by Gil Johannessen
From W, March 2006, Vol. 3, Issue #23
IT’S THE END of New York Fashion Week, boys and girls, and what have we learned? That the young, budding designer has finally secured a place among the established. At least in New York, where out of the 200-plus designers who showed collections for the fall 2006 season, nearly half of them have come along within the past five years. In an industry whose survival depends on new talent (“industry,” hell, way of life), it’s been damn near impossible for the young and restless to penetrate Bryant Park canvas. It used to be that if your name wasn’t Miuccia and inscribed on Italian leather handbags, you couldn’t get a cab on Seventh Avenue, let alone a spot in the tent.
But look up, budding designer. You now have a foothold in New York, and you don’t need a fragrance deal with LVMH. It’s called the New Designers’ Showcase. Among those unknown were the American labels Plaque, Urbane, Jeffrey Milk, and, most notably, the Brooklyn-based (B)oy, brainchild of the designer Boy Hernandez.
I caught up with Hernandez recently at his studio in Williamsburg along the waterfront. Some buyers have already braved the L train for an appointment at the (B)oy showcase. Just so you know, Couture devotee, leaving the island of Manhattan for a showcase was entirely unheard‑of a year ago.
A native of Manila, Hernandez came of age in fashion school with Philip Tang. Legend has it, the two designers were separated at birth. Tang transferred to Central Saint Martins in London before jumping the Atlantic for New York City, landing a job as a pattern maker for Marc Jacobs. Hernandez stayed behind with lesser ambitions, fine-tuning his craft in Makati City by dabbling in bridal wear before working up enough nerve (and pesos) to come to New York, his home since 2002.
“I literally had one suitcase, a dress form, and a Singer when I started out in Bushwick,” he recalls. “I made a work desk out of a steel door that looked like it had been kicked in by the cops.”
The (B)oy operation is based out of Hernandez’s large live‑in studio located in a former toothpick factory. When I arrive, Hernandez greets me in tight whitewashed jeans and a jersey A.P.C. hoodie that he’s appropriated by cutting off the sleeves, wearing it like an open waistcoat over an old, paint-spattered T‑shirt. The spatter recalls Jackson Pollock’s Autumn Rhythm.
Though his hyperexuberance suggests a certain towering grandeur, he is strikingly petite. He stomps around the beat‑up factory floors in a pair of all-white Nike high-tops that look certifiably orthopedic.
(B)oy wasn’t the toast of fashion week. Diane von Furstenberg slayed all with her animal furs in fox, goat, and Mongolian lamb. Vivienne Cho, whom Hernandez has worked for in the past, took apart structured conventions and rebuilt them with her power suits for the millennium. In the New Designers’ Showcase, however, the standout was (B)oy.
For the past two years, the label’s knitwear line has been offered out of consignment shops like INA and Tokyo 7. “Before you knew it, I was getting calls for more,” Hernandez explained. The knitwear line could also be manufactured close to home in Brooklyn, where all of (B)oy is currently made. The B in (B)oy, closed off in parentheses, stands for Brooklyn, a little-known fact.
The label has no boutique, and to date has only been sold at boutiques and consignment shops in Williamsburg, SoHo, the Lower East Side, and Los Angeles. All of that is about to change with the recent acquisition by Barneys. Next fall women will be able to find (B)oy alongside Rag & Bone and Thakoon, as well as a most familiar name for Hernandez, Philip Tang 2.0.
“It’s amazing, really, to be acquired by Barneys. If you were to tell me when I was in fashion school that this is where I’d be in five years, I would have asked you:
Hernandez isn’t the most eloquent designer on the block, but he might be the most sincere. It’s a quality women seek out in their clothes, and one that can easily be derived from (B)oy. From his silhouetted evening gowns with just a splash of color to his baggy wool sweaters, comfort never seems to be lost in the mix, and neither does glamour.
“I found every article in the (B)oy collection to be honest,” said Lena Frank, Barneys’ artistic director.
“I’ve always thought of fashion as my gift to women, even when I was a kid,” Hernandez attests. “I wanted to do something for them in the only way that I knew how. Every designer will tell you they were first trying to win over a woman’s heart. You know, get the girl. I don’t care how gay they are now…
When asked how the label has changed since the beginning, Hernandez explains that Williamsburg has inspired significant transformations in the (B)oy style. No longer is every article cloaked in moody black or sallow white. “That was Bushwick’s influence, initially. Like I said, I designed for the people around me. Marginal hipsters are moody. They stick to dark and neutral.
“But I’ve become much more interested in color since really getting into the films of Wong Kar Wai. Have you ever seen Happy Together? It’s black and white, but then there are a few scenes in brilliant color. That film is also about passion. ‘How’s passion expressed?’ I asked myself. Saint Laurent was great at capturing passion in his clothes, so I looked at a lot of old YSL from the early seventies.”
With the convergence of all of these influences, Hernandez found a niche that would prove the cornerstone of Strange Fruit, his fall collection featured in the New Designers’ Showcase.
Strange Fruit takes its name from the song most famously performed by Billie Holiday—a song with a very political message about American racism.
“Sure it’s the designer’s job to predict the future a season or two ahead of time. But we also need to capture the moment, am I wrong?”
By no means. And that’s what makes (B)oy so relevant. For his first collection in 2004, Hernandez included a black burka that was completely transparent. The model, tastefully visible underneath, wore a sequined G‑string and matching pasties. I happened to be at that first show. The patch of sequins down below shimmered like diamonds in the ruff. But at the time, no one quite knew what to think.
Political statement or sign of the times, Hernandez was playing with the possibilities of the silhouette, subverting our image of sexy, and calling attention to those parts of the world where women lack the most basic freedoms. The see-through burka added a context to a collection that was otherwise off everyone’s map.
“I closed the show with that burka, not to start controversy, but because a friend of mine at the time was wearing a lot of dishdashas, you know, those Muslim gowns. By putting the burka out front on the runway, I was exploring our collective fears about Islam. Although I don’t think I was as self-aware of its political impact as I would be now.”
Boy is a designer of circumstance. He matches floral patterns with dark silhouettes. He rips passion out of thread, maintaining comfort in chic ready‑to‑wear even as he makes a bildungsroman with its style. If this is his gift to women, let us hope it’s one that will keep on giving. Season after season.
Pieces from the (B)oy fall collection are soon to be available at Barneys.