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London Fashion Week: who to watch

You can hardly utter the phrase London Fashion Week without the words Marc and Jacobs following closely behind. Hype? That’s an understatement. Just as Armani stole the show in September - with a little help from a shimmying Beyonce - London will raise its kudos stakes again with its second international invasion.

Joining MJ will be the second hottest name on the London list, Nathan Jendon. Nathan who? Well yes, not a name that resonates with familiarity but if I tell you he has been creative director of Diane von Furstenberg for the past five years then, perhaps, the fuss seems a touche more justified.

Team MJ and NJ with some fetishistic, life-sized bunnies (Gareth Pugh), a coterie of size 0 models (someone please introduce them to the merits of chocolate), and Kate Moss’s potential appearance at Topshop Unique (let the countdown begin to the most anticipated collaboration ever) and controversy, hype and oodles of gossip are more guaranteed than rhinestones at Julien Macdonald.

A clever photographer

Hoarse from a week of having to shout over her fellow paparazzi to attract the attention of celebrities, this photographer's novel idea attracted sympathy from the stars. Voiceless, she ended up snapping more celebs than anyone.

Zac Posen backstage

If there is one place hotter than a Zac Posen show it is backstage at a Zac Posen show. Investors, celebrities and hangers-on of all sorts were chowing down on free sushi courtesy of W Hotels, and tossing back as many complimentary cocktails as they were able.

At 8 o'clock, the time when the show was scheduled to start, models were still munching mini-sandwiches (yes, photographic evidence that they do eat) and getting shiatsu massages from a team of professional masseuses.

In the curtained-off hair and make-up section a young brunette was getting the works: a hair stylist cut her locks, a make-up artist painted her face and a manicurist massaged her hands, all at once. Far from a stressed-out teenager about to face the scrutiny of hundreds at one of the biggest shows of the season, she looked like a cat who'd got the cream.

The hair at Posen was impossibly perfect: as the girls traipsed down the runway their manes slipped like silk, pin-straight and blunt-cut. Back in hair and make-up, the reality was much less pretty. To create the illusion, stylists hot-glued locks of human hair to the model's scalps and pinned them down with metal clips and squares of paper that resembled alien antennae.

Flashbulbs heralded the arrival of the man of the hour: not Zac, but Diddy, who strode, fedora-clad, into the backstage area. He took a moment to pose with the demurely dressed Nicole Richie and then underwent an elaborate pantomime with Posen, where the designer feigned showing Combs Polaroids of his clothes, and the rapper feigned interest.

Nicole Richie

The most fun people were two mini-Posens: school-aged cousins of the designer, Nathaniel Moor and Jacob Friedman (below). Nate cracked jokes, while Jake moonwalked down the catwalk. The cheeky chaps revealed they were Posen's unwilling fashion test subjects. "He would make us put on plays, like Rumpelstiltskin, and dress up," groused one. "He said he would give us ten dollars. He never did."

Zac Posen show

The wunderkind Posen was 21 when he managed to win Sean "Diddy" Combs as his financial backer. Diddy's money shows at Posen's shows, where guests are of the white-hot variety.
Mr Combs was in the house, tucked near to the omnipresent Russell Simmons and Nicole Richie. Richie was seated in a different stratosphere from former stylist Rachel Zoe, who sat at the polar end of the runway without a paparazzi so much as glancing at her.

Rachel Bilson (above), star of The O.C., sat in a one-off Posen cocktail dress across from Anna Wintour, and a few seats down from The New York Times’ style writer, Cathy Horyn. Horyn was giving a video interview runway-side when a rugby scrum of paparazzi following Richie bowled her over. She was lifted and carried "like a crowd surfer in a mosh pit" according to one onlooker. Once she was set down, the game Horyn blinked and said, "That was cool!"

For each celebrity who attends a fashion show you have to add at least ten minutes to the estimated start time. Marc and Zac (‘k’s are so last year) have notoriously made big-wig guests wait hours. Perhaps to compensate, at this show the models practically sprinted down the runway. That is, apart from one girl in a fishtail dress with mountains of ruffles around the calves. She made her way with a glamorous hobble.

Cynthia Rowley show

Cynthia Rowley’s show at the imposing Gotham Hall created a line 300 meters long of shivering fans. Once the doors were cracked open, the frozen-solid crowd surged forward to thaw out in the vast marble chambers. They were met with warming mini-bottles of Prosecco with straws, and blue and red lights that changed the domed room from an imposing hall into a disco inferno.

Under the gigantic cast-iron chandelier, the runway was pure Saturday Night Fever, with glowing patches of blue, red and yellow Perspex. The comedian Molly Shannon sent reporters into hysterics as she gesticulated wildly about her favourite clothes, while nearby Tatum O'Neal was subject to so many paparazzi flashbulbs I swear she got a tan.

I suppose I have to mention that Russell Simmons was there too, but what show hasn't the music mogul been at this week?

At one point during the catwalk display a model's earring slipped off and went flying. It was quickly fetched by Rowley's husband who sat by the runway with their toddler daughter, Gigi. The baby sipped a bottle but never took her eyes off the models during the entire show.

Rowley's clothes all had quirky features: some mini-dresses were made of architectural patchworks of pony skin, while others had exposed gold zippers down the back. On one white dress, there was a silk-screened image of a braid hanging down, as if someone had tossed their ponytail over shoulder.
For the final parade where all the models walk the runway together, the first had a four meter long plait of hair which all subsequent models gripped to form a train. It was kind of creepy.

Proenza Schouler show

The Proenza Schouler show was held miles from the tents at Milk Studios, in the same stark space that Calvin Klein had chosen to unveil its Spring/Summer 2006 collection. At the Proenza show, just as at Calvin, the crowd was strictly A-List. There was no corral for standing room plebs; it was invite only, no hangers on. The guest list read like a fashion United Nations roll call: there were Vogue editors from the magazine’s outlets across the globe including France, Germany and Japan, as well as the One Who Wears Prada. And, just like at the Calvin Klein show, the air at Milk was hotter than a latte, and editors swathed in Siberia-ready furs fanned themselves with their show programs to keep from stifling.

The heat was due to a peculiar feature of the show. As if to match the high-wattage spectators, the ceiling groaned under the weight of hundreds of spotlights trained on the catwalk. In fact, there were approximately 132 of these altogether. The reason I found the time to count was because the organisers had decided to create an egalitarian environment for the presentation of the clothes. The show was snub-less: instead of ranks of seats, there was only a front row. Models snaked back and forth through a labyrinthine layout of pews, which assured that not one of these high-profile guests was a back-bencher.

Fun invites

By far the best invitations this season have come from Heatherette and Betsey Johnson. Johnson delivered dainty white gloves with her invitation tucked inside, perfectly corroborating her show’s charm school theme. Invites to the Heatherette after-party came in the form of 3D glasses that produced kaleidoscopic rainbows when you put them on. I am not sure if the trippy images were invoking their Wizard of Oz, Over the Rainbow theme, or memories from their club kid audience’s dabbles in psychotropics.

 

Bad outfit

Heatherette after party

Heatherette threw its post-show bash at the legendary Roseland Ballroom. Free drinks were as ubiquitous as drag queens, of which the Times counted at least 20. On stage were a troop of Day-Glo performers, some in thongs-with-braces, others resplendent with wings and stilts. The Times caught straight-laced celebrity photographer Patrick McMullen dirty dancing with a performer on the dance floor, while being recorded for posterity by his entourage. Up in the VIP lounge Alan Cummings shared a laugh with Traver Raines, Heatherette’s designer. Kim of America's Next Top Model lounged on a banquette with Cuba Gooding Jr. Drinks were served courtesy of Puma by muscle-bound shirtless blokes. Free candy floss was supplied by drag queen Miss June dressed as Dorothy and tables creaked with the weight of candy necklaces. Our best moment of the evening occurred when a young gentleman asked for a taste of our candy necklace. Turns out it was the very same man who'd modeled the trousers with no bum. We were let on to the fact that what seemed intentional was actually a major wardrobe malfunction; he was supposed to have shorts on. In the fittings, the model insisted, he had been dressed with shorts, but at the show, they had somehow forgotten them. The bum-baring walk down the runway had been an accident.

Heatherette

The Heatherette designer duo of Traver Raines (above) and Richie Rich puts on shows with an edge that stand out from many of the other offerings. This year's theme was The Wizard of Oz, complete with yellow brick road and freebie sunglasses that cast “over the rainbow” sparkles on everything. Richie Rich is a club kid, from an age when Studio 54 and androgynous boys on roller-skates ruled the nightlife world. Traver is a former rodeo champion from Montana who got his start designing when he fashioned leather chaps for fellow equestrians. Richie’s posse was out en masse: it encompasses legendary nightlife guru Kenny Kenny and all the people who made 1990s New York the place to be. The cowboy/club-kid compilation produced Heatherette, the show that draws hundreds of wannabes, drag queens and fashionistas to the Bryant Park tents. (The Fug Girls amply describe the chaos for New York magazine) Last year their muse Paris Hilton strutted down the catwalk; this year it was another heiress, Lydia Hearst. She stomped down the runway, a vision in multi-colored appliquéd flowers. Watching her were Russell Simons, Alan Cummings (bottom), starlets from the TV show Laguna Beach, Kelly Roland, J. C. Chasez and Puffy’s girl group Danity Kane, and strutting down the catwalk was Kimora Lee Simons of Baby Phat herself. Also striding along was NYC legendary transgender icon Amanda Lepore - “A Man, Duh” geddit? Amanda (below, blonde with sparkling crown) was dressed as Glinda the Good Witch and a battalion of tiny ballerinas preceded her runway entrance. Magic.

By far the best moment of the show occurred when an arresting male model emerged onto the runway with a wicked smile on his face. As the 18-year-old bloke passed by, it became apparent that his beaming face was due to the fact that his trousers exposed him to the fresh air. His outfit lacked pants, his bum was swinging in the breeze.

 

Celebs at Betsey Johnson

Betsey Johnson's catwalk show glittered with stars from A-list to Z-list. At one end was Aubrey O’Day, a singer from the band Puff Daddy, cobbled together on his reality show Danity Kane,  dressed in what must have once been a piñata. Kudos to Aubrey for recycling!

Moving slightly up the list we saw Lauren from the reality television show Laguna Beach, who like Paris Hilton and Jade Goody hovers in that tautology of being famous for being famous. As the lights dimmed and the show’s start was imminent, the recognisable stars emerged from backstage to avoid the paparazzi onslaught. Russell Simmons (below) strutted out with an entourage and the original rock chick Joan Jett (above), who gave us the “I love rock and roll” anthem.

Betsey Johnson always has a themed show: one year it was a pub concept with a neon sign that read “The Bull and Betsey,” another it was a French café called “Le Petit Betsey” where stripe-shirted male models came out first and handed roses to the guests. This year was no exception and the runway was lined with tiny tables with perfect silver tea settings and china cups for this year’s “Betsey Johnson School of Charm.” The invitations came mailed with a set of ladylike white gloves, perfect for sipping a spot of tea runway side, and the models - dressed as French maids - feather-dusted the runway at the show’s start. Chocolate mints were served and we got Betsey knickers in our goodie bags.

As is her tradition the designer, who is pushing 70, cart-wheeled down the runway at the end after first showing off her beaming baby granddaughter Layla (daughter of Lulu), followed by a parade of balloon-toting models. Backstage—which was decorated with photos of Betsey and baby Layla— bags of candy abounded and champagne flowed from mini bottles. 

Flesh and fittings at Morphine Generation

It’s not everyday that someone you met barely half-a-minute prior strips down to their birthday suit in front of you mid conversation. In the Soho loft of PR firm People’s Revolution, amid racks and racks of next season’s must-haves waiting to be unveiled at this week's runway shows, a 16-year-old model, Georgia Frost, did just that. Frost was in the studio (45 minutes late, “because that’s what models do best” sniffed an attendant) to be fitted. While backstage quick-changes are part of the job of modelling at the collections, to the uninitiated, it can be a little startling.

Frost was testing out the looks she was going to be featuring at Morphine Generation’s debut NYC fashion show. While she strutted her stuff around the studio, Morphine Gen’s designer Erik Hart and stylist Frances Tulk Hart (who has styled everyone from Lindsay Lohan to The Killers) sized her up, snapped Polaroids and coordinating shoes and accessories. Frances snipped the fingers off gloves to make the look more “rock and roll.” It was a tribute to the designer’s other love: He’s also a rocker with a record coming out on his own label. He started designing Morphine Generation out of his garage, just like the starting place of any good band. 

The latest from other publications: we read everything so you don't have to

While fashion is not an industry known for its generosity of spirit, this week has seen some particularly shameless displays of Schadenfreude.

• There was a disastrously low celeb count at the Matthew Williamson show, which left New York Mag with only the handbag designer Lulu Guinness to bitch about: apparently her brow is in need of a good Botox-ing.
• The New York Times has also complained about the lack of beautiful people, reporting that with over 200 shows scheduled, designers are struggling to fill seats. Perhaps why Ice-T and his wife Coco have been at so many?
• Britney Spears made an appearance at the trashy Baby Phat show, leading many to fear that her dress sense may be about to take a turn for the worse. Is that possible?
• And Fashionista reports that Karen Elson pulled out of the Marc Jacobs show because she was “ill and exhausted”; she missed a party attended by Lil’ Kim, Mischa Barton, Victoria Beckham and Winona Ryder.

Luella Bartley's hotel showroom

The Bryant Park Hotel faces the tents where the shows take place; it's booked solid this week. Time under the windowless tents in the park - spent alternately drinking the free espressos (there are four stations serving it) or seeing hundreds of catwalk looks - can provoke a kind of fashion-lag. There are photo editors ether-netted in corners who literally do not move for the entire day. It's a bit like a Las Vegas casino, where time floats free from outside influences.

Perhaps because of this, I got off the elevator at the wrong floor and through an ajar hotel door I could see what looked like shop. In room 909 there was a small, artfully presented boutique - the Luella Bartley studio showroom. This is where buyers from top American stores could come after they had seen the looks on the runway and place orders for their stores. The showroom, said the two attendants, lasts four days, and all of the clothing, bags, shoes and accessories are shipped in—in Luella’s case from the UK, but some from as far as Russia or Japan. The makeshift showrooms are clapped together in less than a day. In the Luella suite you couldn’t tell that where there were now displays of metallic-python purses there had once been a bed and telly, but peeping behind a door revealed mountains of boxes and bubble wrap. As well as the staff, a perfectly proportioned flaxen-haired model named Susan is on hand to aid the buyers in visualizing their purchases. - Sarah

Rachel Zoe and the sunglass set at Oscar de la Renta

Perhaps the wealthy are more light-sensitive than the rest of us, because there is no reasonable explanation for the sheer volume of dowagers wearing their gigantic sunglasses inside a dimmed fashion show venue. One woman politely doffed hers upon entering only to replace them with another pair, which I presume are her “indoor” sunglasses. Based on attendees at his show, all of whom were caparisoned in cashmere suits, trussed with strands of pearls and dusted with fur, those interested in becoming Oscar’s clientele might need their own private island to even qualify. Accordingly, every spare edge of his sleek designs was encrusted with the kind of jewels you don’t normally see outside of the Tower of London.

Outside I spotted Rachel Zoe, the former stylist-and-bestie of Nicole Richie. Currently Zoe is in the throes of a vilification campaign against her for her role in encouraging the Somalian physique of her clients. Overhearing her interview with a Style.com reporter, she said she “has loved Oscar for a bazillion years,” which immediately begs responses such as “was that also the last time you had a square meal?” But when I asked to snap her picture I changed my mind. The poor girl said, “as long as you’re not mean.” Me, mean? Never, Rachel. - Sarah

The Jill Stuart collection amid the stacks

Many fashionistas tend to tote around Camilla Morton’s bestseller How to Walk in High Heels or the kind of literature that features big pictures, shiny pages, and little folded-over edges with perfume underneath. So it was a bit unusual to see the city’s best-dressed at the New York Public Library, home of ancient tomes and dusty volumes. Jill Stuart presented her Spring collection here in the arched marble halls. The theme was mod Paris, the dresses mini, the shorts microscopic a la Sienna Miller’s control-top knickers. Also on the mini side were the smattering of male models, which was odd, two of whom were positively dwarfed by the ladies on the catwalk.

The celebrity attendees list was super short: Kelly Rowland of Destiny’s Child was out and about again, as was J.C. Chasez of N*SYNC, if you can call an out of work former boy band member such. Judging by the paparazzi buzz he generated, my only theory is that they have never heard him sing. -- Sarah

She sells silver shoes by the sea shore

It's bad luck that all the editors, writers, buyers and fashion followers are stuck under the tents right now as the day’s shows begin to unfold, because the most coveted shoe of the season—the Luella Bartley winklepicker — just went on pre-sale today at Underground England. The shoes which originated in the '50s get their odd name from a tenuous visual resemblance to a tool used to pick out the insides of periwinkles (basically, both shoe and mollusk-picker are pointy.) The silver, creased and distressed shoe first graced Luella’s runways last season at fashion week where the metallic laced flats in combination with models sporting braces and shirts emblazoned with the word “geek” jarred audiences initially. Then, Vogue featured the shoe as their must have of the new year. Subsequently, everyone (like the two guys below) seems to be channeling Jarvis Cocker here; nerd looks are everywhere this season, and the 200 limited-edition shoes will go quick.

Best-dressed bloke

Best-Dressed Bloke: How can you not love this sweet French fellow, a style blogger for Facehunter. So much so, I can forgive him the fact that he doesn't have lenses in his glasses and is wearing them for effect only. - Sarah

Bling at Tracey Reese

The lead-up to Tracey Reese’s show on Sunday threw us for a loop: Kelly Rowland of Destiny’s Child perched on a front row seat, R&B madam Alicia Keyes sat right near by, and swag bags contained a craft kit to bedazzle your mobile phone with crystals. All signs pointed to a show heavy on the bootylicious. But what trotted out on the catwalk were classy designs, swing coats and trapeze dresses suited to a modern-day Audrey Hepburn, hardly the type to carry a Swarovski-studded moby. - Sarah

See catwalk pictures of the Tracy Reese show

Dangerous catwalk sculptures

Twinkle was quite chuffed with the large swinging mobile sculptures they hung suspended up and down the catwalk, describing them with relish in their program notes. Less thrilled were the dozens of photographers whose shots were blocked by the sculptures’ pendulums swinging into their pictures like flying saucers. French photographer Antonio Barros told me that this UFOs were nothing compared to birds on strings he has been thwacked with in past shows.

See Twinkle pictures from the catwalk

Seen at the shows: fur hats

It’s been a bad week for critters of the soft and fluffy variety, as those poor mites have given up the ghost to become the most ubiquitous accessory at the shows: The gigantic poofy fur hat. Made of fox, mink, raccoon and any other cute woodland creature they could get their hands on, these chapeaux are turning up on the heads of celeb stylist Alexander Allen (above, who counts ‘Lil Kim as a client) who somehow managed to make the pouf look badass, and even the Times’ colleague Hilary Alexander of the Telegraph. - Sarah

 

Swag bags from the weekend

At the Karen Walker show at the Bumble & Bumble hair salon the goody bag comprised unsurprisingly a whole load of Bumble & Bumble hair stuff, including shampoo, conditioner, hair shine and a condtioning cream. And that was for everyone, not just the front row. What's incredible over here is how even semi-established designers receive great sponsorship.

Later that afternoon, Alexander Wang, 'touted as the next Phillip Lim' and a relative newcomer gave everyone mini bags of Shiseido beauty products. Keep them coming, we say.

Read Carolyn's full report on how designers glam-up their creations for America's markets

Sounds from the catwalk

New York designers are loving:

The Marie Antoinette soundtrack, especially "The Melody of a fallen tree" by Windsor for the Derby

"Ceremony" by New Order

"Hong Kong Garden" by Siouxsie & the Banshees

If you fell in love with the crooners from Peter Bjorn and John from Paris Fashion Week six months ago, then you'll pleased to know that "Young Folks" is still playing loud and clear, although that whistling is getting a tad irritating.

Charlotte Ronson's collection: not your daddy's rock and roll

Saturday night saw the Times flying downtown from the tents at 42nd street in my free cab (I love you Cotton!), back to clubby, cozy The Box (they still aren’t officially open yet, but apparently they didn’t get the memo) for the presentation of Charlotte Ronson’s latest collection. The designer is the offspring of rock royalty: Daddy is David Bowie’s guitarist Mick Ronson and step-dad is Mick Jones of Foreigner. Her brother Mark is the DJ for whom celebrities like Puff Daddy queue up to book for their birthday parties. But the clothes were about as far from rock and roll as you can get: pretty and girly and lovely, spun out onto The Box’s cabaret stage to the tunes of Lilly Allen and The Kooks.

Guests included The Sopranos’ Drea DeMatteo and R&B chanteuse Eve (above). Either she was moved with emotion or cutting an onion under the table, because Eve was openly crying to her mate on the banquet, artfully daubing her makeup back in place with a corner of tablecloth. Post-show, she opened her gifts of velvet cases of aromatherapy oils and asked, “Is there anything here that relieves stress?”

Fashion victim No. 1: seeing spots

Not everyone under the tents is a style maven. Keep checking this space for fashion’s unfortunates. First up: A fashion victim so afflicted he contracted spots.

The next top model at Herchcovitch

Alexandre Herchcovitch never puts on a show, he puts on a spectacle, and audiences never know what to expect. Past years have ranged from troubadours wandering down the aisles trailing the models the bizarre to a gig with the funk band Animal Collective playing center stage as models wandered by. So it was a bit of a surprise when there was no surprise at Herchcovitch at all. It was a straightforward runway promenade; the only twists were wicker hats and the last look, a one piece suit with an open bum. (Wearability factor of 0, unless you are Britney and into that sort of thing.)

Lining up to see the show was a stunning couple, the star of Tyra Banks’ TV show America’s Next Top Model, Kim, and her girlfriend Amy. Seated runway-side amidst the editors and models was a chap who was slightly out of place—Sigmund Freud. No, not the man who brought us cigars and allowed us to blame our mothers, this Siggy was a very hip pooch.

-- Sarah