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Four Times Dumb: As Four's Downtown Cachet Vanishes
By Karin Nelson
Mar 10, 2002/ FWD/ --- There is nothing AS aggravating AS four young, independent designers
who take themselves too seriously, and the industry not enough so.
A dutiful crowd of editors (many of whom had left a rather decent party for photographer
Steven Klein) gathered outside Cooper Union in cold temps for the As Four Fall 2002 show,
only to be told by curt clipboard wielders that the show would not begin until 10pm.
"Why?" one curious guest asked.
"Because," was the response. "Now, unless you're Anna Wintour, move it to the other side
or you're not getting in."
Once in, guests of the crackpot foursome were stopped at another checkpoint and told they'd
have to wait another ten minutes.
"What's going on?" the same curious guest asked.
"A fashion show," was the response. "You've obviously never been to one before or you'd
know they never start on time."
"Yes, but only Marc Jacobs is allowed to begin an hour late," the fashion editor fired back.
You'd think after all that waiting there would be some payoff, but when at 10:15 editors
and buyers were finally allowed to take their auditorium seats, it quickly became clear
they would be watching the most agitated nonsense seen this season on the New York runways.
A man, encircled and sequined, dancing to biblical chants before the models emerged;
a stage so dimly lit, it was impossible to get a good look at the models' clothes.
From what was discernible, the kooky quartet appeared to toy with geometric, three-dimensional
looks and metallic fabrics.
Their trademark pants -- a pair that juts out, satyr-like, at the back of leg -- was shown
this time with clever, curved waists.
And there was a new bag, an elaborately-twisted tuba-like number.
The rest of the collection was, for the most part, a blur of balloonist metallic outfits:
djellabah pants, voluminous jackets with large stand-up collars, court jester bloomers,
and diaper-style skirts.
After an operatic interlude accompanied by an odd little woman with a violin, more absurd
looks emerged.
This time it was fur outfits, the sort that made models look like they were about to hatch
out of hairy eggs.
Through a distinct scent of pot, came the realization that the fashion crowd gushes so much
about the Next Big Thing - small, independent designers who are making their mark - that
it sometimes confuses the poor lads.
Forgetting that they need to play to the crowd that's supporting them, As Four believed its
own hype and produced a show that neither looked nor behaved like the hot new thing -
instead, it was a spectacle of the incoherent meeting the disorganized.
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