2 posts tagged "Mark Gonzales"
Sex and streetwear aren’t the most obvious bedfellows, but editor, stylist, and all-around provocateur Andrew Richardson has united them in his new store, Richardson. “I don’t know if there is a logical connection between sex and streetwear, but I always thought that streetwear was sexy and cool,” he mused between puffs on a cigarette. “There’s always an attitude, and I think that’s sexy—sexy confidence.” That may be so, but his shop, which opens this Friday at 325 Broome Street in New York, sells swag that’s arguably more perverse than confidence-boosting hoodies.
Best known for his cerebral, self-titled sex magazine, also called Richardson, Andrew is well versed in the streetwear subculture—he’s even done a bevy of projects with cult label (or, as some would argue, lifestyle) Supreme. In his store, Andrew presents his liberated take on sex and bondage via clever T-shirts, bomber jackets, swim trunks, caps, and towels—many of which were created in collaboration with such artists as Christopher Wool, Bjarne Melgaard, and Aaron Bondaroff. Some highlights include a melting snowman shirt by Nate Lowman; a tee printed with a car that reads “Blow Jobs”; totes scribed with the store’s ethos, “Work hard, play nice, communicate”; and a sweatsuit by artist Mark Gonzales. Embellished with images of lady parts and a cowboy flaunting his impressive member, the latter is guaranteed to inspire stares.
The shop goes beyond threads, though. For instance, good pal Olympia Le-Tan designed a signature patch for Richardson’s club car jacket—more intriguing, though, is her capsule of erotic minaudières (think bags embroidered with busty femmes and titles like Fanny Hill, Cutter Girl, Carnal Cargo, or Sweet and 20.) Above the clutches’ case hang drawings by Japanese artist Hauro Namaikawa that depict couples in compromising, albeit comical, positions. And, across the room, shelves are lined with an A-to-Z collection of erotic tomes, which was curated by Idea Books, London. Richardson is, of course, on sale, too. “There are going to be guys who are my age who are going to come in and spend $1,800 on an original drawing, and I think we’ll have 25-year-old skaters who want to wear fucked-up T-shirts to scare their parents,” said Andrew of his clientele. “There’ll be a range.”
When the editor—whose résumé, it should be noted, includes working on Madonna’s Sex book, as well as shoots with heavyweights like Terry Richardson, Steven Meisel, and Ellen von Unwerth—was asked about the thinking behind his sex-themed products, he told us, “I was always into that idea of idolizing women through sexual provocation…and I’m trying to find that fine line between palatability and provocation. If you’re too provocative, you end the debate.” Ultimately, his patrons will be the ones to decide whether he’s found that balance; however, no matter how explicit or ridiculous Richardson’s offerings may be, everything is done with a wink, a smile, and a streetwise attitude. And somehow, that makes it seem all the sexier.
When Michael Nevin launched The Journal ten years ago, the magazine was a skinny black-and-white zine dedicated to all things skate and snowboard. A decade later, the issue of The Journal that comes out tomorrow comprises, among other features, new work by Jonathan Meese in memorial to Dash Snow, semi-destroyed photographs of Kate Moss and Mario Sorrenti taken from photographer Glen Luchford’s archives, a lengthy interview with Walter Pfeiffer, and a supplement dedicated to William Eggleston. The Journal is glossy now, and hard-bound, and printed in color; there’s a gallery in Williamsburg attached to it, too. Contributions from the likes of Juergen Teller, Helmut Lang, Mark Gonzales, and Miranda July fill The Journal archives. Not bad for a magazine first stapled together at a highway-side Kinko’s in New England by a kid who was all of 19. Now, more transformations are afoot. The tenth anniversary issue of The Journal is physically larger than the previous one, it’s been given an engaging redesign by Peter Miles, and it includes the magazine’s first-ever fashion spread, starring Jamie Bochert. And yet, for all that, The Journal has changed less than it might appear. “The magazine has always been—and I hope will always be—an honest reflection of my interests,” explains Nevin. “It’s just that those interests have shifted over time.” Here, Nevin talks to Style.com about dialing up the Internet, cold-calling art stars, and texting Rodarte.
This is going to sound like a snotty question, but—why launch a magazine? This is the digital age, or hadn’t you heard?
When I first started The Journal, “online” wasn’t really a thing yet. I mean, I can remember signing up for my first e-mail account after I published the first issue of The Journal. I just wasn’t looking for the things that interested me on the Web. At the time, I was looking at magazines. Really looking—I mean, I grew up in Vermont, and there weren’t too many progressive publications around, so I’d have to work to cobble together bits and pieces of what interested me from the mainstream stuff I had access to. I’d spend hours in the bookstore, poring over magazines. And there was nothing out there covering this whole creative universe that derives from skateboarding and snowboarding. I wanted to read about that, and having just come off a year entering pro contests as a snowboarder, I felt like starting a magazine was a way to continue being a part of something I’d loved.
In other words, magazine-ness—print—runs deep in you.
Yeah, it does. But for reasons that are more than sentimental. I think they’re more than sentimental, anyway. I love the printed image, I love being able to open up the magazine and flip through the pages, I love being able to give a copy to somebody, I love seeing it in stores. I love what it represents. It’s essentially my curation in those pages, and to send the magazine overseas, and know that what I’ve worked on is being looked at, in the same material way, is really fantastic.