in Monaco and other pit stops from motor racing’s golden age. Still, the two collections were as night and day as you’d expect; where Prada was cheeky, Akris was sleek. Kriemler devoted a large part of the collection to the photoprints that have become a house signature. A shot of the Hotel de l’Hermitage on racing day and another of spectators gathered on top of a large rectangular viewing structure were bold. More clever, if not necessarily more subtle, were the tiny speedometer print and a graphic horizontal stripe made from manipulating the image of a car. Speed was the organizing metaphor here: Shifts were aerodynamic and A-line, while jackets and pants with racing stripes looked inspired by uniforms. Sport has been a persistent trend this season, and this collection puts Kriemler and co. in the center of it. (by Nicole Phelps style.com)

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The terrace of Avery Fisher Hall as dusk descended over Lincoln Center was the grand setting Zac Posen chose for his return to New York fashion week. The designer famously left his hometown for the City of Light a year ago, declaring, in so many words, that a Paris audience would understand his clothes better. That turned out not to be the case. But this prodigal-son story has a happy ending. He neither overplayed nor tempered his creative instincts, as he had in his first and second seasons, respectively, in Paris. On the contrary: The well-executed dresses and gowns he put on his runway reminded some in the audience of the designer’s early-aughts glory days. Posen focused on cut and fit—the more precise, the better. If corsets aren’t your friends, ladies, this designer is not the man for you. With the accent firmly on the waist, he paired narrow, elongated jackets with high armholes with pencil skirts, and whipped up party dresses with flaring, knee-length hems. Among the mermaid gowns, a midnight blue cord-embroidered sleeveless top and matching evening skirt stood out for the way the look said, “I’m an ingenue,” rather than, “I’m a diva.” We all know Posen can bring the drama; insouciance could turn out to be a growth market for him. (by Nicole Phelps – style.com)

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Five years into their career at Helmut Lang, Nicole and Michael Colovos put their collection on the runway for the first time. Other designers in their situation might’ve felt obliged to add a few bells and whistles, but not this husband-and-wife team. They’ve built a real business on the consistency of their clothes’ cool, urban vibe—lots of black, lots of leather, a sharply cut blazer for every slouchy T-shirt. And they didn’t veer from the course with their solid Spring collection. The jackets were cropped and cut away high in back; the pants had the easy sensibility of sweats; the tees (and there were plenty of them) were asymmetric, drapey, and layered. For their prints, the Colovoses always riff on the work of a contemporary artist. This time it was Richard Serra. The oversize brushstrokes added the only note of color in the collection: sunshine yellow. The bra tops were something new (ditto the bared midriffs), but their customers will likely be happy to see them—try finding an edgy bra at Victoria’s Secret. The closing looks, with their collages of sequins, leather cording, and embroideries, were a step in a crafty-couture direction the Colovoses hadn’t explored before. But don’t call them showpieces. “We’d never put something on the runway that we didn’t believe in for sales,” Michael said. Now that’s a novelty.
(by Nicole Phelps style.com)

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Christian Siriano has won many hearts and minds, and in such a way that the bodies attached to them unabashedly stand and cheer at the end of his show, while those with money go to Neiman Marcus and buy his eveningwear. Still, his quest to be taken seriously continues. Today marked his second season working with stylist Danielle Nachmani—a girl trusted by the Olsen twins to find something to wear for the Met Gala. Backstage, Siriano cited Katharine Hepburn as inspiration—an unexpected reference. (Certainly she could be described as fierce, but not the way he means it.) The first half of the show reflected that no-nonsense glamour in simple shapes like T-shirts belted into lean bias skirts, and crisp white shirting with paper-bagged palazzo pants, hopped up by acid hues. Nothing groundbreaking, but nothing offensive either. And suddenly, it seemed as though Siriano couldn’t bear the restraint anymore, and in rolled a storm of flocked tulle and organza, capped off by a dramatic finish of dimmed lights and streaming models. The crowd ate it up. It’s what they were waiting for. But it didn’t exactly help his case. Getting the respect that Siriano wants will require more than heeding a cool stylist. But you have to ask the question: Does he need it? In fashion’s new landscape, editors and designers are scrambling for the reality-TV stardom that Siriano already has in spades. Perhaps all he needs is a change of perspective. (by Meenal Mistry style.com)

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A Galliano show is usually an excuse for a fashion bacchanal, the clothes just one component of a son et lumière spectacular. Now the mighty have fallen. This outting consisted of 20 looks presented in a salon on Avenue Foch. But what better testament could there be to the genius of their creator than that there was scarcely any sense of diminishment? In fact, attendees with memories unimpaired by the poisons that have been addling Galliano’s own brain were irresistibly drawn back to his epochal March 1994 presentation in the hôtel particulier of patron Sao Schlumberger. That was a beginning, this was an end, but there was the same essence of Dietrich glamour, untrammeled imagination, beauty out of time, presented in an intimate, inescapable way. The thirties line that Galliano always loved was revisited in the rigorous tailoring he excelled at, but it was wickedly updated. The hand of Galliano the master seducer was obvious in a silk jacket in a dégradé plaid, which was belted over a slipdress. Another slipdress was worn under a latex-yoke organza coat. A clutch of the bias-cut beauties that were the designer’s original calling card were preceded by Kloss in a breathtaking full-skirted, halter-neck gown with an arrowhead motif. If it couldn’t distract from the ugliness of recent events, it also underlined the loss. Likewise, the classically draped one-shoulder closer, which was gathered at the back with pink ribbons. They were the sort of dresses you could imagine in a once entirely justifiable museum retrospective of Galliano’s work. But could such a thing even happen now? (by Tim Blanks – style.com)

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Peter Dundas gave the hippie-deluxe look he’s made his signature during his two years at Emilio Pucci the old heave-ho tonight. Call it a case of quitting while you’re ahead: Sales for Spring and orders for pre-fall are way, way up. But the designer has already moved on to new inspirations. For Fall he’s thinking along more refined yet altogether decadent lines. Before the show he rattled off a list of reference points: hunters; Tyrolea; winter palaces; Romy Schneider as Sissi; Victoire de Castellane, the designer of Dior’s haute joaillerie; and a Parisian figure known for flaunting her very belle poitrine. That’s right, a bare leg may have reigned supreme at this Florence house since Dundas’ arrival, but no longer. This season, the bust is it. He framed it with corseted hourglass dresses that had long sleeves and a little collar or a bow, and sometimes both, at the neckline—one part temptress, the other part decorous. These came in all manner of materials, from practically humble loden wool to positively sumptuous black velvet embellished with crystals arrayed in diamond patterns, as well as in the familiar Pucci prints. Well, make that not so familiar. To emphasize the rustic, raw part of the story, he reintepreted the prints in hand-painted renderings. As for all those sharp-shouldered, double-breasted Pucci blazers in the front row? There were still some rigorously tailored examples on today’s runway, but they were part of the capsule collection for men that Dundas was debuting alongside his womenswear. His female fashion fans, on the other hand, will have to do some updating before next season. His new jackets come with a little puff at the shoulders. A suede version with leather appliqués worn with matching knickers edged into costume territory, but it was a rare misstep in a terrific collection. The Hollywood set that’s gone gaga for Dundas will be looking for red carpets to wear his dresses on all year long.
(by Nicole Phelps – style.com)

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Check out BlendNewYork’s newest fashion at Princeton University’s charity benefitting Autism Speaks. This year our boutique will feature designers: Analili, Alternation Clothing, A.D.O. (Anjelika Dreams Organic) & Voom by Joy Han

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L.A.M.B. closed out New York fashion week (only a small Finnish label followed it), and the show suggested that there was some poetic justice in that: Gwen Stefani’s collection cycled its way back through not only the trends of the season, but of past seasons, too. The show was divided into six groups, each with its own look, its own soundtrack, and its own models (often, a little oddly, grouped by race). The “Soldier Girls” wore military looks. The Rasta “Ragga Muffins,” Navajo print. Some “London Girls” had menswear-inspired suiting, and Malcolm McLaren-style “Buffalo Girls” were outfitted with outdoorsy blanket plaids. The “Mod Girls” wore leopard, stripes, and dots, and the “Glamour Girls” who closed—all Stefani-blonde—had seventies jumpsuits and halters in basic black. It’s a worthy validation of the concept that fashion should be fun to suggest, as L.A.M.B. does, that there’s no need to lock yourself into one specific look. Try boho one day, Charlie Girl the next. For any and all, L.A.M.B. is there. (by Matthew Schneier – style.com)

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Once upon a time, not all that long ago, there was one thing you could be sure of at a Proenza Schouler show, and that thing was cool. Now, there are two things: cool and craft. Last season, designers Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez obsessed over Japanese shibori dyeing techniques and the process of making guipure lace. For Fall, inspired by a road trip they took to Santa Fe, where they were hipped to the beauty of Native American blankets, they hit the computer to design their own prints. And if that doesn’t sound crafty, wait till you hear what happened next. “Then we exploded them and we pixelated them,” McCollough said backstage, pointing out the geometric embroideries of a long-sleeved jacquard sheath and the hand-painted panne velvet of other dresses. Jack and Lazaro weren’t the only designers turned on by textiles and tribes this season (see Thakoon, for one), and yet the kaleidoscopic results look unmistakably theirs. Chalk that up to the slouchy cut of their pants, the undone way the ragged back hem of a black suede camp shirt was shown untucked over a slim pencil skirt, or how a party dress with an asymmetric neckline was layered over a black tee. In a word: cool. Not everything will be quite as palatable to their fans. We’re talking here about the overwrought trio of densely patterned leather and viscose knit sweaters and pants. On the other hand, the glazed silk blanket-stripe cocktail dresses look destined for a red carpet near you. Amid all the clashing prints were a pair of comparatively understated dresses with bias cuts that spiraled up the body like a double helix. In fashion parlance, that’s apparently called an “easy sew, tricky pattern.” Whatever you call it, the results were impressive. (by Nicole Phelps – style.com)

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Considering they’re English girls with highly romantic sensibilities, it’s surprising that Marchesa’s Georgina Chapman and Keren Craig have never considered a real moment of Victoriana until today. But Chapman, during a bout of insomnia, caught David Lean’s Great Expectations on TV one night, and Miss Havisham it was for Fall. “I love the decaying opulence,” Chapman said. “We just thought, It’s so Marchesa.”

Opulence, yes, but decay not as much. For that reason, the first thing you noticed was a touch of deconstruction in draped duchesse dresses with pinked edges that dripped pieces of slightly destroyed silk tulle. But a lace motif was really the most overarching statement here, down to the socks worn with needle-heeled Louboutin Mary Janes. And it’s where Chapman and Craig flexed their couturier muscles. For the most part, they didn’t use actual lace, instead opting to exquisitely (and expensively) embroider the floral pattern in twinkling crystal, jet, and seed pearls onto tulle. One dress had leather cut into lace, and on another the lace beading was inserted with wire and sat like fantastical metallic flowers on a bodice. Chapman and Craig love the drama of volume, but thankfully they jettisoned their sculptural origami experiments with horsehair. Instead, it was channeled into the goth-y mutton-chop sleeves of a lipstick red trench and black Victorian riding jacket.

For the past couple of seasons, the collection, though beautiful, has seemed to stand still. That’s certainly been no deterrent for Marchesa’s vast A-list clientele, but it was nice to see new energy today. And while the designers may be sharing the perennial fashion reference of Miss Havisham this week with Prabal Gurung, the sense of darkness and decay lent some welcome bite. (by Meenal Mistry style.com)

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“Fall is all about sensuality,” Monique Lhuillier said a few days before her show, explaining the dark, sultry tone of her newest collection. “And besides, women feel beautiful in black.” So black it was for most of the first 22 looks, until—voilà!—a silk organza blouse in ecru, bedecked in ribbons, made an appearance. There had been a few instances of cheetah up to that point, but the print was so blurred and abstract it read almost like a dark, textured solid. A strapless chiffon A-line cocktail dress in bloodred followed apace—and there was your palette.

Lhuillier used the absence of color to play with texture, most notably employing lace to conceal and reveal. For day it was embroidered over seemingly nude sleeves on a black blouse or on the bodice of a wool crepe cocktail dress. Elsewhere, a short black jacket in taffeta jacquard was frayed along the edges of its tiered, triangular hem; it added an edge of unexpected toughness to a collection that could quite easily rest on the strength of its gala gowns. And those gowns? They were stunners. A Chantilly lace corset number had a naughty bondage detail: lacquer braided belts that looped under and around the bodice to form a crisscrossing halter in the back. But that was tame in terms of sheer drama. The skirt of one red-carpet contender was made of gathered tulle and about a thousand ostrich feathers. It elicited more than a few front-row gasps.

(by Alison Baenen style.com)

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“I’m not a cool designer, and Lanvin is not a cool brand,” Alber Elbaz insisted with his typical self-deprecation at the end of yet another standout show. Yeah sure, Alber, and the sun won’t rise tomorrow morning. But if he insisted on questioning his own coolness, there was at least no way Elbaz could challenge the clarity and intelligence of a collection that proposed a soup-to-nuts wardrobe (there were even nylon raincoats, for God’s sake) of unimpeachably modern, urban chic. Exhibit 1: the girl-on-the-go athleticism of second-skin dresses and suits paired with flats. Exhibit 2: the ludicrous amounts of glamour with which Elbaz managed to swathe that prosaic proposition.

The skin thing was a big deal. As a designer, Elbaz is feeling put out by the way women can buy themselves a new body these days, courtesy of their local cosmetic surgeon. He loves a wrinkle. So he created a collection that was a hymn to skin: wrinkled in Fortuny-like pleating, stretched in all those sheaths. It was a spectacular foundation on which he could lavish increasingly heady colors. From its elegantly taupe-y beginnings, the show spiraled through acid yellow, hot pink, and aqua. Karlie Kloss looked like a great big Georgia O’Keeffe flower as she sashayed down the runway in an opulent orange skirt. And it wasn’t only color Elbaz toyed with. He layered on the embellishment with pagan metalwork, climaxing in a gladiator skirt. There’s always been that hard edge with him—here, it was apparent in the metal bracelet that cuffed the shoe to the ankle, the leather harness, and the zippers that ran up and down his dresses, back, front, and sides. Arch fan Janet Jackson nailed it backstage when she pinned down her Lanvin persona: “I’m the baddest bitch on the block.”

In fact, she had some competition from the models who stalked the catwalk for a finale that brought to mind Yves Saint Laurent’s epochal heyday. And, with his hot-wire to the way women feel like dressing now, Alber Elbaz could be the most natural heir to that particular throne. (by Tim Blanks – style.com)

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