Brandon Maxwell Brings 'Cheer' to Fashion Week's Front Row (Plus: Tory Burch, Area, LaQuan Smith and More)

Brandon Maxwell Brings 'Cheer' to Fashion Week's Front Row (Plus: Tory Burch, Area, LaQuan Smith and More) - The Daily Beast

Posted: 09 Feb 2020 01:03 PM PST

Brandon Maxwell

During Brandon Maxwell's New York Fashion Week show, the cheering was raucous—and very planned. Maxwell had invited Gabi Butler and Lexi Brumback of Netflix series Cheer to sit front-row and whoop the passing models, including Bella Hadid, at his New York Fashion Week show at the American Museum of Natural History. And they did their jobs, loudly.

Maxwell, now a judge on Project Runway (host Karlie Kloss, with her bob sharp enough to cut steel, headed backstage to chat to Maxwell after the show), had created a fun party "in loving memory" of renowned fashion PR Ed Filipowski. This featured a buzzy, pre-cocktail reception featuring vodka, wine, Shake Shack burgers, and then a runway show taking part in the corridors of the museum's Bernard Hall of North American Mammals.

For this critic, any time spent around dioramas featuring giant bears and the graceful mule deer is time well spent, and the show was a clever Fashion Week collaboration for the museum whose major spring exhibit, The Nature of Color, opens March 9.

The clothes for women and men were a riot of dressed-up, dressed-down difference: the most casual looks featured gender-neutral blousons and tapered trousers, jeans with artful rips, beanies, fanny packs slung across shoulders, and then suddenly, bam, there came the most glamorous eveningwear for women in red, black, and dark brown. A beautiful white dress (for a very lucky bride) featured a billowing skirt, and then tied in a frothy bow at the side of the neck. Silk and chiffon were swirled and tied dramatically.

At the end, to even more cheering—this time by seemingly everyone in attendance—Maxwell, thronged by his team, jumped and punched the air in rightful jubilation. Tim Teeman

LaQuan Smith

LaQuan Smith knows how to make a red carpet gown for the likes of Rihanna, Kim Kardashian, and Lady Gaga. At NYFW, he made the case for dressing you and me. Though there were plenty of sultry looks, including a chainmail slip dress sent down the runway to the sound of a breathy orgasm, Smith showed restraint in other pieces.

There were structural blazer dresses and mini-skirts that were wearable (or wearable enough), plus some oversized quilted coats one wouldn't mind snuggling under come fall. Two skin tight, v-neck black denim dresses were made in collaboration with Jordache, as were bootcut jeans for both men and women. (Smith and Jordache first partnered last year.)

Don't think Smith is going soft; one mid showstopper included a gigantic furry purse slung over a model's shoulder, which read "I'm moving out." Alaina Demopoulos

Area

Since 2013, New York-based designers Beckett Fogg and Piotrek Panszczyk have indulged us in everyone's secret fashion dream: to dress like "Heart of Stone"-era Cher. . . in space! The shimmering crystal fringe detail beloved enough by fans to keep the lights on in Area's studio (Michelle Obama wore the label while on tour promoting her book, Becoming) was present in the fall lineup. But this time around, perhaps in an attempt to woo more stockists, there were nods to daywear, like skirt suits and car coats.

Of course, those "everyday" staples were adorned with twinkling beaded detailing, too, so don't think Area has gone conventional. There were a few standout gowns that have meme potential if worn on a red carpet, such as a mammoth sky-blue glitter dress, bulbous on top, with a slit up the legs. One can imagine Cardi B wearing the heck out of it. AD

Tory Burch

Tory Burch's AW20 show was held in a series of galleries at New York's Sotheby's, with the models walking around eleven sculptures by Francesca DiMattio. (Like Brandon Maxwell's show, it was held in memory of Ed Filipowski.)

Burch was inspired by DiMattio's use of wedding-dress beads and basket weaving, and by the example of artists like Dutch Master Judith Leyster whose work was misattributed after her death "simply because she was a woman," as Burch wrote in show notes. Leyster, wrote Burch, was just one example of the more general erasure of women artists in art history.

Ushered in by Alice Smith, performing Q-Tip's version of "You Don't Own Me," the 42 looks—with some prints designed by DiMattio—played with notions of femininity. There was the softening and dimension-playing of masculine-looking suits, with peppy herringbone prints, crepe de chine, and shearling—uptown chic heads to the country for the weekend, with a dash of plush edge. Other designs featured organza layering and ruffles; floral-patterned and striped dresses and woolen sweaters—with the models striding forth in riding-looking boots that came in vibrant orange, ruby red, and green. TT

Christopher John Rogers

This season is a victory lap for Christopher John Rogers, who was awarded the Vogue/CFDA Fashion Fund in November. The 26-year-old Brooklyn-based, Baton Rouge-born designer has used his $400,000 prize well, putting on a high-energy show celebrating a collection full of voluminous frocks, bedazzled suits, and gender-neutral ensembles.

There were audible swoons from the audience during a few pieces, such as a billowing plaid pink ballgown. The energy was infectious—backstage, models were heard cheering and Rogers turned the customary designer bow into a triumphant twirling dance. AD

The Politics of Dress at the State of the Union - The New York Times

Posted: 05 Feb 2020 05:00 AM PST

How much of an impact does a fashion statement have the second (or third) time around?

Last year at the State of the Union address, a majority of the women of the Democratic Congressional Caucus wore white — white suits, white dresses, white shirts, white jumpsuits — as a nod to the suffragists, to women's rights, as a silent riposte to President Trump and as a message to the electorate about their own unity. This year, many of them did it again.

On the podium, Speaker Nancy Pelosi wore a white pantsuit with her dagger-like Speaker's Mace pin on her lapel. Before the event, the women had posed en masse:

In the House of Representatives chamber, they sat as a visible block: an island of white in a sea of largely dark suits and the occasional bright blue or red jacket.

It was not as startling or as striking as it was last time — at this point, post-Hillary Clinton candidacy, the white suit has become a political uniform of its own, on par with Mr. Trump's navy suit and red tie (which he also wore Tuesday evening). The color's meaning, and signifier as a form of female empowerment and protest at major public moments, has been codified. We are even starting to expect it.

But that doesn't mean it was not an effective tactic. In a moment where the only person speaking is the president, but millions outside the chamber are watching, it allowed those members of Congress to have a say. The clothes become a proxy for the point.

In the context of the impeachment drama that has been playing out and is expected to come to a close on Wednesday, it was a reminder: That battle may be almost over, but the fight is still on.

Clothing has always played an outsize role in the theater of this administration. Mr. Trump responds to the concept of dressing the part, be it the part of a military general, a spokesperson (Sean Spicer missed that memo during his time as press secretary and communications director in the executive branch), or part of the opposition. After all, it's an easy signifier; something almost anyone can read.

The irony is the one person who seems reluctant to avail herself of this tool is the first lady.

Melania Trump long ago refused to engage in any consistent way with the game of diplomatic dressing; refused to imbue her wardrobe with any meaning other than "clothes I like" (well, except for that confusing "I Really Don't Care, Do U" coat moment); refused to hew to the tradition of supporting American industry by wearing American designers. Even at such freighted moments as the State of the Union, when there's no question the camera will keep panning up to her balcony box, where she sits smiling (sort of) and waving, a silent image.

If there was ever a time to engage with that sort of performative dress, it would be the State of the Union; ever a time to support her husband by sartorially waving her (and thus his) patriotism in the face of those who say he has suborned it, this was it.

But nope.

Though Mrs. Trump dipped a toe in the waters for her husband's first major Congressional address, wearing a sparkling suit by Michael Kors, at the following State of the Union came a suit from Christian Dior, then a coatdress by Burberry, and on Tuesday evening, Mrs. Trump wore a dark navy suit from Dolce & Gabbana.

The Italian label is a staple of her wardrobe — remember the $51,500 floral coat she wore to the Group of 7 meeting in Sicily on her first foreign tour? — but lately it has been in the spotlight for being canceled in China after seemingly offending the entire country with an ad campaign.

Maybe Mrs. Trump wasn't aware of its blunders, or that before that the designers had also been embroiled in controversies over fat-shaming and same-sex families. Maybe she didn't care that those watching might construe her choice to wear Dolce at such a high-profile event as tacit support — and that indeed, those pictures of her can be used as exactly that sort of evidence forevermore — because she just likes Dolce's clothes (certainly the suit, which was buttoned-up to the throat with two military rows of buttons, strictly tailored, was very much in her style comfort zone).

If people want to read the wrong message into what she wears, that's their problem. She always looks polished and appropriate. No question. Maybe that is how she defines her duty; her message is there's no message.

But when so many others in the room are using clothing as conversation — and signaling their intent well in advance — and when her role is as the symbolic partner of the nation, is that really an option?