Wide shoulders and cinched waists, boy-tailoring for girls, buckets of lollipop red,
jackets for the open road, a resurgence of dots, belts for conducting diplomacy, and more. By Harriet Mays Powell
Plus: Exquisite Circus
A gallery of the beautiful chaos surrounding the fashion shows in New York, Milan, and Paris. Photographs by Marcus Bleasdale
On the Cover: From left, Yulia Kharlapanova, Aleksandra Rastovic, and Sheila Marquez at the Yves Saint Laurent show in Paris; the collection is available at Yves Saint Laurent, 3. E. 57th St., nr. Fifth Ave. (212-980-2970). Photograph by Marcus Bleasdale/VII, for New York Magazine.
If he doesn’t find a backer soon, the legendary couturier may be gone in a pouf. But what, Christian Lacroix wonders, did profit ever have to do with haute couture?
The $24 million question.
As a designer, Coco Chanel became synonymous with modernity. She also jumped into bed with the Third Reich. Audrey Tautou, the latest actress to play her, explains why Chanel’s legend is as enduring as a quilted handbag.
It’s been burned, washed, stoned, dipped in acid, discarded and rediscovered, even shot. The evolution of a once-humble garment.
The fracturing of an haute-Wasp fairy tale.
100 pedestrians polled about our national health-care battle.
People always disappear from New York in August. But this year’s emptiness feels eerie.
The fate of Ferris.
Our roundup of news from around the city.
Peddling enlightenment in the Hamptons.
The Blackstone Group billionaire reflects on philanthropy and his daughter’s dirty book.
It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and Jim Sturgess is drinking a beer at Molly’s Shebeen.
When Yale refused to show Kate Levant’s project, Zach Feuer gave her keys to his gallery.
Why the already-soaring smart-phone market is only just beginning to take off.
New fall nail-polish shades, shopping on side streets, and more.
“We had Bridget in a very good public school in Tribeca, but she was lopsidedly artistic from the very beginning.”
Monkey Bar pulls in plenty of stars, but A-list connections can’t cover for D-grade cooking.
Low-sodium People's Pickles from Rick's Picks and Flying Pigs Farm's leaf-lard pie dough.
Scarlett Johansson plays Brigitte Bardot to Pete Yorn’s Serge Gainsbourg on a new CD.
Quentin Tarantino’s WWII wet dream of vengeance, Inglourious Basterds, was worth the wait.
Tarantino’s films are as much about female empowerment as macho shenanigans.
Onetime The L Word writer Cherien Dabis’s convictions far outweigh her fear of obstacles.
The Delusional Downtown Divas are spoofing art-world status—and gaining it.
John Forté’s hip-hop career was interrupted by prison and saved by George W. Bush.
Mostly Mozart has found its niche: buoyant good fun. (With a little Stockhausen on the side.)
Espresso addicts are not the sort to be placated with watery iced coffee from the local deli.
Readers sound off on Obama's media presence, Trail's End Camp, and more.
Our deliberately oversimplified guide to who falls where on our taste hierarchies.
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