As you might expect from a Spanish designer, Sebastian Khourianbeer is a master leather craftsman. He deftly manipulates the material in bold, innovative ways, creating surprisingly tailored pieces, as well as curiously shaped bags. He'll often work with a single panel of leather, or knit, resulting in an oversized silhouette that, through folding and stitching, is brought down to size.
The lookbook for spring 2016, his third season, is a collaboration between Khourian and his hubbie, photographer Roman Yakubson, who can also be seen modeling the collection. “As partners in both profession and life," says Khourian, "we work side-by-side exploring, designing, and producing objects through an intensively tactile and handmade approach."
If we know Hintsters, and we just might, we think you're going to fancy the fancy footwear of Filipino shoe designer Kermit Tesuro. Even before the obligatory Lady Gaga strutted around in his cuckoo confections, the Central Saint Martins' grad was getting plenty of avant-attention. The next time you see electric-blue tentacles encircling someone's ankles, or chunks of black plastic melting around their feet, don't be alarmed — it's only Kermit using his imagination.
Though not in the mainstream news much anymore, Ukraine is still embroiled in a border dispute with its neighbor to the north. But at least one designer of the avant sort, Irina Dzhus, is pushing boundaries of her own. Who needs the mainstream anyway?
Despite the austere nature of her Dzhus label, launched in 2010, there's something familiar and refreshing about its conceptual attitude. "It's inspired by things at the edge of perception," she says, "from spiritual strongholds to abandoned industrial zones."
For her fall 2015 collection, called Totalitarium, Dzhul took her cues from the authoritarian regimes of the early 20th century, particularly their working-class propaganda and stoic monuments. The silhouettes are both historical and modern, while the rare detail, like geometrical pleats, interpret architectural elements of Constructivism. All the pieces are made of authentic worker cottons and wools in a strict grayscale palette.
But that's where similarities to brutal dictators ends because Dzhus is a vegetarian-friendly brand where all products are made of violence-free materials.
Mr. Green, do you take it as a compliment when a tabloid like the Daily Mail makes fun of your work?
(Laughs.) I think that season there were three labels that got ridiculed by the Daily Mail. It was me, Sibling, and J.W. Anderson. And it was all “weird” and people were really ripping into [us] and the comments from the general public underneath… It was quite funny. It became this badge of honor. After that, people were trying to get into the Daily Mail. The next collection I did, I was like, “Shit, it wasn’t weird enough! They didn’t even comment on it!”
What was your initial reaction when your first collection was ridiculed by one of the biggest newspapers in the UK?
I was a bit like, “Oh God, it’s a joke. Everyone thinks it’s shit.” I'd just done my first show, I had no money and I'd done this big push, I thought maybe I should be doing something else with my life. People had made mockups on TV, like on The Jonathan Ross Show, and then the Daily Mail made a fake one and went around London trying to get into places with a big piece of wood on their face. It was the first collection I’d ever made outside of university, I got friends to help, my family was helping, it was very communal, and those people made me realize that it was good to split opinions. That means that it was a challenging thing for people, it made people discuss something. So it was a good thing in hindsight.
“Some people think that only clothes with dragons or peonies can be Chinese," says Xander Zhou, the Beijing-based, Netherlands-schooled designer who's shaking up the London men's collections with his just-radical-enough take on traditional attire.
That Zhou's style is difficult to place in any canon, Western or otherwise, is an understatement — and that's exactly how he wants it. For spring, although he did indulge in a little dragon embroidery, Zhou took to Western staples with high-minded zeal, applying trenches, windbreakers, and other boxy pieces with offbeat Chinese flourish. Meanwhile, a bomber-jumpsuit hybrid with a pale flower pattern seemed to stoke multiple cultural sensibilities, yet managing to offend no one.
If all this smacks of androgyny — ding, ding, ding. Says Zhou: “My mom, with her hundred pairs of high heels, has had a longer-lasting influence on my fashion sense than any other style icon.”
If there's one mandate at the Japanese juggernaut of Comme des Garçons, it's to pursue the new — relentlessly, methodically, unflinchingly. It's a notion Kei Ninomiya is well acquainted with. The latest Rei Kawakubo protege to see the light of the runway is doing just that for his Noir Kei Ninomiya line. He does not seek to be influenced or even inspired; he simply seeks to create something never-before-created.
The all-black collection of biker jackets and complicated dresses he showed for fall 2015 may not seem particularly new, but when molded, sculpted, macraméd, heat-stamped, and laser-cut in a certain way, an auteur-like way, with zippers and studs just so, it becomes a radical revelation. A (faux) leather coat made out of padded shapes connected with a thousand or so beads, with nary a thread or vulgar seam in sight, is practically a manifesto for considered dressing.
Like his philosophy, Ninomiya's entry into fashion has been rather unique. He graduated from college in Tokyo with a degree in French Lit before joining the fashion course of Antwerp's Royal Academy of Fine Arts, but he dropped out after one year to join Comme des Garçons back in Tokyo as a pattern-cutter. When one is offered a job after personally interviewing with Rei Kawakubo, one does not look back. Four years later, in 2012, he was handed the holy grail, an offer to develop and show his own collection under the Comme umbrella. With the mindful madness of a sculptor, a yen for Japanese-style experimentalism, a penchant for French literature, and of course his insatiable quest for the new, could he have ended up anywhere else?
Boris Bidjan Saberi — a Persian-German designer based in Barcelona and who shows in Paris — launched his eponymous men's label in 2007. With his multicultural background, he describes his design philosophy in terms of hybrids, such as "secular spirituality," "metropolitan religion," and "elegant sloppiness."
Thus, 'urban nomad' became a calling card that stuck, used to describe his blending and layering of natural fabrics like cotton and felt with manmade materials like vinyl and tar. This was how a recent claim to fame, transparent leather, which is in fact a chemical compound, came to be.
Now Saberi has launched a second line, called 11, that aims to attract a younger, punkier clientele. The fall 2015 collection, Snow Bleach, is intended to connote mountain soldiers in white camouflage. Snowboarders can't be far behind.
There's no shortage of nuttiness in fashion (we're looking at you, Monsieur Owens), but Bas Kosters may have busted the nut-o-meter. During Amsterdam Fashion Week that just ended, the Dutch designer showed what easily could be mistaken for life-size piñatas, or particularly hallucinatory soundsuits by Nick Cave, or something out a Takashi Murakami fever-dream.
Any piece that bobs down any Bas Kosters runway is entirely hand-crafted through any combination of photo collage, decoupage, embroidery, and what's officially known in fashion as gluing on found shiny things. As extreme as it may seem, the collection merely is the latest in the very fanciful world according to Bas, where normal quotidian questions — e.g. "Is it women's or men's?" — are rendered irrelevant. Quite naturally, on the side he's involved in doll-making, jewelry design, and throwing performance-based parties in museums.
Two threads worked by emerging designers — sport and fairy-tales — come together in Petra Ptáčková's fanciful, charming clothes. The Czech weaves modern costumery from an elaborate mix of materials, volumes, adventures, and sheer arcana, resulting in fantasy-wear that has nothing to do with sex appeal and everything to do with a "magical realism," a term she borrows from literature.
Currently based in Prague and Paris, Ptáčková studied at the Ecole de la Chambre Syndicale de la Couture Parisienne, where she discovered a passion for haute couture and its recherché techniques. With a hybrid style all her own, she's constantly traveling, forever on a quest to uncover forgotten ways and ideas. Every bit as spritely as her designs, she says the people who wear her collections are "open-minded dreamers with no boundaries. We create our own tomorrow."
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