Y2K fashion just run-of-the-millenium

COURTESY CAMILLE MOCERINO Silver CDs on strings: don't leave the millenium without them.

Thank God the millennium only comes once. Histo rians may find it remarkable that a mere chrono logical event has inspired everything from media-engineered technological hysteria and millennial cult activity to yet another marketable idea for the crass consumer. Yes, my friends: fashion has somehow finagled its way into another epochal event in the lives of human beings everywhere (well, except for my parents, who not only couldn't care less about fashion, but also will most likely be asleep when the ball drops). Style gurus from the bottom to the top have seen fit to imagine the millennium in more ways than the American audience would have ever conceived. Seeing the coming century through the lens of fashion affords a multi-faceted view that can appear daunting, creative, and oftentimes absurd to the average shopper. Men and women have been inundated by all the commercial options inextricably linked to the millennium. It is up to us to turn a critical eye to the fashionable facets of the year 2000 and decide what will work for us.

Fashion's most blatant and pathetic stabs at marketing tie-ins are an omnipresent eyesore for most Americans. Bloomingdale's, for example, released a particularly offensive line of clothing, accessories, and housewares just in time for the millennium. Okay, it was actually released about eight months before the New Year's Day deadline. The economic and psychological impetus for this unheralded alacrity must have been founded in the belief that the store might dip dangerously low in its stock with the shopping rush before the critical year. Something tells me, though, that after seeing the "100 percent off" signs on the plethora of mugs, sweatshirts, pencils, boxers, and jeweled pins, a certain creative director had to go back to his or her proverbial drawing board. Aside from the almost playful hideousness of the products, blatant "millennium gear" suffers from both a notable lack of a marketable image and a classic case of "way too much, way too early." The year "2000" splattered liberally across an entire line of clothing holds neither the snobbish allure nor the graphic statement of Chanel's interlocking C's and Fendi's inverted F's. Bloomie's folly is a vivid illustration of the fact that a snazzy logo does not make a quality product, nor does it ensure a financial success. Yet, the failure of these togs also indicates that Americans are more likely than not just plain tired of eating, drinking, and breathing the millennium. The last thing we want to do is to wear our tortured existence.

Witnessing the basic iniquity of the 2000 tee forces us to investigate the message sent to the consumer about the stylish face of the millennium according to the gospel of designers, magazine editors, artists, and other fashion führers. A passing glance at the first runway shows of the coming year has apparently revealed that the year 2000 is, well, just like every other year. Designers from Alexander McQueen to Michael Kors have sent out enough track suits, draped gold handkerchief tops, and box-pleated skirts to convince the audience that a modern look for the new era consists of ensembles directly pilfered from the '50s, '70s and '80s. As depressing as the cyclical nature of fashion may appear to be, there is still enough innovation in purpose and construction to lend legitimacy to a stylish vision of the future.

Fashion's most futuristic nods may in fact be the most surreptitious. Advances in fabric design and composition have thrust even the most ordinary garment into extraordinary positions. Whether it is the slick juxtaposition evoked by laminated wool, or the highly accessible and elementally hardy Gore-tex, the most modern, stylish touch one can have does not have to attract much attention.

Designers have also put their own spin on the millennial paranoia. Recent trends such as the highly touted "utility chic" movement and the advent of convertible clothing have come at a time when most consumers are obsessed with the interaction of time, mortality, and technology. From Prada's cell phone pockets to vests with built in storage spaces for portable CD players, fashion is proving that you can take it with you.

Just as designers such as Ralph Lauren and Jil Sander are crafting sport and formal pants that fold into their own back pocket pouch, Martin Margiela and Donna Karan are exploding clothing in the opposite directions as they swaddle us into the next century with coats that double as duvets. This is truly a step ahead of the archetypal millenial fashion vision—an "everyone-in-matching-silver-outfits-with-gogo-boots" science fiction fantasy.

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