PLAID PASSIONS

After last month’s independence referendum in Scotland, I’ve got tartan on my head. These plaids, woven and worn for centuries, originated to distinguish Scotland’s clans (i.e. families) from one another. Some standard ones date back to the seventeenth century. Now their specifications, old and new, are officially administered by The Scottish Register of Tartans, established in 2009. I wonder if Scottish identity is essentially clannish, and, if so, what happens if Scotland becomes nationalized? Will there be a need for a universal tartan, a federal tartan?

This little dress by McQ, that’s been photographed, flatteringly, on a number of non-Scottish celebrities, points one way. It mixes Rupert and Paddington tartans in a manner that’s simple, stylish, and politically progressive. It’s a classic sheath with a scoop neck and straight hem, complicated with a syntactical riddle. Its skirt is draped conventionally, with the grain of the fabric running orthogonally. But its top is draped on the bias, running at a 45 degree angle in front, falling along the left side like a shawl, and then resolving itself in a different, more acute angle at the back neck. I’ve studied pictures of the dress from all angles and still don’t understand how the side seams in the bodice work, and where the back zipper is hidden. The two plaids don’t match in color or tone, but the dress makes a harmonious whole. They are boldly scaled, but don’t seem tritely Scottish. Can happily mismatched tartans be the uniform for a modern, independent Scotland?

McQ by Alexander McQueen, Tartan Drape Top Dress (Rupert tartan draped top dress with Paddington tartan mini skirt, with zip closure at the back), Pre-Autumn/Winter 2014.

October 04, 2014 by Nalina Moses

January 25, 2012 by Nalina Moses

In their smaller, ground-floor gallery FIT has mounted an exhibit of notable pieces from their own collection. It opened with the title Great Designers but, after some controversy, was renamed, with less boldness and brevity, Fashion, A-Z: Highlights from the Collection of the Museum at FIT, Part One. The garments are displayed alphabetically by designer name, so that the show kicks off with a crystal-studded white gown by Giorgio Armani, and ends with outfits by Gianni Versace, Vivienne Westwood and XULY.Bet. In between there are pieces from all the usual suspects, including Fortuny, CocoChanel, Donna Karan and Alexander McQueen, as well as undersung heroes, like Lucien Lelong, and upstarts, like Gareth Pugh. Only John Galliano, riding out a scandal, is notably absent.

More than a comprehensive history of fashion, or a random sampling from FIT’s treasure trove, the show offers a convincing argument for the power of the dress. Even the ladies pantsuits and jackets on display have a dress-like logic, emphasizing a unified, ladylike profile over the drama of contrasting pieces. And all the pieces seem to emphasize the fall of fabric over a woman’s body rather than the architecture of the clothing itself. (Although there is one remarkable exception, a green Charles James gown that seems to be standing up on its own.) So Galliano is sorely missed. Nothing would have centered the exhibit more than a bias-cut confection from this master of the fancy dress. There was only one mens ensemble on display, an embellished, pimpish suit by Jean Paul Gaultier. And that drew attention to another omission – the entire world of mens fashion. Maybe FIT could have called this exhibit Dresses from the Collection at FIT and followed with another called Suits from the Collection at FIT. They would have gone swiftly to the heart of both mens and womens fashion.

September 19, 2011 by Nalina Moses

“I don’t do event dressing, because every day is an event." This is the philosophy of Daphne Guinness, heiress, socialite, and patroness of the haute couture, whose clothes are on display now at the gallery at FIT. It’s a brilliantly-curated collection of theatrical, avant-garde clothing, with large doses of Azzedine Alaia, Karl Lagerfeld, Gareth Pugh, and Chanel. But the heart of the exhibit (and Guinness’ closets) is given over to Alexander McQueen. Guinness was frequently described as McQueen’s muse. She owned many of the pieces on display at the Met’s summer show, dressed for the opening gala of that exhibit in the shop windows at Barney’s, and, at the designer’s funeral, entered St. Paul’s in an enormous, black, McQueen-designed cape that trailed her like a storm cloud. The day called for drama, and she delivered.

Alexander McQueen presides over the Guinness exhibit in another sense too. His spectacular Met retrospective raised the bar for fashion exhibits and for museum display design. Other shows I’ve seen at FIT’s main gallery, a flat basement space, felt less like special events than like archival study, with groups of plain white mannequins set out on flat stands with explanatory labels. For the Guinness exhibit FIT constructed six small alcoves from mirror, glass, and fabric scrims. And they’ve hung screens above showing the short films that Guinness starred in and produced. The result is a sense of multiplicity and transparency that’s right in sync with the image of the lady in question, and of anyone, really, who participates fully in fashion.

June 16, 2011 by Nalina Moses

Last week I finally made it to “Savage Beauty,” the Alexander McQueen show at the Met, which is just as sensational as everyone says it is. I’ve seen other great fashion exhibits, like the Met’s AngloMania in 2006, which featured several McQueen ensembles, and this year’s Balenciaga retrospective at the Spanish Institute, but I’ve never been moved the way I was by this one. McQueen’s clothes are very literally fantastic; they evoke fear, pride, lust, violence, amazement and, because of his death last year, incredible sadness.

To see McQueen’s clothes in person is something different than seeing them in photos and videos from runway presentations. His shows were so deeply theatrical (with inventive makeup, styling, lighting, choreography and narratives) that the dazzling technical virtuosity and dreamy baroque sensuality of the garments weren’t easily apparent. Even when his work moved far from what high fashion is (and what clothing is), as with his punkish “tribal” collections, it possessed an astonishing precision in both image and execution. He wasn’t flailing around or experimenting. He was pulling visions out from the air and into the world.