“I have a problem to do a collection that is a secondary line. I mean, you don’t want to be the stepsister. You want to be Cinderella. Show me one girl who wants to be the stepsister.” - Alber Elbaz, on why he doesn’t have a secondary line to Lanvin.

“I took all the bones out, and I stitch, and to get there, you know, it took me forever. It took me six or seven dresses to make one. And it’s time and it’s money and we are not doing it in offshore countries - we pay sixty-five percent taxes in France! It is so much work. Doing a collection for me is almost like creating a vaccine. Once you create the one vaccine, then you can duplicate for nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. But see if you can create it for nine dollars and ninety-nine cents, and the answer is no. In that sense, I have absolutely no problem with the prices. I don’t think we do it just to do it.” - Alber, on designer prices.

—Both from the New Yorker’s Style Issue.

The New Yorker’s put together a slide show of the work of the three designers who’ll represent fashion’s emerging talent at this Saturday’s “The Next Generation of Fashion” talk, part of their yearly Festival.

The three fledgling designers - Joeri Van Yper, Louise Markey, and Makoto Takada - will be available for commentary / questions after the panel, and so we recommend (this is the New Yorker, after all) brushing up and at least checking out the ten clicks-long slideshow of their work.

Otherwise, you’ll probably just end up doodling in your notebook the whole time. In which case, please send all clever examples to tips@fashionista.com. Thanks.

The New Yorker festival starts soon, and in between their roster of interviews with Elizabeth Edwards and Oliver Stone is the “The Next Generation of Fashion”, a talk to discern “Who will be the next Behnaz Sarafpour or Zac Posen?” at the Cathedral on October 4th.

The panel consists of Louise Markey, of London’s Central Saint Martins; Mokoto Takada, of FIT; and Joeri Van Yper, of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts, three emerging designers picked by the panel’s moderater, New Yorker fashion writer Judith Thurman.

We’re not sure why the panel doesn’t read more like, Anna Wintour, Diane von Furstenberg and maybe Simon Doonan (every panel needs comic relief), seeing as how Anna and Diane devote inordinate amounts of time to try to find the country’s next Marc, but hey, we’re going anyway.

Tickets are already on sale on the New Yorker Festival site, and bonus: There’ll be models on hand to show off the designers’ work, and doesn’t this sound like the kind of event Lily Cole would make a guest appearance at?

The New Yorker is putting out a Style Issue this week, on newsstands today for September 1st, and they’ve put together a nice little issue we’ve had the privilege to glimpse.

In it, you can expect a meditation on shoes, a news piece on new ways shoplifters’ are being caught, and a seven-page profile on Marc by Ariel Levy, including a picture of him in his exceptionally brief undies.

Since show and tell was always our favorite part of class, we thought we’d share a few bits. Click through the jump to enjoy - it’s Monday!

“Secrecy has clouded Sex and the City since it was first announced. When would the film appear? Who would find a husband? Would one of the main characters die? If so, would she commit suicide by self-pity (a constant threat), or would a crocodile escape from the Bronx Zoo and wreak a flesh-ripping revenge for all those handbags? As the release date neared, the paranoia thickened; at the screening I attended, we were asked not only to surrender our cell phones but to march through a beeping security gate, as if boarding a plane to Tel Aviv. There was even a full-body pat-down, by far the biggest turn-on of the night. Not a drop of the forthcoming plot had been leaked in advance, but I took a wild guess. “Apparently,” I said to the woman behind me in line, “some of the girls have problems with their men, break up for a while, and then get back together again.” “Oh, my God!” she cried. “How do you know?” - Anthony Lane’s story, from The New Yorker.