America's Next Wave

By GINIA BELLAFANTE

Last fall, after financial constraints forced Isaac Mizrahi to discontinue his label and Todd Oldham to shut down his high-end line, discussion in the Manhattan fashion world--a group for whom a big-think question is whether or not model Esther Canadas' lips are bigger than Barbara Hershey's in Beaches--suddenly turned weighty. From where, the fashion community gravely wondered, were its future leaders going to come? In addition to the departures of Mizrahi and Oldham, designers Marc Jacobs and Michael Kors were now splitting their time between their own collections and those of the French houses Louis Vuitton and Celine, respectively. When the Dow reached, say, 80,000, who would be there to outfit its beneficiaries?

The business that turns models into old women at 22 and increasingly ignores the customer who falls too far beyond Felicity's demographics is dominated in the U.S. by a trio nearing pension age. For much of the past two decades, Calvin Klein, Donna Karan and Ralph Lauren have ruled American style. Although none will retire tomorrow, the triumvirate occupies so much space in department stores, on the sides of buses and consequently in the public consciousness that it has become tremendously difficult for young designers to break through. It says something about the contemporary American fashion scene that one of the most publicized stories of the past few seasons is the re-emergence of Diane Von Furstenberg, who has come back offering the same wrap dress she unveiled in 1972.

Beyond the universe of DKNY, DVF and other acronym wear, however, an independent spirit is quietly thriving. Indeed, the future of American dress seems secure on the sketchpads of a few young Manhattan designers, all of whom have gained a following without the benefit of big corporate backers, eponymous SoHo-based retail monuments or advertising campaigns.

Among them are Josh Patner and Bryan Bradley, who constitute the design team Tuleh, a purveyor of fetching party wear. In business for just one year, the partners last week won a nomination for the prestigious Perry Ellis Award from the Council of Fashion Designers of America. Sportswear too is flourishing, notably in the output of Patrick Robinson and Pixie Yates. And even ball gowns have a tasteful advocate in William Calvert, whose collection is sure to be the highlight of this week's South of Seventh event in New York City, which is intended to showcase the work of largely unknown new designers.

Tuleh, like Robinson and Yates, already shows uptown at New York's semiannual collections. The team's fall '99 presentation, held in February, was a packed affair, with many of the city's major fashion editors present. Down the runway came ruffles and bold silk prints, all part of the duo's protest against fashion's I'm-off-to-my-assembly-line-job-on-a-Mars-colony strain of chic. "There is an overly intellectualized, nihilistic approach to fashion at the end of the century that is predictable and dreary," says Patner, "and why should women be dreary?"

Patner, 36, a former stylist, and Bradley, 32, a freelance designer who had worked for Calvin Klein, were emboldened to launch their own line when they determined, as Bradley puts it, that "women were looking for something to buy in a shade that wasn't beige." Their instinct was right. At the posh boutique Ultimo in Chicago and Dallas, half of Tuleh's spring '99 line was sold, through orders, before the clothes even reached the stores.

Although his garments are less overtly opulent, Robinson too has gained attention as an ardent avoider of fad. A modern, never-staid classicist, he is known for his fine tailoring and use of luxurious fabrics, some of which are his own innovations. "Patrick is much more about style than trend, and the customer appreciates this," explains Nicole Fischelis, vice president and fashion director of Saks Fifth Avenue, which carries Robinson's line. "There is an integrity to his design that's very special."

A native Californian, Robinson had planned to follow in his father's footsteps and become a doctor, but instead studied at Parsons School of Design in Manhattan. At 28 he found himself heading Anne Klein's collection line. In 1996, after Robinson had served three seasons to mixed reviews, the company closed its high-end business. Jobless at 30, he decided to start his own label that year.

Now 32, Robinson has watched his sales double in the past year with the help of self-possessed clients who use their Palm Pilots to keep track of more than pedicure appointments. One such customer is Lisa Simpson, president of Sony Online Entertainment, who explains, "I have to go from meetings where people are wearing shorts and flip-flops to dinners at the Four Seasons. With Patrick, I can shift through these worlds without a hiccup."

Pixie Yates, 33, occupies the opposite but complementary end of the sportswear spectrum from Robinson. If he is dressing innately stylish FORTUNE readers, she has found an audience among the urban women-girls in their 20s and 30s who perhaps might relate to Bridget Jones' Diary more than they would acknowledge. Indeed, Yates' clothes have attracted some of the very celebrities--Drew Barrymore, Jennifer Aniston, Courteney Cox--who seem affixed in permanent ingenuedom.

Yates creates simple but dainty dresses and pants that signal a wistfulness for an era when playful flirtation was the language that reigned between men and women. Her pricing, unlike her peers', is relatively quaint too, with a ceiling of $300. Like Tuleh's Patner, Yates is a former stylist. In the early '90s she began to make clothes in her spare time. When she took them to photo shoots, the models couldn't keep their hands off them. In the past year her garments have made their way into Barney's New York and Henri Bendel, where they've graced the windows of the Fifth Avenue flagship store and sold out.

William Calvert, 29, has made an even quicker trip to important retail venues. Just two years ago, Calvert, who refined his tailoring skills at the fabled Parisian houses of Balmain and Balenciaga, decided to make six sample dresses in New York. Barney's and Bergdorf Goodman placed orders, and suddenly he was in business.

Calvert has the look of a philosophy grad student, but his clothes are not meant for library dwellers. He specializes in architectural gowns devoid of superfluous ornament. "I don't make dresses for hangers," he explains. "They are about the contours of the body." Calvert has already found a fan in the eminent (and like-minded) Geoffrey Beene, a designer not known for the promiscuous use of terms like absolutely fabulous. Says Beene: "There has been a great period of mediocrity in fashion, and William is the shining light at the end of that tunnel."

Ads for fragrances, underwear and eyeglasses from any of these designers won't be appearing on highway billboards anytime soon. All are pursuing the kind of niche strategies that fashion watchers argue is the key to longevity in today's market. That's fine--the mall was already way too crowded.