For a couple of days I’ve been thinking about this blog. About its original intention. About what I’ve done with it. About what I want to do with it. I guess I’ve strayed from my purpose. Yes, I do write about fashion, but not as much as I should. I enjoy reviewing movies, events, shows, and the like… but I’ve been told I’m not completely myself when I do so.
I did not want it to be just another plain, purposeless blog… however, I’m not completely satisfied with the outcome. While I do wish on one day being a professional writer/reviewer, I’ve come to realize that at the moment, I’m not busy enough attending events to update the blog constantly. I do, however, have a very fun, and entertaining life… hence I’ve decided to write about that. My writing style will still come through and the blog will hopefully be more exciting that what it is now.
Have I mellowed out? I think not. Although I did hear others say that… I think I’ve matured, and that’s good. I welcome maturity, I embrace growth. I have a trip to Europe coming up, and I’m sure I’ll be getting into some trouble… so stay tuned. Exciting things will certainly be recorded here.
The Metropolitan Museum’s Costume Institute Gala has often been dubbed as “the Oscars of the East Coast” because of it’s impressive and exclusive list of attendees who gallivant down the red carpet donning some of the most expensive garments (all free and borrowed of course) from past, present, and upcoming designers.
And while they differ in that one is an award show and the other is the opening to the annual Fashion exhibit at the Met, it is without a doubt that the red carpet at both is often more entertaining than the event following… but! who are we kidding here? a motion picture award show can certainly not compete to a fashion exhibit in terms of the attire of its guests… sorry Oscars, we have this one.
Here’s my top picks for my favorite ladies of the evening (in no specific order and not necessarily for good reasons):
So it’s been a crazy couple of weeks. Been very busy, been sort of ill, been sleeping little, been writing nothing… but that changes today… or at least today I decided to take a break, sleep some more, let my stomach rest, and update the blog. Tomorrow we can go back to “normal”.
Also, I’ve been thinking about the blog, and the direction I want to take with it. Let’s just say I’m making it more cohesive. But enough about this… let’s get on to the actual content.
It all started the night of March 29th, the first of 4 intimately beautiful evenings with Danish talent juggernaut couple Nana Øland Fabricius and Eske Kath during their residency at Charles Bank Gallery (or what I like to call work). The previously dark and quiet white cube was now turned into an equally dark, yet radiantly colorful pays des rêves, where industry people, as well as elated fans gathered to listen to Oh Land’s 30 minute “picnic setup” (as she dubbed it) music sets. Oh Land, accompanied by a string quartet, played 6 to 7 of her debut album’s songs, in a more toned down manner that made it feel more personal and cozy.
At first I thought of writing about a specific night, but since I figured plenty of bloggers would take that approach, I decided to take my own approach, and write about the experience as a whole. Each evening was essentially the same, but the slight differences made each night feel fresh, and equally intimate. I truly enjoyed listening to Oh Land’s captivating hymns slowed down and sang in a way that, to me, it felt one-on-one. Melodies like “White Nights” and “Rainbow” have been gleefully stuck in my head since. However, her latest single, “son of a gun”, was especially memorable, since it was the one song that was the most different from it’s original version.
The entire experience came together flawlessly. The welcoming music, along with the cheery art installations (courtesy of Kath), and Oh Land’s incredible stage persona and forward outfits, brought an all together positive feel-good feeling to my slightly ill self (the weekend prior, I had indulged myself in oysters and ended up with a severe case of unsexy food poisoning). to tommelfingre op!!
Last Wednesday I migrated my derrier to 209 West Houston (the Film Forum), to meet my lovely friend Jenny for the premiere of Richard Press’s freshman directorial debut Bill Cunningham New York about fashion photographer/maverick trailblazer Bill Cunningham of the New York Times fame.
It is one of the most inspiring, beautifully directed, exquisitely shot, complex yet easy to digest, documentary I’ve seen in a while. To be honest, I vaguely knew who the man was, and I had no idea what an amazing life he’s lived. Richard Press did a splendid job at introducing the mysterious Bill to the rest of the world who might be clueless as to who this bike ridding octogenarian in a blue coat and a 35 mm camera hanging around his neck is.
For such a simple man, Bill’s world is complex. Press captures his daily life riding his schwinn around town, snapping shots of New York fashionistas on the streets, quarreling with his NY Times peers (to ultimately get his way), interacting with his equally camp and venerable neighbors, trekking to other fashion capitals to snap even more shots of more women’s vêtements, indulging in the least haute of cuisines, and riding his bike yet a few more miles to ultimately end back at his modest, file cabinet ridden apartment at Carnegie Hall.
The documentary keeps you engaged from beginning to end. Bill is an entertaining persona and so is his supporting cast. Interviews with fashion staples like Anna Wintour, Kim Hastreiter, and Annette de la Renta, show that the fashion world has nothing but praise for a man who, despite many unsuccessful attempts from many a suitors, has never sold out and remains true to his vision: photographing clothes and the women who wear them regardless of who they are.
Aside from Bill’s career, Press also shows other aspects of Bill’s life, like his struggle with getting evicted from his apartment where he’s lived for many years, and receiving the title of Chevaliere de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by the French Ministry of Culture, an award that has Bill looking terribly charming as he gives his acceptance speech in French. The documentary captivates in many different levels the whole 84 minutes.
Press is very respectful about the way he documents Bill’s life. The pivotal point, for me, comes towards the end of the film when Press asked two very personal questions to Bill, both of which Mr. Cunningham answers in an utterly professional manner. It is at this point that I was left speechless and in awe. If one is not in love with Bill by now, this moment would be the last push needed to be so.
I left the theatre, as I’m sure the rest of us did. Inspired. Delighted. Satisfied. And with a big smile on my face. This was true documentary excellence at its best.
the.applied.process. 