The definitive monograph on the fashion of Rick Owens--one of the most daring and influential designers working today--this book documents over a decade of sublime, iconic styles. Since the establishment of his label in 1994, Rick Owens has transformed global fashion with his provocative clothing and subversive style. Distinguished by his grunge-meets-glamour aesthetic and defiant anti-fashion stance, Owens created a dark fashion empire that has accrued a devoted international following which gravitates toward the brand's sublime tailoring, somber palette, mystical layers, and gritty elegance. Filled with photographs of Owens's most impressive looks from the last decade, this volume is conceived as a celebration of the Rick Owens aesthetic, approximating with printing effects some of the mystery and detailing associated with the brand. Iconic imagery taken from Owens's seminal lookbooks provides a unique look at the output of design from an artist who is at once comfortable with developing technologies and respectful of traditional approaches. With principal photography by Danielle Levitt--who achieved considerable acclaim for her social-realist images--this book is essential for lovers of avant-garde fashion, photography, and design.

“That was the moment, the turning point. That was the moment I fully understood the depth of Daddy’s love for me. Similar to the love of Christ, I knew his lack of consciousness—or even more realistically, the hostility of death’s doorstep—could not interfere with my father’s matchless love for his only daughter. While Christ’s suffering made me realize His love for me, my daddy’s suffering made me realize my love for him.” Losing a parent is never easy. Losing a good parent is even crueler. But losing an admirable parent comparable to Christ, it’s an extremely bitter truth to accept. Written from the viewpoint of an undeniable Daddy’s girl, Because His Heart was Strong entwines the captivating journey of Rick Owens’ final decade of life through her own story, including the remarkable courage he demonstrated amidst prolonged suffering and the sheer legacy he imparted in death, highlighting the faith he placed in his Savior through it all.

"The results of his monochromatic efforts are staggering, and blow almost all other architectural photography out the water." -It's Nice That LA is a city of contrasts-the famous and unknown, blinding light and impenetrable shadow, wealth and poverty, massive success and bitter failure. The promise of fame, fortune, sun, and beauty have lured millions to its beaches, hills, and valleys crammed with low slung buildings and palm-tree-lined boulevards. But beneath this thin veneer of perfection, Los Angeles is a city where the dueling public narratives of glamour and cynicism have inspired the sun-kissed perfection of Aaron Spelling along with the sun-bleached paranoia of David Lynch, the placid malaise of Sofia Coppola and the pulpy violence of Quentin Tarantino, the easy ascension ofPretty Womanand the wrenching sorrow and pain of a fall from grace as depicted in the classicSunset Boulevard. Nicholas Alan Cope's photographs evoke a unique vision of Los Angeles and its contrasts as seen exclusively through its everyday architecture. Searching for the sublime core of the city's true nature, Cope strips away the extraneous, and focuses on the sheer beauty and simplicity of the cityscape. To an outsider, the profound cultural, historical, and architectural imprint of the City of Angels can be lost amongst the unsightly sprawl of stucco, strip malls, and irrelevant adornment. While the sunlight can be unforgiving and harsh, bleaching the landscape into a pale hue, the allure, for Cope, lies in the consistency and ubiquity of the buildings combined with the severity of the light accentuating the dramatic elegance of the architecture.Whitewashutilizes the whitest whites, the blackest blacks, and the modern and stark architecture of an idealized future that never arrived to tell the visual story of LA's uniquely conflicted soul.

One evening some friends were gathered at the home of one of our most celebrated writers. Having dined sumptuously, they were discussing murder—apropos of what, I no longer remember probably apropos of nothing. Only men were present: moralists, poets, philosophers and doctors—thus everyone could speak freely, according to his whim, his hobby or his idiosyncrasies, without fear of suddenly seeing that expression of horror and fear which the least startling idea traces upon the horrified face of a notary. I—say notary, much as I might have said lawyer or porter, not disdainfully, of course, but in order to define the average French mind. With a calmness of spirit as perfect as though he were expressing an opinion upon the merits of the cigar he was smoking, a member of the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences said: “Really—I honestly believe that murder is the greatest human preoccupation, and that all our acts stem from it... “ We awaited the pronouncement of an involved theory, but he remained silent. “Absolutely!” said a Darwinian scientist, “and, my friend, you are voicing one of those eternal truths such as the legendary Monsieur de La Palisse discovered every day: since murder is the very bedrock of our social institutions, and consequently the most imperious necessity of civilized life. If it no longer existed, there would be no governments of any kind, by virtue of the admirable fact that crime in general and murder in particular are not only their excuse, but their only reason for being. We should then live in complete anarchy, which is inconceivable. So, instead of seeking to eliminate murder, it is imperative that it be cultivated with intelligence and perseverance. I know no better culture medium than law.” Someone protested. “Here, here!” asked the savant, “aren't we alone, and speaking frankly?” “Please!” said the host, “let us profit thoroughly by the only occasion when we are free to express our personal ideas, for both I, in my books, and you in your turn, may present only lies to the public.” The scientist settled himself once more among the cushions of his armchair, stretched his legs, which were numb from being crossed too long and, his head thrown back, his arms hanging and his stomach soothed by good digestion, puffed smoke−rings at the ceiling: “Besides,” he continued, “murder is largely self−propagating. Actually, it is not the result of this or that passion, nor is it a pathological form of degeneracy. It is a vital instinct which is in us all—which is in all organized beings and dominates them, just as the genetic instinct. And most of the time it is especially true that these two instincts fuse so well, and are so totally interchangeable, that in some way or other they form a single and identical instinct, so that we no longer may tell which of the two urges us to give life, and which to take it—which is murder, and which love. I have been the confidant of an honorable assassin who killed women, not to rob them, but to ravish them. His trick was to manage things so that his sexual climax coincided exactly with the death−spasm of the woman: 'At those moments,' he told me, 'I imagined I was a God, creating a world!”

“[An] irreverent and remarkably candid memoir about growing up in wealthy eighties San Francisco . . . rollicking, ruthless . . . ultimately generous-hearted.” —Vogue “A vivid mix of brio, self-awareness and sophistication . . . writing well is indeed the best revenge.” —The New York Times Book Review “A monumental piece of work.” —Kirkus Reviews “In the beginning we were happy. And we were always excessive. So in the beginning we were happy to excess.” With these opening lines Sean Wilsey takes us on an exhilarating tour of life in the strangest, wealthiest, and most grandiose of families. Sean's blond-bombshell mother (one of the thinly veiled characters in Armistead Maupin's bestselling Tales of the City) is a 1980s society-page staple, regularly entertaining Black Panthers and movie stars in her marble and glass penthouse, "eight hundred feet in the air above San Francisco; an apartment at the top of a building at the top of a hill: full of light, full of voices, full of windows full of water and bridges and hills." His enigmatic father uses a jet helicopter to drop Sean off at the video arcade and lectures his son on proper hygiene in public restrooms, "You should wash your hands first, before you use the urinal. Not after. Your penis isn't dirty. But your hands are." When Sean, "the kind of child who sings songs to sick flowers," turns nine years old, his father divorces his mother and marries her best friend. Sean's life blows apart. His mother first invites him to commit suicide with her, then has a "vision" of salvation that requires packing her Louis Vuitton luggage and traveling the globe, a retinue of multiracial children in tow. Her goal: peace on earth (and a Nobel Prize). Sean meets Indira Gandhi, Helmut Kohl, Menachem Begin, and the pope, hoping each one might come back to San Francisco and persuade his father to rejoin the family. Instead, Sean is pushed out of San Francisco and sent spiraling through five high schools, till he finally lands at an unorthodox reform school cum "therapeutic community," in Italy. With its multiplicity of settings and kaleidoscopic mix of preoccupations-sex, Russia, jet helicopters, seismic upheaval, boarding schools, Middle Earth, skinheads, home improvement, suicide, skateboarding, Sovietology, public transportation, massage, Christian fundamentalism, dogs, Texas, global thermonuclear war, truth, evil, masturbation, hope, Bethlehem, CT, eventual salvation (abridged list)—Oh the Glory of It All is memoir as bildungsroman as explosion.

This is a first-ever examination of many long-term professional partnerships that have shaped the fashion world. A beautifully designed volume, Fashion Together showcases the vision and synergism of these talented teams to both fashion connoisseurs and anyone interested in creative collaboration. An exclusive look at the dynamic collaborations of fashion's most celebrated partnerships.