From left: Jackets by Robert Hawkins and Rita Ackerman

“Rama Lama Ding Dong,” pronounced the artist Dan Colen’s pair of customized leather jackets at Christie’s New York, where they waited to be auctioned off as part of the Sisley Art Project Benefitting the Andy Warhol Museum. Colen’s jackets were accompanied by those of 16 other contemporary artists, each tasked with reinterpreting the iconic garment beloved by rebels ranging from the museum’s namesake to James Dean.

Duncan Hannah re-imagined the Zanzibar Dandies (a group of 1968 New Wave filmmakers) as a motorcycle gang with a Pink Ladies-like logo while Fab 5 Freddy utilized some fancy red rhinestones for the dancer’s thong on his jacket’s back. Tom Sachs’ burnt version—the only one preserved in a clear case—was beautiful, but I was partial to Rita Ackerman’s adaptation. It looked as if she had skidded out across an painter’s studio, skinned her elbows on orchid pink and aqua paint, and left huge orange strokes warning, “Caution!” over her shoulders. Only later, upon further examination in the catalog, did I notice these vertical orange swipes, seemingly abstract, crossed a giant dollar sign down the wearer’s back.

Jackets by Dan Colen and Brad Kahlhamer

Makeup was the medium of choice this weekend at PS1′s Move! A two-day fusion of fashion and art, the event featured temporary installations, films and performances from creative pairs, including Rob Pruitt and Marc Jacobs, Tauba Auerbach and Ohne Titel, Ryan McNamara and Robert Geller, and more.

Untitled by Terence Koh and Italo Zucchelli (Calvin Klein Collection)

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Alice Lane’s Midas palms

Carrie by Olaf Breuning and Cynthia Rowley

The Makeover You Never Knew You Wanted by Cheryl and American Apparel

Images by Jenni Avins

Here’s what you need: long legs, long hair (part it in the middle), leather (always black), lace (again, black), color-blocked cobalt, teal, citrine and khaki—a little swingy arc-bottomed poncho to cover your shoulders in case of a chill. And for a big night, a teeny black dress of wide, tiered ribbons in varying textures.

“It’s like an armadillo!” exclaimed Katharine Zarrella, seated beside me. Yes, Katharine, but a sexy, sexy armadillo.

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Images by Samantha Casolari

Urbane, utilitarian and just the littlest bit sporty; shades of navy, olive, grey and black with leather accents, pieces of florescent pink and white for punctuation—and golden yellow socks.

A black sheepskin vest with bomber-style rib at the bottom
A graphite shawl-collared sweater with leather elbow patches
A black wool blazer with little leather lapels (detachable!)
A navy and white stripe with pink and yellow hyphens throughout—for both shorts and tees
Black equestrian/biker boots: leather on the bottom, with what appeared to be waxed canvas extending up the shin
And a short-sleeved cotton sweater in cornflower and white, and reminiscent of early ’60s Missoni

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Images by Samantha Casolari

“It’s my chemical-free Botox!” exclaimed Karen Walker backstage, touching her hand to her newly cut bangs. But, since we haven’t all been blessed with the designer’s delicate bone structure, she gave us a few additional methods for feeling youthful in Spring 2011:

Carry tiny tiers of ruffles on an Orange Crush-colored clutch.
Run between the raindrops in a metallic Tyvek parka.
Raise your arms up to the sky to slip on a grey tee-topped dress with a full marigold skirt.
Invert the logo on an I ♥ NY tee, and turn that frown upside down.

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Images by Hatnim Lee

One has to do the work in order to find the freedom, a yogi once told me—meaning, one has to develop strength before they can fully express their desire to stretch.

Bibhu Mohapatra designed for nine years under J. Mendel before putting his own name on a label last year. Earlier this summer, I watched one of his sample-makers sew 13 bones into a bustier that would be enclosed between the lining and the outer bodice of a silk chiffon gown, invisible to the wearer.

At Bibhu’s presentation this week, a model stepped off the podium. As she walked across the small dark room, ghostly layers of ecru mousseline floated behind her, seemingly without weight. Handwoven swirls of cream-colored cord harnessed the tiniest pleats of a blush chiffon gown, and a bottle-green cap-sleeved column stunned  in its apparent simplicity—simpler than anything the designer has yet dared to do.

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DOSSIER JOURNAL: Carlos Miele – Spring 2011 from Jenni Avins on Vimeo.

Glamorous gowns, undone hair, shades of papaya flesh and butterfly wings and, Bebel. The best of Brazil.

Images by Samantha Casolari

“Pollock in the Hamptons,” I scribbled in my notebook when I saw the thick grey, black and white embroidery sprayed across a model’s tulle wrapper. I thought of a 1950s beach house, the graphite shadow stripes of a one-shoulder cotton dress its clean cinder planks. The layers of a silver woven dress beneath a second tulle cardigan—this one embroidered with Crayola-worthy bolds—had the effect of a wool afghan laid on a Le Corbusier leather lounger.

Then the first few bars of Then He Kissed Me rang out over the stereo. A model wearing mustard and marine blue flowers began to sway with the beat. Suddenly it was the ’60s and someone had tossed some floral linen-upholstered cushions into my modern trappings.

I smelled cigarette smoke and looked out the window of my imaginary house. Diane Lane’s character from A Walk on the Moon was smoking on the porch. The white threads crosshatched across her cropped navy pants echoed the basketweave of her camel-colored wedges, and also the seat of the lawn chair where she sat, tapping her toe, waiting for her summer of love to begin.

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Images by Kristiina Wilson

A drizzly Sunday morning seemed right for a VPL show. I sat dreaming of a life lived in lingerie, a life in which Sunday mornings would mean a snooze under a feather comforter rather than another ride on the L-train. And if Victoria Bartlett outfits this existence, here is what I might wear—my hair in a braided bun, messy from the night before:

A bodysuit printed with slate-blue scribbles, smocked at the hips and bloused in the middle
Wide-strapped soft, shiny bras the color of yellow Gatorade
Drapey knits in a butterscotch shade, with a smudge of eyeshadow and matte lips to match

If rousted from my languor and forced outside, I’ll wrap myself in a long pewter cardigan, pull up the hood and let it hang open to reveal the seams and shine beneath, and remind me of my morning spent in bed.

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Images by Brandie Raasch

The models at Suno stood on sand in front of white corrugated tin, wearing pinafores, dresses, bikinis and shorts that celebrated Kenya’s traditional textiles. The pieces were playful, but the details were controlled, so the collection was at once smile-inducing and smart:

Patchworked watery plaids of mixed proportions
Off-colors, once tropical, now washed by the sun
(pleasantly pale aqua and carnation pink contrasted by pieces in citrine and plum)
Matte mouths the color of raisins and milky purple manicures
A miniature dove-grey ikat, with cream cotton trim
Piles of Lizzie Fortunato’s fabric-covered bangles and beaded strands kept short by ribbons at the neck
A ruffle-edged bikini top with Kandinsky-esque dots

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