Halston (few know his first name, Roy, or his last name, Frowick) was one of the most influential designers of all time. A  charismatic, over-the-top personality, master of promotion and flamboyant spender who lived life to its fullest and then, due to greed and drugs, fell out of favor, is a cautionary tale that makes for great storytelling. But the mythology of Halston’s life is not his legacy: the clothes are. He was a gifted designer who had great instincts and made clothing that was innovative and commercial (and sexy as hell.) His 70s dresses remain highly collectible and their low-key glamor still appeals to celebrities.

Halston started out as a milliner at Bergdorf Goodman. His big break came when he designed Jackie Kennedy’s seamless pillbox hat worn to her husband’s inauguration in 1961. She wore the hat tipped back on her head, making fashion history and allowing him to leave Bergdorfs and start his own ready-to-wear line. His atelier on Madison Avenue became a gathering place for the city’s hottest celebrities, and as he became more successful he moved into an ostentatious, entirely mirrored showroom on 5th Avenue. He started hanging out with Liza Minelli, Liz Taylor and Bianca Jagger (all wore his designs) and his entourage of “Halstonettes” (his loyal models) at trendy venues like Studio 54. He lived life to its fullest, spending crazy amounts of money on things like orchids ($200,000 per year) and living in an expensive modern townhouse on the Upper East Side that was decorated in minimalistic shades of gray. His financial decisions were questionable, but his legendary over-the-top antics garnered him a lot of press and promoted the sale of his clothing.

“They were all impressed with your Halston dress and the people that you knew at Elaine’s…” (Billy Joel, “Big Shot”)

My mom was a big fan of Halston, and although she couldn’t afford his clothing, she bought the McCall’s patterns, the Halston fabric (I spent many afternoons with her at Jerry Brown, who provided all the fabric to the big-name designers, on 57th Street) and sewed the clothing herself. She could, however, afford Halston (the wildly successful fragrance) and wore it for most of the 70s to places like Maxwell’s Plum, the hot bar on First Avenue where the beautiful people would get drunk before going to Studio 54 (my parents tried to go once, but they didn’t get in.) The iconic Halston bottle, designed by his muse, Elsa Peretti, is still displayed in my parents’ bathroom.

In 1977, Halston made the grave error of selling his name to JC Penny in a billion-dollar deal that turned out to be his downfall. Bergdorfs and other high-end retailers didn’t want to be associated with him anymore and canceled all future orders. Adding insult to injury, the low-end JC Penny line Halston III didn’t sell and he was ousted as its designer. Halston tried to revive his career but was unable to, and in the 80s he discovered he had AIDS and moved to San Francisco to die (he did, in 1990.)

“Ultrasuede: In Search of Halston” is a new documentary that is infinitely watchable for the 70s footage of Halston’s world. The director, Whitney Sudler-Smith, however, is an amateur: inept at interviews, uneducated about filmmaking and a fame whore who insists on being in every scene. But seeing it made me rethink Halston’s legacy. He became so highly regarded in Europe that he shifted the geography of the fashion industry, putting the spotlight on American designers who were designing clean, modern sportswear. Diane von Furstenberg, Calvin Klein, Donna Karan and many, many others owe their careers to Halston.

Trolling eBay for vintage Halston is disappointing: there’s not much available. But I do plan to ransack my mom’s closet this weekend and see if she kept any of her homemade Halstons. I won’t be wearing them to Studio 54…that era is long gone…but I sure can wear them at dinner parties in my loft, which my friend Harv, Jr. dubbed, “Studio 44.”

Most of my wardrobe comes from thrift stores, vintage stores, and eBay. I do buy new clothing from time to time (jeans, for example, since vintage ones just don’t fit me properly) but avoid it when I can. The items in my closet that I fall out of love with get recycled: resold, traded, or donated.

Beacon’s Closet is awesome. I shouldn’t even call it a thrift shop because it’s nothing like the anachronistic thrift shops I grew up with: it’s actually a shop that has a modern approach to buying and selling used clothing. You bring them a bag of clothing you don’t want anymore, they give you a store credit and then you get to shop for free. The pieces they don’t want you can leave behind for donation. This method of guilt-free shopping thrills me. You spend zero money, go home with “new” clothing, responsibly recycle and donate to a good cause.Those extravagant afternoons at Barneys have become a distant memory (and I don’t miss them.)

Ruby, my 17-year-old daughter, was actually the one who turned me on to Beacon’s Closet. It thrills me that she’s passionate about thrifting because it’s really fun to do it together. She’s committed to the whole thrifting lifestyle: she belongs to an online clothing swap at her school, searches for (discounted) designer jeans on eBay and won’t even buy a new book. Maybe growing up in mommy’s vintage clothing store had something to do with it.

Yesterday Ruby and I brought a bag of old stuff to Beacon’s, got a $75 credit, and with it bought a gorgeous puff-sleeved 70s blazer ($17), a Christopher Fischer cashmere sweater ($24) with a hand-embroidered owl on it (I have a thing for owls), a white crochet sweater ($15) and a pair of Sigerson Morrison shoes ($25). Ok, so I ended up spending $17, but in New York there’s not even tax on items under $55!

Luckily Ruby has the same shopping philosophy as me (shopping requires concentration and is best done alone) so once inside we split up and remind each other to “look for stuff for me, too!” (Grunge dresses for me, oversized cashmere cardigans for her.) True, like any thrift shop, you have to look through lots of other people’s fashion faux pas to find a gem, but Beacon’s is curated so it seems that you always do.

I couldn’t help but notice that 90% of the items I looked at were made in China (even those from my beloved DVF, who manufactured her iconic wrap dresses in Italy in the 70s.) A whopping 1/3 of all apparel imports in the U.S. come from China, and unfortunately it’s impossible to know the details of how responsibly these items are manufactured. I hope people will become more aware of the benefits (financial, environmental, and social) of purchasing vintage and used clothing, especially when there are stores like Beacon’s Closet that make “thrift” shopping such a pleasant experience.

The priciest item was a 1968 Christian Dior gown of beaded silver brocade with a matching purse. It had an estimate of $6,000 but fetched a whopping $362,500. Two other items soared past the $100,000 mark: a Chanel ball gown and cape with shoes and matching bag ($134,500) and a Gianni Versace bolero jacket, beaded with portraits of Taylor in her famous roles ($128,500). Other highlights included the Gina Fratini dress she wore at her second wedding to Burton in 1975 ($62,500), the embroidered robe from “Cleopatra” by costume designer Irene Sharaff ($62,500) and a black velvet “Scorpio” cape by Tiziani that she wore to Princess Grace’s “Scorpio” ball in 1969 ($60,000.) Even Kim Kardashian couldn’t resist Liz-mania, purchasing three diamond bangles for $65,000.

Legendary fashion leader/industry consultant Fern Mallis, who attended the auction, said, “Vintage clothing is like buying art these days. It will only increase in value.” This is true not just of vintage clothing associated with celebrities, but all collectible vintage items (like the 60s guitar purse featured on Chelsea-Girl.com right now.)

There is nothing more awe-inspiring to me than standing in front of a great painting. I often frequent museums when I’m feeling down, because being in the presence of great art makes me feel better, and I always go on my birthday, when I treat myself to a day off and spend some time alone (like shopping, I think museum-going should be solitary.)

I stopped by MOMA on Monday to see the Diego Rivera and DeKooning exhibits, but as usual, I spent another hour viewing the permanent collection, which has always been my favorite. To be in the presence of Matisses, Picassos, Van Goghs, deChiricos, Miros, and Dalis is awesome enough, but to be in the presence of their *most* famous works is almost overwhelming.

I have a friend who won’t live more than a half-hour drive from a great museum, which is perfectly understandable to me. I feel grateful to live in a city where some of the world’s most beautiful art exists, and where I can drop in any time I feel like viewing them.

The bad news is written all over her face: we’ve also had a bit of a nightmare getting Elisa’s weight under control.  Probably the joy of being in love plus the stress of developing our new show have taken their toll and, well, you can see for yourself.  If you’re wondering why the second season of Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys moved to Nashville, frankly it’s because Sundance took one look at what has happened my poor Elisa and they decided it was easier to change cities then deal with the multitude of problems her sudden weight gain creates. Believe me, folks, I went to bat for her and stood up to the network.  I showed them pretty pictures of big boned gals we adore like Ann Wilson, Linda Ronstadt and Kathy Najimy, but I found those supposedly progressive executives implacable and unsympathetic.  Understandably, she is a bit self-conscious and she feels bad that she fucked up the Sundance thing, but I told her it’s not really her fault the executives at Sundance are haters.

Anyway, the really good news is that even as I type this, Elisa is at Canyon Ranch getting a handle on her issues and has already dropped two pounds! In the meanwhile, please join me in sending her your best wishes, (but please don’t send her anything edible.)  If our new show doesn’t get sold, there is always The Biggest Loser! – David

As my birthday approaches (Monday), I’m reminded of some special gifts that David has given me. He’s always been incredibly creative when it comes to gifts, and after 28 years of birthdays, I’ve been lucky enough to be the recipient of some amazing items…and gestures. For my 43rd birthday, his gift to me was a visit to his cousin’s house in Laurel Canyon, which he had been renting from Joni Mitchell. David knew of my decades-long obsession with her and decided it was the perfect gift. It was.

Joni bought the little house at 8217 Lookout Mountain in the Spring of 1968 with the royalties from her first album, “Song to a Seagull.” She met Graham Nash, who was visiting from the UK with his band, The Hollies, shortly after she purchased it, and by July they were living there together. Joni’s house soon became THE place where Laurel Canyon-dwelling musicians hung out (when David Crosby and Stephen Stills dropped by one night, Crosby, Stills and Nash was born.)

When I “cashed in” my birthday gift and went there with my friend Debra on July 11, 2009, we immediately became enveloped in the history of the house. Although Joni hadn’t lived there since the 70s, she had a very deep connection to the house and held on to it for sentimental reasons. One of the things that drew musicians like Joni to Laurel Canyon was (and continues to be) its sense of isolation. Even though geographically it’s right in the middle of Los Angeles, the houses are completely hidden from the road, surrounded by indigenous foliage, quiet and private. Yet five minutes after we drove down the canyon, we were battling rush-hour traffic on Sunset Blvd.

Joni and Graham lived an idyllic 60s lifestyle: they sat around writing songs, bouncing ideas around, painting, reveling in each others’ presence and indulging in the creative atmosphere of Laurel Canyon. Graham wrote, “Our House” one morning after they returned from food shopping at the farmer’s market:

“I’ll light the fire, You put the flowers in the vase, That you bought today, Staring at the fire, For hours and hours
While I listen to you, Play your love songs, All night long for me, Only for me, Come to me now, And rest your head for just five minutes, Everything is good, Such a cozy room, The windows are illuminated, By the sunshine through them, Fiery gems for you, Only for you, Our house is a very, very fine house, With two cats in the yard, Life used to be so hard, Now everything is easy, ‘Cause of you.”

Hearing “Our House” for the first time as an adolescent was a revelation for me. I still think it’s one of the most beautiful love songs ever written, a poignant snapshot of domestic bliss. Being in the actual house, that cozy room, seeing the fireplace, the illuminated windows, and imagining the beauty of the moment when Graham was inspired to write it transported me back in time.

Joni created her best work in that house, including all the songs for “Blue,” “For the Roses” and “Ladies of the Canyon,” which included, “Willy” (Graham’s nickname, and one of my favorite Joni Mitchell songs, written when Joni started to have doubts about the future of their relationship):

“Willy is my child, he is my father, I would be his lady all my life, He says he’d love to live with me, But for an ancient injury, That has not healed, He said I feel once again, Like I gave my heart too soon, He stood looking through the lace, At the face on the conquered moon, And counting all the cars going up the hill, And the stars on my window sill, There are still more reasons why I love him. Willy is my joy, he is my sorrow, Now he wants to run away and hide, He says our love cannot be real, He cannot hear the chapel’s pealing silver bells, But you know it’s hard to tell, When you’re in the spell if it’s wrong or if it’s real, But you’re bound to lose, If you let the blues get you scared to feel. And I feel like I’m just being born, Like a shiny light breaking in a storm, There are so many reasons why I love him.”

Canned Heat lived next door to Joni and Graham in a house that burned to the ground in 1969. Joni was deeply affected by the fire and felt that divine intervention had spared her home. 40 years later, when David’s cousin moved in, she gave him explicit instructions not to clean the front door which still held soot from the fire in its crevices. Joni felt that door had prevented the fire from spreading to her house, and she treated it like an altar.

Debra and I spent a long time at the house, enjoying the late-day sunshine and the familiar surprises around every corner (like the view out the window that Joni painted for the “Ladies of the Canyon” album cover.) We took lots of photos and remarked how little the neighborhood and the house had changed since Joni had bought it forty years previously. A new generation of musicians has moved in (Rick Rubin’s “mansion” is next door to Joni’s house) but the hippie vibe remains.

Joni was fearful that marriage would stifle her creativity. Although she and Graham were deeply in love, she wasn’t willing to commit to marriage. But in the year that they were together in her house, they both created some of the best music of their careers. She remained fiercely independent throughout her life, staying true to herself even when the critics disagreed with her musical choices.

Thank you, David, for a once-in-a-lifetime gift I will never forget!