We're giving away a bunch of t-shirts by FAT PUNK STUDIO. They're a bunch of 'dope' and 'fly' skater dudes, or "creative types" basing themselves outta Briiixxtooon, south London. They make t-shirts, skate decks and have pictures of ill-clad young females on their web site!!
The EDEN tshirt we have to give away is a bad ass rock n roll t-shirt, with SKUUULLS!
ENTER HERE http://www.blackknave.com/competition.html
The site is currently down, but back imminently. We've totally rebuilt the site and have a new editorial team from London and New York ready to blogg to their hearts content...
Well either the credit crunch has well and truly hit Paris or the boys don’t like to party as hard as they used to. Despite a frenetic four days of shows, the nocturnal fun was decidedly more low-key than usual - in fact were it not for most of Hoxton quite literally, bringing the parties over, there’d have been remarkably little goin’ awn. More of which later… Anyway, to the shows!
THURSDAY
Paul Helbers navy’s and slates at Louis Vuitton quietly whispered understated minimalism. Whilst that may be fitting for the mood of our times, perhaps some of Jacobs’ light-hearted insouciance could be just what the doctor ordered right now. Trenches, trousers and tailoring followed an unstructured silhouette, offering a louche elegance. Cute accessories – especially the oversized monogram on bags and luggage – but otherwise pretty safe and rather zzzzville.
From the Mod targets on the invitations to The Clash booming in the background, Jean Paul Gaultier’s show was pure homage to 70’s subcultures. And the references were everywhere: Ska and 2-Tone checks, utilitarian-cum-parachute straps across the torso and legs (a nod to Ms Westwood’s punk bondage straps), lean suiting with leaner ties, all polished off with toe-crippling winkle pickers. Three generations of models sprinted on the runway (que one ‘awww’ prompting moment from an afro’d tot who tripped up and burst into tears), and, wait, what was that? Girls too? It was one riotous Mods ‘n’ Rockers party and for 15 minutes those spirits were raised.
FRIDAY
What opened with some sober and sharp monochrome suiting, mutated into the conceptual wizardry we expect from Raf Simons. His neat tailoring and outerwear took a contradictory twist with juxtaposing coloured panels (a gun grey suit with camel sleeves) plus humorous shapes and proportions came via sculpted bright neoprene sleeves which looked absurdly awkward over City boy pinstripes (although I’ve no doubt would raise a smile on those troubled trading room floors). Knitwear took an equally abstract turn with bandage style collars and necklines cut away to below the chest.
From the looks of things Rei Kawakubo ran out of fabric for her Comme des Garcons collection and had to improvise. Her tailoring got an interesting remix by way of disagreeing threads: City pinstripes, tartan, leopard print, tweed, trompe l’oeil pocketing, and military frogging. Phew… Stephen Jones donated the marvellous headgear. Not forgetting the feet; Mary-Jane shoes for boys? – or should that be Manry-Janes?
Kaiser Soze was nowhere to be seen at the Maison Martin Margiela presentation despite the inspired Usual Suspects, line-up parade. Drawing heavily from 70’s Americana references; a Starsky-esque cable-knit chunky cardie, sheepskin bombers, beige leather, taupe suiting, crease fronted slacks etc, I felt it almost seemed erred on the side of parody rather than inspiration. There was also a sad absence of that prevailing Margiela wit and subversive details. Bonus points for the rain splattered trenches, mind.
SATURDAY
Who buys Ungaro? Apart from those blessed dans la wallet, but seemingly less, in style. Admittedly I don’t remember that much about the show, because my companion and I spent it debating whether Luke Worrells sullen expression was due to his Mrs’s recent committal to rehab. But I digress... A Del Boy style sheepskin coat made me chuckle, but alongside wet-look puffa jackets and prolific tartan? Just spelt confusion as a whole. While some of the pieces work individually, the house is struggling under Franck Boclet’s leadership. Whilst trying to appear ‘yoof’, Ungaro is not only shooting themselves in the foot but alienating their older, more blessed dans la wallet, clientele.
Kris Van Assche has skillfully managed to toe the line between remaining faithful to the Dior Homme aesthetic and reinterpreting it against his own blueprint. A largely monochrome collection, when the tailoring isn’t razor sharp, Assche eases things out, much like his own label, and has fun with volume (harem pants anyone?) and irregular placements of waistbands and lapels. A pinstripe waistcoat-cum-hoodie was an interesting touch, ditto the beetle crusher / Dr Marten hybrid footwear. But re: the odd Hammnett-esque slogan tee? C’mon, surely Holland killed this as a trend by now?
It’s impossible not to love Walter Van Bierendonck, if not for the very reason my companion informs me (apparently in the past he’d often hop on the show shuttle bus amongst all the rabble to check out other shows). Flaunting the best sense of humour in fashion, his collections are for the boldhearted and barefaced. Amongst the perennial sex themes residing in them are tribal motifs; this time by way of ethnic print ponchos. Kanyizzle sat front row centre flanked by his entourage who snapped away and giggled at the phallic shapes dangling from tubular torso frames. These extended through dramatic headwear and bizarre facial shapes on gigantic sweaters. Burnt oranges, leaf greens and mauves served to enrich Walters’ super zany optimism, which right now, we need.
As we all know, if Paul Smith does one thing well it’s quintessential English eclecticism. Yet this joyously preppy mish-mish of hyper clashing argyle, stripes, paisley, plaids and polka dots was really rather hip indeed. Austere country tweeds fought alongside dandyish blouses, quaint dickie-bows and snug duffel-coats. Neat eyewear and accessories underscored those nerd chic sentiments.
La grande finale, Monsieur Gareth Pugh’s debut men-only show was a triumphant close to the week. With a smidgen less theatrics and gimmicks here-and-there Pugh has by no means sacrificed his dark aesthetic. Diamond harlequin quilting? Check. Neo-gothic sensibilities? Check. Leather and cyber-metallic finishes? Check. Despite a few Hellraiser-ish moments with belligerent pin adornment (really, how does one sit down?) what Pugh really demonstrated is his mastery of cut: with a number of particularly handsome suits and trench coats.
Last but not least,a special mention goes to Yohji Yamamoto where BK’s very own dapper snapper, Nikki The Greek’s dad strutted his stuff wearing Look 8! Go daddyo!
The twisted frontman of the CRAMPS, Lux Interior (real name Erick Lee Purkhiser) died yesterday of a heart condition aged 60. For those who don't know, Lux was like a f**ked up goth-a-billy version of Iggy Pop, but he'd have never been caught dead doing a car insurance commercial. He was indeed, fashionably profane...
As if the name BARBOUR wasn't British enough, everyone's favorite wax jacket makers are celebrating the 30th anniversary of their timeless Quilted Liddesdale by slapping the family Crest right on the chest. Kinda regal dontcha think? Oddly enough, this crest (adapted from the Barbour family's coat of arms) has never before appeared on their garments, making this quilted jacket a Home Counties must-have for the spring shooting season. Now where's that rifle...?
