If you’ve read the most recent issue of LOVE, you’ll remember a mildly-well-written article/interview with Miuccia Prada. In said article, Lady Prada is superfluously albeit knowingly confused. Miu Miu is Prada, Prada is Miu Miu, Miu Miu is severe, severity is Prada… and so on. It’s a cunning game of interweaving, whether WHOLLY conscious or not, we shall never know. The point is – don’t even fight it, take each for what they are (possibly the same, so… maybe as a whole? Sorry, I’m hungry and hungover).
This whole preamble has to do with the fact that AW12 Prada looks like it could, more that yester-collections, be Miu Miu. It was supreme as always though.
Severe aubergines. Hideous platforms in jarring colors. Bone-eye-socket make-up. Delicate geometric prints. Gem-embroidered linear elements. It reads very Miu Miu, though, no? The collection is sort of less novel (maybe less directional, at least visually) but certainly not without its hyper-smart and only-in-Miuccia’s-crazy-ass-mind smartness. Check it one two:
-Elliot
Everyone is just kind of Going. Totally. Insane.
Say hello to Ed Meadham and Ben Kirchhoff, their AW12 collection is frenetic, emaciated, Anna Dello Russo at a karaoke party, on ecstasy, singing “Upside Down,” pulling ponytails, and not going home before five. In other words – AMAZING. In other, other words, these boys are currently the toast of the fashion universe.
Remember what I just wrote about sobriety, prudishness and conservatism in all the New York collections? Well f*ck THAT.
After the show, Kirchhoff told reporters the clothes were “inspired by the club he wants to go to, if only it existed.” Their show held the absolute perfect atmosphere and delivered the perfect message to a group of people (i.e editors, celebrities, I’m-always-cooler-than-everyone-no-matter-what-happens-ever nobility) who are perpetually bored out of their minds. There was kaleidoscopic fur. There was rainbow-hued sequined suits. Models heads were painted entirely YELLOW. There were sequined bustiers over leather-collared dress shirts over leopard sequined pants and tri-colored eyebrows. But, the best part about this in-f*ckingcredible party is the overall amount of options – they are plentiful. If each look was deconstructed, the result would be wearable (ok not wearable for like, fat people), perfectly tailored, separates.
AHHHH FUN
-Isabel
I’ve been thinking a little bit, now that I’ve had fifteen minutes of free time (goodnight LFW), about the new “it girls” of late: Azealia Banks, Lana Del Rey, Hanne Gaby Odiele. What I’ve found is that there’s a very thick, bold, square-cut bloodline between all of them: spooky sexiness, a masculine slant, a fuck-the-gloss-but-still-get-famous ethos which has established these girls as the frontline of, I think, a cultural retaliation to convention. Why? Because, well, how else is anyone going to get their name up in lights these days? To an extent, smaller but growing Scottish designer Louise Wilson fits this bill. And it’s a fucking brilliant bill, mind you.
For AW12, Gray referenced bar-codes, hyper-glitter, tribalism for the digital-pop age – a veritable orgasm of blog-friendly styling, from chevron heel-boots to jungle headdresses. But it wasn’t shallow – no, this school of thought leaves no room for just the surface – it was an excellent realization of cutting through the color and electrodes to something wildly real and acceptably wearable, if you’ve got balls. And with rumors running around that Gray is renaming her brand Lesbian Nation (maybe a cunning PR move, maybe nonsense), she’s definitely giving the kiddies more than enough to tweet about. Congratulations to Louise, this is in my top three collections of fashion month overall, and we’re just halfway through. XX.
-Elliot
Bollywouldn’t. The blunt linguistic twist on the now world-known Indian film industry rather perfectly anchored the irreverence and sub-continent slant of Ashish’s autumn collection. ThinkThe Darjeeling Limited meets Saint Marks Place, with a couple of hits of acid along the way.
Not one to shy away from… well, shyness, Ashish went full-throttle on the hallucinogens, the feel-good festival vibes, the cliches of soul-searching in places like Jaipur or Hyderabad (you know, the hippy retiree sporting soy overalls and a nose ring spending their life savings to speak to a “guru” for ten minutes) – but he did so in the most high-fashion of ways. Cue: shimmery pants under tied off shirting, emblazoned with phrases such as “Hare Krishna” and “Mas Amor Por Favor,” topped off with sequined smiley-faced and tie-dyed perfecto jackets (sequins are a household trademark). Boys and girls alike wore rainbow platform combat boots. Nathori nose piercings jingled as the models walked, entranced and mellow. It was all very fun and camp, further supported by the plethora of glittery drag queens in the front row, but Ashish is not without his bloodline of intelligent commentary and sometimes brilliant strokes of design. He’s sort of like a smarter Jeremy Scott.
The show marked the first time the designer has presented both knitwear and menswear on the catwalk, and the product diversification was most successful when combined. A male model appeared at the halfway mark in a taupe cashmere crew neck with sequined mushrooms scattered throughout the body. And the contraband didn’t stop there; the crowd went wild at the sight of a layered t-shirt, bedazzled with the slogan “Say No To Drugs” with a winking emoticon. For his party-hopping clientele, Ashish continues to deliver on his premise; it’s pure, indulgent hedonism.
What he really means here is... well, you know.
-Elliot Singh
Filed under: Christopher Kane
So so so so good.
-Isabel Redmayne
Peter Pilotto was one of those 9AM shows dotted around LFW – which, in actuality, are preferable to anything else because less people show up and the mood is much calmer. A coffee and a quick browse of Newgen’s 10 t-shirts for Topshop, and it was off to the seats where I was somehow seated next to Kate Lanphear (who is so sweet! And she seems like a lot of fun. Kate if you see this, we’re big fans, I was the tall boy in ACNE patent slip-ons). Then it began, as easily as the process of arriving, and I think almost immediately the crowd knew it was going to be a good day.
For Pilotto AW12, think bold colors – reef colors almost, a bit like Proenza’s underwater collection in terms of palette, but far more English in its creativity. Strappy XX necklines, rainbow fur shawls, iridescent puffer-bombers, even an intarsia backgammon-board motif on velvet. Layered in with strong and weirdly/somehow fitting florals, Pilotto was damn good on our books. High scores all around! Here’s hoping he gets stocked more broadly in the US. Here’s hoping all the designers at LFW do – we need the talent, the Londoner, chaotic, sofuckingstrong talent. Pix, for once, as I found my real camera! We’re horrible bloggers but then again, we’re better than anything else you’re reading.
Early look.
Finale. There’s Kate, on right. Cool hair.
Nicholas Kirkwood still does Pilotto’s shoes. #CHICTHENEXTLEV
-Elliot
Girls working at Pringle of Scotland:
That’s Micky Boardman’s head.
-Elliot Lazareanu
Like traversing downtown without any intention to go anywhere. Or blogging.
A general observation about the styling on the runways this fashion season: Take the below look from John Rocha and the other from Band of Outsiders. They’re super fab. This is what my hair, expression, and general attitude looks like naturally, but ever since I realized that not owning a hairbrush is kinda unprofessional, I commenced the daily struggle to try and avoid looking like this from Monday to Friday and if in the presence of family on weekends (or trying to attract the attention of a male WASP), so needless to say, I’m pretty stoked. But then…
There’s this other camp of structured, somber, and sleek permeating the atmosphere of the AW’12 runways so far. Look at Calvin Klein and JW Anderson! It’s the incredibly chic, highly intelligent, incredibly wealthy woman who’s consistently pissed at things like people who mispronounce things on Italian menus or say they don’t “get” art. It’s like the John Rocha girl grew up, got a fabulous job, doesn’t like it, refuses to wear makeup or be nice to interns, but manages to look perpetually, albeit morosely, stunning. Take the looks below. They’re colorful even. But given the sobriety and conservatism in the lines, all the outfits may as well be black. And that is BRILLIANT. SO brilliant. I loved L ‘Wren Scott (I love apostrophes 
), but brocade and tight–it’s just….not for me. I’d crawl into a Tom Ford universe and die happy, but the f*ck me glamorous ready-to-wear is also just…not for me.
I’m getting so personal here!!
Elliot- “The easiest way to get a reputation is to go outside the fold, shout around for a few years as a violent atheist or a dangerous radical, and then crawl back to the shelter.”F. Scott Fitzgerald
-Isabel Stone
Filed under: Craig Lawrence
Say thefuck’sup to Craig Lawrence – a bright young thing (5+/- seasons old), out of, where else, Saint Martins, specializing in knitwear. We just caught Lawrence’s show at Somerset House’s Portico Gallery – it was quite good. Slim-bodied knits in iron and rust, some with crop-topped layers, some in fitted pants with kick flares (a trend?). Hair – slick and greasy and stiff pig-tails – amazing, kind of perverse – and beauty called for a bold streak of turquoise on the eye – a nice effect, like copper itself weathering the sea…
Also the Manolo Blahnik pointy/sporty shoes were just swell.
-Elliot Mihalik-Linchuk
Filed under: Central Saint Martins
Seriously. Three people came up to me at the John Rocha show today saying they had my seat – but I was the only one with a ticket from the PR people, in ink, with the assignation. Hilariously I’d never really totally heard of Mister Rocha, but he is cute little man, kind of looks Inuit, long hair flowing as he paraded down the catwalk for his finale. MING XI WALKED IN JOHN ROCHA. So that made it worth it for me.
Anyway, Somerset House’s main square is swarming like some kind of pissy bee-hive with street-style photographers. Think of Lincoln Center’s rather docile plaza, and times by 30. Some are quite rude actually. And everyone wants their picture taken. But no matter, London Fashion Week has commenced, so #letsgo.
Central Saint Martins’ MA kids presented their final wares yesterday and from what I can ascertain, the collective response has been very positive, and the collective message – well, somewhat stark, if not “pessimistic” as Tim Blanks says on Style.com. I don’t think I’d use a word with such heavy connotation, but he is on the money in picking up a sort of muted outlook – an eyes-down introversion, if you will, which permeated the catwalk last night. Shelling, or self-protection, or being alone, or being uncertain – these states of existence clearly lead to some incredible design and I think it’s very healthy that, though still “out-there,” this was almost like Saint Martins scaled back.
Best of the best goes to Craig Green – a young designer born-and-raised in London. Think religious-adherence dressing – the way fundamentalism in a faith can strip one of their own ID and thusly force one in to a group-think machine. Take that idea and layer it with light projections printed exactingly on fabric printed-to-look-like-another-fabric (woah), geometric nomad luggage, and D-I-Y wood elements, and the outcome is #NOTHING #SHORT #OF #SPECTACULAR.
Green took the night’s top prize from L’Oreal along with Luke Brooks, my second favorite. Brooks’ girls looked almost post-post-Apocalyptic – so modern was his aesthete yet so destroyed and trashed and confounding was its execution, you couldn’t help but vividly imagine your own backstory. The shoes – fringed mega-platforms – anchored the tearaway knits and… well, chaos on the body. While Brooks’ (and the show’s) opening look was a slight bit “oh, okay, I see what they did there…”, with a head-piece of the Olympic rings flowing in distress, all in all it was as good as good can get. CONGRATULATIONS ALL.
Craig Green
Luke Brooks
-Elliot
