Identity Is Malleable. Become That Version You Love: What You Create

And to think earlier this week stylemeister Molly McGee sent me a text asking if I intended to go to Jeffrey's show, to which I hit the 'Return Call' button and promptly replied: "No. I can't bear to see another designer 'pare it down.' Don't we have enough Jil Sander knock-offs and mega-consumer-conscious artists who are compromising their artistic abilities as it is? I'm about ornamentation," I sneered. "'Nothing exceeds like excess'" and from what I've heard, the sharp-edge Sebelia once yielded has gone soft."

Of course, she was the first person I saw as I handed off my car to the Valet. I thought you weren't coming, she said by no means snotty in her inflection, but rather stating the obvious. "Yeah, well... I've been wrong before," I grumbled, before complimenting her smothered-in-spikes amulet from a recent discovery of mine, Shannon Sleaze and then assessing the monstrous line already wrapped around the event's main sponsor, 2121 Lofts--who paired up with style bible Flaunt magazine for this noteworthy event.

I won't mention how my date J-Star and I parlayed our way inside in under five minutes. Not only would that be gauche, but also flagrantly hypocritical: I voice my disapproval at such behavior all too often.

"Armed and Ready" with J-Star and Allan from Buzznet
Photo by Lina Lecaro of the LA Weekly 'Style Council'

Instead, I'll go into how glad I was to be wrong. Of the Cosa Nostra designs displayed on the 'walking sticks' provided by Next Models, I found myself genuinely impressed. For Autumn/Winter 2007, Sebelia's inspiration was rife with the 'high Goth' esprit de corpse that's remained a shadowy presence in the atmosphere since the big Paris shows a year ago. Granted, this is not to be mistaken by the Velveeta-laden low-end Hot Topic Goth: there were no chunky monster boots, crushed velvet capes, or opera sleeves that smacked of any Ren Faire flair.

 

Image Courtesy of www.TheoPhoto.com


"View From The Front Row" by Lina Lecaro

Au contraire, there were silhouettes displayed in artful contrasts of severe and soft: a dirty rust-colored dress with impeccably-clean black leather piping in a genius mid-waist geometric design, a parade of bone-gray and faded black ready-to-wear that bore more resemblance to extreme-couture than his extreme rock-n-roll safety-pinned past, and my favorite piece among the lot: a sharply-scissored leather jacket with twin zipper-edged strips dangling on each side like skeleton arms held akimbo.

So it's not that he's 'gone soft,' as I'd accused days prior. It's that his emphasis has shifted away from the post-punk So What If The Material's Ripped And Bunched Up aesthetic to a notably-honed development of exquisite pattern-cutting and handiwork.

"The Dark Is Rising..."
Jeffrey and His Cosa Nostra Army for Autumn/Winter 2007
Image courtesy of www.TheoPhoto.com

Insofar as the collection of clothing goes, I have nothing but compliments. Nonetheless, since this was a fashion show--not some installation of mannequins displaying the garments in 'pure form,' I find it only fair to share my single complaint: the models. And it's not their physical appearance that irked. It was their inexperienced gait I bit my cheeks to keep from shouting direction over.

I'm a huge fan of fashion in flight--the catwalk stance of Mariacarla Boscono and Kristen McMenamy's infamous "Fuck you; fuck you; fuck you" prance in her I-Showed-Them runway heyday, the McQueen moments when Shalom was spray-painted on a spinning stage--but, save for one girl who stood out from the pack of blundering beauties, I almost wish they would have just stood still, striking poses and looking pretty with their brilliant hairpieces created by Carlos Ortiz.

"Leading From The Chin" Is Not The Way To Win
Photo credit: Lina Lecaro

As far as I'm concerned, a key point in a show should be its showmanship. That being said, however, I'll segueway to the "other" commentary about the evening: the attendees and key players among the lot. While the moo-dels should've been bitch-slapped into shape by a drag queen demanding Hips, bitches! Don't lead with your chins--use your hips!, I've gotta serve props the other direction to the fashion PR firm eM Productions: Meeshka, Henri and their cute-enough-to-consume crew of workers em-effin' turned it OUT! Sporting their trademarked-by-Madonna headphones and whisking about with seating charts in hands, they worked their magic among the impressively overbooked runway area in a seamless manner. I mean, with a standing-room-only backdrop so packed, it conjured claustrophobic memories of getting crushed in general-admission concerts all those years and braincells ago, coupled with the fact that people were literally 'hanging from the rafters' in the balcony environ the loft venue provided--how they handled weeding through the masses for seating arrangements is beyond comprehension.

My location? I sat wielded on one side by the iTunes Dance Music Chart-Topper the last three weeks in a row (right above Justin Timberlake, thankyouverymuch) Jeffree Star, and the other side by the prolific gal-about-town Lina Lecaro of the L.A. Weekly Style Council. Flanking the same side of the runway with me was the Weekly Style Council Mistress Supreme, Linda Immediato (whose beauty and intellect are truly unparalleled), along with visual artist and milliner extraordinaire Adele Mildred (currently gracing the pages of über-hip Swindle magazine, issue 10) and the impeccably-stylish stylist Max Smith (which in this Let's-Play-It-Safe-For-The-Red-Carpet town is a rarity, sadly); directly across was the whip-smart Emili Vesilind, West Coast Retail Editor of WWD and 'holding court' several seats down, the legendary Booth Moore of the Los Angeles Times. As a fellow wordsmith, I consider these women nothing short of heroes--and I'd choose their company over that of the Too Sad To Even Mention one-hit wonder ensemble who parked their carcasses in seating close-by.

 

Jeffree Star, Adele Mildred, and Max Smith
Snapshot courtesy of Lina Lecaro

Apart from tooting the horns of my personal pals and journalistic mentors, I should give a shout-out to some of the other bold-facers whom were in the house. First up, showing their support for 'The Sebelia' were "Project Runway" veterans in all their archetypical glory: scruffy bad-boy Santino, the ever-charming Nick Verreos, and the persistent underdog Bradley Baumkirchner, whose head was far from hung in shame.

Also present were small-screen stars Cat Deely (from the reality series "So You Think You Can Dance"), the so-friendly-it's-refreshing Lisa Edelstein (from the mega-hit "House M.D."), those who bring the music to the masses: DJ Cut Chemist and Steve Aoki, and those who make the music themselves: Jay Bently of Bad Religion, electronic art-rockers Julien K, and Virgin Records' own Ima Robot, who took to the stage for the after-party.

In the midst of all the post-show madness--as the music began to blare and the crowd split into two camps: those dashing for valet service, and the other folks hanging for the party--I made the mistake of thinking I recognized a chisel-featured blonde rather than the actress she accompanied. "Where do I know you from?" I asked, to which the thin-lipped beauty stammered in a search for nomenclature, which was soon cut off. "She's just a fucking socialite," quipped the buxom bombshell Amber Heard. Tits out for thinking on your Louboutins, Amber! Girrrrl, I heard that!

O.K., total disclaimer here: I live in Los Angeles. I'm a crotchety old crow, and I was the Guest List Bitch/"Door Whore" during the heyday of legendary clubs like Cherry, Make-Up, Synthetic, Bang!, et al. Translation: I've had a lot of contact with celebrities. Some of them have become friends; some enemires, but most just holograms that go blip on my radar for a nanosecond of life. That being said, I loathe being around the "Stereotypical Angelenos" who can't utter a sentence that doesn't include some famous person that they're a friend of. What, they're going to be "The Most Famous Person Who Knows Famous People" or something? Everyone who lives in L.A. proper has celebrity stories to spout out like gumballs 24-cents-a-pop... it's not a big deal. However, since this Friday past was my first job as the PR person for a fashion extravaganza, I've gotta rattle off how much I surprised myself in the crowd I somehow managed to wrangle up.

O.K., for starters: since I'm a siiiick bitch who loves the surreal flash of celebrity that accompanies folks who put themselves on "reality" shows (and having worked on four seasons of one, I'm using the term reality loosely), when I was casting models, I came up with the so-wrong-it's-right concept of booking walking-sticks (the term I use for "moo-dels") from different reality programs; that way it'd be a smack-down in itself...on top of the clothes.

Lisa D’Amato (legendary party girl from cycle 5 of “America’s Next Top Model”) opened the show. Now, not to be pedantic, but in the realm of runway shows, there's a hierarchy. The "first girl" (or guy, depending on the designer) is important...she's the bad-ass bitch who's setting the tone for the show, and is one of the people the designer has deemed either a 'muse' or a 'conduit' for what he's deeming the feeling "of the moment." The 'final girl' is also important, and referred to by some as "the bride"...but we'll get to that later.

So anyway, Lisa stomped her way out with all the power of a silent storm: an other-worldly atmosphere summed up by the name of Jared's show: "Quiet Army." Following Lisa was Joanie Dodds (runner-up, cycle 6 of “America’s Next Top Model”), the proverbial blonde preacher's daughter whose stride conveyed There Is More To Me Than The Eye Can See. If any of you watched Joanie's cycle, I'll tell you this: home girl has improved her walk tremendously...a point duly noted by my old boss at ANTM who was at the show, as well.

Following in their wake, we had the fiery redheaded Amanda Blick (from season 3 of “Project Runway”), whose poise at the press 'stop and pose' was really a force to be reckoned with. From season 2 of "The Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency," we had the pouty-mouthed blonde, Desiree Bick, the walking Adonis known as Dominic Figlio, the mega-fierce Pierce Ross (who looked flawless with every step she took), and a hunky "double-whammy": J.P. Calderon from "Survivor," who then went on to get signed in "The Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency," where viewers were treated to lots of body, body, body! It was adorable to see him in Jared Gold gear: one round a whimsical vest with hunter-orange hued buttons and free-flowing pants; another round truly stunning in a ruffled pelt jacket with oversized collar the designer accessorized by a cravat, strutting JG signature shorts that smack of the turn-of-the-last-century and side-striped baseball socks to complete the look.

Since casting only reality "Survivors," per se, would be too on-the-nose (we might as well have thrown a slab of Velveeta across the room), there also was a legitimate model/actress in the mix: Mageina Tovah, who's starred in Spiderman 2, the TV show "Joan of Arcadia," and plenty of other places you can find on imdb.com.

Performance artist Larva brought her own panache to the runway, slinking and physically embodying the insect motif of the clothes with such dedication, there was a transitory flash of "what lies beneath" none of us anticipated! She pulled it off like a pro, and the audience reacted accordingly: but no one commanded applause more than musician and MySpace celebrity Jeffree Star, whose vicious pink hair was partially cornrowed. The sparkle of Star's make-up combined with the inimitable dazzle of his first sequin-striped dress was almost too much to handle...and for that, we are all grateful. On his third round, Jeffree was the 'final girl,' functioning like an exclamation point for all the refined wit Jared's adroit ability led us up to. As "The Bride," he stepped onto the stage a final time along with Mr. Gold, flanked on the opposite end by the diva D'Amato.

The collection as a whole? The concept of "words cannot explain" comes to mind, though I despise the cliché. Words can explain the genius and gorgeous collection Jared presented for Fall '07; it's just that I'm not adroit enough a wordsmith to do them justice. No hyperbole here: do a quick search on WireImage.com if you don't believe me.

I've been a friend and fan of the creative force known as Jared Gold for several years, and can whole-heartedly say this was his most artfully executed and unmistakenly cohesive collection yet. You'd be hard-pressed to find a single person in the packed-beyond-capacity Palace ballroom who'd disagree. And among them was a noteworthy crowd:

director Amy Heckerling (Clueless, Fast Times At Ridgemont High)

fashion designer Bao Tranchi with musician Jack Atlantis

the ever-flamboyant Bobby Trendy

celebrity party planner Bryan Rabin

Corey Granet from The Warlocks

Courtney Hanson, host of FOX sports’ show “Destination Wild”

director Darren Stein (Jawbreaker and the forthcoming Color Me Olsen)

Doug Spearman from the LOGO series “Noah’s Ark”

Eric from the band Hole

visual artist Elizabeth McGrath with her husband Morgan Slade (from the band Miss Derringer)

Gina Gurewitz, co-owner of Epitaph Records

Heather Tom, two time emmy-award winner for “The Young and The Restless”; currently in new David E. Kelley show “The Wedding Bells”

Janet Fitch (best-selling author of White Oleander)

She-Who-Needs-No-Intro Jenna Jameson with Ultimate Fighting Champion Tito Ortiz

Jennifer Carpenter (from The Exorcism of Emily Rose and the Showtime series “Dexter”)

actor and producer Joel Michaely

author and “celebutante” James St. James

tranny-sexy actresses Willam Belli and Kelly Mantle

actress Krysten Ritter (from “Veronica Mars”)

model Maurice Townsell (from the Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency, but sat front row…did not walk the show)

Pauley Perrette (principal character Abby on "NCIS")

Richard Glatzer and Wash West, co-writers and directors of the multiple award-winning film Quinceañera

a very-preggers Tina Minero from the bands Switchblade Symphony and Tre Lux

actor and model Tony Ward

celebrity photographer Albert Sanchez

reknown jewelry designer Tarina Tarantino

awe-inspiring photographer Austin Young

ALONG WITH THE INFRASTRUCTURE OF L.A.'s HIPPEST:

Go Go Giddle of the Partridge Family Temple, Ali Maclean of Rock-N-Role and Indie 103.1, Ava Gardner, the researcher/compiler of Courtney Love’s latest book, twisted magician Christopher Wonder, visual artist Dame Darcy, club promoter Darcey Leonard, photosculpturist David Meanix (of “Six Feet Under” fame), eccentric director/writer/producer Lisa Hammer, designer M’Lynn Hass, musician Nora Keyes (from the band The Centimeters, among others), designer Pinar Eris, installation artist Plastic God, the extremely-opinionated queer author Dave White, Simone Williams, owner and head designer of Exquisite Restraint Corsetry, “Ring My Bell” host Steven Corfe, World of Wonder producer Thairin Smothers, visual artist Tony Mech, fetish model Courtney Cruz, break-out author Matty Lee, choreographer Ryan Heffington, a slew of the coolest stylists in town (including Alicia Lawhon, Max Smith, Macon Brown and Tyrus Wilson) as well as the paragon of style, Laurie Pike of Los Angeles Magazine.

The imperium of a "Quiet Army"...the commanding competence of designer Jared Good-As-But-Never-Fool's Gold. I feel honored to have witnessed it.

Last week was a particularly challenging juggling act, as I was on the phone with agents and managers booking models and confirming celebrities for my first PR job as the 'wrangler' for my dear friend Jared Gold, all the while having my own agent and manager beep in with updates on negotiations on two different deals my writing partner and I are trying to finally seal. Fortunately, one of them is finally a 'go,' and my pal and I will be meeting with the producer at some point today to begin tossing around ideas for the pilot episode...but I assume part of the reason I'm unable to sleep is the "deal-breaker" we've come to in our negotiations for the other show. It's such a game of chance colliding with connections and nailing the zeitgeist in this town, and I'm clawing at it with such a ferocity, there's blood beneath my nails.

It's been a long journey from the hateful, homophobic small town where I grew up to heading out three weeks later for a year of bad behavior as a scholarship student in Germany, to college and San Francisco amphetamine-fueled insanity, to losing everything and starting "less than zero" (about 100k in debt beneath the mark, to be exact) down here in L.A. I went from moving to this Babylon-by-the-Pacific where I knew no one, to working my way up through schlepping on the bus to shitty jobs (packing carry-out Chinese food with a master's degree? Now that was a lesson in humility) step by diligent step to where I am now: the brink of so close to "making it," sometimes it feels as if I can feel the frequencies in the air this city emits, and I'm an eyelash away from transmitting them myself.

One of the things I love about L.A. is that almost everywhere you turn, someone's dream is coming to fruition: a cafe' I frequent is closed down for the day because a commercial is being shot there, a side-street I often take for a short cut is closed-off because a movie is being made. A friend who's been scraping by as a bartender in the evenings and hitting the proverbial pavement each day driving across the endless sprawl of freeways that lead her to audition after audition after audition finally gets that role that changes her life forever.

But all the while...I watch as one friend trades in her dreams of being director and takes on the role of directing how her children will play in that family she's chosen to create out in suburbia, another one sells the drumset and shelves the dream, a guy I considered a "lifer" decides to move to a remote area and "re-group," an aspiring model I call to book for a styling shoot is embarrassed to admit via the distance of her satellite-transmitted cell phone that she couldn't hack being away from her boyfriend/family/home town/comfort zone another day and moved back without bothering to say goodbye.

And then there's the sadder cases: the old room mate who called me crying and on the verge of suicide today because she relapsed on the glass pipe and--days later--has found herself "cracking off" twentysomething hours away in Mexico below the Texas border, with an ex-con who doesn't speak English who led her to a country where she understands next to nothing.

Sure, it's tough. Sure, I have my moments of doubt, when another trip to the mailbox alerts me to bills I need to pay for those sins of my past I laugh about and refer to as "that house I never bought." Sure, it's a hustle, and all the stereotypes can be found on grand glossy-veneered display if I go to the places where I know I can find them... but why bother? The truth of the matter is: I'm more content carving out my own niche than being beaten by the shortcomings that accompany following those of others.

And ultimately, I do it because I don't know what else I would do.

And I do I because I don't know what else I could do.