In this remarkable book, Kayoko Ota, Rem Koolhaas's think tank AMO, the design firm 2x4 and Prada staff in Tokyo, Milan and New York explore and honor the skirt, celebrating it as a vehicle of movement and shape. Tulle, pleats and printed patterns are fanned out like flowers against white backdrops, running off the edge of full-bleed pages, their photos glazed and varnished. Thumbnail images of each model are indexed with listings of their details. Waist Down is a fascinating view into Prada's designs, and a stimulating investigation of the skirt as a wondrous zone of invention, as central to the brand as the brand is to contemporary fashion.  (less)

writer and lives in Chiangmai, Thailand.bVientiane, People’s Democratic Republic of Laos, March 1977/bbrbrThe neon hammer and sickle buzzed and flickered into life over the night club of the Lan Xang Hotel. The sun had plummeted mauvely into Thailand across the Mekhong River, and the hotel waitresses were lighting the little lamps that turned the simple sky-blue room into a mysterious nighttime cavern.brbrIn an hour, a large Vietnamese delegation would be offered diversion there by members of the Lao People’s Revolutionary Party Politburo. They’d be made to watch poor country boys in fur hats do a Lao falling-over version of cossack dancing. They’d be forced to suck semi-fermented rice whiskey from large tubs through long straws until they were dizzy. They’d finally be coerced into embarrassing dances with solid girls in ankle-length skirts and crusty makeup.brbrAnd, assuming they survived these delights, they’d be allowed to return to their rooms to sleep. Next day, with heads heavy as pressed rubber, they’d sign their names to documents laying the foundations for the forthcoming Lao/Vietnam Treaty of Friendship, and they probably wouldn’t remember very much about it.brbrBut that was all to come. The understaffed hotel day shift had been replaced by an understaffed night crew. The sweating receptionist was ironing a shirt in the glass office behind her desk. The chambermaid was running a bowl of rice porridge up to a sick guest on the third floor.brbrOutside, an old guard, in a jacket so large it reached his knees, was locking the back gate that opened onto Sethathirat Road. At night, the gate kept out dogs and the occasional traveler tempted to@4=p£×ÿ¾Û€  (less)