Vogue Hommes English Version Spring Summer 2019

Parker is covering Vogue Hommes for the very first time and already radiates the aura of the supermodels of the 90s. Not surprising, really, as he’s the son of Andre van Noord, one of the great lions of the glossies, who enjoyed a gold–plated career up until his death last year. Parker, with his flawless features and perfect 1m88, sunburst smile and classic grace, has walked for Emporio Armani and Ralph Lauren. He’s a favourite with Alasdair McLellan and Inez &Vinoodh, too, and is poised for lift–off. VOGUE HOMMES What do you like the most about modelling? PARKER VAN NOORD Modelling has made the world more accessible for me in every respect, in terms of meeting new friends, inspirational people and travelling to many places. VOGUE HOMMES What do you…

As testified by the Who Dares Wins emblazoned on the Dior winter coat on the cover of this Summer issue, and the dissident yellow of the logo, men’s fashions are undergoing one of their most striking and inspirational revolutions, ever. Never, since the 1970s, have barriers (between the genders, the seasons, between styles and so–called “good” or “bad” taste…) been so completely pulverised as now. Never have taboos and received wisdom taken such a beating — and Vogue Hommes is over the moon about it. In this issue, we have opted to channel boldness: the boldness just to be yourself, and to be ruled only by your own personality, to trust only in your own desires. All those fusty codes, rules, male / female dichotomies are so over. There’s nothing…

The French hit “69 année érotique”, recorded by the now legendary Gainsbourg–Birkin couple, has endured as a casual anthem whispered over the smouldering embers of the turbulent year of revolt. Half a century on, 1969 is making the headlines once again, if only because of the wild rumours surrounding Quentin Tarantino’s new film. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is set in Los Angeles and looks back at the horrendous murder of actress Sharon Tate by a group of headcases under the orders of psycho–killer Charles Manson. The cast includes the likes of Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, Margot Robbie, Al Pacino, and Tim Roth. That year, Jack Kerouac, Brian Jones and Boris Karloff took their final bows, while young newcomers Cate Blanchett, Wes Anderson and Jay–Z first opened their eyes…

GENDER FLUID It’s always a challenge for a chap to get his hands on the right man bag. Often, a weekend tote will do the job. Realising this, Miuccia Prada had the smart idea of transforming one of her best–selling women’s totes, the Prada Galleria, into a male item. It’s been bigged up, has sport handles, and the leather exterior is presented in a subtle chromatic spectrum (black, red, camel, chocolate, white). Search over. Sheer male ecstasy. CHICISBACK (you read it here first) The last edition of Vogue Hommes, devoted to “the return of chic”, was ahead of its time. This season has discarded sportswear and rehabilitated that most demanding art of tailoring, infusing it with a new energy and bringing it bang up to the minute. Top marks…

It’s called a “skeleton”. Minimal dial — if any — open-worked plate and bridges, and suddenly the ability to see beyond the hands to the very bones of the mechanism. Hence “skeleton”, a misnomer if ever there were. As if we were about to discover a vertebra, a humerus or a clavicle when what really sits beneath the sapphire crystal is the watch’s beating heart, its soul, its individual aesthetic and the expertise specific to each brand. As distinctive as a case or dial, the movement becomes a vital force in the watch’s personality. Not just visible; magnified. The superbly ornate lines of the Master Ultra Thin by Jaeger–LeCoultre give the impression of wanting to stop the hands in their tracks. Each of the finely chased components of Vacheron Constantin’s…

What drove them, the Japanese audiences who in 1968 packed into cinemas to admire Black Lizard? Were they there to innocently celebrate the brutal determination of a criminal wreaking terror wherever she went? Were they there to see Miwa the Lizard, that ambiguous creature, or for Shingo Maruyama, the diminutive doe–eyed crooner who, ten years earlier, had charmed them with “Mé qué mé qué”. A Japanese cover of a Gilbert Bécaud song, it had made him a star at the Gin Paris café in Tokyo’s Ginza district. At the height of his fame, a journalist asked him what he thought of women, and Shingo answered truthfully: “I like them, but as friends. I prefer boys, especially boys who play baseball.” At that very instant, Shingo made the decision to embrace…