As co-curator of a new exhibit at The Andy Warhol Museum — Halston and Warhol: Silver and Suede — Lesley Frowick has impeccable insight; she's the designer's niece. "This exhibit sort of fell into my lap on a research meeting at The Warhol," she tells Hint. "I was looking for photographs to include in my book [on Halston], as Warhol's camera was ubiquitous at events and Halston's home."
Before long she found herself in a curatorial role, reassessing the professional relationship and the personal camaraderie between the designer and the pop artist, who, in his 1979 book, described Halston as the "first All-American fashion designer." For all intents and purposes, they were thick as thieves and their seductive spheres of influence overlapped considerably. To begin with, Halston collected Warhol, which he showcased in his Manhattan townhouse and his vacation home on Montauk, Long Island, which he also rented from the artist. Halston, meanwhile, was portrayed in several of Warhol’s pieces. And of course they were both leading lights of New York's heady nightlife. "They were both very driven and both visionaries," recalls Frowick. "They both came from solid, somewhat humble family beginnings, but were propelled by an inner drive to search for the stars."
When it opens on May 18, the exhibit will include 40 or so of Halston’s signature dresses and accessories, including his signature Ultrasuede shirtdress and, from his early days as a milliner, the instantly iconic pale-pink pillbox hat he designed for Jackie Kennedy that she wore to her husband's inauguration in 1961 and that features in a Warhol silkscreen. These are juxtaposed with paintings, photographs, and videos from the Warhol archives. Other highlights of the show are a 1972 floral dress by Halston based on Warhol’s 1964 Flower paintings and, as Frowick cites, Warhol's Martha Graham serigraphs, in addition to items from the Coty Award "happening," a performance in 1972 that brought Halstonettes and Superstars together for the first time.
Perhaps no designer is as synonymous with the jetset disco-glam of the 1970s than Halston (born Roy Halston Frowick). But while the gifted social butterfly palled around with the likes of Liza Minnelli, Bianca Jagger, and Lauren Hutton, among other fresh-faced Halstonettes, Frowick remembers a calmer, avuncular spirit underneath the "external bravado." "He was actually shy. We spent many weekends in Montauk together, exploring the property, fixing meals together, and dreaming by the seaside. He was so funny, the best uncle one could ask for. We also shared the same birthday, so we bonded over our stubborn Taurean nature."
The two friends and comrades died within three years of each other, Warhol in 1987 and Halston in 1990, from AIDS-related Kaposi's sarcoma. And while the Weinstein Company attempted to revive the label several years ago (Frowick, tellingly, has no comment on that), the lasting image of Halston remains, for many people, on Studio 54's glittering dance floor. Given that the two artists have been exhaustively studied and scrutinized since their passing, it's hard to imagine there being anything particularly eye-opening left to discover. Still, Frowick said she was surprised to find "Andy's extensive Halston shoe collection."
Wrapping up, she recounts, "I love my uncle so very much and have worked tirelessly out of my love for him on this show and my book [October 2014, Rizzoli]. He was such a loving, generous force in my life — this is the least I can do to honor his memory. When it came down to it he was really just a shy kid from the Midwest who had a vision for his time and who happened to have the key elements — good looks, charisma and impeccable taste — to make it all work."
Halston and Warhol: Silver and Suede, May 18 - August 24, 2014, The Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Would you like to know how Tim Blanks — fashion critic extraordinaire, editor-at-large at Style.com, pro of pros (and prose) — gets through Fashion Month? Of course you would! Read on...
They say Fashion Month is more civilized now, sans the hordes of wild peacocks and hyenas and whatever else. What say you, Tim?
The original Narcissus was infatuated with himself because he was so beautiful. I say, what happened to narcissism?
So narcissistic, but I think I'll miss the funny critters.
I'm reminded of Kiki surprised by a choir — Wainwright, Ringwald, Mizrahi et al — while she was in the studio recording Those Were the Days. To my dying day, I'll be haunted by her plaintive wail: "Who are all these people?”
You’ve told me you routinely stay up all night to get the job done over at Style.com. How do you do that? Don’t say meth.
Meth? You mean methylated spirits? It's green tea for me. And the promise of a new day. That's all I need to write through the dark night of the soul.
Has anything changed for you since winning the CFDA Media Award last June?
Not a smidgeon. Unfortunately, an impressively sculpted piece of metal can't do my work for me.
If you were to put together a Fashion Week survival kit, what things would you put in it?
Berocca, a half-bottle of Chablis, a small jar of shucked oysters, a bar of 90 percent chocolate, some nuclear mints.
All very sensible. Thinking back, what's one mishap you wish you could banish from your memory?
One morning I was sailing merrily towards Bryant Park for the Kors show when my legs went in opposite directions. I broke the fall with my face, and conducted the subsequent backstage interviews with seeping wounds all over my dial. Lauren Greenfield thought I was a special effect. Michael Douglas's face was a picture when I stopped him.
The lengths you’ll go! Finally, because everyone always wants to know, what's the most sensational diva meltdown you've witnessed?
My favorite diva meltdown was designer-induced model madness. When one high-strung supe spotted another in the dress she thought had been marked for her, she tore off the outfit she was wearing and stalked stark-naked out of the backstage wearing only heels. I could swear she rode away on her agency's scooter, but that might just be wishful thinking.
Brilliance — in assorted shades, guises, and orientations — shines forth from the rock musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch, Broadway's latest dalliance with drag and perhaps its first with a trans-something theme. Neil Patrick Harris does John Cameron Mitchell proud with his extra-quippy version of the raging, foul-mouthed East Berlin avant-rock goddess with a heart of gold. Meanwhile, with daft deftness and vice versa, director Michael Mayer and producer David Binder weave in heaps of topical in-jokes (Anderson Cooper and The Hurt Locker get the brunt of them). Just as it did when Hedwig opened off-Broadway 14 years ago, Stephen Trask's pitch-perfect original score elicits bursts of laughter and the occasional tear from a ready audience, while Mike Potter's hot-mess makeup and feathered mega-mullet — now a tonsorial trademark on a par with Princess Leia's double-bun 'do — has only increased in showstopping magnitude and luster.
And Arianne Phillips' costumes, a reimagining of those she created for the 2001 film version, take on new sparkle (thanks in large part to Swarovski) for the next generation of Hed-heads. "I'm lucky enough to consider Neil, John, Stephen, and Michael as part of my creative family," she said backstage during previews last week, echoing the very message of Hedwig, that of the near-universal quest for one's family away from family. "There's a lot of love, a lot of care. We're all very passionate about the material and people are connected to it in a deep way. There's a real reverence for Hedwig."
Hedwig may never let you believe it, but for all her stinging one-liners and cabaret cattiness, she can't conceal a sentimental streak. "I think the thing about Hedwig is that, between the wicked, whip-snap jokes, there’s a beautiful story," Arianne gushed, quite rightly. "Neil’s really great at underscoring the prolific humor with the emotion, the tragedy, and the beauty of the story. I think that’s probably a pretty good description of the costumes, too."
The costumes do invite closer reading, even as they dazzle, snark, and blur across the stage. The opening look, an exaggerated pear-shaped number à la Ziggy Stardust, is indeed a reference to David Bowie and his early space-glam outfits by Kansai Yamamoto. Such is the commanding stage persona Hedwig inhabits, or longs to. But perhaps Hedwig's most telling costume is her denim skort and jacket, heavily embroidered and painted with signifiers of the Berlin Wall, including Act Up graffiti Arianne herself photographed when she visited the city a couple of years ago. It's what Hedwig pieced together and wore as she escaped over the spray-painted cement partition, along with what was left of her botched gender reassignment — hence, angry inch. Finally, no imperious punk-rock anti-heroine is complete without her all-over (faux) fur ensemble. Hedwig's comes with a splash of red paint on the back that she seems completely unaware of, a fitting indignity for so self-involved a character and muse to no one but herself.
"Hedwig is kind of like the Rocky Horror phenomenon," continued Arianne — who, it should be noted, is a two-time Oscar nominee, as well as Madonna's stylist and costumer, designing her last five tours. "Mike [Potter] and I were judging midnight costume and wig contests when the Hedwig film came out. It was kind of like my experience being a kid and performing Rocky Horror at midnight screenings in my small hometown. Hedwig is that way for other people. I think any theater, film, art, or music with the message of human connection, and being your true self, will resonate."
"There's a secret family that has inhabited Nan Goldin's world for over thirty years now," the writer Guido Costa puts it in his essay in the photographer's new book, Eden and After. "It is made up of children, so many, many children. Some gaze out at us from the past, frozen in one far-off, solitary shot; others have been tracked for a span of time, up to the threshold of adolescence and beyond."Read More
With his subversive, sex-stoked imagery for DUTCH in the 1990s, creative director Matthias Vriens (now Vriens-McGrath) knew no bounds. Each issue of the fashion and art magazine came packed with homo- and hetero-erotic imagery alike, merging the latest designer wares with suggestive, titillating story concepts. After becoming editor-in-chief, he published the notorious naked issue, in which not a stitch of clothing could be found among the 83 pages of fashion editorial — shot by Mikael Jansson — aside from designer credits.
Following DUTCH, Vriens-McGrath packed up his provocations and headed to Giorgio Armani (to be global creative director), then Gucci Group (senior art director), while continuing to shoot skin-flashing stories for the likes of i-D, The Face, Numéro, and the New York Times' T magazine.
Now, a marriage and a move to Hollywood later, he's back in the game with another eye-popping publication, TVTOR. The first issue of the self-financed, visually-led biannual bursts with nearly 400 pages, nearly all of it peek-a-boo photos taken by Vriens-McGrath himself or one of a randy roster of up-and-comers.
Here, following a launch party in Milan, Matthias Vriens-McGrath talks fashion versus art, his Tumblr addiction, and the pursuit of "tits, dick, pussy, and ass"...
Lee Carter: What does the Latin title refer to? To me it conjures up sexy Caesars in togas.
Matthias Vriens-McGrath: You’re not far off. Personally TVTOR symbolizes a desire for photography and all things visual and delicious. That could be contemporary art, fashion, sex. Or possibly all of them combined.
The two covers of the first issue, the romanticism issue, show a man and a woman lying prostrate on the floor with their head in an oven, apparently dead and wearing designer shoes. At first I thought: footwear story! Rather, it appears to be a more complex reflection of your current mood.
It's all in the eyes of the beholder. If it ends for you as a shoe story, then I am content with that. However, the theme of romanticism for me is more Hansel and Gretel, Romeo and Juliet, in a manner not shy of Pina Bausch. I grew up in the theater and like to provoke thought by means of suggestive visuals. Neo-romanticism has occurred in history at times disastrous and too turbulent to grasp intellectually and emotionally. I think we can all agree on it being a rather horrific moment in time currently. Personally the return to nature, aka romanticism, is something dear to my heart. Whereas most people believe I am surrounded by bulging cocks non-stop, the truth is I’d rather be in the garden.
What makes it a horrific moment in time?
I am referring to total global insecurity. Most economical structures have collapsed, while others are holding on by a silk thread, watching a minority spend it all. Other fun things that come to mind are assholes like Putin fucking up his country and telling people what to do, including gays, and denying them a future altogether. I can elaborate a hell of a lot more, but I think you catch my drift.
In the ever-changing (crumbling?) landscape of fashion criticism, where compensated cheerleaders and peacocks now reign supreme, it's big news when a turnover presents itself at the Styles section of the venerable New York Times. Which is exactly what happened a week ago when it was announced that Vanessa Friedman will be joining the Grey Lady from the Financial Times, where she wholly created the fashion section and lent tremendous fashion authority to its salmon mousse-colored pages. Though not officially, Vanessa replaces Cathy Horyn, who stepped down from a stellar career at the Times for personal reasons.
It's been made clear, however, that the approach, scope and tone of the incoming chief fashion critic (and fashion director) will not necessarily be the same as that of the outgoing, whose less-than-fawning yet always honest commentary was widely celebrated — if disparaged by those on the receiving end.
So what can we expect from the new guard? To begin with, like her predecessor, Vanessa is thoroughly no-nonsense, exuding a serious demeanor worthy of her scrupulously pulled back crimson hair and vise-grip of a handshake, offered with no air kiss behind it. I know this because I interviewed her for Industrie magazine about four years ago at the FT offices. I found her to be highly focused and articulate, yet also ready with a gentle quip and a friendly smile.
As it turns out, after some digging around for the issue, the interview provides quite a few glimpses into how Vanessa Friedman may decide to run the section. Here are the most intriguing snippets...
You've been the Financial Times' fashion editor for a while now.
Seven years. When I first started here, there was a sense that fashion would sit nicely in the weekend section, where it would be whatever it was. But it’s grown significantly in those seven years. Before I got here, we didn’t have fashion reviews. Sometimes they did them, sometimes they didn’t.
A lot of magazines and papers will start a fashion section for the celebrity quotient or to attract fashion advertising.
It was different here. I think it was really in response to two different realizations. One was the fact that actually the readers did care about clothes. They buy clothes and this was a service that we should be providing. And also the realization that the fashion industry, or the luxury industry, was a big industry and, therefore, something the FT should cover. It's a big business, real meat and potatoes stuff. Having said that, when I was hired, the idea was not that I would do the business side of it. That kind of happened.
Do advertisers hold any sway at the FT?
You said that quickly.
Really, they don’t. And because of that, I think it would be very hard for me to go back to glossy magazines, after having been in a situation where you really are free to follow the story, good or bad.
Glossies, too, have a separation between church and state, or claim to.
Well, they’re not critical. They're there to serve readers in a positive way, to show them what’s good about something. So, fair enough.
How does a fashion house attract a young clientele?
By making good clothes. In an industry based on products, in the end the products will sell themselves. If the products are bad, it doesn’t matter how you dress them up. It’s not going to work with the young consumer, who wants humor, irony, narrative. They're not into that this-is-our-history cheesy narrative.
Did you say snarrative, like snark and narrative?
It’s not a bad word. What I mean is, like the Cadbury adverts with the gorilla banging the drum. It was a really famous ad, which had nothing to do with Cadbury and at the end just said Cadbury. The marketing of no marketing. The willingness to abandon your product and do something funny or tell a great story.
They don’t make ‘em like Bruce Weber anymore. Famed mostly for his star-making fashion photographs for clients ranging from Calvin Klein and Vogue to Versace and Rolling Stone, the self-made legend has simultaneously spent decades doggedly capturing indelible, singular moments on film. His current project, a documentary about the great film-noir actor Robert Mitchum, has been 20 years in the making. Or is it 12? Point is, it's been a while and it could be a while longer. But when it's finished, it may very well be an opus like Let’s Get Lost, his remarkably touching, Oscar-nominated biopic centering on the loves and losses of the hard-living jazz trumpeter Chet Baker.
With a DVD anthology of his films just released, Weber took a breather in his Tribeca studio to speak candidly about his alternate career, his best friendships through the years (dogs and otherwise), his role in discovering several major Hollywood talents, and seeing something in Kim Kardashian, believe it or not.
Lee Carter: You've made a lot of Webersodes, but your last feature film was a while ago, wasn't it?
Bruce Weber: It’s been a while. You know, I started this film on Bob Mitchum and then I kind of stopped for a long time because I started working on short films. I was also working on a film about a close friend of mine, Mrs. Winston Guest, or C.Z. Guest. When she got sick, I wanted to stay on her film because the idea of spending time with her was really great for me. I really adore her so much.
What is it about film that you try to bring to the audience? How is it different from photography?
Well, in a way, I always start my films by taking pictures. It's an extension of taking a picture. When I first made my film Broken Noses, people would say I was just a photographer. And I'd say, Yeah, I know, and I want to make films like a photographer. I can't make films any differently.
Renowned French perfumer and master contrarian Francis Kurkdjian on his latest fragrance (Aqua Vitae), his advice to young noses (avoid cocaine), his favorite odor (sweat), the scents he wears (none), his next commission (Rick Owens), and the crisis in the fragrance business...
So what's new, Francis?
We're launching a new fragrance called Aqua Vitae. The idea for the perfume came about two years ago. We wanted to complete the story that started four years ago with Aqua Universalis. It is about a fragrance as a breath of life and the intimacy it created between two persons. In English, it is known as “the space between us.” I imagined a fragrance that is at once enveloping, warm, almost oriental, but in a light and airy way. That was the technical challenge of this fragrance. Aqua Universalis was about freshness and cleanliness, Aqua Vitae is more about sensuality. For the launch of Aqua Vitae, I invited journalists to see a rendition of the Rites of Spring. My first shock in life was seeing Pina Bausch's Rites of Spring ballet. She made me love modern dance. Forget about classical dance, which I used to think was perfect.
Is it for both men and women?
Yes, Aqua Vitae is unisex. I don’t do men's fragrances the way I do women's. Women’s elegance and men's elegance are different. It's not about allure or sex. I don't do men's fragrances the way I do women's. An elegant man doesn't behave like an elegant woman.
What's the difference?
The codes of elegance are completely different.
What's an elegant man for you?
For me, elegance is about carriage, and also a state of mind. It's not about being well-dressed. Some people are well-dressed but extremely vulgar. Elegance has nothing to do with something material.
Are there celebrities you find particularly elegant today?
Well, elegance is pretty rare these days. I have elegant people around me who are not famous at all. And I don't like celebrities; I'm not interested in them. I don't read about them in magazines.
You don't like gossip?
Not really. I listen to them with a very distant ear. Plus, you need time, and an available brain. Of course I know what's going on around me. But knowing when Jacobs will leave Vuitton is not something I'm interested in.
And yet you are a big fashion fan.
I like couture, the item of clothing. I like style. For me, fashion is the perverted side of what I call couture. I like the craftsmanship of it. I'd rather spend a lot of time in an atelier watching people work than with people who gravitate around the designer, saying things like “I love you, darling.”
Did you see the current exhibition of male nudes at the Musée d’Orsay?
I liked the fact it was thematic, not chronological. I discovered artists I didn't know. I should go back, because I attended the opening. I'm actually surprised the theme wasn't tackled before. I like the way masculine nudes became indecent. History repeats itself. We just recreate things. It's like in the fragrance business. It is very strange. I don't think we invent things.
If you had to create a perfume for the exhibit, how would it smell?
The nice smell of sweat. ?
Sweat is your favorite?
When it is good, yes. There is nothing more beautiful than that.
A load of exhibits are in the works that showcase the midcentury homoerotic photographs of Bob Mizer and, perhaps more notoriously, the drawings of Tom of Finland (aka Touko Laaksonen), he of exaggerated bulges, lurid male-on-male gazes, leather scenes, and occupational fetishes. The largest of these exhibits, "Bob Mizer and Tom of Finland," has just opened at MOCA Pacific Design Center in Los Angeles, the first museum to examine the daring work of the two artists, who were often at odds with the law. It spans five decades and runs the gamut from tame to lewd, humorous to subversive.