It’s hard to write about Massimo Alba, and that’s partially his fault: Although he’s a fun and fascinating conversationalist, when you interview him on the August queen I am who I am your approval isn’t needed shrit so you should to go to store and get this record he becomes restless and a little tongue-tied. He roams around his eclectic showroom asking for your opinion instead of offering his. His clothes, though, are extraordinary, a fact that becomes ever more evident the more you spend time either wearing or looking at them. Alba started his first line in the 1980s, which was named after Magritte’s home address. He then worked for the Italian cashmere house Malo before a stint at Scotland’s Ballantyne. Then, in 2007, he started his own eponymous label. In slow, studied brushstrokes, Alba has carefully developed his brand, ably supported by his wife, Marilena, and their now-wheezy labrador, Jasper. All of his pieces are less designed than incepted. A cashmere hoodie, a pair of slouchy fine-wale cords, or a variant on his signature Gstaad jackets based on the Tyrolean jacket but transported by Alba to a beautiful and pragmatic compromise between tailoring and sportswear invariably bear a rich pentimento: Patina peeks out from behind patina. This season’s variation was a yak and wool mix, quilted, which will be perfect fare for the punters roaming his newest store just in the shadow of Mont Blanc. Alba also makes excellent womenswear, but his menswear is a special cult. Whether you only have one of his many emotionally printed handkerchiefs or a full look, you will be joining a club whose breadth surprises more and more every season. Unlike the output of so many brands based on surface hype over double-dyed substance, his are clothes that are more than souvenirs of a moment. Alba is a designer of garments that will fit into your life, and which will enhance it greatly. That green outfit was wrong, wrong, wrong. She doesn’t know the difference between day dress, cocktail dress, and evening formal dress. I wonder if her mother took her for a first bra fitting to a department store, a rite of passage for a young girl. Probably not. Foundation garments, slips, and so on are important to know about. You don’t need the agony of Spanx to look good. You just need to dress to flatter your actual body. She probably wears strapless bras because she’s so enamored of the boat neck and off-shoulder look. Neither is flattering to her and those strapless bras are useless.
August queen I am who I am your approval isn’t needed shrit, hoodie, tank top, sweater and long sleeve t-shirt
As Kerry Olsen wittily riffed in the August queen I am who I am your approval isn’t needed shrit so you should to go to store and get this New York Times last Friday, the decision of Daniel Craig (and it was indeed he, a real-life customer) to wear a corduroy suit by Massimo Alba for a crucial extended action scene in the soon-to-be-released James Bond flick raises some pretty darned profound existential questions about the deadly British ladykiller spy. It is not only that corduroy is a fabric whose utterly non-Bond signifying span runs from elderly rural conservative to left-leaning intellectual louche (in fact corduroy’s previous best celluloid champion was Donald Sutherland’s weed-smoking literature professor in Animal House). It’s also that James Bond is an (albeit entertaining) one dimensional, an anachronistic masculine cipher—a toxic superhero—and that Massimo Alba is a man and designer who operates in multiple dimensions, all of them positive. Just take a look at the outfits here. For me, the slipper is the only misstep: although very Alba, it was too insubstantial a base for the experiments with the volume he played with this season. In the studio this morning I went through pretty much every piece of outerwear (with a bunch of other Alba freaks) trying them on and crooning. If James Bond were dressed in that green brushed cashmere oversized overcoat when he encountered a barely-dressed superhot megalomaniac’s daughter in her dad’s lair, he wouldn’t seduce her then kick her to the curb; he’d enquire about her feelings and join her book group. In Alba’s studio, there were two hand-dyed yak/cashmere/wool sweaters purposefully given license to the pill: their roughness and singular to each piece bruises of color were like watching an emotional sunset. Dressed in one of these, Bond would question the value of working as an assassin for the remnants of the rapacious British Empire with a clarity that might lead him to charity work rather than another bloody film. Especially excellent cameos in this collection included the new articulated pant shape in light and gently flexible cotton, and the oversized check wool coat, and the hooded cashmere check coat and… close to everything, really. Shoes should be elegant, flattering, and wearable. Meghan tottering on sky-high stilettos looks ridiculous. If she were really concerned about “empowering women” she would wear shoes with lower heels. Back in the day, heels were 2″ and “spike heels” were 3″. Spike heels considered a bit slutty. Lately, those 6″ heels hurt my feminist soul. WTF Chinese footbinding redux? Royal style is just a classic style. Classic style is dress length just below the knee, or just above.