The night I met Cody Ross, a dog was placed in the microwave. He gleefully stated, "He can go for 52 seconds!" I promptly screamed, ran over and popped him out, onto the floor unharmed. Vice previously mentioned his love for animals; he received death threats from PETA.
The line he's conjured is roughly well constructed. His signature pieces are a Mickey Mouse top/coat and short neon driven dresses with metallic prints for the club girl on the run. The girl who doesn't fit in, yet constantly swirls in the VIP room. He loves neon and striking colors, wearing them just as much as he styles them. Powered by his blond Mohawk and search for momentary relevancy through style. Capturing the uncertain zeitgeist of our moment - manic, even surreal, eighties rabbit hole.
A few weeks later, after the moment with the dog, before his monthly trip to Asia to check on his stores and suppliers, he invites me to his atelier of controlled disarray. Ross is pondering dolls and Columbine for his next collection. He picks up the pellet gun and aims. Grabs the fake boob on the edge of the shelf and looks at it lovingly, squeezes. He must always have the TV on.
A talented former hedge-funder who burned out at just the right moment, Ross exited at the top of the market. He speaks Mandarin fluently and is just as fascinated by China and their gobbling of our debt, as he is by iridescent colors and hemlines.
Cody bought his west village parlor, carved it up, renovated. Then sold the right pieces at just the right times. The financier and Democratic patron, George Soros is renovating the house next door for family (Cody whispers, not softly, as I leave). The fancy crowd from the Beatrice Inn wobbles home at 4 a.m. past his stoop. Although Cody sometimes wishes "they'd continue home" instead of popping in for a late nightcap.
Ross is obsessive about supply chains, how clothing goes from manufacturer to store, how buyers select for consumers. He states, "I care deeply about sales". This panache is derived from an uber-un-hip London School of Economics education. He crossed the Thames to learn fashion at Central Saint Martins College on Southampton Row (check it out on streetview). His LookBooks are manufactured in Asia; they have a tinge of yellow and mass production without color correction. Yet they sell, he sells. The edgy underground set loves his work. Bjork wears it.
Cody is a one man PR machine - from his serious whimsy, feel, style and keen instinct. Ross is becoming a bad boy in fashion, yet without the cat calling, infighting and unprofessionalism. He doesn't do this consciously; it's who he is. In his own way, he's inviting. Welcoming and embracing to talented individuals of all sorts, this is one of his secrets.
He must control. While other design shops might have a slew of hurried interns. Cody has a well-worn office chair and a PC; he runs a virus check and hurriedly glances at his lime-green berry between frames.
There's a picture above his bed with a gun and a pile of cash. Ross is a big believer of magazines and their power to reach consumers. We spent much of our time talking about the reach of mags and their importance to fashion buyers and readers. I tossed out. "What about their dying end?" his reply "magazines are a dying breed but the cool glossies (like i-D and Dazed) regularly feature me, so that's critical ... the rest can go to the dustbin of history".
He doesn't know where his brand is going. It's done very well in the past five seasons and he's carved a strong place for himself, garnering support from editors and bloggers alike. Ross doesn't envision Priestess NYC doing Fashion Week and the tents any time soon. Mentioning in other interviews what cash guzzlers they truly are. Right now he's just content to do his thing. Oh, he wears boxers and sometimes briefs.
Also on the night I met Cody Ross - he compared, peaked, crowed and was generally unruffled by business cards. Someone had a design that mimicked his. They're black not bone. The typeface is silver, not black. I witnessed a classic Bret Easton Ellis moment.
If Ross can bring his singular razor keen instincts to Priestess NYC, his visceral almost psychic sense of timing and focus on business savvy. If he can bring this to the world of Fashion, we might just be dressing in punk. Currently he's captured the colors of the moment and created Priestess NYC as a personal brand, bathed in his halo and strong orbit. Yet will he fall into the whirlwind of reinvention that is style. I'm not sure.
please find out more about Alex Geana and read his fancy blog.
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