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Fashion Cafeteria

September 27th, 2004 | Posted in The New Yorker, Articles | No Comments
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Download the PDF Where everyone goes in Paris after the shows are over.
by Michael Specter

One evening not long ago, I wandered down the Rue de Richelieu on my way to a Chinese restaurant called Dave, which is recommended regularly by people in the fashion business. Like many popular restaurants in Paris, reservations are hard to get at Dave. So I wasn't surprised to find a Complet sign hanging over the lacquered red door. Inside, though, the place was practically empty—there was just one couple, sitting at a table near the window. A rumpled, unshaven Chinese man of indeterminate age emerged from the kitchen. Read more »

The Fantasist

September 22nd, 2003 | Posted in The New Yorker, Articles | No Comments
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Download the PDF How John Galliano reimagined fashion.
by Michael Specter

Last July, three hours before the first model–wearing a flamenco skirt flecked with purple polka dots and cut from more than a hundred and fifty metres of crinoline, organza, and georgette crepe–stepped onto the runway at the Christian Dior haute-couture show, held in the Hippodrome d'Auteuil, John Galliano, the House of Dior's forty-two-year-old design director, settled anxiously into a tiny, makeshift dressing room directly behind the stage. Read more »

I am Fashion

September 9th, 2002 | Posted in The New Yorker, Articles | No Comments
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Download the PDF Guess who Puff Daddy wants to be?
by Michael Specter

The Air France hostess was pleasant but unwilling to compromise. "This flight closes in three minutes, " she said. "We don't make exceptions." Chuck Bone, who was sitting in the Concorde's first-class waiting lounge at J.F.K., reached casually for his cell phone. It was 7:12 a.m. on a Monday in July. The Concorde was scheduled to depart for Paris at eight, and its passengers generally consider even the briefest delay intolerable. Bone, who was wearing a blue-and-white tracksuit and had a simple diamond stud in one ear, started talking. "Where are you guys? You need to get him here now. Read more »

A High-Heel Heaven

March 20th, 2000 | Posted in The New Yorker, Articles | No Comments
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Download the PDF A visit to the madcap world of Manolo Blahnik
by Michael Specter

The first thing I noticed when I entered the two-hundred-year-old town house in Bath that serves as Manolo Blahnik's weekend retreat was the alligator. About three and a half feet long, with olive-brown skin and black hatch marks flecking its body, it was sprawled imperiously across a Queen Anne table at the end of the foyer. The jaws were parted, and the teeth shimmered in the fading light. Read more »