Let Your Boy get something out of the way immediately: the main reason he chose to assess this particular publication this week is simply that it is likely that many, many more Idolator readers will have access to it than the printed versions of the magazines he normally considers in this space.

Which is to say that Fashion Rocks was mailed in the last couple of weeks to subscribers of Vanity Fair (of which it is nominally a supplement), Wired, and probably a few other magazines published by Condé Nast. Which is also to say that Condé Nast succeeds in producing publications that bespeak heft and significance and thus are less expendable to readers who would otherwise forsake printed matter entirely for the options presented by the Device You Are Currently Gazing At. Discriminating readers... like you!

Like last year's Movies Rock, a supplement sent to GQ and Vanity Fair subscribers, Fashion Rocks is clearly intended to attract additional revenue from many of Condé Nast's advertisers and also pimp a TV special by the same name that will be broadcast on CBS on Sept. 9.

But unlike Movies Rock, this issue is produced under the auspices of Vogue. (Previous iterations were produced under the auspices of GQ.) Which is yet again to say that it's more than likely that editor-in-chief Jonathan Van Meter had very little leeway as to what sort of content would constitute the issue and essentially carried out the wishes of Anna Wintour, the editor of Vogue since 1988.

About the best thing YB can say about Ms. Wintour is that she demonstrated a previously disguised sense of humor about herself by attending a high-profile screening of a movie premised on the persistent perception that she is, frankly, a cunt. Unlike virtually every woman he's ever known, YB is not fascinated with Vogue, the instrument with which Ms. Wintour preys on the insecurities of women. Wintour has been so good at making females feel like they're worthless unless they spend money on material goods proffered by Vogue advertisers for so long that, in terms of the publishing milieu, she's indestructible.

And so she's charged with producing a one-off magazine that is intended to promote a television special that involves famous music figures. Fashion Rocks is best understood as how Ms. Wintour contends with music culture. This means that Justin Timberlake, a guy with no new music on the horizon but whose fashion imprint, William Rast, will put out its fall line next month, is an appropriate cover choice.

It is beyond doubt that Wintour is familiar with Timberlake. But had she heard of the Kills, who are profiled herein via an article entitled "Band of Outsiders"? The London duo certainly bears a certain Velvet-esque élan that stands them in stood stead with runway habitués, but there's one aspect that's sure to get Wintour's attention: Kills guitarist James Hince is Kate Moss' latest pale, leather jacket-clad stunt dick. If pint-size hesher icon Ronnie James Dio found himself as Moss' dragon-slayer (or fellow dragon chaser) du jour, then he'd be profiled herein, no questions asked.

Writers and personalities that are only vaguely in Wintour's orbit are called in for pieces that are each headlined with a startling lack of flair. In the issue's de facto introduction, "Sound and Fashion," longtime Village Voice fashion scribe Lynn Yeager explains that "music and style have always been in sync," an idea which doesn't need explaining; Joan Jett talks about her own style aesthetics in "Born to be Bad"; in "Dirty Pretty Thing," Liz Phair is described as "the rock equivalent of Carrie Bradshaw"; the part of ex-label honcho Danny Goldberg's mem-wah, Bumping into Genius, concerning Courtney love and "that dirty little man she married that the younger people think is so wonderful" is excerpted in "I Am Legend"; "Hearts of Darkness" explores "emo" culture now that designers have taken note of it; "Fine and Dandy" examines André Benjamin and his Benjamin Bixby line; and finally, in "Hit Man," profilee Mark Ronson, a DJ at several events that Ms. Wintour has surely attended, is described as the son of "socialite Ann Dexter-Jones" and incorrectly as the stepson of "the singer of Foreigner, Mick Jones."

Ultimately, the writing in the mag does not address the point of Fashion Rocks. But the photographs accompanying the articles cited in the previous paragraph are lensed by the likes of Terry Richardson and Steven Meisel. And a marquee photo package, featuring several performers that will probably drop out of the accompanying special by the time it's broadcast, involve the contributions of Meisel, Norman Jean Roy, and Jean-Baptiste Mondino. Pretty pictures, after all, are the point of Fashion Rocks and of any endeavor involving Ms. Wintour.

(YB should say that an essay appending Meisel's shot of Mariah Carey includes the single, solitary example of memorable, insightful scribbling in the entire issue, courtesy of Michael Joseph Gross: "...Carey is Long Island's answer to Dolly Parton, a woman whose bodacious bod and over-the-top style have distracted many people from her rare and substantial talent...Carey's aspiration to G4 style seems an effort to make up for her bridge-and-tunnel background." True dat, and thus it's the one of very few ways someone with that kind of background can matter to Ms. Wintour.)

So clearly, YB finds Fashion Rocks to be a fairly vile proposition. But one photo essay therein is particularly ghoulish, and is the other reason he chose to write about the mag.

"Here Comes the Son" finds Dhani Harrison sporting a mustache and styled in the manner associated with his father George in 1967-1968. He also cavorts with one Sasha Pivovarova, one of those Eastern European wraiths models that Wintour often employs. This young woman is clearly cast as Patti Boyd, the woman pere Harrison was married to in the late '60s and early '70s—although Harrison disingenuously describes her look in a caption as being based on Stones muse Anita Pallenberg. Dhani's mother is Olivia Arias, who no doubt is thrilled to not only see her son pantomiming his father, but to witness him hugging up to a representation of her husband's first wife.

Harrison's new band thenewno2's album apparently will be released soon. YB can only assume that young Harrison or someone (poorly) advising him believes the record faces nigh-unto-impenetrable barriers, since somebody in a relevant position thinks there's something to be gained by breaking the rule observed by all Beatles progeny: "I will not be judged based on my dad's legacy—or at least I will avoid the appearance of doing so."

But Van Meter quotes Harrison in his editor's letter as a way to justify this bizarre exercise: "It's very hard to take a step in any direction musically without referencing something The Beatles have done." Van Meter adds, "In every way, our ten-page layout with Dhani and Sasha perfectly captures what Fashion Rocks is all about."

Precisely. It all makes perfect sense and is very high concept to vampires like Ms. Wintour and her underlings.

I've assembled an outfit from the Urban Pipeline section of Kohl's Web site. Just imagine you're a young man gearing up for the first day of 8th grade, and you're determined to express that you're serious about acoustic melodies.

First you put on your shirt.



It's plain, it's white, it's 100% non-threatening and blandly appealing. Perfect.

Now your shorts.



Camo conveys strength. You're a man despite your wimpy music.

You always get cold while sitting in class, so you make sure to put on your new hoodie.



It says, "Hey, I want to be Pete Wentz."

And, finally, you wouldn't want to be ill-prepared in case of a sudden extreme sports situation, so you grab your new shades.



Rockin'.

Now you're all set to appeal to girls, sensitive boys, and total bros who occasionally like a break from Nickleback. But what about formal dances? Dude, got you covered:

This is the signature Plain White T's shirt in the collection. Your mom thought it was cute.

Back To School 2008 [Kohl's]
New Kohls clothing line is inspired by famous artists [Dayton Daily News]
Earlier: Avril Lavigne's Clothing Line Just As Awkwardly Punk Rock As Its Designer

This T-shirt isn't bad from a distance, but when you see it close-up, you realize that it has descriptive adjectives all over it. And that said adjectives—among them "survivor," "musician," "eco-activist," and "free spirit"—are meant to describe Sheryl Crow, and not the person who paid $26 for it.

Shirts like these make anyone with boobs look much more Grimace-like than they actually are. Waistlines, people!

Christ. Vests again? No thanks.

So, the tops are pretty much a misfire. But at least there aren't any ugly sweatpants, which means that it's more of a success than Avril Lavigne's line for Kohl's!

Bootheel Trading Co. [Dillards]

Now that's entertainment!

[Denis Leary To Host "Fashion Rocks", CBS]

Beyonce
Black Eyed Peas
Chris Brown
Fergie
Justin Timberlake
Keith Urban
Lil Wayne
Mariah Carey
Rihanna
Kid Rock
Duffy

Come to think of it, this lineup does sort of scream "2006," with the exception of Duffy. Things weren't that much better then, guys.

Top Stars Step Up For Fashion Rocks [Billboard]
Can Si Newhouse Keep Conde Nast's Gloss Going? [NYT]

Well, to be totally honest, this guy is smarter, better-looking, richer, more successful and more fun than I'll ever be. So maybe this is what well-educated, skinny, popular kids wear when they're somehow fooling the world that they deserve to be much more than our generation's Camper Van Beethoven. But something doesn't sit right with me. I'd ask one of my friends that go to Columbia, but if I had a ton of friends who went to Columbia, I probably wouldn't be trying to pay my rent by writing 400-word blurbs on Hydra Head bands. I feel lost, confused,,,,,,,[sic—that's how little I care about an Oxford comma] and really old.

Seriously, do people wear this shit? Is there some uptown hipster keffiyeh community I've somehow missed? Is this some kind of Seinfeld-ian puffy shirt fiasco? Or is he trying to protect his neck from real vampires?!

My daughter was born in December, and like any parent, I'm concerned about what sort of woman my little girl will become. It's a tricky world to navigate as a parent, between frequent airings of The Hills on MTV and the fact that I'm married to a woman, who despite being generally wonderful, doesn't recognize the genius of Shaun Ryder. I just have to say, you people aren't helping with your recently announced new line of clothing blending "an authentic rock 'n' roll attitude with a feminine edge" , so if you wouldn't mind, could you keep your damn clothes away from my daughter? If she ends up looking for "rock 'n' roll attitude", I'd hope she develops it herself, instead of from a photocopy of a poorly duplicated original.

Thanks for your help!

Dan Gibson

[WWD]

As of yet there are no pictures of Elton draped in this cloak, its colorful tails whipping behind him in the New Zealand wind as he stands atop his piano in four-inch platforms shooting off Roman candles into the sky while still somehow managing to bang out an extended version of "Benny and the Jets," but we can only assume that the Maori's gift has inspired such greatness. Here is a picture of Prince Charles receiving one, just to give you an idea of how it might look:

That cloak is wearing you, Charles!

Elton John gifted rare Maori cloak [New Zealand Herald]

"A lot of vomiting," Rosado says, grinning at the memory. "I found a kid sprawled on the bathroom floor once, and I was like 'What are you doing?' because that floor was the most disgusting thing you'd ever seen."

Kray offers up a CBGB memory involving a band called the Adolescents and a gastrointestinal mishap that is too revolting to recount here.

"Not going to be a lot of puking when this place opens," he says, gesturing to a rack of pants.

Why not? If these guys are having a midlife crisis over the "Olive Garden-ization" of the city, wouldn't the most "punk" thing be to stroll into the Varvatos store when it opens and vomit all over a pair of $300 slacks? They might get arrested, but that's a small price to pay for keeping the scene alive.

A Punk Temple Reborn [Washington Post]

I'm not quite sure what's better, the totally incogruous music or the death threats in the comments box.

No. 1 music mag Decibel, which brought these blackened frocks to our attention, seems totally stymied by this development, but c'mon: gaunt, pale boys with a penchant for make-up and striking ridiculously overwrought poses in front of any available camera? I'm just surprised it hasn't happened before. The only thing that's off about this is that Herchcovitch's collection is dropping in the balmy spring season, though if those nutty church-burning, Wotan-worshipping, totally isolationist BM kids have taught us anything it's that black metal is a state of mind.

Ravisihing Grimness [Deciblog]

The New Record Labels [WSJ]

Day-Glo Vu [NY Post]

A few weeks after tapping Chan Marshall for a modeling gig, Chanel head Karl Lagerfeld has landed on another muse beloved by the yupster crowd: pint-sized Brit Lily Allen.

"Nothing is set in stone but Karl believes she has come up with a look that will define 2007. It's all about wearing really classy clothes in a different context.

"He is keen to dress her and work with her."

The cheeky Allen—who's bragged about her on-stage getups combining Marc Jacobs dresses and trainers—represents a shift for Chanel, which has normally looked to the silver screen for its non-supermodel faces (and no, Nicole Kidman doesn't count, despite her Moulin Rouge role). All of this must smart for Lindsay Lohan, who was rejected by Lagerfeld for not being sophisticated enough. Our advice? Convince Asthmatic Kitty to re-release Speak, then give your face-of-Chanel campaign another go.

Lily Is Top Of The Frocks [The Sun, via No Rock And Roll Fun]
Earlier: Cat Power Lands Smokin' New Gig

(You might want to try a black bra next time, hon.)

[Photo credit: Getty Images]