Archive for 2012
What is it precisely about Suno’s designs that I find so captivating? I’ve pondered this question long and hard since initially falling in love with the line’s Kenyan cloth minidresses. Originally, it was because I understood the references; my mom and I took a safari through Kenya’s Masai Mara wildlife reserve near the Serengeti before finishing up our vacation with a 3 day stay at the Peponi hotel on Lamu Island. This was back in 2009 before I’d ever heard of Suno, so imagine my surprise when in Elle a few months ago I read that Suno designer Erin Beatty traced a nearly identical trip through East Africa!
Suno celebrates life. What a trite statement, but it’s true. The explosive use of color and print points to an exuberant embrace of the fractal-like energy of life, at a time when much of fashion celebrates austerity (Celine of past seasons), bondage (Alexander McQueen), or sexual objectification (Gucci et al). What about clothes for having fun! For living! In all honesty, I’m surprised that New Yorkers have embraced such a, for lack of a better word, happy line. Suno has swept through American fashion like a breath of fresh air, awakening the cynics’ hearts and convincing the normally black-clad city dwellers that yes, it’s OK to wear color in the concrete jungle. And prints. Lots of them while you’re at it, and don’t forget to mix them.
Tonight was a tour de force through Suno creators Erin Beatty and Max Osterweis’ minds. Wildly colorful but more balanced, structured, and nuanced than in years past. The two have certainly found their stride. Yes, the designs ranged wildly from color-blocked angular pantsuits that reminded me of ’90s motifs to a 3D bejeweled dress and skirt that looked like the shapes of children dancing. And who could forget the knit of the man and woman holding hands, the two genders joined in unity. A perceptable thread of world peace pervaded the atmosphere, which even featured a few garments with nature lithographs; perhaps a not-so-subtle-reference to the tree of life? The folksy sweater adds to the evidence, as does the fact that humans evolved out of Kenya’s Rift Valley. Given the violent bloodshed of recent years in Kenya, the spiritual heart and production center of the line, this might have been an attempt to celebrate the joyous human soul in a time of darkness.
Who better for my first official New York fashion week street-style photo than my beloved personal style icon Sarah Rutson of Lane Crawford? The best part is her Prova scarf, obviously.
The Chicago-based fashion line Creatures of the Wind, helmed by CFDA Vogue Fashion Fund winners Shane Gabier and Chris Peters, created magic yet again. Within the last three seasons the designers have edified their solid identity based on the marriage between craftsmanship and dreamscapes. Everything about their designs seems deeply rooted in the American consciousness; make that sub-consciousness. Stripes were hazily knit into ethereal (yet 100% wearable) sweaters and stitched together to form a shiny leather dress, one of the standout pieces in the collection. Perhaps the alternating bars of color were referencing invisible barriers between worlds, or the cages that bind us to the present. Or maybe they represented the layers of human experiences, like an onion, through which we move from the physical to the spiritual. After all, there was talk of vengeful fairies and unicorns…
The emphasis on the surreal was evident in the haunting words emblazoned on the garments. Here is there, and high is low; all may be undone, what is true no two men know; what is gone is gone.
As I watched the models lumber towards the stage, past tall, almost nightmarish steel artwork reminiscent of black flowers, I had the distinct sense of being enveloped into a separate universe with rules all its own. Extraordinary fashion transports us to another mental state, and Creatures of the Wind achieves that and more with their equal emphasis on creativity and craftsmanship. Much of the experience reminded me of walking around the War Eagle Mill craft fair as a child, the annual marketplace where several hundred American folk artisans gathered on the edges of the Ozarks to sell their wares. The intricate quilting, hand beading, and overall texturing of the garments enthralled me. In my own life I’m fascinated by the concept of texturing; how people and objects become changed by their mental and physical experiences, how something physical (or ethereal) reflects the past in its current structure. An example is how an inspiration notebook or diary becomes textured with thoughts and reflects a metaphysical idea in physical form. I saw this whole idea of texture being explored in full tonight.
There wasn’t just a white button down shirt; they were textured with jewels arranged in shapes like stars, or decorated with flowers that could have come from doodles in Tavi’s notebook. Sure, the first interpretation might be one of childlike wonder but I believe something more sinister was at play. Prairie plaids mixed with sexy, cleavage baring see-through sweaters. Adult women transposed with the regalia of children. These images were transformed into an age-defying exploration about the loss of innocence told through the story of American craftsmanship. To me, that was the real story tonight. The haunting environs of the Desmond Tutu Center’s refectory added a stellar backdrop, one that is heads and shoulders above the usual white paneled rooms of Lincoln Center’s tents.
