one-week flashback! katie gallagher f/w 2011 BTS

renegade designer + intrepid girl reporter in a quite unflattering candid, photos throughout by corinne schiavone
Last Sunday, Milk Studios did not have their shit together. Capacity issues the night before, leading to crowded elevators and the fire marshall being called, made those in charge extraordinarily paranoid, and all designers showing on the 13th had to un-invite half of their guestlists and inform the rest that, due to tight capacity, their attendance might not be granted.

Katie Gallagher's people very begrudgingly (trust, none of her PR wanted to do it) sent out the email at around 5 PM, so a lot people, feeling fucked over, didn't want to bother with a fight. On the other hand, I was already (im)patiently waiting at Y-3--which was AMAZING and SO MUCH FUN and EVERYONE WORE BLACK and SANDPAPER FLOORS but COULDN'T SEE SHIT--and had planned to meet up with the lovely Corinne for dinner before the show. I wasn't about to shut both of us out.



(As an aside, could someone help me set up a decent cut/jump feature? I have loads of images I want to share, but it's getting to be really cluttered.) So the two of us, armed with excellent makeup, a giant camera, connections, and a touch of moxie, got to Milk at 6:45 for an eight-o'-clock show.


And so went "Gris-Gris," Katie Gallagher's presentation for F/W 2011. She said she was influenced by African voodoo; the titular gris-gris is in fact a magic amulet, “little leather sacs for spells. People would put little bones in there, nails, hair, different things.” That sort of witchy, pastoral influence was felt throughout the entire space, anchored by imposing monolith of wooden grids and crumpled black sculpture, almost like The Wicker Man in scope. The shock of sumptuous mustard yellow leather (can I HAVE the jacket posted above? Please?) went straight back to voodoo: “It’s kind of reminiscent of cornmeal,” Gallagher said. “These tribes would draw little sigils in cornmeal, and I found this really cool leather to match, it’s a really nice mustard. Plus, I wanted a little bit of color to go with the grey."


the opening runway pass, video by me
And let's talk tunes. Katie and her boyfriend, Nikolay, score the presentations to industrial perfection. Last season, it was Einstürzende Neubauten and Front 242 to set an intense, high-energy EBM mood for "Arena;" this season, it was all Death in June (you can hear the very opening strands of "The Only Good Neighbor" in the video posted above--remember when Prada used it too? Sorry, Douglas P.) and Coil (can anyone identify the song in the video? It's really bugging me, I KNOW I know what it is). Even better than sitting at a runway show and recognizing something in utter shock--like the Prodigy seemingly fucking everywhere this NYFW--this almost neurotically perfect blend of sight and sound is just what I like.

fashion week roundup

FASHION WEEK IS OVER THANK GOD ALMIGHTY.


my chosen lazy hairstyle + sunglasses indoors to skip makeup FW routine
I'm more objective and colorful in my reviews elsewhere, but come Spring 2011, here's what I'll be sporting.


RAD BY RAD HOURANI

Inevitably, I adore this. Sleek, futuristic, and let's make a horrible pun here: uniSEXY! This was perhaps the iciest goth-fashionista crowd I'd seen all of Fashion Week (even Katie Gallagher's was warmer), but they actually melted over the amazing, Bauhaus-architecture-meets-Nintendo-8-bit MYKITA sunglasses. I do hope to see some growth from Hourani soon; he's young, he's adorable, and what he's doing in terms of "androgynous" fashion is intriguing (see my post on the male ideal downpage). However, this could be any season...I didn't know I'd be loading up on PVC trousers and giant jackets for spring. There is little, save price point, that distinguishes this diffusion line from his namesake--and for that matter, from Rick Owens or anyone else doing the monochrome, architectural androgyne thing. I still want him to be my personal dresser.


KATIE GALLAGHER

A slicker, more aerodynamic interpretation of her witchy aesthetic, complete with bright punches of red and blue; if it were remotely possible to run in the astronomically high, geometric Raphael Young heels, it's what would happen if punks started to take up exercise. (Fun fact: Katie Gallagher, with her amazing head of silver hair and a wardrobe to out-greyscale mine, runs across the Williamsburg Bridge every day. Phew!) Plus, any girl who uses Einstürzende Neubauten and Front 242 as her soundtrack (not to mention Coil underscoring her last) is a friend of mine. Impeccably detailed...what I wouldn't give for a pair of her cut-out leggings, and the girl has such a way with juxtaposing textures. It took all of my fashion decorum not to touch some of her knits or leathers--but perhaps that would have jolted the models out of their open-eye slumber.

(NB: seriously, I went to a lot more presentations than ever before, and I can't help but wonder what the hell goes through these models' heads. The boys at Buckler were really relaxed, chit-chatting with the audience, and a few of Alice + Olivia's girls seemed equally engaged, but otherwise? Damn near comatose. I know I'd be up on that platform, no matter how incredible my look was, and I'd immediately get an itch or start wiggling my nose.)


Y-3

Sometimes I really wish I were not so predictable. It's almost unsettling to me that I indeed dove headfirst into the 90's this season; my proudest purchase was a sheer-sleeved Helmut Lang jacket, and here I am extolling the greatness of Yohji Yamamoto. I mean, it's an eternal thing, but when Natasha, Chelsey, and I threw a zesty sleepover to kick off Fashion Week, we watched The Craft almost entirely without irony. I wish I could figure out why loving the 90's gives me such an existential crisis. Maybe because kids who were born in 1993 are entering college and, in some cases, have more computer savvy than I do.
This collection, ultimately, is entirely out of touch with and irrelevant to my daily life. I am not the type to be up in the gym just working on my fitness (see, this IS an outpost for the embarrassing pop culture nuggets I know), and such dalliances in midriff-baring, no matter how amazingly draped and "goff-on-the-go" they may be, are just really impractical and unflattering. Y-3 has been better; Yohji Yamamoto, avant-garde and wonderful with black he may be, is far more suited to romantic flights of fancy than EDGE. I love the 90's now, unabashedly, but I wish his PUNK ROCK reference points went a little deeper than Edward Scissorhands electric-shock hair, getting the Duke Spirit to perform, and putting chains on EVERYTHING. I do still want a pair of those gigantic pants in my life...whether I end up pairing them with an ab-tastic bustier remains to be seen.

QUICK NOTE TO JEREMY SCOTT: YOU'RE ACTUALLY OODLES OF FUN AND PLEASE PUT ME ON SOME MYSTERIOUS WAITING LIST FOR YOUR CRUCIFIX-SHAPED SUNGLASSES

I'll leave Alexander Wang to the bitchy Cathy Horyn. Ouch. How interesting that he wants to move away from the black motorcycle jacket + skinny jean obsession he claims as his own doing when Horyn is quick to remind us..."the collection downloaded the ideas of designers like Ann Demeulemeester and Issey Miyake—naturally, without their sense of energy and intuition—and for that reason, despite some cute looks, the show was a little boring." Apparently this all is symptomatic of fashion's Internet disease, the easy accessibility of it all. No longer is this the exclusive domain of the rich, well-heeled, and double-barrel surnamed; Wang has most of his clothing manufactured in China, and Horyn sniffs at those who find such things new. Globalization and Twitter-ization be damned, you silly kids who think Wang's industrial street-chic and $90 T line are innovative. Are we all getting bored of it? Perhaps, although many of his mint and ivory looks were lovely (particularly the finale outfit on Freja) and perfectly in line with Spring 2011's light, airy minimalism--contrary to what I've posted above, most of the shows I went to were a sea of cream. But damn if this wasn't the fastest rise and eye-rolling fall I've seen. Poor guy.