Susan Kirschbaum has written features - covering trends, fashion, and art -- for various publications including Harper's Bazaar, London Times, New York Observer, and New York Times since the late Nineties. She has worked as a web editor for both fashion and art concerns and as a founding editor to Fashion Wire Daily, when it served as a wire service to the Associated Press. She has written both synopsis and forwards to photography books by Steidl Dangin. Currently, she is a contributing editor to Whitewall - a seasonal art magazine - that sets new visual and story telling standards to cover the art world. She also writes for Purple, the French fashion magazine.
Her first novel, WHO TOWN, a dark social satire is now being reviewed by several publishers through rock star agent Robert Guinsler at Sterling Lord Literistic.
(All photos on this blog are taken by Susan Kirschbaum on her Canon SD850 digital point and shoot, unless otherwise noted - please credit all photos accordingly)
Susan, in Alvin Valley dress and Anna Bauer at Interview Mag party
(Photo: Billy Farrell for Patrick McMullan)
All important holidays begin at sundown and the evening before fashion week hit us with so many choices: Dazed and Confused Mag hosted a concert by band of the mo' MGMT on a roof in midtown West (Williamsburg exodus followed.) The House of Holland took over Christies with a retrospective of their neon wear, which officially marks real Eighties kids as old folks. Brit Designer Sue Stemp toned down her prints with a sophisticated presentation of cream and black tunic dresses and tuxedo looks (shorts with tucked tops) at the Supper Club penthouse. And Interview Mag took over the still under construction Standard Hotel in the Meatpacking District. We fashion veterans were fed nostalgia, from mini burgers to the trannie couple pretending to hump at the door for originals who remember Limelight ( well before my hatching.)
By the time I hit the Beatrice Inn for documentary film director Chiara Clemente's birthday, the prominent trend seemed obvious. Like so many mavericks of yore: Mark Twain, Salvador Dali, Moses, Jesus Christ, as well as men of extreme anger, Stalin, Mussolini, Adolf Hitler, the moustache, beard, goatee -- and in cases of genuine art types -- manicured sideburns stood out in full force. Consider the evidence in the photos below and those after the jump!
Gals, you can show just as much muscled calf, knee, and cleavage as you'd like, but the real sign of rebellion this season rests with the guys! Could be a subliminal protest to the fascist conservative underbelly in the middle of the country. Images of Woodstock and Abbie Hoffman float through my mind. Facial hair is the fashion on the fashion turf. Spot the evidence. I can feel the revolution at hand! What's next, handcuffs? Should McCain and Palin win, let's keep an eye out in November for that one. Let's hope not. Handcuffs are best accessorized in private.
Supermodel Stephanie Seymour and her bearded jowled buddy
Brand Bastardizer Tom Sachs, in Roman Ceasar Pose/WOW! sideburns
CLICK BLUE LINE BELOW TO SEE MORE PIX OF FACIAL REBELLION SHOT BY SUSAN KIRSCHBAUM... HIT THE BLUE NOW!
Heath Ledger's dead. His Joker will likely win him a posthumous Academy Award. Hurricanes named Hannah and Ike hatch in theory like diabolical fetuses in the Southwest, while Republicans in the Midwest reflect on their own dangerous fetus named Palin. It's close to ninety degrees Fahrenheit (hot!) in NYC. Summer reveries fade fast...soon, a few hundred dizzying runway presentations in seven days time. And last night, Aussi native, photographer Ben Watts -- brother of actress Naomi, an ex girlfriend of Ledger-- exhibited numerous prints of surfers, thugs, and gangtas that exploded from the walls of MIlk Studios in Chelsea.
Testosterone: the opposite of the peacock feathers and haute minimalism about to hit the tents at Seventh On Sixth fashion shows and in celeb packed fetes. In the hot months, friends can spot a muscled Watts (almost body builder silhouette) surfing in Montauk with other real guys. Yes, summer's over. But before I start riffing about style, the video (below), shot at Watts' opening, is all you need to know about vibe.
Baby... It's How You Move and Groove!
CLICK PIX IN BOXES BELOW TO SEE BEN WATTS' MALE PHOTOGRAPHY!
REVEALED! Brunette Agyness Deyn and her brother, by Anna Bauer
Kate Moss, dyed platinum like Jeff Koons' ex wife, porn queen La Cicciolina reveals in the latest issue of Interview her coming of middle age. A quick recap: She's better in bed now than when she was twenty... "experience!" "All men are bastards," she says," more diabolical than women." She first notices "eyes, lips" when she meets a bloke (incidentally her own best features) and she's not into big titties on girls. Her own knockers -- shot by Mert and Marcus --are alone worth a peek at Interview's full new look debut.
The new guard-- including Editorial Director Glenn O'Brien, Editor Chris Bollen, and Fashion Director Karl Templer -- seems keen on pulling back the curtain. They debut the most starkly honest backstage shots I've ever seen, by neophyte fashion lens gal Anna Bauer. Bauer -- a German native and fine art photographer, adept at capturing street scenes and quotidian humanity of subjects unaware of her lens --was originally plucked by a London satirical rag to shoot behind the UK shows, guerilla style, last year. She became obsessed with fashion subjects, leading her to book her own flight to Paris to shoot more, then striking friendly relations with Chanel designer Karl Lagerfeld and Fabien Baron, Creative Director of Interview.
The full story, penned by yours truly, is featured in this month's mag. Check out Bauer's vintage style polaroid camera. Her subjects need to freeze, a rare moment of truth in the mania before a collection pimps it out. Bauer plans to compile a photography book when she's finished fully hunting fashionistas backstage. "Not yet!" She tells me.... Check out the best of the bunch in this month's Interview. Here, I've featured a few that came close on the cutting room floor.
Bauer and I became fast friends. She reminds me of what's passionate about the world that motivated me to cover fashion above all else as a college grad. I hate the reality TV crap, where everyone resembles the trashy kid next door you ran away from, the reason you hopped a train or plane or boat to Manhattan or Paris or Tokyo and NEVER looked back. Ditto regarding the motivation for instant yet nebulous fame. If everyone can claim fame for merely farting, what's the kick? Often in the non obvious spots, lies actual talent in designers and artists of various forms and stature. Bauer captures a flicker of the soul.
Hats off to Interview for giving her the platform. Also, hats off to Moss for admitting she's as f****d as the rest of us by not trusting the opposite sex. Someone so beautiful and wild and wounded says what we all -- the physically blessed and the physically damned alike -- think anyway.
Karl, hiding behind his shades, a moment of calm pre Chanel
Anna Bauer, auteur, captures fashion in a new way, also wears shades!
HIT BLUE LINE BELOW FOR ANNA'S PIX --MARILYN MINTER,SIR PAUL McCARTNEY,PHARRELL, YASMIN LE BON, ZAC POSEN...AND PICK UP THE LATEST INTERVIEW TOO FOR MORE AND BETTER!
Paul Sevigny and Angelo Bianchi, setting style standards in Atlantic City
(photos by Susan M. Kirschbaum, and friends who turned the lens on her..)
As a social destination, the Hamptons suck, unless your idea of a good time is snoozing in a big family house, never to venture outside. Even when writing for various pubs including the New York Times, when I had carte blanche to Puffy's White party (and puked on too many hash brownies), we still sat in traffic for hours, only to see people with blown out hair, blown out egos, and enough fame lust to kill all spontaneity. Fast forward almost a decade and celebrities have morphed into caricatures and social events count as nothing more than glorified self marketing and photo opps. YUCK. Bring back the days of Studio 54, Spy Bar, or bring in Paul Sevigny, Matt Abramcyk, and Atlantic City.
Yes, Atlantic City may be just the hell hole to bring the devil back out in all of us, to save New York. No more image glomming and airbrushing, just cutting loose, which is what we did last weekend.
Paul and Matt grabbed a few close pals and enlisted busloads of beautiful party kids to test drive the Chelsea Hotel, a towering mauve lit building on Chelsea and the boardwalk. This was the place in the Sixties where a wink and a cocktail sent to a lovely lady sitting at the poolside bar could score a guy a date. Couples danced all night. The guys wore sleek jackets. The gals flashed some leg. Whiskey was taken straight. And hoagies freshly made from the Whitehouse sub shop lured everyone from Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pat to the Beatles,who snarfed down a twelve foot sandwich, all documented on the wall photos still erected at the original shop on Artic Avenue.
Fast forward to Paul and Matt, co-owners of the Beatrice Inn, the only exclusive place in NYC where the stylish are recognized, celebrities mingle on earth like regular folk, and you can still dance like a wild banshee until closing. They will navigate the entertainment and nightlife of the renovated swank Chelsea. (the old Howard Johnson.) Hotelier Curtis Bashaw, the new owner, has created luxe rooms with heavenly cloud white king sized beds, a spa with saltwater baths, roof pool, two restaurants, cabana service on the beach, and a fifth floor with billiards, games, dance floor, and deck. The restaurants run between class dining and comfort food: Chelsea Prime -- owned by Stephen Starr of Budakkan fame-- and Teplitsky's diner, 24 hour meals for the soul, which will likely include fresh bagels and Paul's request: "pork rolls," aka juicy hot pig on a bun. Considering the diner will cater to Chelsea beachgoers, the place is set to become an oasis of cool comfort in a carnival world.
Yeah, outside you'll see the casino mavens, waddling toward slot machines and cheap fast food, midgets, and an occasional drunk, who between spitfuls of Wild Turkey, shouts, "Hey babe, didn't we meet in the Carribean?" The freaks abound, which makes it all a little illicit, something we're missing since New York has become a walking Facebook.
Prediction: The Chelsea, which will roll out with several weekends of unbridled activity through the Winter-- body surfing, rooftop pool cocktails, dancing on the deck-- will become the hottest ticket in town for those of us seeking a really good time, not just a fame photo. Don't be surprised to hear about major bands playing on the hotel's beach front with ocean surf as the backstage. Think the Virgins and Interpol in full force with salt air clearing your head. Groupie Kirsten Dunst might be swaying incognito, competing with so many others, lovely style hounds. And the brandy drinkers will clink and conspire together in private huddles on the upstairs deck.
Better not blink! If these guys get their way, Atlantic City will transform into the next South Beach -- circa fifteen years ago -- when the geriatrics and Cuban immigrants retired behind a sharply designed crowd and Art Deco hotels with cafes and dance halls filled with fun.Remember fun?
Not just beautiful... they actually want to let loose, Save NYC via A.C.
View from the penthouse deck, see pool in middle
CLICK THE BLUE LINE BELOW FOR MORE PHOTOS OF OUR MAIDEN WEEKEND AT THE CHELSEA!!!
Duke makes sure Dizzy's got it right/Don Hurstein photo
If rock n'roll springs forth like ejaculate, then jazz surely disrobes like foreplay. Thursday evening at the Morrison Hotel Gallery loft space in Soho, some lovers of tunes got first glimpses at collectible ICON series photographs just released by Sony/BMG music. Black and white images of Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, and Aretha Franklin were erected interspersed with jazz legends like Sarah Vaughan, Billy "Lady Day" Holiday, Thelonius Monk, and Sir Duke Ellington, the greatest jazz band leader who ever lived. The jazz portraits, shot by Don Hurstein, caught the greats while recording in a former Greek Orthodox church on Second Avenue.
Hurstein's prints can only augment in value, especially since so many of these true artists have passed on. But the music lives, blood pumping through the veins, calling us from the depths to step out fully into the moment.
While sitting on a country balcony last week, with moonlight filtering persistent beams on cherry gardenias, some notes from side door speakers kidnapped my consciousness. I later found out it was Jackie Bird, a younger than sixty musician whom my father, a jazz expert, would dub a "young turk." He heated "Besame" ("kiss me") into seductive taffy via a tenor saxophone. Here's what popped into my head:
Who said it?
I said it
You said it?
Yeah, I said it.
That summer days and cool night breezes
And girls in shift dresses, with shoulders back and backless mules
Should be swaying through the trees
As boys with slim trousers, slung low, and crisp white shirts
Survey the motion of lust and fireflies
Only to get bitten by mosquitos who spur them on
Locks brushed back in the wind,
He leans into her for a kiss.
Maybe Sir Duke or Lady Day whispered 'dem words in my ears. Who knows? There's nothing like a good sixteen bars of seduction. That's what I mean by style.....
**Lovers of Jazz's golden age can purchase the recently released collectible prints online -- from $1500-$3000 (sans frame) at http://www.morrisonhotelgallery.com
West Side Story, 1957, Don Hurstein, Sony/BMG
The One and Only Lady Day, aka Billy Holiday/Don Hurstein
I FIRST MET MILES LADIN, WSJ WEEKEND PHOTO EDITOR WHEN WE SHOT KATE MOSS FOR THE NY TIMES... HE SHOT, DUCKING UNDER CHAIRS TO GET HER! I WROTE ABOUT HER STYLE. HE'S GOT A SHOW ON SEPT 6TH -- 6-11 PM -- IN ASBURY PARK, NJ,629 COOKMAN AVE. CHECK IT OUT! http://www.milesl adin.blogspot.com
Merci,' Gracias, Todah, to all the global boys on the voice mail... You know who you are! I've laughed at the beautiful and funny messages, but I cannot commit. x., till next time, Susan
The brilliant witty Chris Shott spotted me in a bikini at the Chelsea. He also caught a leering Ron Jeremy look-alike plus the trendy kids Paul and Britt imported from NYC. But what of the Philly crowd? They could crush our bunch with one fat fist or strangle the deejays with gold chains. Our crew ran as free as prairie dogs, luscious as wild birds. CLICK HERE: http://www.obse rver.com/2008/r eal-estate/beat rice-beach
Love this blog! You cover so much london, please include Josephine papasavaas and Noelle Valdivia in their temperley. Have seen them out so much and want more more more!
HEY TEXANS!! CHECK OUT SEHNSUCHT (ASPIRATION) A PHOTOGRAPHY SHOW FEATURING THE WONDERFUL JEREMY KOST (TOOK MY PHOTO HERE) IN HIS MUCH MORE GRAPHICALLY ARRESTING WORK, ALONG WITH PHOTOGRAPHS FROM VANESSA BEECROFT, TODD EBERLE, AND HEDI SLIMANE TO NAME A FEW. JULY 31-SEPT 6 LIGHT AND SIE GALLERY,129 LESLIE STREET, DALLAS, TX
Check out two Brits who are cool hunting all over the globe.... Mr. and Mrs. Smith... just like Brad and Angie when they had to sneak into hotels under fake names... Ooh, la, la...http://blog.mrand mrssmith.com
"It's never been more important for me to respect a president's ability to handle foreign policy and to be a good listener and an open negotiator. Those are qualities I didn't think about in the past, but now, it seems crucial to the success and even the survival of our nation. Also, I cannot endorse a president who does not support women's rights to the fullest possible extent." Faran http//:www.nylonm ag.com
Who is "Candy" with Anna Wintour in the CFDA photos? I guess it's true that the ugly kids in school get their revenge as grown ups in fashion. They are both "bark, bark!" You are kidding about them as fashion icons, right?
Candy Pratts Price is the Executive Style Director of Style.com. She just won the Eugenia Sheppard (CFDA) Award for fashion journalism. While Candy's not a writer, she's got an eagle eye as a market editor so deemed a trend maker. Fashion loves her because she makes or breaks "looks," as in collection pieces. OUCH! on the revenge comment...
