http://southflorida.metromix.com/style/article/glamazon-black-is-not/426589/content
Glamazon: Black is not the new black
At least that's the view of one local designer and everyone who has given up on goth.
By Joanie Cox
Fashion can be an icy, brutal bitch, capable of forcing you to abandon carbs for weeks at a time just so you can fit into a certain outfit and drag your ass out of the house on a Sunday night for a runway show. On May 11, I headed to Glass at The Forge to check out the spring/summer collection of South Florida clothing line Favala. Although the show was scheduled to start at 11 p.m., I showed up an hour early to try to interview the designer of Favala. But I knew I'd probably get stuck waiting around all night; once a club starts filling up, it's impossible to find anyone who knows what's going on.
While looking for the bathroom, I accidentally stumbled into Glass' VIP area and found half-naked models running in every direction and complaining about how cold it was in the back of the club. The air was thick with vanilla-scented perfume, hair spray and body glitter. The red vinyl walls and enormous chandelier made the room resemble a Moulin Rouge version of Barbie's Dream House. "I'll be with you in a second," a curvy, Latina woman with rainbow-painted eyelids told me while clipping hair extensions onto a model.
"Are you Favala?" I asked.
The woman came scurrying across the floor in black, patent-leather stilettos. "I'm actually Alicia Sanchez," she said. "Favala is my clothing line."
One look around the room filled with models wearing leggings and off-the-shoulder, Flashdance-style T-shirts, and it was clear the 1980s have a major influence on Sanchez's designs.
"I hand-make everything," the 24-year-old designer said. "And I do graffiti on some of my pieces. I learned how to do that in New York. But I never went to design or art school."
Sanchez, who is originally from the Dominican Republic, learned how to sew from her mother, who made all her clothes growing up. She's also one of a few contemporary designers to shun black clothing. Everything she makes, including the pink, blue, yellow and green checkerboard minidress she wore to her show, is drenched in tropical colors. Yet somehow, none of her clothes look cheesy.
"I love color," Sanchez affirmed. "I'm from the Caribbean. A lot of black and Latin woman are afraid to wear color, but I say let's express ourselves. This is why I love designers like Betsey Johnson." For sure, Sanchez recalls a Dominican version of the veteran New York designer, bubbling over with enthusiasm and seemingly ready to hurl herself into a cartwheel at any second. So it was surprising to learn that Sanchez was diagnosed with breast cancer in March.
"People can't believe I'm out in the middle of the night doing a fashion show after a chemo treatment," she said, "but this is my passion. I'm fighting every day. When you're going through something like this, you're never too stressed to appreciate life."
Sanchez's fashion show finally began at about 1:15 a.m. The graffitied hoodies, shredded dresses and shutter shades like the ones Kanye West wears in his "Stronger" video were worth the wait. But the most impressive look of the night was provided by an audience member — a woman with a 4-foot Afro and a thong tattooed onto her hips. That's one way to avoid doing the laundry. To check out Sanchez's creations, visit Favaladesigns.com.
DEAD THREADS
Goth is more over than Von Dutch. Ozzfest is not touring this year, The Cure's Robert Smith seems kind of happy and, I hear, Marilyn Manson was spotted eating a Mickey Mouse ice cream pop and riding the tea cups at Disney World. I'm convinced everyone has cheered up, stopped trying to fasten metal chains to their pants and moved on to hip-hop, which is all about hos, not pantyhose.
So I wasn't at all surprised by the weak turnout May 9 for A Night of Death Rawk Disco and Fashionista Genocide at Revolution Live in Fort Lauderdale. About nine people appeared on the dance floor, while roughly 25 wannabe vampires roamed throughout the club. While the event's flier demanded "fucked-up attire," the crowd looked as if they went shopping in the Hot Topic clearance bin at the Coral Square Mall before the show.
Carrying a giant Coach bag, wearing a Flavor Flav T-shirt and flashing no visible tattoos or piercings in any body part other than my ears, I stood out like a mink coat at a PETA convention. Every time I tried to stand next to someone, they'd either roll their eyes at me and walk away or look terrified by my presence.
I saw no trench coats, only a high-school-age girl with a raccoon tail stapled to the back of her shorts; a slew of people in boring, black-and-white Chuck Taylor All-Stars; and one too many Pete Wentz look-alikes with anime hair, skinny jeans and guyliner. One guy was wearing a hospital gown, though he appeared as if he could have just left North Broward Medical Center. But mostly, everyone looked as if they needed a blood transfusion and an afternoon with Tim Gunn. It got so boring, I hardly noticed the manorexic, 6-foot-4 guy running across the club in fishnets and a garter belt. There's nothing shocking or edgy about dressing like that anymore. He needed a bathrobe and a cheeseburger. However, if he really wanted to frighten his cohorts slithering through Revolution, he should have just gone with a surefire goth-repellent: True Religion Brand Jeans and a crystal-covered Christian Audigier T-shirt. Now, that would have given 'em a reason to cut themselves.
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