Rachel Felder

Daniel Martin frequently travels to work, with clients like Jessica Biel, Elisabeth Moss and Meghan Markle, the Duchess of Sussex, whose natural glow during the royal wedding last year garnered him a lot of attention. “When I’m working, I’m able to go to these incredible places — I’m in London or Paris or in LA, at the Four Seasons or the Ritz — my work is fancy,” he said. “So when it’s my time, I try and keep it as real as possible.” Martin, 45, lives in a duplex apartment in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, which he shares with his husband, Randall Stattler, 47, a home automation engineer (he syncs people’s gadgets to perform high-tech tasks in their homes), and their black cat, Weezy, who is missing a fang. “She’s our Goth kitty,” he said.

POLITICS AND DRAG: We usually get up about 8. We always have the TV set to MSNBC, so it’s “Meet the Press” on Sundays. Because of the political climate right now, we want to know what’s up, so we’re always watching Bill Maher or MSNBC. Or “RuPaul’s Drag Race.” If I’m traveling and I don’t catch it, we’ll DVR and watch it. Politics and drag! I mean, come on, the best combination!

TRUE GROUNDS: There’s definitely coffee in the morning. I’m from Seattle, so it’s the first thing that’s in the veins. It’s Café Bustelo. I’m not a coffee snob: I’m not one of those, like, ‘I’ll only drink Blue Bottle and all that.’ I want strong, dark coffee. I just use a regular Mr. Coffee. I’m not into it being so precious.

PREP: I have an office upstairs that I’ll sit in and do my work. I keep a lot of makeup up there. On Sundays, it’s usually about getting my kit together for the week: getting stuff together and seeing what I need to replenish. I’ll go through any packages that I’ve received that week. It is my organizing day.

BASIC BRUNCH: Just moving to this neighborhood, we’re still trying to find our spots. My best friend, Summer Walker, when she’s not in school, works at this Korean restaurant called Dokebi, which is two blocks away from us, so we’ll usually meet her there. We’ll have brunch and hang out with her. I’m really basic, so I’ll get whatever she recommends: I don’t have a favorite.

NICOTINE REPLACEMENT THERAPY: Then there’s this awesome place called Brooklyn Standard that does these vegan pumpkin whoopie pies, so I’ll get that as a treat to eat that night. And there’s a Polish place that’s right by our apartment — Jaslowiczanka Bakery — literally everything’s in Polish and they make these incredible desserts. I have a sweet tooth: I quit smoking 10 years ago and then the sweet tooth came on board. It’s crazy.

SELF-CARE: Then, if I can coordinate with my friend Joanna Vargas, I’ll go and have a facial. I always do the Triple Crown Facial because that’s kind of like her signature. Because my job is to take care of other people, it’s nice to be taken care of in that same way by someone you trust. It’s knowing that you’re safe in someone else’s hands and you’re going to be taken care of.

K-BEAUTY FINDS: By 3 p.m., I’m makeup shopping. I’ll go to Chinatown, to a Korean place called the Saem, which is a K-beauty store. It’s fun for me to kind of figure out what the products are, because they’re not in English. I always buy a lot of liquid eyeliners, and the way that they mill powders I really like, because it doesn’t look like powder on the face, especially when I shoot television or film. Their makeup is so good — their eyeliners don’t move. This one particular foundation was glowy and radiant — it photographs amazingly in editorial.

SUPPLIES: I love going to Blick because a lot of the oil-paint brushes are actually great for foundation or cream-based products. I try to find not the long-handled brushes, but more of the short-handled brushes. One of my favorite foundation brushes is from there. It can take a beating and take a washing and the hairs don’t pull out. It’s built really well and it’s under $10. They’re built so well, to be able to withstand more heavy, oil-based products rather than just makeup.

CREATURES OF HABIT: Then I come back home, and we usually try to make dinner or we’ll just order in. Again, we’re still trying to explore our options: we just discovered this really great place, Dar 525. It’s a Mediterranean place. They make this weird pita pizza, it’s almost like fancy garlic bread. That’s a guilty pleasure, that pizza, it’s so good. And it’s more catching up on what we’ve DVR’d, more Bill Maher, RuPaul. We start and end our day together there. We’re just a couple creatures of habit.

This article originally appeared in <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/26/nyregion/meghan-markle-makeup-daniel-martin.html" id="12b1f4d3-69e3-3570-af41-ed436f88a75a">The New York Times</a>.

(Sunday Routine)

A Makeup Artist to the Stars Keeps It Real

Her death was confirmed by her son, Joey Grill.

From its inception, Click refused to be limited by any conventional standards of what a model should look like. Over the years it has represented white models (Elle Macpherson, model-actresses Isabella Rossellini and Uma Thurman), black models (Gail O’Neill and singer-actress Whitney Houston),transgender model Teri Toye and male model Attila Von Somogyi.

Macpherson, who began working with Grill as a teenager in the early 1980s, said in a phone interview Monday that Grill “wasn’t interested in cookie-cutter talent.”

“It wasn’t really about how people looked — she was interested in who they were and what they stood for,” she said. “In a world where being homogeneous was where — especially as a teenager — you wanted to be, she celebrated differences.”

Talisa Soto Bratt, who is of Puerto Rican heritage, became a Click model around the same time as Macpherson, after other agencies had turned her down.

“In 1982, diversity did not exist in magazines or the fashion industry,” she said Monday. “It was completely driven by ‘blonde and blue eyes.’ Of course, Frances — her whole vision was: ‘Look at the world, look how diverse it is. We need to represent that.'”

Grill was born Frances Gecker on Aug. 10, 1928, in the Red Hook neighborhood of Brooklyn to Fred and Beckie (Goldstein) Gecker. Her father was a longshoreman and union activist, her mother a seamstress.

Grill studied stenography in high school and, on graduating, took a job as a secretary. She left the position in the early 1950s to check hats at the Village Gate nightclub in Greenwich Village. There she found herself at ease among the club’s bohemian clientele, Joey Grill said in an interview.

“It was a melting pot for poets and artists and musicians and photographers,” he said, “people who were what she always called freethinkers.”

Grill became a photographer’s agent thanks to a chance meeting and her own audacity. On an especially stormy night in 1962, while standing under an awning to shelter herself from the rain, she got chatting with a man, Alberto Rizzo, who was also waiting out the storm. He told her that he was a fashion photographer. She quickly volunteered that — what a coincidence! — she was a photographers’ agent, although she had never done that type of work before. He became her first client.

Her roster grew to include leading photographers, among them Frank Horvat, Oliviero Toscani and Steven Meisel.

Grill’s move into managing models was also spontaneous. A couple of decades after she had begun representing photographers, one of her clients, Fabrizio Ferri, came to her office accompanied by Rossellini, his girlfriend at the time. She hadn’t posed for any professional photographers other than Ferri.

“She looked at her, and put her finger to her mouth, like she did when was thinking,” Ferri said of Grill in a phone interview. “She started looking Isabella up and down, and then she said, ‘Hmm, I think I’m going to open a model agency.'”

Grill immediately got to work on behalf of Rossellini, her first client.

“She took Isabella straight to Avedon, and the next day Richard Avedon shot Isabella for the cover of American Vogue,” Ferri said. “That’s how Frances was — she was pure instinct.”

The two women’s relationship lasted nearly two decades, and it produced Rossellini’s long-term, multimillion-dollar contract with the cosmetics company Lancôme.

“Frances and her Click was more than an agency to me,” Rossellini wrote in an email Monday. “She was my mentor who taught me about work ethics” as well as how to “manage a career and enjoy every second of it.”

As some of her clients began to draw interest in Hollywood, Grill helped found Flick East-West Talents, to represent actors. She was also a co-founder of a bicoastal theatrical management agency, Framework Entertainment.

She married Irwin Grill, an assistant high school principal, in 1954. The marriage ended in divorce in the late 1960s, but they remained friends; Irwin Grill now works in Click’s accounting department.

In the early 1970s, Grill married Ulf Lundqvist, a designer; that marriage, too, ended in divorce.

In addition to her son, Grill is survived by a daughter, Stephanie Grill — both children work for Click — and by four grandchildren.

Grill had continued to work at the agency, on West 27th Street in the Chelsea section, until about six months ago.

Although Grill was immersed in the fashion industry, she shopped mostly at thrift shops. Anthony Baratta, an interior designer who was a friend and neighbor of Grill’s for many years, would frequently tag along on shopping trips near their weekend homes in Flanders, New York, on the East End of Long Island.

“One night I was watching the Academy Awards, and down the red carpet, there walks Frances with Isabella Rossellini,” he said by phone. “She is in this black ensemble. I know it came from the Riverhead Salvation Army the weekend before, but the way that she carried things off was very Fran.”

Her impetus wasn’t frugality but a desire to find quirky items that suited her, Joey Grill said. Her trademark accessory was a pair of large eyeglasses, which she began wearing in the early 1980s, he said, to keep cigarette smoke out of her eyes.

This article originally appeared in <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/28/obituaries/frances-grill-founder-of-an-inclusive-modeling-agency-dies-at-90.html" id="b92cd5c9-bdca-3565-a319-7d7fcc94e8dd">The New York Times</a>.

Frances Grill, who in 1980 founded Click Model Management, a New York agency that gained wide attention for the diversity of its models in a less-inclusive era, died Thursday at her home in Manhattan. She was 90.

Frances Grill, Founder of an Inclusive Modeling Agency, Dies at 90

Canales, who lived in Miami, suffered liver and kidney failure in a hospital after going to New York for cancer treatment last month, his husband, Zaki Amin, said.

In the late 1980s and early ′90s, Canales, known professionally as simply Oribe (pronounced OR-bay), worked closely with makeup artist François Nars, photographer Steven Meisel and stylist Carlyne Cerf de Dudzeele in helping to build the careers of many women who became known as supermodels, giving them a look, emblematic of the era, that was heightened by dramatic makeup and hair to match.

“The type of hair that Oribe adored was super high-maintenance,” Crawford said in a telephone interview Monday. “It worked in the late ′80s and early ′90s, where more was more, and the shoulder pads were huge and the hair was big. It was beautiful, but it was definitely all about the hair.

“It was hair that felt larger than life, and it kind of was — it was fantasy,” she added, “and I think a lot of it was the way that he saw this fantasy version of ‘woman.'”

Canales developed strong bonds with the models he attended to, both at work and after photo shoots.

“He’d pick us up from work and we’d drive around the city in his Jeep,” former model Christy Turlington Burns said by telephone. “We would park outside of nightclubs and watch people go in and out.”

Those relationships, both in the studio and backstage at fashion shows for designers like Gianni Versace, meant that models let him style their hair without reservation.

“Whatever he wanted to do, the trust was unconditional,” Campbell said in an interview, adding, “Even when he had my hair in Krazy Glue once. He said, ‘How do we do extensions? Let’s Krazy Glue them.’ We had to cut them out because we couldn’t get them off.”

He worked with singer and actress Jennifer Lopez, too, who first met him at a photo shoot in 1998. “He was a legend,” she said by phone Monday. “I was 16 on the train reading about him in Vogue, and he made such an impression on me that 12 years later, when I was making my first album, I remembered his name.

“Oribe and I just fell in love with each other,” Lopez added. “He was Cuban and I was a little Puerto Rican girl. He’d play with my hair and I’d dance around. I’d feel like a million bucks.”

She remembered his vivaciousness, as well as his good looks: “He had the slicked hair and the tattoos — he was handsome and full of life.”

In addition to his magazine work, Canales ran several salons, starting in 1984 with one inside the Parachute clothing store in Manhattan on the Upper West Side; that was followed by a second one at the store’s SoHo location.

In 1991 he opened a lavish salon on Fifth Avenue in midtown Manhattan, followed by another, in 1995, in Miami Beach, at South Beach. The Midtown location closed in 2002; the South Beach salon, after a series of relocations, closed in July.

Canales introduced Oribe Hair Care, a high-end line of shampoos and hair styling products, in 2008; the line, which he co-founded, was sold this year to Kao USA Inc., ending his involvement in it.

Earlier, in the mid-1990s, he introduced a hair-care collection with a spunkier feel, packaging it in bottles that, at the suggestion of his friend designer Karl Lagerfeld, were designed to look like dishwashing detergent bottles.

Oribe Canales was born in Havana on Sept. 13, 1956, the middle child of Oribe Juan Canales, an artist, and Gladys Miranda Canales. His family moved to Charlotte, North Carolina, when he was 6; when he was 16, he moved to Miami to find work as an actor.

Two years later, he moved to Buffalo, New York, where he gained experience as a hairdresser and earned his license. That was followed by a move to New York City to work for the well-known hairdresser Garren, in his Plaza Hotel salon.

“When he was with me he connected with the right people,” Garren said in an interview. “That boosted him to the next level, because that got him working with all the supermodels and Versace.” He added, “He honed his eye to what a sexy girl was.”

Along with his husband, Canales is survived by his mother; his brother, Francisco Canales; and his sister, Gracie Canales Cuervo.

Some clients felt that Canales’ effect had been more than aesthetic.

“He helped me understand of how the fashion part of things empowered women, and that when women felt beautiful, they were limitless and they could do anything,” Lopez said. “He glamorized women, and he made them feel sexy by the way he did their hair and by the way he loved them, and I felt loved by him.”

This article originally appeared in <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/17/obituaries/oribe-canales-dead.html" id="05617578-65bb-3518-a97d-2fbf7f809ef5">The New York Times</a>.

Oribe Canales, Hairdresser to Celebrities, Dies at 62

Oribe Canales, a celebrity hairdresser who worked, and palled around, with models like Naomi Campbell, Cindy Crawford and Linda Evangelista in the era of big hair and fat shoulder pads, died Sunday in Manhattan. He was 62.

Her husband, Tanguy Loyzance, a photographer, said the cause was lung cancer.

Cobson’s designs were distinguished by their rock ’n’ roll-inspired edge but were nonetheless worn with ease. They frequently incorporated menswear silhouettes and unexpected pairings of materials, like black leather, juxtaposed with fluid silk or buoyant feathers.

She also played with proportions at her runway fashion shows, for instance layering a chunky, oversized coat over trim trousers. Her clothes regularly revealed bare skin — an exposed midriff here, thighs below an extra-high hemline there — and suggested an empowered wearer in control of the alluring reveal.

As Woody Hochswender of The New York Times wrote in a 1991 review of one of her Paris fashion shows, her clothing “exploited the current fascination here with men’s style for women, a kind of tough-girl chic.”

In spite of their spunk, Cobson’s clothes were not intimidating and were comfortable to wear.

“First essential thing: A woman needs to feel attractive, good in her skin and her clothing,” Cobson told the French online magazine Journal de Femmes in 2006. “She must not need to think about what she will have to wear with her outfit. For me, a garment needs to be very simple and sophisticated at the same time, well cut, in beautiful materials.”

The clothing also seemed to exude French style. When the Parisian department store Galeries Lafayette opened its short-lived U.S. outpost in New York City in 1991, it carried Cobson’s clothes as well as labels like Thierry Mugler and Guy Laroche. Fans of Cobson’s brand included French actresses Juliette Binoche and Vanessa Paradis.

Cobson’s influence can be seen in the work of designers like Isabel Marant and Nicolas Ghesquière, who early in his career was an intern for Cobson before working for her full time. At one point he lived in Cobson’s extra apartment, in the same building where Cobson and her husband lived at the time, near the Tuileries Garden.

Cobson was born Corinne Jacobson on Sept. 12, 1956, in Paris. Her parents, Elie and Jacqueline (Schneider) Jacobson, were the founders of Dorothée Bis, a successful brand of womenswear that operated its own boutiques. The eldest of three sisters, Corinne joined the business as a teenager, but not for a precocious love of fashion.

“She didn’t want to go to school anymore,” Loyzance said in a phone interview. “So her dad said, ‘OK, you don’t want to go to school? Tomorrow you’ll go to the shop.’ She went to the shop when she was 16 and she started to work.”

She showed talent and after a few years began designing for Dorothée Bis. Some of her pieces were memorably worn by actress Pascale Ogier in Éric Rohmer’s film “Full Moon in Paris” (1984), including a slinky black sheath dress hardened with bold zipper detailing on thick shoulder straps.

Her own collection was introduced in 1987. The name Cobson was her own invention: a combination of letters from her first and last names.

“She wanted to be recognized as herself, not because she was the daughter of someone,” Loyzance said in a phone interview. “She was really proud of her mother, but she wanted to be recognized as Corinne Cobson.”

She took great delight, he recalled, when, several years after her brand was well established, magazine editor Polly Mellen casually asked about her parents over lunch one day and was surprised to learn about her lineage.

Nonetheless, family was a priority. In the mid-1990s, Cobson moved her atelier from the bustling Rue de la Roquette to a large space at 213 Rue Saint-Honoré, which was close enough to her daughters’ school that she could meet them for lunch every day. After a few years, she passed the property over to a friend, Colette Roussaux, who opened the influential fashion boutique Colette there.

Cobson stepped away from her clothing line about a decade ago after she had a stroke. Her furniture brand, Corinne Cobson Home, is still in operation. Over the years, through licensing agreements, she designed a wide range of items, including cosmetics, sunglasses and lingerie. She also designed menswear for Cacharel for several years in the 1990s.

In addition to her husband Cobson is survived by their two daughters, Angèle and Rubis Loyzance, as well as her mother and two sisters, Carole and Laurane Jacobson.

This article originally appeared in <a id="21fa0baa-e248-3132-a203-068d2a625655" href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/01/obituaries/corinne-cobson-dead.html">The New York Times</a>.

Corinne Cobson, designer with a Rock 'n' Roll edge, dies at 62

Corinne Cobson, the French fashion designer whose self-assured clothing for women gained acclaim in the 1980s and ’90s, died April 16 at a clinic in Saint-Cloud, a suburb of Paris. She was 62.

His son Jean-Christophe David said the cause was complications of shingles, which he contracted last spring.

The first Jean Louis David salon — the name spelled, deliberately, without the hyphen — opened in 1961, at 38 Avenue Wagram in Paris; a second location, at 47 Rue Pierre Charron, in the former atelier of the French couturier Jacques Doucet, opened five years later. Both were in an upscale, fashionable part of the city. Unlike more traditional salons, which tended to specialize in stiff, heavily coifed styles that required regular upkeep, the salons aimed to appeal to a contemporary customer: a busy modern woman who wanted hair that felt less rigid, was easier to maintain, frequently looked slightly tousled and had pronounced sex appeal.

“He didn’t like a haircut that looked like a haircut,” Didier Malige, a hairstylist and friend who worked with David on and off for several decades, said in a phone interview. “His philosophy was that you should be able to put your hands, or your boyfriend should be able to put his hands, in your hair and it would be the same.”

The salons were a hit: The stylists there often saw 30 clients a day.

“He wanted us to be able to work fast, clean, no mistakes,” Jean-Christophe David, who worked in his father’s salons in various capacities and later on the business side, said in an interview.

In a free-spirited era of “sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll,” said Tony Kent, a fashion photographer who worked with David on photo shoots, he was conservative and ambitious, which contributed to his success. That level of professionalism, Kent said, made him an asset at a time when not everyone was so focused.

“It was pretty volatile, what was going on, and he was one of the stable ones,” Kent said in a phone interview. “He was the opposite of that. He was somebody you could totally count on.”

David came to work on photo shoots with several other top photographers, including Helmut Newton and Guy Bourdin.

In 1970, he created his own technique for a haircut with different, deliberately placed layers. The method for what became known as a dégradé cut resulted in styles that were easy to maintain at home, suited many women, and looked markedly different than many styles of the era.These haircutshad a loose feel and flattered the contours of each woman’s face. In French, a style cut in this way was known as “la coupe sauvage” — the wild cut. It was wildly popular and became one of David’s trademarks.

In spite of the exact technique such cuts demanded, David described himself to The New York Times in 1977 as anti-coiffure, emphasizing his unfussy style’s break from the past.

In 1976, he founded the Jean Louis David Group to expand his reach. The next year, in partnership with Glemby International, he opened his first American salon, above Henri Bendel’s West 57th Street store in Manhattan. The space had a modern, sleek look and offered two tiers of services: basic cuts for walk-ins and more elaborate options at higher prices.

More salons gradually opened, and their unintimidating, consistent and accessible offerings had widespread appeal; by the mid-1990s, there were nearly a thousand Jean Louis David salons in North America and Europe.

David eventually severed ties with Glemby; his salons were acquired by the Regis Corporation in 2002. In 2007, they were sold to the French company Provalliance.

David was born March 24, 1934, in Grasse, in southeast France, to a family of hairstylists. His parents, Marie-Louise (Gérôme) and Raoul David, were both hairstylists; his maternal grandmother, Germaine Gérôme, owned a salon in Grasse. By age 15, he was working alongside his father at his salon in Cannes. He later took over his grandmother’s salon. At 20, he moved to Paris and worked at two high-profile salons, Carita and Gabriel Garland, before starting his own.

David’s marriages to Danielle Henriot-Decomis, Danièle Falke and Lynn Sutherland ended in divorce. In addition to his son Jean-Christophe, he is survived by his wife, Zhenya Xia, an artist; a daughter, Sophie David, who like Jean-Christophe is from his marriage to Henriot-Decomis; a son, Lindsay, and a daughter, Lesley David, from his marriage to Sutherland; and five grandsons. His sister, Huguette David, died last year.

In 2017, Swiss financial magazine Bilan estimated David’s wealth to be between $100 million and $200 million.

His impact, which went beyond mere aesthetics, lingers, Falke said by email.

“His philosophy,” she wrote, was: “A woman should be able to comb herself and not come to the salon once a week. He liberated the women!”

This article originally appeared in <a id="823bc5bf-51bb-32d0-adad-d7dc26fcecba" href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/10/obituaries/jean-louis-david-dead.html">The New York Times</a>.

Jean-Louis David, French hairstylist for the modern woman, dies at 85

Jean-Louis David, the influential French hairdresser who created looks for women that emphasized practicality as well as style, and who founded a worldwide chain of salons that bear his name, died April 3 at his home in Épalinges, Switzerland, a suburb of Lausanne. He was 85.

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