Rainbow Brite

With the new Terminal 5 opening at Heathrow, all eyes are on prolific Brit architect Sir Richard Rogers. The fashion-obsessed among of, of course, are almost more interested in the man's unique personal style: he is rarely seen without his signature punchy bright colors. And indeed, liberal shots of rainbow hues were all over the runway for Spring/Summer.

Being more of a gray-on-gray kind of girl who was super happy this winter to learn that it is now OK to "tone down" navy blue with black, news of this latest trend was enough to induce night sweats. But I've found a solution in bright accessories. Budget-friendly Nine West has done a fantastic job this season with strappy snakeskin-effect sandals, bangles, and glorious seventies-luxe oversized fold-over clutches.




For the luxury hounds among us who are more literal in their rainbow-chasing, Fendi offers an amazing technicolor dream-bag that costs the proverbial pot of gold, though the trend may be as ephemeral as its inspiration.
















A more permanent investment might be Hermes' fabulous Clipper Chrono Diver in iconic orange. It's gorgeous, and would provide a surprise flash of color in an otherwise neutral outfit, or a daringly clashing counterpoint for other vivid tones.

And remember, if it all gets a bit intimidating for you, as Diana Vreeland famously decreed, “Pink is the navy blue of India.”

Nec plus Ultra: Dover Street Market, 17-18 Dover Street, Mayfair, London

Rei Kawakubo, the visionary creative powerhouse behind the label Comme des Garcons, is the co-founder, with her husband Adrian Joffe, of Dover Street Market, which opened its doors to the fashion cognoscenti in 2004. The six-story emporium is located in London’s elegant Mayfair district. Nevertheless, Dover Street feels a bit “off the beaten path” relative to the retail epicenter that is Old Bond Street. In fact, there are more art galleries than boutiques within several blocks of the store, and DSM is not in direct proximity to any terminally chic hotels or restaurants. One can eat quite well in-house, though, at chef Rose Carrarini’s Rose Bakery.

Kawakubo is notoriously camera-shy and intellectual, with interests in architecture, design, furniture, and graphics, and this influences the feel of Dover Street Market. It’s conceptual, edgy and raw, like a guerilla pop-up store, with a galvanized metal hut and portakabins as fitting rooms. “I am interested in the aesthetic of things that have been thrown away,” says Kawakubo. “The trend for people taking new materials and making a luxury box lacks soul.” Kawakubo says, “I want to create a kind of market where various creators from various fields gather together and encounter each other in an ongoing atmosphere of beautiful chaos; the mixing up and coming together of different kindred souls who all share a strong personal vision.” Most of the displays in DSM were created by theater and film set designers and are “curated” by couturiers, a striking collaboration. Twice a year, in an event known as “Tachiagari,” which marks the beginning of each fashion season, designers join the store in reconfiguring the building, giving Dover Street Market an ever-shifting edge.

DSM is not merely about fashion, and it doesn’t read as trendy. It is like a distillate of raw creative potential, where, according to Kawakubo, “fashion becomes fascinating.” It’s avant-garde Japanese mixed with the best of Belgian deconstruction, interspersed with relics from a Victorian cabinet of curiosities: large beetles, delicate bat skeletons, aboriginal masks, and taxidermied peacocks. It’s graffiti and tradition, it’s pieces by lesser-knowns, new designers, and intellectuals: flowing skirts by Veronique Branquinho, ruffled dresses by Christopher Kane, classic spectacles by Cutler and Gross, minimalist separates by Zero Maria Cornejo, and of course every possible Comme des Garcons collection, from CDG for Speedo spandex bathing suits to CDG men’s and women’s ready-to-wear, leather goods, accessories, and perfumes.

DSM’s offerings have a subtle charm. You either “get it” or you don’t. But even if Dover Street Market has mastered the too grungy-cool-for-thou vibe that both impresses and intimidates mere mortal shoppers, this is not grunge for the masses. As a blogger on Art MoCo writes, “where else can you spend 40 quid on a t-shirt from a vending machine?”

Temple of gotta-have-it-ness: Colette, 213 rue Saint-Honoré, Paris

Paris’ Colette store, which launched the very concept of the “concept store,” is a required pilgrimage for the fashion-obsessed. Ideal for post-prandial shopping, with its own Water Bar brasserie or the Hotel Costes and its clubby restaurant just up the street, Colette is located in the middle of the couture epicenter Rue Saint Honoré. Other local storefronts boast instantly recognizable logos, but Colette is too cool for a sign. Still, constant crowds pack the glossy white space, checking out the latest gothic cuff by Chrome Hearts or ogling pricey gadgets such as a solid gold Vertu phone or a Swarovski-crystal USB flash drive, and leafing through Colette’s selection of über-cool magazines and books or listening to Colette’s cult compilation music CDs.

Founded by the mother-daughter team of Colette Roussaux and Sarah Lerfel, Colette has already been around for a decade, but remains the undisputed hangout of choice for the Paris Fashion Week crowd. While Roussaux is slightly more reclusive, Lerfel, the daughter, who does all of the buying for the store, is becoming a fashion icon in her own right with her front-row attendance at all the shows and her gamine looks. She chooses clothes as though they were destined for a fashion shoot, and these extraordinary and covetable pieces are displayed in a spare, gallery-like manner. Lerfel says, "for us, Colette means nothing. It's about the designers we represent."
It’s no wonder that designers love Colette, and supply the shop with choice limited editions. A recent example: the Yves Saint Laurent metallic leather letter-shaped clutch addressed to the famous maison de couture with 213 rue Saint-Honoré as its return address. Only ten were made, and they sold out within seconds.

Colette represents the glossy side of fashion: it’s Repetto leopard-print flats, it’s Lacoste polos in exclusive colors, it’s Jimmy Choo and Rodarte, Burberry, Chloë Sevigny for Opening Ceremony, Lanvin, luxury sneakers, fig-scented candles and Kiehls beauty products and colorful gadgets and candy, mixed in with just enough new talent to give it the necessary edge. This dizzying array of goods paradoxically remains cohesive because each item in Colette has such a vivid aura of desirability.
Colette’s service is impressive, with a dedicated concierge who will even load your iPod for you, a personal shopper, a makeup artist, free tailoring, and delivery to anywhere in Paris. They even have a wedding registry that some view as a bit bourgeois.
But lest we think Colette is getting too conventional, consider the latest expo held in its dedicated gallery during the Autumn/Winter 2008-2009 collections: Swiss artist Comenius Roethlisberger's exhibition of luxury-brand logos (think Chanel, Versace, and Dior) executed in a mixture of cocaine and powdered sugar, the quintessence of Paris Fashion Week.

Gabe Cothes, Salt House: High Spirits

When we arrive at Salt House to meet bartender Gabe Cothes, he is not behind the bar, but sitting on a barstool, sampling new creations for the menu. At present he’s tasting something akin to a Dark and Stormy, but with light rum. It’s also got ginger syrup, soda, and course citrus. “You gotta have citrus,” says Cothes, who is a firm believer in a perfect balance between liquor and food ingredients, as well as respecting the place and role of different spirits: “They’re called ‘spirits’ for a reason, and you have to know what each one does.”

Gabe has tended bar since ’95, when he was at San Francisco’s South of Market institution The Fly Trap in the dot com boom days, which he calls “a dark period for SOMA.” Why? Cothes loves his neighborhood, and hated seeing “the same guy in the same periwinkle shirt times a thousand pouring out of office buildings at 5:00.” He says he has worked “up and down the Second Street corridor for the past 10 years,” and insists that, no matter how high the office buildings get around Salt House, it’s still a neighborhood place. As if on cue, an upstairs neighbor, Brian, a jovial attorney, comes in for a quick drink and a laugh. Hearing Gabe evoke the neighborhood, Brian riffs on the State Farm insurance jingle: “Like a good neighbor, Gabriel is there!” and disappears back up to his office, presumably to return soon.

For Gabe, the best part about bartending is experiencing a hodge-podge of people. He laughs as he compares the bar to a “trough- maybe you don’t wanna use that word, but I think it’s true!” He means all different “species” congregate at the bar- “the maintenance guy is sitting next to a high-powered lawyer who is sitting next to a knucklehead.” Gabe goes on to trot out, rapid-fire, some other bar analogies: “It’s like a poker game, you get a new hand every 40 minutes,” or “It’s like speed dating, with liquor.” It’s obvious how much Gabe enjoys the atmosphere of Salt House, where he has been working since their first Friday. “The energy these Town Hall guys create is addictive,” he admits. “Because it’s high-energy, but also high-end.”

Gabe has good things to say about all the people he works with and has worked with in the past, and his camaraderie with the other guys behind the bar- Ruari, who he mysteriously describes as adept at “Nascar bartending,” and Stephan, “the quirky one,” is obvious. “We’re not 6’3 chiseled dorks, we’re real people.” Gabe is thrilled about the industry he is in. “It’s a business better than entertainment, in fact it’s the business in SF. I have more fun on my break than most people have in a whole weekend!”

So is he a mixologist? No way. “That mixologist stuff is just to cover up how much fun we’re having out there.” Yet when he talks about a recipe he developed last night using Pimms, brandy-soaked cherries, orange juice, and bitters, describing exactly how you must crush the ingredients, and give them one last stir, “one last kick, to bring up the ingredients,” he sure sounds like a mixologist.
“Well, if you don’t know how to make a drink, you’re not drinking enough! I’m not a scientist, I’m a bartender, at the bar, knowing how to serve and taking care of guests. Never trust a bartender who’s not chuckling and ruddy-faced!”
Gabe is at Salt House Tuesday through Friday nights.

WELCOME!

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