Latest news with #PharrellWilliams
Yahoo
4 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Autographed Michael Jordan rookie card sells for $2.5 million
A autographed Michael Jordan rookie card sold for $2.5 million in an auction that closed on Thursday. The 1986-87 Fleer card sold through Joopiter — the auction platform founded by Grammy-winning artist and producer Pharrell Williams three years ago — shows Jordan soaring toward the rim with his right arm extended and tongue dangling. It was one of nine trading cards signed in a blue sharpie at his private golf course in Florida last year. Advertisement According to ESPN, the $2.5 million is the most paid for a Jordan rookie card — signed or unsigned — and the third-highest price in a public sale for any Jordan card. That record is $2.928 million. In March, an autographed Bulls jersey that Jordan wore in a preseason game during his rookie year sold for $4.215 million at an auction through Sotheby's. ___ AP NBA:
Associated Press
4 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Associated Press
Autographed Michael Jordan rookie card sells for $2.5 million
A autographed Michael Jordan rookie card sold for $2.5 million in an auction that closed on Thursday. The 1986-87 Fleer card sold through Joopiter — the auction platform founded by Grammy-winning artist and producer Pharrell Williams three years ago — shows Jordan soaring toward the rim with his right arm extended and tongue dangling. It was one of nine trading cards signed in a blue sharpie at his private golf course in Florida last year. According to ESPN, the $2.5 million is the most paid for a Jordan rookie card — signed or unsigned — and the third-highest price in a public sale for any Jordan card. That record is $2.928 million. In March, an autographed Bulls jersey that Jordan wore in a preseason game during his rookie year sold for $4.215 million at an auction through Sotheby's. ___ AP NBA:
Indian Express
12 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
Louis Vuitton's runway has found India — it must now lead the show
Pharrell Williams's Louis Vuitton menswear spectacle in Paris on June 25 may be remembered less for its celebrities than for its compass. The collection — titled 'Paris to India' — scattered cricket stripes across silk suits, dangled elephant-trunk bags from models' hands and sent them striding over a snakes-and-ladders set conceived by architect Bijoy Jain. A Punjabi soundtrack co-produced by A R Rahman pulsed through the Louvre courtyard. In 30 brisk minutes, a French mega-brand declared that the world's most sumptuous fashion conversation now needs India in every sentence. For decades, India has been the textile world's quiet workroom: An exporter of labour, motifs and moral mystique, rarely an equal partner. The Louis Vuitton show signals something subtler than simple 'inspiration'. Jain's name sat proudly beside Williams's on the show notes; Rahman's beats shared billing with hip-hop icons. A similar dignity surfaced last year when Dior embroidered its pre-fall collection with the Chanakya School of Craft in Mumbai, crediting 300 artisans by name. In both cases, Indian creativity occupied the marquee, not the margins. That shift is the real headline. Why now? The luxury industry is scrambling for authenticity in a climate-anxious, post-pandemic marketplace. Carbon budgets, digital passports, circular business models and Gen Z's sceptical gaze are pushing brands to swap generic glamour for grounded storytelling. India offers a reservoir of stories written in plant dyes, zero-waste weaves and 4,000-year-old techniques that emit less carbon than the average polyester tracksuit. As the world's most diverse living craft laboratory — housing 11 million artisans across 3,000 clusters — India can supply both narrative depth and sustainability data. In short, global fashion's search for purpose runs straight through Kutch, Varanasi and the looms of Assam. The timing is auspicious at home too. The government's Rs 13,000-crore PM Vishwakarma scheme is rebuilding the artisan economy with credit, tools and market linkages; the Ministry of Textiles is fast-tracking Geographical Indication tags that protect regional identities; and the foreign office increasingly treats handloom gifts as soft-power artefacts. Louis Vuitton's Paris shout-out merely amplifies that trajectory. Yet, opportunity and outcome are not synonymous. Most Indian craftworkers still earn less than three pounds a day. More than half remain outside formal supply chains, which means no pensions, no insurance, no intellectual-property protection. If the global luxury pivot stops at aesthetic applause, the wealth gap widens; but if it matures into equitable contracting, credit sharing and co-branding, both sides profit. Dior's Chanakya partnership paid fair wages and logged 35,000 artisan hours; the house later released a documentary naming every embroiderer. That template — transparency plus traceability — shows how homage can become joint ownership. Louis Vuitton, which already embraces digital product passports for leather goods, could extend the system to heritage textiles, listing cluster names, wage rates and environmental savings. Customers would pay a premium for that honesty; artisans would secure predictable orders and global visibility. Indian designers and institutions must be ready to negotiate from strength. Design schools need incubation labs where students prototype with master karigars, proving that craft can be both couture and climate solution. State tourism boards could host 'Made With India' residencies, inviting foreign labels to spend a season in Kanchipuram or Bhuj, working shoulder-to-shoulder with local cooperatives. The private sector can sweeten the deal: Impact investors are already funding start-ups that marry blockchain provenance with natural-dye supply chains, rewarding clusters that meet biodiversity goals. A new lexicon is required as well. For years, culture writers spoke of 'inspiration' and 'appropriation'— binary terms that trap debates in outrage. The more useful phrase today is 'co-creation.' It presumes dialogue, contracts, revenue share and continuous credit. Co-creation resists both tokenism and hollow celebration. When a luxury house commissions a Banarasi brocade lining and prints the weaver's QR-coded signature inside the jacket, the customer's admiration translates into artisan equity. That is collaboration at the speed of modern commerce. Williams's show may not have reached that destination yet, but its direction is unmistakable. The fact that a monogram giant felt the need to celebrate Indian culture on global livestreams, accurately crediting Indian creative elites, marks the moment India's soft-power curve bent upward. The next bend — aligning that spotlight with the millions who keep the looms humming — is within reach if brands, policymakers and educators act in concert. India's craft legacy has always been ready for its close-up; technology, policy and consumer mood have finally switched on the klieg lights. The runway has found India. It is time for India — loom by loom, dye vat by dye vat — to lead the runway. The writer is assistant professor of design, IILM, Gurgaon
Khaleej Times
13 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Khaleej Times
Cultural appropriation or inspiration? Prada gets flak for Kolhapuris on runway
It's a straightforward comparison — even those outside the fashion world can see the parallels. On June 22, Prada unveiled its Spring/Summer 2026 menswear collection in Milan; two days later, Louis Vuitton showcased its own in Paris. Both featured summer-ready pieces inspired by age-old Indian garments and motifs. It's encouraging to see legacy fashion houses looking East for inspiration, expanding their design language for a global audience. But too often, this comes with spun narratives — or worse, no narrative at all. The key difference between the two? Louis Vuitton proudly and respectfully framed its show as an homage to India, explicitly labelling its S/S '26 offering as 'multi-faceted signatures of Indian sartorialism — threading a cross-cultural narrative through a contemporary wardrobe'. Meanwhile, Miuccia Prada and Raf Simons of Prada lifted the Kolhapuri chappal straight from the town of Kolhapur and rebranded it as 'leather one-toe sandals', offering no credit or mention of the centuries-old Indian craft it so clearly borrowed from. Pharrell Williams, Louis Vuitton's menswear creative director, made his influences clear. The runway was designed by celebrated Indian architect Bijoy Jain, announced boldly across the brand's social channels. Music was composed by AR Rahman. Front-row seats were filled by Indian stars like Ishaan Khatter. The show notes openly acknowledged the collection as a reflection of 'the multi-faceted sensibilities of present-day India'. 'This is acknowledgment. This is cultural exchange. This is appreciation of heritage — not appropriation,' says Sujata Assomull, launch editor-in-chief of Harper's Bazaar India. The issue at hand isn't just about giving credit where it's due — though that, too, is increasingly non-negotiable in today's hyper-connected digital age. The deeper problem lies in a long-standing pattern of discrediting and rebranding by luxury houses — a habit quietly perpetuated for centuries. Prada referring to Kolhapuri chappals as 'leather one-toe sandals' isn't fashion's first fumble. From the Indian dupatta being adapted into the so-called Scandinavian scarf, the traditional dhoti to harem pants, and the 'boho' paisley mango print to rebranded Kashmiri pashmina shawls as mere 'cashmere' — these are all examples of Indian cultural staples repackaged and sold by the West with little to no cultural acknowledgment. Inside the Collection Prada's Spring/Summer 2026 menswear collection marked a shift in tone — softer, more playful, and unmistakably relaxed. Gone were the sharp business suits. In their place: pastel-hued trousers, athletic-inspired tracksuits, and loose shorts cinched with elastic waistbands. Light blazers, glossy biker jackets, and whimsical accessories — raffia bucket hats, polished leather bags, and colour-blocked backpacks — added a sense of breezy irreverence. Footwear followed suit, favouring ease over formality: flip-flops, slender driving shoes, and open-toe leather sandals took centre stage, replacing traditional dress options. A fresh palette of mint, lemon, and powder blue breathed life into the classic greys, making the collection feel contemporary, cheerful, and unmistakably resort-ready. The Origins of the Design Kolhapuri chappals — awarded a Geographical Indication tag in 2019 — have been handcrafted for generations across eight districts in Maharashtra and Karnataka. Made from sun-dried buffalo hide and assembled entirely by hand, they require no synthetic materials or adhesives. Each pair is a labour of skill and tradition, often taking up to two weeks to complete. While Prada hasn't named Kolhapuris explicitly, the resemblance is hard to miss — and the omission has sparked renewed debate around cultural appropriation in luxury fashion. For some, seeing the silhouette on a global runway was a moment of overdue recognition. But in the absence of any acknowledgment — no mention of the artisans, no nod to the heritage — the gesture risks feeling hollow. Inspiration, when left uncredited, too easily slips into erasure. The chatter around the matter Still, its inclusion on the runway has sparked curiosity and intrigue. The sandals have been making the rounds online, with side-by-side posts and close-up comparisons drawing attention to their roots. For some, it's opened the door to deeper questions about visibility and sourcing, and what recognition can look like. The Kolhapuri chappal, a long-standing staple in Indian wardrobes, now finds itself in the spotlight. So, while its silhouette hasn't really changed, the audience has. We asked Assomull what she thinks of this move, or lack of move by Prada, and she reminds us: 'India has always been a source of inspiration for global fashion — and proudly so. At one point, British shopkeepers would label garments 'Made in India' as a mark of craft excellence. But history also reminds us how that shifted in the 1800s when Indian textile imports were banned under colonial rule. Today, brands from Dior and Hermès to Elie Saab and Zuhair Murad regularly turn to India's rich textile traditions — and most Indians take pride in this.' 'The problem arises when that inspiration isn't acknowledged,' she adds. The debate online has left people from all over the world, feeling the same way. Fashion influencer and local crafts enthusiast Masoom Minawala took to her social media platform to point out: 'Here's the thing, referencing is easy. Respecting the roots takes more intention. Let's remember, inspiration must come with credit.' The Lesson Luxury brands have had their fair share of messing up — and learning from their mistakes. They've seen highs like no other industry, and lows like every other one. Over the years, each of these brands has built a loyal base of clientele, and as they continue to reshape themselves, a new generation of young consumers keeps joining the fanbase. However, the legacy of an entire brand can be washed away if mistakes like these happen one too many times. Today's consumers are smart — they're listening, watching, and making choices that are politically and morally conscious. And rightfully so. After all these years of chiselling their craft and honing their creative direction, a luxury brand should be focusing on giving back to society — not just through CSR strategies, but by acknowledging the cultures they've borrowed from, and sharing traceability over the paths they've walked. Host of the podcast Fashion Your Seatbelt and a regular on the front row at fashion weeks, Jessica Michault says: 'In today's social media age, there's no excuse for brands not to credit the craft or culture they draw from — especially when the inspiration is so clearly rooted in a specific style and region. Whether through a press release, at the event, or in post-show communication, acknowledging the origin is the least that should be done.'
The Guardian
15 hours ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Anna Wintour: ‘queen of fashion' steps away from American Vogue editor-in-chief role
The departure of Anna Wintour as editor-in-chief of American Vogue leaves a bigger absence in the fashion world than would be left by the departure of any designer or supermodel. For more than three decades, Wintour has held the official title of editor-in-chief of American Vogue – and an unofficial, but widely acknowledged, title of queen of fashion. At any catwalk show, the best seat in the house is automatically hers. Like Beyoncé and Madonna, she has no need of a last name; everyone refers to her simply as 'Anna', although few are bold enough to address her directly. She has been a constant, regal presence, crowned by the signature glossy bob and ever-present sunglasses. Wintour's status has been built not just on ego, but on how much she has done for fashion. She has amplified the place of fashion in culture beyond all recognition. The ambition and bravado of fashion today – from Louis Vuitton hiring the Grammy-winning musician Pharrell Williams as creative director and taking over an entire district of central Paris for his debut show, to blockbuster fashion exhibitions such as the V&A's Coco Chanel retrospective becoming fixtures on the art world calendar – owes a vast debt to the vision of Wintour. An early instigator of putting actors, pop stars and politicians on the cover of her magazine, she understood instinctively that a Vogue cover bequeathed an intangible but potent 'soft power' that celebrities craved, and that Vogue's role as gatekeeper to that power could be leveraged in Washington and in Hollywood, as well as at the fashion weeks of New York, London, Paris and Milan. The cartoonish perception of a woman who is powerful simply because she lords over a world of ditsy underlings who are petrified by her is very far from the truth. Wintour grew the fashion world into an empire, making fashion itself bigger and more powerful, and rode high by keeping hold of the reins. She is unusual in being both a glamorous A-list celebrity who wields personal star power, and a gifted behind-the-scenes operator, always on manoeuvres behind those dark glasses. In the court of Vogue, she has been both King Henry VIII and Thomas Cromwell, commanding ceremonial power while also pulling the strings behind the scenes. It is, however, entirely true that most of those around her are intimidated by her. Her operational mode resembles that of a military commander: decisions are made swiftly, and she does not suffer fools gladly. In public, her emotional tone hovers around a cool courtesy, dipping to frosty lows if displeased by unpunctuality or incompetence. This is a persona that Wintour – who in private is devoted to her family, is a tennis superfan, a passionate supporter of the arts and a witty and phenomenally well-read conversationalist – has crafted carefully. Her image was enshrined in 2006 by the cinema release of The Devil Wears Prada, in which Meryl Streep played Miranda Priestly, a New York fashion editor. It was based on a book by a former assistant of Wintour's, and the starring role was widely assumed to be modelled on her. The imperious 'Nuclear Wintour' persona has served her well. In 2012, it was widely rumoured that Wintour, a heavyweight fundraiser for Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, was in the running to be appointed the US ambassador in London. The rumour turned out to be unfounded, but the degree of gossip mill traction for the idea of a magazine journalist being appointed to a high-powered position in international diplomacy is testament to the gravitas and prestige of Wintour's reputation. Wintour was born into journalism. Her father, Charles Wintour, was editor of the London Evening Standard for much of her childhood. She began her career in her birth city before moving to New York in her 20s, recrossing the Atlantic to become editor of British Vogue in 1985. That job was only a staging post for the highly ambitious Wintour, who achieved her goal of editing American Vogue three years later. Her keenly developed instinct for which way the wind was blowing was evident from the start: when the printers received the image for her first cover, they called the Vogue office concerned that there had been a mistake. The photo featured the model Michaela Bercu in faded blue denim – the first time jeans had appeared on the cover of Vogue. The post-dress-code informality that was to transform the fashion industry in the last decades of the 20th century was already being hinted at. Sign up to Fashion Statement Style, with substance: what's really trending this week, a roundup of the best fashion journalism and your wardrobe dilemmas solved after newsletter promotion It is a stretch to imagine Wintour, whose daily regime as editor began with rising at 4.30am to play an hour's tennis before a 6am blowdry, fading into gentle retirement. Her daughter, Bee, who works in the theatre world, once said that the lesson her mother was most keen to instil in her children was a work ethic. Bee recalled how, as a high school student attending a Vogue gala, she asked the guest sitting next to her to test her on Latin American history, as she had a test at school the next morning. But there is more to Wintour than the ice queen image. Her devotion to tennis is such that she would even play hooky from New York fashion week when shows clashed with the US Open tournament, taking a seat courtside instead. The timing – halfway through the menswear fashion shows – left fashion puzzled, but make more sense from a tennis fan's perspective. With Jack Draper poised to fill the gap in British tennis left by Andy Murray, and a simmering rivalry between Carlos Alcaraz and Jannik Sinner, her departure is Vogue's loss but SW19's gain.
