At Haru while having lunch with the nicest model manager you could imagine, the following happened. As usual, the talk had turned to agency gossip. Not malicious, or particularly competitive but just...idle. " Yeah and Gemma Ward's been looking particularly happy these days". he said in a fairly loud voice, "Cause as we all know she's not always the happiest camper" I sat facing the door, so I could see, literally as he spoke the approaching figure of...Gemma Ward, in these little denim hot pants and a totally non-descript tank top with that model staple, an army coat thrown over it. She looked great, tall and slimmer than the last time we glimpsed her with long tousled blonde hair, looking very much like a beautiful teenaged tourist. She was with her IMG agent. I completely blanched and my lunch companion followed my eyeline to its conclusion. At that point we burst out laughing.If this were a scene in a movie, the audience would go..."Yeah Right!" Poor Gemma probably felt over scrutinized at this point and whether under the weight of our gaze or by pure chance, Maja and Gemma soon elected to take an outside table. I waved hello as they went by and left it at that.
Submitted by Wayne on Fri, 2014-09-19 03:26.
Submitted by Wayne on Wed, 2014-08-27 04:15.
"They're hissing that this shoot was like the Black n White Ball of fashion edits and therefore a proverbial guest list to end all casting guest lists. From legends to the newest of the now, the Hiss Squad has been assured that this fashion extravaganza, styled to within an inch of existence, spells fashion with the capital F."
Submitted by Wayne on Fri, 2014-08-22 16:29.
Submitted by Wayne on Wed, 2014-08-20 15:29.
I remember sitting in an airport waiting lounge in Barbados a few years back, when a clever young editor made a comment that has always stayed with me. It was that namely, magazine people really make magazines for other magazine people and instead of aspiring to be "stars", or simply "rich", now everyday people in our culture aspires to be media themselves.
Submitted by Wayne on Mon, 2014-08-18 21:27.
Submitted by Wayne on Sun, 2014-08-17 03:18.
Submitted by Wayne on Fri, 2014-08-15 15:44.
Submitted by Wayne on Wed, 2014-08-06 23:06.
In the late 80's/Early 90's Sebastian Cardin captivated Paris with a long lithe body, a boy beauty and a sang froid so chilly it impressed even...the French. Lagerfeld liked it. As did the New Turks, Mugler and Gaultier who used Sebastian's boy/girl fusion to maximum effect. That apparent indifference, that supreme lack of desperation...it served her well on the pages of Elle when that Early 90's Elle with it punchy, color-driven layouts, put the fear of God in the Grand Lady glossies.
Submitted by Wayne on Wed, 2014-07-30 21:32.
Beauty is artifice, if the beauty you're talking about is cosmetic. Natural's not in it, much as it pretends to be. The post-digital usually veils this, with great sleight of hand, in the best beauty campaigns and the most seductive editorials, touting the power of the product to transform and transcend. Do we believe this anymore ? I think we do. No matter how far you take it, no matter how Brechtian your post-production gets as an image-maker, we will always want to believe that not only is the image real, but that it is also possible. That is the art of artifice, which is what 21st century fashion has become.
Submitted by Wayne on Mon, 2014-07-28 19:07.
By the time we surfaced out of the tunnel and eased into New York City itself, it was 3:30am. Despite ten thousand returns, the first sight of all those vertical towers jutting overhead, so high they seemed to converge, still made for a sharp intake of breath. Having grown up in a restless family, that was always in motion, New York City was the one place in which I had been most grounded, or to use a phrase I just found in a critique of A la Recherche du temps perdu ; "vegetated".
It's been almost three decades of living within New York City's scale and sprawl, drive and energy. More than any where else, it was what had shaped me. I was back for meetings and not much else, not in this my dedicated state of rootlessness, but this morning, this return had a strange tincture. Was it nostalgia?