Music! Bling! Oh, And Clothes, Too

For Spring, the Latest and Loudest In Rock-and-Wear

NEW YORK, Sept. 17 -- After the first runway presentation of her sportswear collection L.A.M.B. on Friday night, the singer Gwen Stefani charged out to take her bows like a victorious prizefighter. There was nothing bashful about her celebratory strut. And there was no humility as she mouthed the words to her song "Hollaback Girl," which was blasting on the soundtrack.

She lingered contentedly in front of a phalanx of photographers. And the crowd -- stocked full of fans, no small number of them bearing press credentials -- screamed in delight. It was a far cry from the typical audience response, which is polite, congratulatory, rushed and punctuated by desperate glances toward the exit.

As Stefani turned to head backstage, she glanced to her right and smiled at Ashanti and Sean "P. Diddy" Combs (or whatever moniker he's going by these days). Then her eye was caught by her husband, musician Gavin Rossdale, and Vogue editor Anna Wintour. In a split second Stefani made a calculated decision, leaned down -- for a moment it looked like an elaborate curtsy -- and planted a big "thank you" smooch on Wintour's cheek. Her husband had to wait his turn.

Fashion, as it has always been defined, has come to an end.

Stefani is only one in a mob of singers and rappers who have used fashion to extend their brands. L.A.M.B. is one of the few collections that have received significant praise from retailers, not because it is exceptionally good but because it is surprisingly not bad. Indeed, Stefani had a bestseller with a lace-printed raincoat priced at about $365. L.A.M.B. has a point of view, retailers say. It is not a pure vanity project. And to be fair, Stefani is one of the few celebrities who had a personal style long before settling into the comforts of high-priced stylists and free clothes. She is her brand's muse, but Zaldy Goco designs it.

The show set was anchored by hot rods that bounced around on hydraulics -- the car geek's way of publicly grabbing at his manhood -- as two gangster boys reclined, all smug and cool in the driver's seats. The collection reflects Stefani's aesthetic with its references to tough girls, Orange County and Rastafarians. And of course, there was exuberant use of her L.A.M.B. logo in its Gothic script. The logo (love, angel, music, baby) dates back to Stefani's collaboration with LeSportsac in 2003, a deal that essentially was the creative catalyst for the current business.

Sony sponsored this show, and it made the most of the media moment. Before the presentation began, the cars were covered with dropcloths embossed with PSP, references to Sony's PlayStation Portable. And several models walked the runway clutching the gadget. Stefani used the show's soundtrack to give the audience a tease of some of her new music. And after the extravaganza, one guest offered an instant review: "The music was really good." But what about the clothes? Fair to middling.

The path the fashion industry is heading down is populated by corporate marketing teams looking to advertise gadgets, not clothes. It is overrun with celebrities working to increase their fame even as they complain about their lost privacy. The aisles of shows are clogged with five-foot-wide lunkheaded security guards belonging to tabloid darlings and devils; they are such slow-moving behemoths that the only danger they could succeed in blocking would be the sun.

This is the downhill road to cultural hell, and the fashion industry is moving along it at a fast clip. In some respects it has no choice. It is being pushed along by consumer demand, lowbrow tastes, society's obsession with celebrity, and the rising costs of doing business. Fashion has already ceded significant aesthetic authority to pop stars and actresses. Every day it loses more clout as other outsiders looking to burnish their image and attract new customers attach themselves to fashion.

At the Zac Posen show on Thursday night, as guests began plowing through the goody bags left on their chairs, those in the front row pulled out leather driving gloves designed by Posen for Jaguar. Others had no such gift. One could not help but wonder whether Posen and the folks at Jaguar had been absent that day in kindergarten when one learns the first rule of good manners: If you don't have enough for the entire class, don't bring any at all.

Posen designed the gloves to promote the automaker's new XK sports coupe. In return, Jaguar agreed to donate $160 of the gloves' $350 retail price to charity. "Their heart was in the right place," said a Jaguar spokeswoman.

It is not uncommon for show sponsors -- and designers -- to be selective about who gets what at these shows. After all, the fashion industry resembles nothing more closely than a junior high cafeteria filled with cool kids, mean girls and outcasts. But this was bad manners, elitism, tackiness and, most of all, another example of the ways in which outsiders are using -- and abusing -- fashion as a means to an end: greater fame, prestige or more money. The clothes have become an increasingly minor point in the whole process.