Harry Brant is a 15-year-old fashion lover and man about town. You might know him as the son of supermodel Stephanie Seymour and publisher Peter Brant. We first met him at a Miu Miu Musing last year, wherein he and his older brother Peter (II) nearly upstaged host Andre Leon Talley. We were smitten. He’s only 15 but he knows his shit. And he’s hilarious. We asked him to regale us with his tales from last week’s couture shows (when he’s there he stays with Alaïa). Enjoy.
I launched my couture journey in the most glamour appropriate way I could think of: Dinner with Pat McGrath. We went to the uber chic Vietnamese restaurant Tong Yen (a Paris must). Firstly, I would just like to apologize to the other diners at the restaurant. Our dinner involved tears from laughter, fake engagement rings, and of course, dual personalities. It was DIVINE, like all outings with the make up goddess.
The next day I got up and went to the Versace show. I am using the term got up very loosely because I never actually went to sleep. I got a text from Pat at 5am (she’s a 5am-9pm kind of girl) inviting me to go hang out backstage at Versace. I don’t care what time of day is–if someone invites you to hang out at Versace couture backstage, you go! So at 8am I made my way to the Ecole des Beaux Arts on the Seine. Pat came outside to get me and brought me into a huge room with a giant golden stairway to “heaven” (heaven being Versace). We went backstage and Pat continued her ever glamorous make-up work. I think of her as a sculptor, because if you give the girl some eye shadow, liner, foundation, and powder, she will literally reshape your face.
Then I met the ultimate queen of glamour herself, Donatella Versace! In my opinion she is the ultimate Queen B. We talked and ended up laughing like schoolgirls (and by we, I mean me), until she was called over to deal with the show. At that moment I saw the clothes. Oh, the clothes! Honestly never in my fashion-immersed life have I seen dresses sparkle like that. In short, they were bad ass. I truly believe that these fantastic dresses cannot be captured on camera or film, because you can’t really see how intense they were. I left right before the presentation, hoping to avoid crowds, because, after all, I had already witnessed the Versace glory so there was no need to stay. The entire thing was just 100% Versace: glamourous, punk, and sexy. In this fragile world of fashion with the entire industry on eggshells about offending anyone, Donatella is just one of those people who you know holds all the cards.
The next night at the Azzedine Alaïa atelier I had an extremely interesting dinner. I have a sort of compulsive social lying problem. In this case, I was just embarrassing. I introduced myself to the woman sitting across from me, who was a buyer for an extremely large Korean department store, and asked her where she was from. She swiftly responded “Seoul,” so naturally, like any CRAZY person, I felt the need to overcompensate, and went on and on about how my best friend was Korean and how we had spent a large portion of our summer there. When she asked me when I had gone on such an escapade I simply said “the whole month of June.” Then, to my delight/dismay, she looked at me with a puzzled face and declared that she had seen my picture in Venice at the pop-up Bungalow 8 for the Biennale, an event in early June. So in a hesitant voice I said “ Oh, sorry did I say June? I meant the entire month of July.” She looked even more confused and said with a quizzical expression on her face “didn’t you just say you were here for couture?” At this point I knew I was skewered. But attempting to salvage my dignity I said “Oh yes, but it’s all very complicated,” as if the idea that I was traveling to two different places was just way too complicated for anyone to grasp. After about a five-minute silence she switched the topic to New York designers and then yachts. So of course, to overcompensate for my previous lie, I felt the need to talk about how I had been on “the most wonderful yacht on the glorious seaside of Seoul.” Did you know that Seoul is inland? I didn’t. Her and her sidekick for the evening began to give me very strange looks and said “but Seoul is not on the ocean.” So, obviously, I attempted to further cover up my lie and reluctantly whispered, “Oh, sorry did I say Seoul? I meant Pyongyang.”
Ok! I know what your thinking. Pyongyang is the North Korean capital that is 50 miles inland. But in my defense I thought that I had seen the name on a Mikimoto box so assumed it was in South Korea. Either way I became the American idiot, but I am not ashamed! For I think in the end I represented the US extremely well, with class and grace, as I did not wear one Hawaiian shirt. I’m practically a modern day Jackie O.