The Swelle Life

Happy Friday: Little Karl in Lederhosen!

Cathryn Horan of The New York Times posted this rare gem of a photo on her blog. Does that coy grin look familiar? How about the knowing pose? The inherent confidence? No? Imagine the hand is gloved in cut-out leather, the collar is stiffer and higher and the hair is white and tied back. You got it, this tiny fashion genius in the making is Karl Lagerfeld - IN LEDERHOSEN! You know, I did wonder whether this 'costume' is something only seen at Oktoberfest, and whether Germans actually really wear it (like Mounties in Canada - they don't work in that getup, you know!). Turns out, they do! Or, at least they did.

I am dying over the fact that he's wearing a white dress shirt and tie under the braces of the lederhosen. As a baby he probably scribbled a collar and tie on his onesies and requested Diet Coke in his bottle.

Via Catwalk Queen

America, You Did Good

I wasn't sure I would ever see this happen in my lifetime. After eight years of enduring an unfathomable crapstorm, finally there is hope...

Balenciaga in Paris: "She looks like a solar panel, no?"

According to Style.com's Sarah Mower, Nicolas Ghesquière commented during his Balenciaga show in Paris yesterday that dressed in a sequin sheath, one of the models looked like a solar panel. And that was the point. Well, not to create clothes that resemble alternative sources of heating exactly, but rather to explore "matte and shine, playing with textures to see how they reflect or absorb light." Ghesquière has the fashion editors falling at his feet thanks to his genius with fabrics and his ability to implement new technology into couture techniques. So expect that Balenciaga will be a name that's going to remain on the lips of the fashion editors and the hips of the fashionistas for quite some time. As long as Ghesquière is at the helm, anyway.

Photos: Style.com

Daphne Guinness Sets Couture on Fire

Journalist, film producer, designer, model, actress, philanthropist and the fashion icon with a killer haute couture collection, Daphne Guinness (not simply, and insultingly through omission "the socialite and heiress to the Guinness family" as per at least four blogs, never mind the cringe-worthy comparison to Paris Hilton on all, thanks to rampant plagiarism. Argh.) Um, anyway, phew! Sorry.....Right, Steven Klein shot a provocative editorial spread and cover for Vogue Italia's September issue supplement titled Future Couture, starring Ms. Guinness.

She proves to be a compelling model in this high fashion shoot which should come as no surprise; Daphne Guinness is fashion. See for yourself (and I wonder how many of these stunning creations went home with her for proper appreciation):

Federer's Baaaaack!!!!!

The world is right once again. Roger Federer has won the U.S. Open for the 5th consecutive time, spanking Andy Murray in straight sets 6-2 7-5 6-2.

This is somewhat of a comeback after a tough year that forced Federer fans to accept he was indeed human, and now there's a collective sense of relief that he's not fading away after four dominating years as the world #1.

And guess who was in his family and friends section, cheering him on?  Anna Wintour. She was present since at least the quarterfinals, sitting behind Federer's fiance Mirka. I nearly fell off the couch when, upon Federer's victory against Gilles Muller, she jumped up, gave a fist-pump and a 'WOO!'. And still, her hair didn't move.

Congratulations, Roger. We freaking love you.

Men AND Women are Buying What Jon Hamm is Selling

Mad Men star Jon Hamm has 'arrived' - gay men love him. Don Draper-esque photos from his spread in Best Life magazine are making the rounds on blogs, particularly the gay ones. One such reader commented "Once you watch the show, your serious infatuation will turn even more serious. He is even hotter on the show than in this photo shoot." (His screen name is 'eggplant'. I'm assuming this refers to his love of eggplant parmesan sandwiches, and nothing else.) And from another, a suggestion for the producers: "They need to do a pool scene on that show and put him in a speedo."

Good news, buddy! I looked into it and Speedo introduced their famous 'brief' style suit at the 1954 Olympics in Melbourne, so a 'Speedo' scene in 1960 New York is at least plausible. Good luck with that.

Sources: Towleroad, Kenneth in the (212)

Rothko Fans Must-See: Rothko Symposium at Tate Modern

I'm on the email list for Tate Modern's Events and Courses calendar, for curiosity's sake, which is pretty much a tease as I live in the north east of England and The Tate Modern is in London, about three hours on the train. Trains in the UK are very expensive, it's cheaper to fly (how's that helping offset our carbon footprint?) and then you'd have to get a hotel for the night before. Cost of one night in London would be about $500 including travel - and that's if done on the cheap.

However, this time there was an event that would make the trip and all of its sacrifices worthwhile. Rothko The Symposium is happening Saturday, September 27th, 2008 from 10:30 am to 5:30 pm:

This symposium brings together a stellar cast of international speakers to explore Mark Rothko's late work in the context of the 1960s, a time of historic turmoil when the practice of painting was under increasing attack. The speakers explore key issues such as series and seriality, and the existentialist endeavour of Rothko's late paintings against the rise of Pop art, minimalism and Conceptual art, offering new ways of thinking about one of the most significant artists of the last century.

If you 'get' Rothko, you are thinking this sounds so cool and you are really wanting to go. If you don't know who he is or you don't get Rothko, then you would likely rather eat a piece of gum off the street. I fall into the first category (obviously) and feel such an intense affinity for Rothko's later work that to describe it here would embarrass me, my family and the guy who delivers our groceries.

If you know what I mean, and haven't visited Tate Modern before, make a point of it if you find yourself in London. They boast a Rothko room that is home to nine of the murals he was commissioned to paint for the most exclusive room of the new restaurant at The Four Seasons in New York's Seagram Building. Rothko gave them to Tate Modern after returning his fee and refusing to hand them over to the luxury hotel chain, at odds with the lifestyle of excess that the once poor, Russian immigrant had come to despise.  

But it's not quite what you'd expect. From the fascinating 2002 Guardian article Feeding Fury: How Rothko's Seagram murals found their way to London:

This is what Rothko told John Fischer, a fellow tourist he bumped into in the bar of an ocean liner crossing the Atlantic in the early summer of 1959 after he had been working for several months on the paintings. Fischer was an editor of Harper's Magazine and their conversations over drinks have therefore been recorded - Fischer published Portrait Of The Artist As An Angry Man, a memoir of Rothko, in Harper's Magazine in July 1970. Some guardians of Rothko's memory prefer to think that he was playing up to the journalist, that he didn't mean what he said, because what he said is so incendiary. Rothko told Fischer he wanted to upset, offend and torture the diners at the Four Seasons, that his motivation was entirely subversive.

Fischer quotes Rothko describing the room in that very expensive restaurant in the Seagram Building as "a place where the richest bastards in New York will come to feed and show off".

Rothko didn't seem to Fischer in the least unworldly, let alone spiritual about his intentions. "I hope to ruin the appetite of every son of a bitch who ever eats in that room," he gloated, with paintings that will make those rich bastards "feel that they are trapped in a room where all the doors and windows are bricked up".

I've sat in that room on four occasions and found that despite his attempts to disturb the viewer (which he does succeed in doing), Rothko couldn't betray what seems to be an unstoppable propensity to create a beautiful experience (described by many as 'religious' or 'spiritual'). The shapes within, like those in the rest of his late pictures (as he liked to call them) do also float above the canvas. It's a profoundly confusing ordeal, and I highly recommend it.

D'oh! I Missed The Simpsons at Colette

Let me clarify - I missed The Simpsons at Colette by about a year. So I'm not breaking any news here (unless you're easy on "currentness" being the criteria for news). I stumbled upon these photos of Karl Lagerfeld, Marc Jacobs and Alber Elbaz posing with Simpsons illustrations and immediately panicked, asking the world in general "How? How? How did I miss this episode of the Simpsons?" I was going to blame it on UK TV being a bit behind Fox's scheduling as very few U.S. shows run simultaneously in Brit-land (hmm... although I would have been in Canada then, as I am here now, as we are for the good part of every summer). 

Anyway, I was relieved to find out this was from from an exhibit at Paris' Colette (you must look at their website, it's so French in the way that Daft Punk is French - I guarantee you haven't seen anything quite like it). The illustrations were from a Harper's Bazaar feature from August 07 called The Simpsons Go to Paris with Linda Evangelista (illustrations by Matt Groening and artwork by Julius Priete). Incredible model she was, don't you think? One of the best ever? (And she's nabbed a most-coveted Prada campaign at 43!) She went to my high school in St. Catharines. I didn't know her, though - she left grade 13 when I was coming into grade 9. In the yearbook she had massive, frizzy hair. Look who's laughing now.

So then I was left feeling dumb and out of the loop for missing that issue. I really must pay more attention to Harpers Bazaar - though I have to say I'm really tired of US magazines putting over-exposed, American actresses on their covers, photoshopped to a level of flawless smoothness my almost three year-old daughter can't rival, and trying to look all modelly. (Like, their current cover is Jessica Biel. I'm not buying that!)

 

This display isn't creepy at all:

Source

Worst Day Ever for Federer Fans (and Federer)

The worst day ever for fans of Roger Federer was not when the tennis world #1 was the guest of honour at a dinner in NYC celebrating his May/June cover of Men's Vogue (posing above with Anna Wintour). That was pretty cool, actually. And it made a more interesting header photo than the typical on-court action shot (and happier than the face-like-thunder photos of post-match Federer).

The day of heartbreak was in fact, yesterday (I couldn't write about it then, I needed time. Sniff). Federer lost his fight to gain his sixth consecutive Wimbledon title (thus beating Bjorn Borg's record of five), against the world #2, Spain's Rafael Nadal. Despite the distraction of having to pick his tight capri-length 'shorts' out of his posterior hundreds of times during the almost 5 hour nail-biter (he must like it or he wouldn't be wearing them three years on), Nadal made fewer unforced errors and relentlessly kept the pressure on the trailing Federer. It all came down to a few key points in the fifth set when it was anyone's Championship, and although he fought hard to come back from two sets down, Federer fell short when it counted (that damn net tape).

Upon defeat, Federer seemed to be in shock as he walked up to the net to shake hands with Nadal, and watching the awards ceremony you got the feeling he was in a bad-dream haze, giving his speech on auto-pilot just to get through it. The Wimbledon website best described his state:

"...disconsolate Roger Federer's mood in the post-match press conference was as dark as the sky had been over Centre Court as his chances of a sixth straight title slipped away into the night."

If you don't follow tennis you won't understand why this isn't just another loss, something to be expected in competitive sport. But if you're a Federer fan, you know. He's had a tough year and we're all uncomfortable with the humanity our fearless leader has shown us. There's still the U.S. Open....

Well, turns out Federer did manage a (sort of) smile for a moment after the ceremony:

Francoise Hardy: Looks and Style as Inspiring as Her Music

Let's go back about 40 years or so to the heyday of Francoise Hardy - 'The Yeh-Yeh Girl from Paris' - French singer, actress and muse. A strong yet beautiful voice (still) with looks and style to match (still), making her one of the most influential Francophone style icons to date. Her sideswept, eye-grazing fringe, well-defined features and Courreges wardrobe (Andre Courreges was apprentice to Balenciaga in 1950, while Hardy is muse to Nicolas Ghesquiere, current creative director of the Balenciaga brand) created the look that designers and fashionistas are continuing to emulate today.

Ah, isn't that true style? How many of us can look back to when we were younger and not cringe? And let's see how many of today's Hollywood 'icons' will be identified as such in even five years' time. So few are able to endure to become legendary icons, it's that extraordinary combination of innate coolness, raw talent, unique beauty and that certain 'je ne sais quoi' that makes others follow so faithfully. And that's why we love them.

Francoise Hardy most certainly possesses that irresistable spirit, it comes through in her music and her images and bang, you're hooked. Yet another reason I adore French culture, Paris is the mother of the enigmatic woman.

Here's a live version of Voila from 1967 (she was 23). Hardy looks incredible as she finishes the song, stands there for a few seconds then skips coyly off the stage (and her look is over 40 years old yet hasn't dated whatsoever, I'm in awe):

 

 

Inside Coco Chanel's Paris Apartment

If you've ever wondered how Gabrielle Bonheur 'Coco' Chanel lived, it is as incredible as you may have imagined.

To promote Chanel's latest scent, Coco Mademoiselle, the fashion house has created a fantastic website befitting its reputation. It includes a virtual tour of Coco's famous Paris apartment, the backdrop for the campaign's films and advertisements. Also featured is a download of the film (the long version of the commercial), behind-the-scenes look into the making of the film as well as the styling, choosing the jewelry, setting up the apartment and the launch party. Heavy daydream territory.

Keira Knightly is the face of the parfum, playing the role of Coco herself. So if you don't like her all that much, just concentrate on the scenery.

Click here for the website, and try not to get caught in the 'Keira as Coco' reflections in the mirrors, just click in the middle of the screen to start the tour.

Celia Walden of The Telegraph was enviably granted access to Coco Chanel's time-locked apartment and found a lifetime of treasures (I would have been paralyzed with awe and then asked to leave):

The entrance to her apartment

Glass and guilded wheat coffee table

Chinese urn and coromandel screens



The anteroom with silk bergere chair



The sitting room



Venetian mirrors in the dining room



See the sidebar for facts about Coco Chanel!

Don't Do It, Carla Bruni

The French have everything, do they not? The finest wines and cheeses, breathtaking architecture, the riviera, the Louvre, inherent style. And now the most fashionable and beautiful First Lady the world has ever seen. President Nicolas Sarkozy married former supermodel Carla Bruni in February after a brief three month courtship and even briefer divorce proceedings from his second wife.

The Sarkozys created a media frenzy when they came to the UK in March for a state visit (it was Bruni's highly fashionable yet appropriately demure wardrobe that got the most press), and now The Telegraph reports that Bruni is being courted to be the new face of Asda for their low-budget fashion range, George. If you're not familiar, Asda is the WalMart of the UK, owned by the same company. Seem a bit incongruent an association? The equivalent of eating caviar with fried spam, I'd say.

Asda's current contract with Coleen McLoughlin won't be renewed and it is said that Bruni tops the list of most desired replacements. (Coleen is a WAG, the fiancee of star footballer Wayne Rooney. And if that means nothing to you, you really aren't missing anything. Good for you, really. Well done.)

The Italian-born, French-bred (mmm....French bread) Bruni launched a career as a singer/songwriter after leaving modelling in 1997, with great success in francophone countries. She's been known to steal many husbands, even sons, but to look at her and listen to her she's as sweet as creme brulee. Although the breathy singing voice does allude to some seductive potency within. (Still, I can't imagine she needed to summon it with Sarkozy. Powerful yes, but he looks like the SLIGHTLY more attractive younger brother of Jean Chretien.)

If you want to get to know Carla Bruni, here's your introduction. It's a promo (though fairly non-promo feeling) for 2007 album, No Promises:

If you're a fan of the Richard Linklater films Before Sunrise and Before Sunset (you must see them), here's a clip from the latter which featured Carla Bruni's song Quelqu'un m'a dit:

Vanessa Paradis Does Not Need Our Pity

Over the past few days I've borne witness to the online blogger/message board beatdown that is relentlessly being inflicted on Vanessa Paradis, French chanteuse, actress and occasional Chanel model, and most famously (outside of Europe), the woman who shares toilet paper with Johnny Depp. I felt compelled to respond.

I don't want to perpetuate the mindless mockery aimed at Vanessa so I won't reiterate what's being said, but let's keep it polite and say that people don't think she looks good and therefore doesn't deserve Johnny Depp. Most weren't aware of her until Johnny started dating her ten years ago, and she's since flown low on the radar in terms of their infrequent appearances in the U.S. So it hasn't really been until now, as rumours abound about an impending wedding, that she's been the keyboard jockeys' focus of negative attention. And I'm at odds with that, in a big way.

I first became aware of Vanessa Paradis in 1992 when I picked up the latest issue of Details magazine. She was one of the features as she had just completed an album, produced by a still dreadlocked Lenny Kravitz, and there were a few full-page photos of her that made me stop dead. I was 21 at the time, a year older than her and I was awestruck by her doll-like beauty. I guess you could call it a girl-crush, my first thought was 'I'll trade you.' She jumped off the page, she really had something that was lacking on our side of the pond.

There was only one other time, when I loved Olivia Newton-John. (Warning - embarking on a tangent so if you want to hear it click here.)

Right, so...Vanessa Paradis. She was unbelievably gorgeous and so she's started aging and she never fixed the gap in her teeth. Refreshing, is it not? To be comfortable in your own skin? To not mutilate oneself in a Presley-esque manner in a desperate effort to hang on to your 20 year-old face? It's not a mystery what Johnny sees in her - he's obsessed with 1920s Paris and she's French, his passion is music and she's a singer, and since he's been with her there's been no tearing up hotel rooms and punching out paparazzi (though you couldn't blame him for the latter).

Imagine their children's cheekbones. That's more than enough reason to bless their union.

*These were scanned, they're from the early 90s. And look in the sidebar for her latest video.

 

Love for Viv

Last night I watched Project Catwalk, Britain's version of Project Runway, as I do every Wednesday. It was the episode before the final three are chosen to show at London Fashion Week and some of the designers really put the 'Catty' in Catwalk. Fellow Canadian expat Chelsey (in the back) and self professed 'straight lad' Ross (demonstrating his straightness by seemingly attempting to board a passenger into Pam An's fuselage) were confronted by mentor Ben de Lisi about their feeling that Viv Whelan (far left), a 42 year-old self-taught mum of three is 'just a dress-maker' who 'doesn't deserve to be here'. They got a thorough reaming by a vexed Ben who did it in front of the remaining group which included an unwitting and therefore somewhat humiliated Viv. Afterward, Ross seemed to have smoothed things over with Viv who handled it gracefully but I'm sure the whole thing stuck in her craw. I don't know what a craw is but if she has one there was probably something in it.

The cliquiness of the non-Vivs made me think about how formal education in the creative arts can cultivate rigidity in its students. This certainly wouldn't apply to everyone, I'm speaking in general terms; that when approaching art academically, in an institutional setting with professors and lecturers and reading lists and scheduled times to 'create ' in a predetermined location of predetermined wall colour and decor, there's an unconscious conditioning that results in the defining of the chosen discipline in absolute terms, and any deviation is seen as ungifted-ness and unworthiness and grounds for peer disqualification from following in said discipline. That was a long sentence.

There's a powerful sense of entitlement that can come with formal training. You've become one of the Chosen, selected for admission to a competitive program and identified in a certain way for the duration of the two or three or four years it took to get the paper that tells the world that you officially know your shit. Viv is an outsider and doesn't have the docs that say she can play with the big kids. And yet somehow she won a challenge (for streetwear at that) and received high praise for her Mac dress; if she were younger and they didn't know her background or had only seen her completed work, would the others have figured out she was 'different'? I doubt it.

These students are heavily reliant on validation. Their hearts and souls are continually handed over to be judged as they anticipate the verdict on whether they're 'good', not just as artists but as individuals, it's who they are after all. It can be very threatening and destablizing to have someone who followed their own, less or differently structured path, compete with you on equal ground. How do you justify the time and effort you've spent, and more significantly, what is the value of the positive appraisals given to you by 'those who know' if anyone from the street can stroll in and show you up? What are you then?

This is in no way a suggestion that formal training is a bad thing. I have a Bachelor of Arts degree in visual arts and did two years of advertising creative in college. And for gawd's sake I'm married to a professor. My view is really a composite of my experience at university as a painter, essentially, and my journey (geez I really hate that word but I can't think of a better one at this ungodly time of night) into self-directed learning in my new chosen field (that I discovered outside of school). I can appreciate both sides.

In time, when dear Chelsey and Ross are established and successful, I'll wager a pint they'll feel silly about having made such a fuss over Viv. Or they'll blame it on creative editing.

Paris Calling

I've just returned from my first trip to Paris and although it was brief (four days with one spent sick and one travelling to the airport) I fell in love. For anyone who's been and felt the same, the city tends to follow you home a little, non? The fabulous ones always do. Maybe it was that Fashion Week was happening while I was there and upon returning I've been exposed to all the buzz on the net and TV which keeps the excitement for Paris fashion going. Whatever it is, I'm hooked. It was all I wanted it to be. I ate crepes every day, saw people eating huge baguettes on the street and many men were sporting black berets. The Eiffel Tower was huge and far more impressive than I'd imagined (I'm terrified of heights so I didn't go up but the pavement was lovely), The Seine sparkled in the moonlight and Mademoiselle Lisa was charming and looking good for her age. So the childhood notions garnered from movies and books of what Paris is about held true, to my delight. My photos turned out well and I don't even understand my camera so that just goes to show the city is a spectacular model, naturallement.

You can feel fashion in the air in Paris. This is the city that nurtured Coco Chanel (and a long list of other fashion visionaries) so it makes sense (nevermind that their first lady is Carla Bruni!). It's in the Parisians' blood so they're just not 'try hard', you know? I should probably hold my thoughts until I see more of the city and its people. But my observations were that Parisians do the trends (or create them?) but are doing it in their own way, without looking like they bought the mannequin from head to toe with all the accessories. I noticed quite a few seemingly stylish women wearing above the knee tights (think top down so if you envision bike shorts you wouldn't be wrong) teamed with knee high boots. And when I say 'women' I don't mean 17 year old girls who typically can get away with the unimaginable, these ladies would have at least a few jars of creams promising to reduce lines sitting on their vanities. Bike shorts and tall boots is not a look I'd really go for but it worked for them and I'd say that indicates innate style - it didn't look ridiculous because of how they wore it - with a smile and their heads held up high. Magnifique!

They do love their high boots and skinny jeans for trekking around town and so I tried not to let it bother me too much that I was wearing my old red Donald J. Pliner wedge loafers with the scuffed toes for long adventures around the city (for comfort, because of a knee problem and the fact that I'm not a masochist). People were kind, no one looked down at them in disgust. Maybe my pale pink felt cloche was a good distraction, keeps the eyes looking upward, my saviour.

I also noticed the streets are a sea of black - black coats, black pants, black boots. Of course it was February so I'm curious to see if the streets are more vibrant come spring. It's the same everywhere as far as I can tell, am I alone in wanting to see a rainbow of shades all year long?

Okay, uh, you are probably wondering right now what the heck I'm talking about if you have looked left. As I went to post the photo of me with my daughter under the Eiffel Tower I was humbly reminded that I was wearing a black coat (too bad it didn't show the scuffed red loafers for further humiliation). LET ME EXPLAIN. I didn't own anything black, not a coat, pants, top, belt, shoes or even socks, for several years. I was into colour to such an extreme (don't think I went out of the house in clothes resembling clown costumes or anything!) and thought I looked dead in black so it was banned from my wardrobe. No LBD even, more like LPDs (meaning pink, not purple). I've added a bit in the past few months mainly because you tend to get a bit bored of what you're doing after some time and need to mix things up. One of these purchases was a wide high-belted Milly coat with black and gold buttons (as seen in photo). It has a cute A-line shape and is textured with a criss-cross thread pattern. It was half-price and I felt good in it so it was a done deal despite me already having a full wardrobe of coats. This includes a recent 50s vintage buy that I can't bear to wear (bought online). It's not just the fur collar that makes me feel guilty, the real crime here is that an innocent, unsuspecting, ugly moss green sofa was sacrified to make this coat.

I DIGRESS! So, after my complaint about the 'sea of black' in the streets all over the world it happens that I am swimming right in line with the rest of them. I guess due to years of colourful choices I still don't identify with the blackened woollen masses. On colder days I go for my cheery pale yellow Mackage coat with their signature leather trim that I am wearing for a fourth winter. I just had to add a few darts to the back vent because I noticed it was cut too high and was showing my butt when I walked. I don't know if it's done that since I bought it but how embarrassing! How could those walking behind me not look at my butt trying to bust through? Ugh.

FINALLY, I had to check out Rue Montaigne, a designer wonderland of the most fabulous boutiques where I cannot even afford to window shop. I was worried the gentleman greeters looming at the door were going to ask to see a recent bank statement. But I managed to get some pics of a stunning Valentino couture gown. The entire top was made of a seed bead design on mesh finished with an elaborate corded swirl pattern. This was repeated at the bottom of the skirt (see the detail) but I was so focused on the beadwork I forgot to take a picture of the entire dress! I found it to be especially inspiring and wished I could make a bag right then and there.

And one last note: I almost can't bear to mention that I didn't have time to visit Colette (I know, I could die of shame), but it's #1 on the list next time! What a wicked website, you must take a look.