BlackBook Magazine

Rogan Gregory, the eco-friendly designer behind Rogan—think natural fibers and hoodies, American Apparel without the ambiguously underaged exploitation—celebrated the release of his Target collection with a three-day shopping event at Barneys New York. The 60-style line, which ranges in price from $15 to $45, will be available in stores and online May 18. Celebrity friends like Amanda Peet, Diane Kruger, Alan Cumming, and Waris Ahluwalia came out to toast the collection. We wanted to make a joke about Rogan sounding like Rogaine, which makes us think of Hair Club for Men, and then segue into, "I'm not just the president, I'm also a customer." But it's Friday afternoon, so instead, we'll just show the video after the jump.

As my favorite season approaches, despite all the amazing summery things I look forward to, there are three inevitable occurrences I dread. The first are those sudden thunderstorms that ruin suede loafers ("But there was no rain in the forecast!"). The second is when, as you're waiting for the subway in the sweltering heat, the train pulls up and you notice a car with only one or two people in it, and think, "Score!" only to be met by a rush of disappointing, equally hot air, realizing this car's air conditioning is broken. The third, and this is, by far, the worst, is the dawn of what I like to call, "window-screen shoe season," when the little abhorrent gems (pictured left) make appearances all over the city, on the feet of the most variable wearers.

Whether your running shoes merely act as slippers for your morning commute or fulfill their destiny blazing the trails of Central Park, they should be as influenced by your personality as the rest of your wardrobe. And with thousands of options in thousands of colors, you'd think the ideal color combo would be out there. Well, now it is—check out NikeiD, where you can choose from a whole slew of kicks, from basketball to dance to running, and customize every part of the shoe, from tongue to swoosh. After you've played fashion designer, a brief wait, and they're delivered right to your door.

Seeing as how the best part of spring is what nature provides—the leaves on the trees, beautiful flowers, and fresh foliage—I was inspired to seek out a more natural approach to skincare. Now, don’t get me wrong—when it comes to heavy results, a little ‘tox here and a little squirt there does a complexion good, but on a day-to-day basis, when city girls breathe in enough pollution on the way to work alone, it’s time to pay more attention to what we put in our bodies. And on our skin.

On a recent trip to Paris, I noticed something that never quite caught my eye before, at least not in the last 10 years. Rollerblades! These quintessential accessories/modes of transportation of the '90s were ubiquitious, in every color, and donned by every type of person, from the grungy Parisian underbelly to a pantsuit-clad doyenne of Avenue Montaigne. I almost felt outnumbered, left out. Does this mean I'll pack lightly next time, accommodating my archaic, silver and black blades? And risk leaving behind those gold burnished Dolce & Gabbana loafers I've grown into? Not very likely.

Jared Leto stole my jacket. Yesterday, while readying myself for a magazine photo shoot, I came across the leather-and-plaid number seen left. I asked to borrow it for the afternoon, but it turns out they had already sent it over to Mark David Chapman for some event. What about my event, Leto?

Amanda Lepore, born Armand Lepore, year unknown, has been a New York nightlife fixture for quite some time. She has worked with flamboyant designers like Heatherette and has long served as legendary photographer David LaChapelle's muse. Here, in an exclusive fashion story, she takes her throne for photographer Helena Cristina Henriques.

Girls, summer is practically upon us. It's time to put away all that heavy holiday makeup in favor of spring’s lighter, more natural formulations! I’ve searched far and wide for the best and brightest, and I now present them to you!

First we’ve got the Collection Essential de Chanel ($85). You shouldn’t really call anything that bears the double-C logo “all-in-one,” but that’s exactly what it is. Four eyeshadows, a blush that’s perfect for all skin tones, two glowy lipsticks, and two flirty lipglosses give you all you need for the next morning, making those summer flings all the more glamorous.

This week's obsession is, hands down (or should I say, feet down?), the Nike+ iPod running partner. No, it's not tall, dark, and handsome. And it won't massage your barking dogs post-run, but it will provide you with unconditional support, up-to-date statistics, and a constant flow of motivational music. Simply stick the chip in your Nike+ running sneakers, pop on the iPod, and hit the road. The Nike+ gives you goals based on time, distance, and calories. And, as you run, it gives you periodic progress reports. My favorite part is what's known as the "power song," a track you choose prior to your workout that gives you that extra burst of motivation the last mile usually requires.

It doesn’t have to be all-natural to be good. Such is the philosophy of Brannon, hairdresser to the stars at Brannon Salon at the Hard Rock Hotel. A 15-year veteran of scissors, Brannon is expanding his follicle empire to a collection of hair products, a makeup line, and three new salons by 2010. Brannon’s new shampoo and conditioner line, 01, took three years to perfect. The next phases, 02 (a deep conditioning line) and 03 (a styling line), are set to come in later in 2008. The products will be sold exclusively in Brannon salons, Hard Rock Hotel suites, Kitson, Fred Segal and Barneys. Brannon came to Las Vegas at the behest of George Maloof and the Palms Casino to serve as its in-house celebrity stylist. He intended on returning to New York to reopen Brannon Hair, which was closed down after 9/11. And then Hard Rock came knocking. Brannon sat down with us to talk about why he thinks Los Angeles sucks, what it's like to raise a daughter in Las Vegas’s breast-obsessed culture, and getting branded on the ass by Pink.