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Ann Demeulemeester Monograph

Today, the publisher Rizzoli released a long-awaited monograph on the Belgian fashion designer Ann Demeulemeester (Rizzoli, $100). The book is an exclamation point in the last sentence of Demeulemeester’s career, which is a long novel in itself. When we met in Antwerp this April, Demeulemeester just sent off the final draft to the publisher, and she spoke of it as if it was the perfect closure to her body of work in fashion.

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How Hip-Hop Stole Rock’s Thunder

Some time ago in Paris at a men’s show of the cult Japanese label Julius I found myself sitting next to the singer Usher. As I was chatting with his companion, Grace, I could not help but wonder what Usher was doing in a dark, cavernous space, looking at the goth aesthetic of black leathers and drapey wools that Tatsuro Horikawa, Julius’s designer, sent down the runway. And, I also wondered, where are the rockers?

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Iris van Herpen for Dom Perignon

Yesterday we co-hosted the New York launch of a special collaboration between the Dutch designer Iris van Herpen and Dom Perignon, for whom van Herpen designed a bottle. The theme for this collaboration is METAMORPHOSIS, as a Dom Perignon agent told us, and van Herpen, whose work has a distinct otherworldly bent, seemed like a perfect candidate.

03_The World of Rick Owens at Selfridges – canopy

MASTER OF THE ELEMENTS: THE WORLD OF RICK OWENS AT SELFRIDGES

If, dear reader, when in London and walking down Oxford Street, you spot what looks like a giant Rick Owens towering over the double-decker buses and waving what looks like a giant Olympic torch, fear not: you are not hallucinating. A polysterene torso of the designer, made by the British sculptor Doug Jennings (creator of the (in)famous statue of Owens pissing) and weighing a humble 1.5 tons, was erected yesterday on Selfridges façade to celebrate twenty years since the inception of the label and the opening of “The World of Rick Owens” project in store.

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Take My Picture!

One early evening this January I was walking to a Thom Browne show in New York’s West Chelsea neighborhood, chatting with the Italian fashion journalist Angelo Flaccavento, when a commotion broke out right in front of us. We were forced to slow down as Michelle Harper, a street style bait known for nothing in particular except wearing outré outfits at fashion shows, sprung seemingly out of nowhere, decked out in the latest Browne couture-like outfit, street style photographers pouncing on her like wildcats on prey. Harper’s outfit, with carefully constructed white cotton spikes, did not allow for a jacket and even though I was freezing in my down parka she braved the cold so she could be photographed. As she teetered on her high heels on a narrow and icy sidewalk the photographers fought for space. One slipped and almost fell. Another risked getting hit by a car