-- New York Times fashion critic Guy Trebay
Not a day goes by in this town when I am not utterly confounded or delighted by some new arrangement of clothing and florid ingenuity: skirts made of braided grocery bags; belts made of bones; glittery constellations of bottle caps, tassels, and pompoms; purses made out of lunch boxes, pillow cases, and teddy bears; impossible shoes; gravity-defying pants; button-down shirts that resemble the hoods of lowrider cars; bedazzled track suits; bedazzled belly buttons; men in skirts; women in camos; androgynes as gauchos; old ladies wearing hats the size and shape of fish bowls; babies wearing biker jackets; lawyers in boas; teachers in tie-dye; and grandparents in hardly anything at all. The streets of San Francisco are constantly evolving kaleidoscopes of stylistic peculiarity. Even those who prefer Abercrombie & Fitch hardly bat an eye at the man in the pink unitard traveling down Market Street on a unicycle; it's just the lay of the land. San Franciscans take their look very seriously, even when they're trying very hard not to look serious. The ubiquitous rock T-shirt had its earliest beginnings in our own Haight-Ashbury, after all.
Academics involved in fashion theory define fashion as the cultural construction of the embodied identity. The folks over at Dee Dee TV just call it art.
"I started painting handbags in the '80s," say Dee Dee Russell at the opening of her exhibit, "Bohemian Superstar!" "I was totally loco about handbags. No one was painting handbags like this back then."
Russell's handbags, which were first shown at the DNA Lounge more than a decade ago but now hang on the walls of the Artemis Gallery, are giggles on shoulder straps: Friskies cat food logos, laundry soap boxes, and publicity shots of Michael Jackson given the Dee Dee make-over with sequins, glitter, and sploshes of brightly colored paint. Mass-produced purses with similar imagery can now be found in trendy chain stores across the country, but Russell's bags, like her gowns, are wildly energetic and carbon copy- free. Much like Russell herself.
Anyone who has ever stayed up late at night perusing cable access channels has run across Dee Dee TV once or twice since 1995. On the multi-award-winning show, which often features Russell's bare buttocks and original textile creations, the outspoken gal from "Wisconebraska" rails against local government, mainstream media, art critics, and fashion editors (though she has an enviable figure, she hails cellulite and calls herself an "anti-fashionista"). But her show is driven more by style than content. It's difficult to take your eyes off Dee Dee Russell. She is a colorful figure, and she has colorful friends, one of whom lurches past me, howling drunkenly through the crowded gallery. I recognize her from the program.
"You should take her home," says Russell, leveling a cool eye on the well-dressed gentleman at her elbow. "Really."
The man hesitates, and then shuffles off.
"I enjoy subjugating men," says Russell with a wink as a large pink and blue pendant designed by her boyfriend blinks at her cleavage. "He's my old roommate. Used to be a punk rocker back in the day; now he's a drunk-driving lawyer. Go figure. I wanted lots of free wine here. You know, an old-school gallery opening."
After a brief discussion and a modicum of encouragement, Melissa Panages aka Famous Melissa, proprietor of the Artemis, announces that she is going to bare her soul for the art world and, more specifically, her ass for Dee Dee Russell's new show.
"I'm Greek-Italian," shrugs the grande dame of cyberfashion as she begins to strip for the camera. "I don't like clothes anyway."
In 1979, at the onset of the desktop computing revolution, Panages had already begun to precycle the detritus of the frontier industry, transforming connector pins and tiny circuit boards into fantasy-inducing haute couture. Her models, known as the "Tech Tarts," appeared at computer conventions and technology symposiums around the world. Her work was featured on the front pages of style sections throughout the country, in Omni, and in the first issue of Mondo 2000. It is exquisite, residing in a cold, dark region very far away from Dee Dee TV. Curve-clinging halter tops comprised of computer chain mail, bikinis crocheted out of ornate circuitry, delicate computer-chip earrings, and spiderlike necklaces of copper wire, Panages' fashions could dress the ominous landscapes of Frank Herbert or Frank Frazetta. Instead, they reside behind a partition that separates her office from the gallery. Amid the array, I find a glimmering altar box, with golden doors, a slanted roof, and a circular pedestal, every inch covered in unknown pathways drawn in the burnished wire of motherboards. It echoes the irresistible beauty and allure of the puzzle box Clive Barker imagined to open the gateways of hell.
"Oh yeah, those? I started making those awhile ago," says Panages, shrugging as she adjusts the bikini she's wearing with a pair of pliers.
We wander into the warm summer night, making our way to 1015 Folsom, where Russell and Panages are appearing on the runway at "F(ash)UN," amidst polka-dot pantaloons, bustles and bucketheads, shimmering long-coats, evening wear made of sandwich bread, duct-tape tuxedos, inflatable bunny suits, tear-away business suits, and a balloon and dagger striptease. And that's just the first act. The paying crowd is no less dazzling in bedraggled bandleader jackets, deconstructed prom dresses, re-formed golf pants, pink baby bonnets, and long gowns made of the film from old family movies. $teven Ra$pa, the MC and fashion curator, waltzes across the stage in a star-spangled corset, fishnets, and a globe of the world worn as a jaunty chapeau -- not remarkable for a man who usually walks around town in an elegant black suit and bowler hat with two daisies springing from the tips of his very long forked beard.
"He's like a Dr. Seuss character sprung to life," says Justin Lim, a young man who looks as though he will always prefer J.Crew to clown socks.
"He's a work of art," says Pierina Huberty in a sheer skirt and corset painted with peacock feathers.
I sigh with contentment as Pinkman! -- in all his shiny, lumpy, unitard glory -- wobbles down the runway on his unicycle, the pinnacle of fashion for a San Francisco night.
