Darryl Turner

  • Style

    “Something a little more Amish? Definitely no zippers,” opined semiretired demimondaine and style muse Miss V. Prepping for this piece, I began polling a long list of style-watchers, with no armature except time (the past year) and a polarity (best and worst) around which to drape their reactions. It was, of course, the worst time of year to embark on such a quest—October finds dedicated followers of fashion stationary only when the tray tables are in an upright position and the seat-belt lights are on. Calls to Milan, Paris, London, Los Angeles will inevitably find those sought someplace between

  • Richard Martin

    RICHARD MARTIN HAS LONG been associated with the formal presentation of fashion for contemplation. Less recollected, perhaps, as former editor of Arts magazine than as past director of the galleries at the Fashion Institute of Technology, his endeavors have always been as firmly situated in an appreciation of cultural nuance as in more overtly esthetic analysis. Hoping to balance as well as to challenge received notions of what distinguishes the vulgar from the vaunted, Martin has assumed the mantle of the legendary Diana Vreeland in curating the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum of



    MORTAL THOUGHTS NOW, PLEASE, the smaller things, spores, not the drone of ideas in the abstract, lives. Chase after them, the lost attentions, slack. Words will fail you. Well they should. Because faded glamour will no longer quite do, monograms slipping off handkerchiefs, lipstick off lips. Pool of feeling? puddle.


    a cry

    Even the noblest ideas dissipate in dirt. And yet the enlightened mind’s dear decrepit certainties can be turned over yes like some old tortoise shell, belly examined poked. Specter and hollow suggest ideas too and bring us back trudging to gaze upon heavy,