By now you’ve ruminated
over the red carpet gowns and considered the list of winners. But if you’re
left wondering about the swanky event surrounding the fancy frocks and
silver statue––the Trova doesn’t get the name recognition of its
entertainment cousins, the Oscar, Emmy or Tony––then let me attempt to fill
in the gaps.
For the first time, the ceremony, which also consists of a formal
dinner, is being held in the Hammerstein ballroom on West 34th Street. The
room is bathed in vivid turquoises and fuchsias that make the regularly
spaced white-draped tables look like little boats on a moonlit lake.
It’s my first time at the event and my presence is due to the decision
by the CFDA to open up the awards (if not to television cameras, at least
for this year) to the top fashion schools across the country, inviting a
selection of student and faculty. After all, in the words of Steven Kolb,
the CFDA’s CEO, they represent the future of our industry.
Host Joel McHale begins with a tired joke about fashion folk starving
themselves––”this must be the easiest gig to cater”––followed by a dig at
the inspiration for Kanye West’s recent collection––”trainyard
hobos”––which is met with whooping appreciation by the student guests on
Balcony 2.
It is heartening to see Thom Browne win Menswear Designer of the Year as
he has always seemed to be an accepted yet somewhat sidelined figure of the
New York fashion establishment. His boyfriend, Andrew Bolton, has
successfully curated his first exhibition at the Met, this summer’s
Manus X Machina, and stars with Anna Wintour in the film The
First Monday in May which Browne dutifully plugs while onstage. Thom
also thanks his hard-working team who “are waiting to do shots with me over
there.”
A gold-clad Jenna Lyons from J Crew who is giraffe-tall, even in a
space packed to the rafters with runway models, stalks onstage accompanied
by Lena Dunham whose center of gravity is probably among the lowest of any
in the room. But her sense of humour raises the laugh quotient grandly.
Wearing bunny rabbit shoes with pink fluffy ears, the Girls star muses on
what the CFDA actually stands for: “Committee for Doing Acid?” “Corduroy,
Felt and Denim Association?” She is delighted to have “picked up a lovely
Proenza bag from the coatcheck.”
Calvin Klein who, at 73, still cuts a youthful figure in his suit,
introduces his longtime friend Donna Karan, for the Founders Award, saying,
“We’ve gone the distance. We understand each other really well. We met
decades ago. She was the most attractive, open, warm girl…” After hugging
him tightly, a relaxed Karan languidly drapes herself over the podium and
reminisces on the historic 70s “Battle of Versailles” in which Halston,
Anne Klein (for whom she worked), Bill Blass and other American greats
participated in a sort of Fashion Face-off against the French. I am left
feeling that these members of the old guard are glorious examples of a
career that’s almost impossible to carve out in fashion nowadays; their
memories of the good old days seem to hinge on an industry that was more
familial and compassionate; slower but steadily rewarding, and offering
more longevity.
At a certain point in the evening, I begin to suspect that fashion
designers just aren’t very interesting when put behind a podium. I don’t
know what I was expecting but an award ceremony situation doesn’t reveal
these dynamic creatives in their best light; many of them come across as
stilted, unfunny, terse. Marc Jacobs, who wins the Designer of the Year
award (again) dashes on, wearing T-shirt and jeans and, without much
enthusiasm in his voice, thanks his design team and disappears again. But
my disillusionment ends with the Swarovski Womenswear award: at the
announcement of his name, Brandon Maxwell leaps out of his chair,
struggling to insert his arms into his suit jacket and hurry onstage.
Shaking with shock, nauseous with nerves, he says he had considered wearing
pants with an elastic waist, but as it was a fancy dinner he didn’t want to
embarrass himself, especially if the rumors that they were televising the
event were true. The spontaneity of his unprepared speech interspersed with
incredulous ohmygods is refreshing. Describing his younger self
as “very gay in a small town,” he credits the women in his life with giving
him purpose and concludes by marveling again at finding himself at such a
fancy affair: “I’m a slightly overweight boy from Texas. My idea of fancy
food is rolled up, deep fried and wrapped in rice paper.”
“Brandon Maxwell, everybody!” exclaims Joel McHale, as the overwhelmed
young designer exits the stage to loud applause.
A rather odd moment occurs when Anna Wintour steps up to present the
award for International Designer of the Year, but instead announces that
Hillary Clinton has reached the number of delegates needed to become the
Democratic presumptive nominee. Those seated in the front row tables burst
into cheers but, where I am, this announcement is received with some
confusion. Millennials in gowns grabbing devices, gasp, turn to each other,
frowning. “Really?” asks one, skeptically, before taking to her phone to
verify it. “Damnnnnnn,” drawls another.
A minor speed bump and the evening proceeds with all things fashion.
Alessandro Michele of Gucci, wearing a powdery pink trouser suit with
crystals trickling over one shoulder, is awarded the honor. He thanks his
companion for the evening, Francois Pinault, head of Kering which owns
Gucci.
Steven Kolb then extends a special word to the students in attendance
before the announcements of this year’s CFDA scholarship winners are read
by Heidi Klum. Onscreen, amongst the names from the top New York schools of
Parsons and FIT, one of a former student of mine, just graduated from Kent
State flashes: Kara Kroeger, Winner of the Kenneth Cole Accessory Design
award. Her fellow Kent Staters erupt in support.
It has arrived, the point in the evening I have been eagerly awaiting:
the CFDA tribute to David Bowie. Languid and striking, in her gold jacket
and tuxedo pant with bold red side stripe, Tilda Swinton reads a letter to
David “at the request of your beautiful missus.” After revealing that the
evening coincides with David and Iman’s 24th wedding anniversary, she
addresses the singer whom she calls “Dave,” and “chum”:
“All your changes. Ever moving forward. All your kindness. All your magic.
All your vim and vigor. All your glory. Always and always.”
She signs off with “You’re our hero, forever and ever. Everyone
says hi. Love,
Your Tilly.”
Michael C Hall, who played the lead in Bowie’s musical,
Lazarus, earlier this year, sings “Changes” while models wearing a
selection of Bowie’s stage costumes parade by, and the screen displays
images of the singer in his many guises.
The Lifetime Achievement award is presented to Norma Kamali by Michael
Kors, who shares a story from his youth about a fellow FIT fashion-obsessed
student who wore a Kamali maillot to Studio 54, but unable to afford
Kamali’s accompanying sleeping-bag coat, ripped the comforter off her dorm
room bed and cloaked herself in that. Kamali also travels back in time in
her speech, thanking the late Francesco Scavullo for putting her swimsuit
on the cover of Cosmopolitan, and Christie Brinkley for wearing it
so well, and Ian Schrager for asking her to design a Halloween look for
Grace Jones, along with Richard Avedon and Diana Vreeland. She ends by
naughtily suggesting to J Crew’s Mickey Drexler that they make a sex tape
as a strategy to get her back in the limelight.
The atmosphere becomes charged as president of the CFDA, Diane Von
Furstenberg, steps behind the podium, and begins speaking in a teasing
voice. I notice she is tracing delicate circles on the floor with her toe.
Something is about to happen. But what? Von Furstenberg remarks
that designers are now celebrities and celebrities are designers. She
throws in a mention of Ivy Park and everyone goes very still.
“The image of a woman in charge has never looked so glamourous or
desirable,” she continues, coyly, before finally putting us out of our
misery as she welcomes onstage the night’s special guest, Beyoncé. To noisy
appreciation from the entire house, the singer in a sparkling gold pant
suit and wide-brimmed black hat strolls on stage, in no hurry to get to the
podium, allowing us to bask in her superstar presence.
When the noise dies down, Beyonce gives a moving speech in her warm,
soft, southern accent. “When we were starting out in Destiny’s Child,
high-end labels, they didn’t really want to dress four black, country,
curvy girls,” she reveals, describing how her mother, a seamstress, along
with her uncle and grandmother, came to their rescue and made their stage
costumes which she likened to, “an extra suit of armor. It was so much
deeper than any brand name.” Looking out at the audience, the evening’s
recipient of the CFDA’s Icon Award, she reminds designers of their
importance as “fairy godmothers, magicians, sculptors — and sometimes even
our therapists.” Then, she moseys off stage, shimmering and golden.
Reeling, and wondering if we should collect our purses, we notice Joel
McHale is back and attempting to deflect our attention from the white piano
being wheeled onstage. How can they possibly hope to top Beyonce?
With another burst of song, that’s how. The evening closes with a
tribute to another of this year’s fallen style icons. Jennifer Hudson, also
in gold (it seems to be the color of the night––I’m even dabbling in it
myself), walks onstage, belting out “When Doves Cry” by Prince. Surrounded
by twirling figures, she segues into livelier favorites, including “Let’s
Go Crazy.”
Onstage, the energy is high, but it’s jarring when I look across the
room at the stiffness of the attendees. Anna Wintour remains seated, as do
those by her. Others stand and gently sway, but no one joins Hudson in
exhibiting the exuberance the song demands. No one’s going even a little
bit crazy. An audience member dressed head to toe in purple sequins, is
invited to join Hudson onstage and he gamely shimmies in honor of His
Purple Highness.
The fashion crowd give two standing ovations during the evening. One
for Donna Karan, the other for Norma Kamali. Acknowledging the
contributions of these two legendary females of the industry is well in
order and I have absolute respect for all they have accomplished. However,
I save my standing ovations for two others. Diane Von Furstenberg touched
on the seductive connection between fashion and celebrity earlier when
introducing Beyoncé. And Tilda Swinton, reading from her letter to David,
struck a cord with the words, “These kind people, the fanciest fashion
people on the planet, are giving you their highest prize.”
Who am I to argue? What is fashion without showbiz?
I’m on my feet for Beyoncé and Bowie.
By contributing guest editor Jackie Mallon, who is on the teaching
faculty of several NYC fashion programmes and is the author of Silk for the
Feed Dogs, a novel set in the international fashion industry.
Images: Jackie Mallon