My Olympus Fashion Week survival kit typically includes a pair of flats and some bottled water. Heels, teetering at an average of at least two inches, have an expiration time of about two hours. Even the highly skilled, such as myself, will toss their Choos aside by midday in favor of more sensible shoes. Keeping hydrated is just as crucial. For the last few seasons, our friends at Evian looked after the H2O-deprived. Alas, it seems the French Alps have dried up and the powers that be have instead sought out the help and sponsorship dollars of Perrier to quench our thirst. But the fact is that carbonated water is not water. And Perrier is certainly not Evian. Although 7th on Sixth may regard this as an upgrade, it is actually, according to Slant (that is, me), a downgrade. And while I'm on the topic of downgrades, the seating in the tent lobby, courtesy of Kartel, was about as comfortable to my posterior as a slab of cold concrete. And speaking of asses, the Kohler bathrooms were a truly high-class alternative to the trashy Port-O-Potties of seasons past. My Model of the Season award is a three-way tie: Cintia Dicker, Tiiu Kuik, and Ann from America's Next Top Model, who fiercely worked her runway debut at Cynthia Rowley and Richard Tyler. Faux Pas of the Season goes to Paris Hilton; the hotel heiress reportedly reeked of weed at Nanette Lepore (according to the schedule, the show was at 7pm, not 4:20!).

Friday, February 4, 2005

Avoiding the conventional fashion show frenzy altogether, John Bartlett opted to line up 19 hunky hotties a la Barneys window displays. Roles were seemingly reversed as photographers, stylists, and press (oh my!) made their u-shaped tour around the elevated platform, while the models were neatly groomed and propped in well-lit perpendicular partitions. The selection of men ranged from tall, dark and handsome to young, blond and vulnerable. One model was standing in a peculiar pose that suggested he was ready to either be frisked or fucked…it was hard to tell (left). Bartlett, wandering through the line of spectators, chatted with familiar faces (but not me). Channeling Irving Penn, the designer succeeded in creating innovative portraits of his own. Having shunned Bryant Park tents for at least five years, Bartlett's atypical menswear presentation was a breath of fresh New York City air (cough, cough). The alternative presentation, however, might have been even more appreciated mid-week, after countless exhibitions of the same old same old.

HIGHLIGHTS: A charcoal cashmere/wool tuxedo and a black wool velour topcoat.

Saturday, February 5, 2005

Although it was hardly my favorite collection, young designer Richard Chai provided enough understated charm to warrant some of the buzz he's been getting as of late. The problem was there was nothing cohesive holding this collection together except for a muted color palette, pops of grenadine aside. Stuck for 15 minutes in a time portal run amuck, the audience was taken back to the mod era, and even farther back to the sixth century, and then forward to an unknown space-age future. It just seemed like Chai was too fixated on an overabundance of details (large origami bows, etc.) to be bothered with the overall direction of his show. Faced with the likelihood of a mediocre day, I headed uptown to a screening of Pooh's Heffalump Movie where I spied an aging Carly Simon and Third Watch's Anthony Ruivivar. Let's face it: I'll take kids and grilled cheese sandwiches over anorexic models and bad coffee any day!

HIGHLIGHTS: An ivory silk/wool tiered dress with arc seams (above) and an eggplant wool/viscose jacket with contrast stitching.
LOWLIGHTS: Ultramarine moleskin flared coat.
SIGHTINGS: Sexy photographer (and my future boyfriend) Nigel Barker.

Sunday, February 6, 2005

By the third day of Fashion Week I got the hint that the Krispy Kreme doughnuts supplied to us on Friday morning were just a tease. Desperately needing a sugar fix, I headed to the Lotus Bar to steal a "Splenda - No Calorie Sweetner" sugar-reduced cupcake. Yeah, it sounds just about as great as it tasted. Did you know Splenda is made with Chlorine? Yup. On to my first show of the day. Tracy Reese could force the woman out of even the manliest of butch dykes. Channeling the Art Deco/Jazz era of the '20s and '30s, Reese's pieces (hehe) offered an ultra-feminine assortment of perfection. Although the inspirational time period was the same as Tracy Reese, the Korean husband and wife team of Y & Kei doled out heaping portions of glamour that evoked old Hollywood à la Hepburn, Dietrich, and Garbo. The inverted V-shaped entrance, smoky French music, and precise spotlights in an otherwise pitch-black tent enhanced the dramatic experience. Up next was Columbian designer Esteban Cortazar, who is quite possibly the youngest designer presenting in the tents. His flirty bohemian collection was like a drive through the mountains during the height of autumn, when the leaves have all changed colors (left). Though the week is hardly over, I bet you nobody else thanked their parents in the program notes.

HIGHLIGHTS: A cerise velvet frock with a sexy back at Tracy Reese. A raccoon vest with beaded lace hem and a champagne lame gown at Y & Kei. A champagne silk charmeuse gown and a burnt strawberry herringbone skirt suit at Esteban Cortazar.
LOWLIGHTS: Feather headdresses at Tracy Reese.
SIGHTINGS: Andre Leon Talley in the third row (GASP!) at Tracy Reese (Rumor has it he was turned away at Baby Phat). Carmen Electra and 7th Heaven's Beverley Mitchell at Y & Kei. Mya at Esteban Cortazar.

Monday, February 7, 2005

Who has time for operatic performances during Fashion Week? b Michael thinks we do. Accompanied by a pianist and four male models, Madame Marsha Thompson belted out not one, but two performances 1,000 times better than Michael's creations, and that's not saying much. I have never witnessed so many people freely give a standing ovation for such an abominable show. Lesson learned: A gay black man who thinks fashion is "fabulous" does not a designer make. Max Azria, on the other hand, is fabulous without even trying. Using the Bloomsbury set of the early 20th century as his muse (apparently, he isn't afraid of Virginia Woolf!), the Frenchman behind BCBG paraded an intellectual affair of casual elegance to the masses packed into the tent Monday night. Continuing Sunday's bohemian-luxe trend, models strutted their stuff in navy tights and wedge heels/boots. The mix-master employed a group of striking hues and equally riveting fabrics to evoke a poetic vibe. After the show, I made my way over to the Plaza tent. The inner tomboys of Sarah-Jane Clarke and Heidi Middleton always appear to have constant quarrels with their girly alter egos. The Australian pairing behind Sass & Bide made a spectacle of their contradictory selves by way of plastic shin guards, fingerless leather gloves, fake tattoos, and silly bedazzled hair helmets. (Note: White people don't look good in cornrows!) Despite everything the cheeky twosome did to arm their models with an air of toughness, they could barely walk in their black leather pumps. All things considered, the collection had personality and rock n' roll edge. These two do everything together. They design together. They dress alike. And they also happen to be pregnant together!

HIGHLIGHTS: A burnt orange printed silk jersey dress with crochet detail at BCBG. A "wildfire" dress (above) and a "geisha" wrap blouse at Sass & Bide.
LOWLIGHTS: b Michael in its entirety, from the purple lipstick to the ridiculous hats.
SIGHTINGS: BET Nightly News anchorwoman Jacque Reid at b Michael. Shannen Doherty, Tommy Mottola and wife Thalía, Phillip Bloch (who drop-kicked someone's purse after finding it on his assigned seat), Mya, and a stunning Katie Holmes at BCBG. Mya (Jeez, go home already!) and Carmen Electra at Sass & Bide.

Tuesday, February 8, 2005

Had a few too many at BCBG afterparty. Took day off for some much-needed R&R.

Wednesday, February 9, 2005

I know orange is a hot color right now (it's the new green) but if another photog asks to take a picture of my patent leather Marc Jacobs, I'm gonna scream. I was damn near tackled on my way into red-carpet king Carmen Marc Valvo's show. His motivation this season was the romance of la Belle Époque, but judging by the tawdry synthesizer snippets injected into the soundtrack and the big bouffant Working Girl hairdos, he must have had a brief fling with the '80s. Although the focal point of his work is by and large made up of dresses and evening gowns, Carmen started his show with a chocolate brown cashmere pinstripe suit that meant business. Sidebar: It's a good thing 7th on Sixth has a truce with PETA because they would have been screaming bloody murder by now, literally. By midday, I decided to take a break and head downtown to check out what all the Million Dollar Baby fuss was about. Suddenly, Fashion Week seemed so superficial. But then, sitting fourth row at Anna Sui, I got over it. Sui, ever the hippie, conjured up her usual boho magic. With a passion for prints, houndstooth and plaid were pimped out and pushed to colorful, exaggerated proportions. I'm glad that by the close of the show, supermodel Naomi Campbell (left) finally stopped to pose at the end of the runway for photographers. Earlier, she was met with jeers for giving them the cold shoulder. Later that day at Vivienne Tam, I was reminded that it was the Year of the Rooster, also called the Year of the Widow because it's customarily known for being a bad year for tying the knot. (Good luck, Christina Aguilera. And to you too, Prince Charles!) Using Chinese dragon, mask, and flower motifs, the traditional designer took us out for a night on the town "at the Beijing opera with Greta Garbo."

HIGHLIGHTS: A black beaded lace ruffle gown and a magenta lace cocktail dress at Carmen Marc Valvo. A rust/cream herringbone embroidered skirt suit and a butterfly print silk chiffon dress with ostrich feather trim at Anna Sui. A burgundy embroidered tulle velvet gown at Vivienne Tam.
SIGHTINGS: Vanessa Williams, who's got a new album out, Vivica A. Fox, Lizzie Grubman, and Nina Sky's Nicole and Natalie Albino at Carmen Marc Valvo. Vincent Gallo and Vanessa Carlton at Anna Sui. Bebe Neuwirth, Rocco DiSpirito, The Today Show's Ann Curry, Robert Verdi, Patrick McMullan, and Vincent Gallo (he must have a thing for Asians) at Vivienne Tam.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Jeffrey Chow sobered my morning right up. Focusing on clever construction and workmanship, the Hong Kong native evoked a slightly somber mood with his WWII-esque designs. I headed over to a nearly empty tent at Wunderkind by Wolfgang Joop, where full skirts and babydoll dresses prevailed. All in all, it was a fine comeback for the German, who recently resurrected his collection after a three-year hiatus, and an enjoyable start to my day. In the lobby, I spotted Judy Licht and Joan Rivers hugging prior to the J. Mendel show. It was like attack of the peroxide-dependent, surgically-enhanced, cable channel hosts. Run for your lives! My afternoon was greeted by sweater-friendly "geek chic" collections at Twinkle and Iisli. Feeling exhausted, I stepped outside in the cold. The temperature had dropped considerably since the morning and the wind blew my paperboy cap right off my head. I wanted to make a run for it and head home but after a stern mental lecture, I was dissuaded. Two espresso shots and another Queer Eye sighting later, Custo Barcelona took me on an expedition to Mother Russia, more specifically, Moscow (see Cintia, left). The hodgepodge of colors and prints is to be expected from the brothers, Custo and David Dalmau. Their distinctive "anything goes" attitude toward fashion is refreshing. I didn't get into the Zac Posen show and it wasn't because I was late or that the front-of-house didn't recognize me ("You're from Slant, right?" "Right."); it was largely due to the 800-person pile up in the lobby. My plan was to wait 20 minutes until the mayhem died down. It never did.

HIGHLIGHTS: A mineral green corset dress at Jeffrey Chow. A gold babydoll dress with lace detailing at Wunderkind. A grape silk/velvet chiffon dress at Twinkle. An orchid double knit motorcycle jacket at Iisli.
LOWLIGHTS: The white tights and broad coats with huge buttons at Wunderkind.
SIGHTINGS: Carson Kressley at Wunderkind wearing a striped Duncan Quinn shirt, Ralph Lauren pants, and Valentino shoes. Because you look good when you wear it well.

Friday, February 11, 2005

Judging from Gustavo Arango's collection, it's safe to declare the bohemian look the clear-cut craze of the season. There were some brazenly sexual pieces composed of sultry textures. (I was jonesing for a cigarette afterwards.) I got the chance to kanoodle backstage with the Columbian designer, who said his clothing is meant for a woman who wants to look "sensual and sophisticated." "It's a collection of outfits meant to take you from day to evening," he declared. During Arango's show, one flaxen-haired model fell flat on her face, which seems to be Jennifer Lopez's favorite pastime of late. Don't be fooled by the rocks that she's got. She's clearly still Jenny from the block. Except for the block isn't the corner of crime spree and urine in the boogie-down Bronx anymore. It's now Seventh Avenue. And, oh yeah, she doesn't take the 6 anymore. By all accounts J. Lo's Sweetface was to be the biggest and baddest of all tent shows. The pandemonium seen at Posen yesterday didn't even compare. Security was in full force escorting Bloomingdale's Kal Ruttenstein and a confused Carol Alt in the right direction of the entrance. I was knocked over, dragged, and pushed, and I kind of liked it. Once inside, director chairs were set up in the oddest runway configuration I had ever seen. If Jen's goal was to out-produce all other designers in terms of spectacle and presentation, she won. An announcement came from overhead (God?) asking the audience to take their seats. It walked (top models), talked (thumping beats, aptly starting with the Fugees's "Ready Or Not"), and smelled (ok, maybe not smelled) like a great show with its neon backdrop and blinged-out runway, but after the flashbulbs died down, you were left with glorified casualwear.

HIGHLIGHTS: A one-shoulder evening gown with hand-painted neon green butterflies at Gustavo Arango. The entire spectacle that was the Jennifer Lopez show.
LOWLIGHTS: The clothing in the Jennifer Lopez show (above).
SIGHTINGS: Shannen Doherty, former Jane's Addiction frontman Perry Farrell, Tommy Hilfiger, Russell Simmons, Damon Dash, Bernadette Peters, Anne Hathaway, Jaime King, Tyson Beckford (who has seen my right nipple), Rob, the runner-up from Manhunt, Finola Hughes, Robert Verdi, Phillip Bloch (who's in desperate need of a haircut…and some anger management), Queer Eye's useless culture guy Jai Rodriguez, Thom Filicia, Carson Kressley, Ashanti, Foxy Brown, Lil' Kim (who arrived halfway through the Carlos Miele show on Wednesday), Nina Sky, Osama Bin Laden, and Jennifer's sister Lynda Lopez.

Dear diary, I know you're expecting some words of wisdom here but I've got nothing left. The best show this year was also the worst. Entertainment prevailed over substance. Hideous efforts generated praise. It's sad. But it's nothing that a Zoloft, Paxil, and Prozac martini can't fix. Instead, I'll leave you with this season's biggest trends: jacquard, fur, the dolman sleeve, the trench, men's cut pants, the tux, bohemian-luxe, and early 19th century silhouettes. Just don't try them on all at once!

See you in September!

Alexa Camp
© slant magazine, 2005.

More Letters From Camp