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Anyone who's been near Houston Street and Broadway in New York lately has seen the emergence of a true fashion diva. In fact, rap superstar Foxy Brown -- on all fours, in a bra top and stretch jeans -- has caused such a stir that car crashes have been reported in the vicinity. And she's not even there in person.
"When I heard about the accidents," Brown says, referring to the mammoth cK Jeans billboard that features her, "I was like, 'Should I be happy or sad that someone crashed?'" The platinum-selling rapper, who turns 20 this month, is torn between delight that she's made such a sensation and concern for the people who are truly becoming fashion victims. "But I know I almost crashed," she laughs, "because I was expecting a little billboard. I'm driving by, and it's so big, I'm like, 'Whoa! Hi, me!'"
Getting made up for her PAPER shoot (hi, Foxy!), the saucy icon -- who's known as much for her nasty rhymes as she is for her naughty designer getups -- engages in lively fashion banter in between asking stylists for more wafts of purple hair. She hates the preparation ("I love the people who do it, but I can't stand getting my hair and makeup done") but admits, "I like to be in front of the camera." And the camera gives her a big kiss right back. Brown was picked to star in the bodacious cK campaign after she scored with a W magazine shoot co-starring her friend Kate Moss (introduced by mutual power pal Donatella Versace) and photographed by Bruce Weber. "Bruce was ecstatic," Brown says. "He was like, 'I love her. She's beautiful. She's sweet.' And he put the word in to Calvin, who already was trying to find me. And Kate put in a good word, too."
The girl's personal style favors Gucci and Prada and anything outrageous or sexy (whether under or outer) that she can get her diva hands on. There would seem to be very few outfits that Brown would point to and say, "Nuh-uh, that's not for me." Even practically nothing is acceptable, to the delight of panting observers. And with her electric hair and glamour features, she pulls it off, making a reliable spectacle at press events in a way we haven't seen since Cher's original heyday, three careers ago. She could even teach some drag queens a thing or two. "I'm a very bare person," Brown says. "I don't like to be covered up a lot. I'd feel like I'm suffocating." And no matter how much she reveals, she never knows the meaning of self-conscious because, she says, "I'm confident, which didn't come easily. The turning point was when I started to notice how people accepted me -- how the mainstream, quote-unquote white America, respected hip-hop." With records that sold across the board -- her 1996 debut, Ill Na Na, 97's The Firm (with Nas, AZ and Nature) and her latest, Chyna Doll -- Brown shed her inhibitions -- and some of her fabric -- but none of her fabulous taste.
As the youngest of three siblings (and the only girl among them) growing up in Park Slope, Brooklyn, Brown, born Inga Decarlo Marchand, was sassing it up from day one, with her hands on her hips and fashion on her brain. "I was always putting on my mother's high heels and lipstick," she admits. It makes sense that the grown-up Foxy Brown -- who copped her name from the classic 1974 Pam Grier movie about a fierce nurse who battles a drug ring -- has no second thoughts about wearing leather-leafed tops and feathered bathing suits, and might even swathe herself in Saran Wrap for her next album cover. "Anything crazy, I'm wearing it," she says. "I'm into fashion and I know what I want. I'll say, 'Give me this Miu Miu and this and that.' I stay in the magazines, and Joseph at Gucci gets me all the hottest things before they even hit. When you have good stylists and they follow your career and know what you wear, it's easy. But sometimes you can get shitty stylists who bring old-lady dresses and frocks." Out they go -- the shmattes and the stylists.
"I can be in stilettos one day and a Gucci business suit the next day, and have Timberland boots and Calvin Klein jeans the day after that," Brown says. "It's not about what you wear, but how you wear it. Accessories can change the whole shit. Like, I have purple hair now. Who would think to do something like that?" "I bet Prince would love you," I say, his purple reign springing to mind. "Prince is my boy," she beams. "I just saw him on the cover of PAPER and the article said, 'All clothing styled by the Artist.' And I said, 'All right, he knows what he likes!'"
All right, scratch that idea. But Brown is thinking about becoming a full-time model, an occupation that requires almost as much devotion. Considering her phenomenal success on the charts, you'd think she'd be pondering an eternal music career, but she wants to go out while she's still on top, not pull a Pat Boone. "I've had two albums that are both like 2, 3 million [in sales]," she says, "and I'm not even 20 yet! Chyna Doll entered at number one, above Britney Spears. When I'm 23, I wanna be like, 'O.K., I've done it all. Served my purpose,' and then probably go into something else. There's no limitation to what I do, but when you're hot, you need to have your hands in everything, because you can go cold. People have hot records, then they fall. I'm not trying to have that. I'm a sore loser.
"Maybe I'll get into this modeling thing," she adds, thinking out loud. "I'm dying to do runway. Onstage, I'm like, 'I own the stage.' In pictures, everything is posed and proper and cute, but on the runway you can be wild and free." Well, you can't be that free, and it's hard to picture Brown resisting the urge to stop mid-catwalk and unleash wordplay most models never dream of. "You never know," she says, claiming she can stay silent when required to. "Foxy's full of tricks and surprises!"
She's also been full of acting offers lately, one from Oliver Stone and another that would have her co-starring with Brad Pitt. And she said no to that? "I didn't say no!" she balks. "Hell, no, I didn't say no! I love Brad Pitt. He's my favorite actor." She immediately pictures a romantic scene with Brad and giggles, "They'd be like 'Cut! Cut!'" Let's hope it happens.
In the fashion world, Brown says, "I love Naomi and Kate Moss and that other model. What's her name?" "Tyra?" I suggest, and she throws me a steely look. "Naomi and Kate," she repeats, defiantly. "Does Kate actually eat?" I ask to lighten the mood. "She was eating more than me at the photo shoot," Brown says. "She was bringing me plates of food -- 'Here's some organic greens.' She's wonderful."
As long as we're talking food -- which doesn't happen all that often in a fashion session -- one last question: If Brown made only $100 a year selling hot dogs, could she still use her imagination to come up with fabulous looks? "Oh, shit. I'd be dead!" she says, getting a kick out of the question. "But even if I was selling hot dogs, I'd make it happen. It'd be fun because I'd be dressing up the hot dogs with the dopest ketchup and mustard around."
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Well, word to them. The campaign's been such a hit that Brown's role has expanded from the hip-hop nation's part-time emissary to exemplar of all things Calvin. "They were leaving the billboard up for four months," she says, "but now it's going to be six months on Sunset, in SoHo and in Times Square. So now they're like, 'We need her to represent all our shit.'" And that would include? "Hopefully underwear. You know Foxy. Whatever comes my way!" As Calvin Klein himself tells us, "Foxy has her own sense of style and all the other ingredients to make it really big. She's bright, talented, sexy and, most important, she's not afraid to take risks creatively."
But what does Brown like -- shoewise, let's say? "Limo shoes," she replies without pause. What, shoes shaped like stretch rental cars? Nope. "You know, in the limo...and out the limo. Shoes that you can't really walk in, they're just for show." She demonstrates by carefully lifting her foot as if stepping into a limo and then raising it out of the limo with equal finesse. You can picture a thousand flashbulbs going off. You can even picture the limo.
The only things Brown won't wear are pajamas (she sleeps in the nude, not surprisingly) and turtlenecks: "I hate anything covering my neck. I feel like I'm going to pass out." "You'd probably make a bad nun," I interject. "A nun?" she shrieks. "Maybe I'd go down in nun history for being the most revealing nun ever!" She breaks into peals of unholy laughter.
Another stud she has fond thoughts of is the beloved John F. Kennedy Jr., with whom she schmoozed when she was invited to perform at a high-tone Whitney Museum event earlier this year. Brown says John-John came right up to her and told her he loved her music. "Shut up," she responded with her usual shyness. "You don't listen to rap!" "No, I don't listen to rap," he admitted, "but I listen to you," and he proved it by going into a few bars of "Hot Spot": "You can catch me at the Hot Spot / I fox, I plot at the bar y'all / All night, I pops." John-John Kennedy rapping -- what an only-in-New York moment! The next voice Brown heard was Carolyn Bessette Kennedy's, conspiratorially murmuring in the rapper's ear, "Let's grab his credit card and go crazy at Gucci!" Sadly, that rampage never happened.
