BEING THE HEAD COACH of a major college football team is the best job in sports—until it’s the worst. Just ask Rich Rodriguez.

Three years ago, things couldn’t have looked brighter for Rodriguez. The then- 44-year-old head football coach had just led his West Virginia University team to within one game of its first-ever national championship appearance, coasting to 10 wins on the back of the country’s most exciting offense. In his seven years of wearing the headset at WVU – his alma mater and a program of near-religious significance for the people of the Mountain State – Rodriguez (aka RichRod) had piled up the accolades: four Big East titles, three straight seasons of at least 10 wins, two Big East Coach of the Year awards and the first back-to-back Top 10 finishes in school history. He’d also turned down an overture from Alabama the previous off-season, passing on one of the best jobs in the country and convincing Mountaineer fans that this local boy might just stay true to his roots.

Cut to one frigid December night late in the 2007 season. WVU is playing its archrival, the University of Pittsburgh—an unranked team with a losing record. If they win, the Mountaineers advance to the Bowl Championship Series title game, sealing the young coach’s legacy as one of the most beloved West Virginians of all time. If he wins this game, RichRod can run for governor. Statues will be raised in his image.

You see where I’m going here. The Mountaineers did not beat Pitt. In fact, Rodriguez coached one of the worst games of his career. During his last game in the stadium that could one day have borne his name, Rodriguez was booed off the field.

What we all learned later was that RichRod already had one foot out the door—he was being wooed by the University of Michigan to succeed the outgoing coach, Lloyd Carr, in one of the biggest jobs in football.

I don’t subscribe to the conspiracy theories that still echo in the hollers of West Virginia, that Rodriguez lost the Pitt game on purpose. The logic, if I understand it correctly, is had they won the game, the Mountaineers would have played for the national title in January. No coach would quit a job with a chance to play for the greatest title in his sport. Meanwhile, Michigan, unable to woo him, would have moved on to another coaching candidate. Thus, many a West Virginian will forever believe, Rodriguez had to lose in order to take the better job. As conspiracy theories go, it’s not completely bonkers.

Shortly after the Pitt game, Rodriguez announced his resignation, effective immediately, and he left for Ann Arbor in a hurry. Then the Mountaineers, under the guidance of an interim coach, went to their runner-up bowl game and, playing like a team scorned, laid a whupping on an Oklahoma team widely held to be among the best in the country. Nevertheless, for RichRod, the future as head coach of Michigan must have seemed bright indeed.

COACHES OF THE COUNTRY’S major college programs live by one simple rule: Win. Win and you are deified—sane humans with respectable jobs will lay prostrate at your feet and name children in your honor (seriously). Win and you can coach forever, like Joe Paterno at Penn State. Win and you can even mess with people’s heads, retiring and then sort of unretiring and then fully unretiring, all in a few months’ time, as Florida’s Urban Meyer did this off-season.

Just don’t lose. Ever.

In Rodriguez’s case, it didn’t take long for plans to go pear-shaped. He unpacked his bags, signed an excellent class of recruits, installed his famed spread offense—in the process tossing out a system that had been in place for decades—and then went 3-9 for the season, ending Michigan’s 33-year streak of playing in bowls (one of the longest such streaks in college football, by the way). Fans howled with rage, but many gridiron sages counseled patience.

And the next season things did look up—briefly. The Wolverines started the season 4-0. Then they collapsed, finishing 5-7. For the second straight year, they failed to qualify for a bowl.

And that’s only part of it. The NCAA launched an investigation into allegations that the team had violated practice rules. One player transferred to hated rival Ohio State, citing “a lack of family values.” A website called Fire Rich Rodriguez emerged and began agitating for his dismissal.

This off-season Michigan released the results of its internal investigation. The school admitted to several violations and announced that seven staff members had been reprimanded, including RichRod. The school’s athletic director, David Brandon, was sanguine. “I don’t think this is a black eye,” Brandon said. “This is a bruise.”

The problem is that the bruise is on college football’s most hallowed program. Michigan is the winningest program of all time and plays in the biggest stadium in the land.

Talk about a fumble.

HERE’S THE GOOD NEWS for RichRod: College football fans have short memories. If Michigan goes 10-2 and beats Ohio State and plays on New Year’s Day—heck, if it just qualifies for a bowl and beats Ohio State—most of this will be forgotten. The truth is that it takes time to overhaul a system.

Then again, this is Michigan, where fans have never had to be patient. One more bad season and, well, Rodriguez might be leaving Ann Arbor with a maize-and-blue bootprint on his polyester coaching shorts.

New York Jets receiver Braylon Edwards, who is Michigan’s all-time leading receiver, certainly isn’t willing to give Rodriguez much more leeway. “We don’t accept failure,” he recently told a reporter. “There will be no excuses this year. He has to win games, and if he doesn’t then he’s in trouble. And that’s not me. That is just how the alumni feel. He has to win games and especially the you-know-what game.”

In press conferences last year, RichRod had begun to take on the beleaguered visage of a haunted man. “Is there a sense of urgency? Sure,” he said. “But there was a sense of urgency last year, the year before and twenty years ago at Glenville State College” (where, at age 27, Rodriguez first coached).

If RichRod ever wonders if the grass is still greener back home in Appalachia, he need only gaze over at Bob Huggins (aka Huggy Bear), the coach shamed out of Cincinnati who now oversees the basketball team at WVU. Much as the football team did under RichRod, the Mountaineer basketball team has blossomed into a perennial contender for the Big East title. This past season, Huggy Bear took the Mountaineers to the Final Four for the first time in 51 years. Afterward, he joked that if he took a tour of the state, he’d be hailed as a hero at every stop.

Coaching a major college team really is the best job around. Until it isn’t.

JOSH DEAN maintains his objectivity on this issue despite his near-pathological love of WVU athletics.

Mad Men

Other ill-fated coaching career moves

RICK PITINO

Left a championship University of Kentucky team to become a resoundingly loathed coach of the Boston Celtics.

GEORGE O’LEARY

O’Leary coached Georgia Tech before going to Notre Dame in 2001, where he was quickly sacked for faking his résumé.

STEVE SPURRIER

Departed a top University of Florida team in 2002 to coach the Washington Redskins for two dismal seasons.

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LOS ANGELES

One Sunday afternoon at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the three men behind the art collective Fallen Fruit—best known for mapping the trees growing fruit in public places throughout L.A.—are putting the finishing touches on an exhibit called the “Food Pyramid.” Built from repurposed industrial food bins growing tomatoes, cilantro and jalapeno peppers, the pyramid will eventually yield the ingredients for a fish taco feast during the November closing ceremony, including the tilapia swimming in a pond at its base.

This monument to the Slow Food movement is just part of EATLACMA, a yearlong collaboration between the museum and Fallen Fruit, which was founded by David Burns, Matias Viegener and Austin Young. It’s their first gig in an official space, and it’s a doozy, with exhibits such as “The Way Potatoes Go,” a potato field growing between two buildings; “Breeding Is Bittersweet,” a tunnel of melons growing on trellises; and “Indexical Strawberry Flag,” pallets of strawberry plants nourished through an elaborate system of IV bags near the main entrance.

They’ve also created a map of the museum that highlights the fruits found in the permanent collection, including works ranging from ancient Chinese ceramics to prints by 20th century Japanese artist Yozo Hamaguchi. According to Viegener, the apple reigns in popularity as a subject for artists, closely followed by the grape.

As befits a group whose events are traditionally free to the public, Fallen Fruit skipped the fancy opening night fête in favor of a Sunday picnic on LACMA’s lawn. “This is how it used to be a hundred years ago,” says Burns, happily surveying the noshing crowd, which includes local art luminaries and even the occasional activist/actor (Entourage’s Adrian Grenier stops in for a bite). The nature of Fallen Fruit’s events, Burns adds, keeps the people smiling and the vibe sweet. “It’s impossible to argue about fruit.”

STURGIS, SOUTH DAKOTA

Every summer for the past seven decades, the pastoral peace of quaint Sturgis, South Dakota, is ceremoniously disturbed by the revving engines of around half a million Harley-Davidsons. This year—the 70th anniversary of the Black Hills Motor Classic, or, for those in the know, the Sturgis Rally—a record number of hogs are expected to rumble in a cloud of dust down Main Street. And the locals don’t appear to mind.

“The truth is, the average rider has changed,” says Terry Rymer, general manager of the Black Hills Harley-Davidson dealership in nearby Rapids City, who’s just parked his black chrome Road Glide in front of Jambonz Grill & Pub. He isn’t the glowering, leather- clad ruffian portrayed by Marlon Brando in The Wild One, but a soft-spoken man in Nike sneakers. With custom bikes costing as much as $50,000, most of the riders are actually doctors, lawyers or even kindergarten teachers.

“Let’s face it,” says Rymer, “a new Harley isn’t the least expensive motorcycle you could purchase.”

In fact, the average Harley rider is married, in his mid- to late forties, with a college degree and a household income of more than $83,000. And more than 10 percent of riders are women.

“Thirty-five years ago, the demographics of people who were riding were a little bit on the rough side,” admits Jim Entenman, who co-owns two nearby dealerships. “There is a bit of an outlaw image, and riding a Harley is about individualism.”

As if on cue, a group of riders rumbles past flying a banner that reads, “Bikers With Briefcases: New York Chapter.” Wearing riding chaps and bandannas, and even the occasional tattoo, they actually bear a passing resemblance to Brando’s wild crew.

“There it is,” says Entenman. “Those guys are attracted to that bad-boy mystique. Any other week of the year, they’re perfectly normal.”

SEOUL

After a month of grueling training, Koh Seok-hyun is stern-faced as he steps out of the wardrobe room backstage at OGN, an “e-sports” stadium, with freshly applied makeup. He paces nervously. “I have trained for eight hours a day for this,” Koh says. “I’ve studied every aspect of attack.” Then an announcer calls his name, and 5,000 spectators applaud wildly. Koh strides onto the stage, smiling and waving to the crowd. Online, more than three million viewers have logged on to watch him compete in his chosen sport: a science-fiction videogame called StarCraft.

Once a basement pastime, the game has become a way of life in videogame-crazed South Korea, where such contests are a spectator sport, more popular in terms of viewership and dollars spent than baseball, soccer or any other sport in the country. Koh is among the nation’s most beloved celebrities, and when the 22-year-old takes his seat and offers a thumbs-up, the female fans in the audience shriek as though John, Paul, George and Ringo have just taken the stage at Shea Stadium.

Like a chess player, Koh has dissected his opponent’s playing style and crafted his own attack down to the second. To win, he’ll need to build a small army of Zerglings, or alien bugs, and deploy them at exactly the right moment: a mere two minutes, 13 seconds after the game begins. Shortly after that, if all goes well, he’ll swiftly attack his opponent’s human colony.

It’s a risky strategy.

The announcer declares the start of the game. Koh whips his fingers across the keyboard like a virtuoso pianist. Three minutes, 16 seconds later, he’s victorious. That’s actually longer than he had hoped but nearly a record- breaking time nonetheless. As the crowd cheers, Koh high-fives his teammates and coach. “I was confident,” he says. “But if I failed, I could always just say ‘good game’ and leave it there.” Outside, after the match, a cluster of young women crowd him for autographs. “You’re my hero, Koh!” one says.

NASA ASTRONAUT SCOTT KELLY STANDS IN A FORMERLY TOP-SECRET RUSSIAN TRAINING FACILITY NEAR MOSCOW, surrounded by consoles covered in blinking lights and switches that wouldn’t be out of place in an old episode of Buck Rogers. He’s just spent a minute in a human centrifuge, whizzing around in a circle at a harrowing eight Gs.

“That was fun,” the barrel-chested Orange, New Jersey, native reports, as he waves his arms to get the blood circulating. “Sort of like a sharp stick in the eye is fun.”

Here on planet earth there aren’t too many reasons to subject a person to those kinds of forces (a NASCAR driver banking at more than 200 mph might have to handle five Gs for a split second). The Russian Federal Space Agency (RKA) likes to brag that its enormous centrifuge is one of a kind, and it is: 60 feet long, with a bulbous capsule at the end, it weighs 300 tons and can produce as many as 30 Gs—enough to really hurt.

Taking a spin in the centrifuge is a necessity for anyone training to fly in the Russian space program, whose cosmonauts reenter the atmosphere in old, Apollo-style Soyuz space capsules that offer a notoriously bumpy ride. Next month, Kelly will be riding shotgun in one with Russian cosmonauts Alexander Kaleri and Oleg Skripochka on a trip to the International Space Station (ISS). Once there, he’ll assume a six-month command of the ISS, which has increasingly become a global village in the sky (in addition to the U.S. and Russia, the ISS hosts astronauts from Canada, Japan and the 18 member countries of the European Space Agency). Kelly’s previous two space flights were in the U.S. space shuttle, which he says is space travel’s Cadillac; the Soyuz is a Lada.

“Landing in the Soyuz is a little more sporty than the space shuttle,” says Kelly, with characteristic understatement. “The parachute, the hard landing—I’d much rather land on wheels. But the Soyuz is very effective.” He flashes a sardonic smile. “And it works most of the time.”

The Russian capsule may not get high marks for comfort, but its dependability has made it crucial to the survival of the ISS. Commercial space programs from Virgin’s Richard Branson and Tesla’s Elon Musk are in the works; in the meantime, the Soyuz is earth’s intergalactic workhorse.

Its role will grow even more critical after the final flight of the space shuttle in early 2011. Indeed, despite the fact that eight-track tapes were cutting-edge when the Soyuz flew its first manned mission in 1967, its near- perfect record has led the European Space Agency to label it “the most reliable means of space travel.”

“We’re very fortunate to have the Russians as partners,” Kelly says.

Kelly is in Star City to learn the Russian sections of the station. He’s hanging out in mock-ups of the Russian modules and learning everything from the craft’s plumbing to its complex computer systems.

Officially named the Yuri Gagarin Cosmonaut Training Center, Star City— with its ’60s-futuristic aesthetic—is an unlikely place to prepare for orbit. Tucked away in a lush patch of forest 27 miles outside of Moscow, the collection of Soviet buildings is more William Shatner than Chris Pine.

“It’s the Ritz compared to when I first visited in 2000,” says Kelly. Back then, Russia was still reeling from its post-Soviet transition to a market economy. When cosmonaut Valery Polyakov spent a record 14 months in space aboard the Mir space station in 1995, a popular joke in Russia had it that the government couldn’t afford to bring him back down.

The joke resonated, in part, because of the novel moneymaking ideas developed by the RKA around that time, including commercial space programs. The first space tourist, Dennis Tito, paid $20 million for an eight-day trip to the ISS in 2001. Last year, Star City was transferred from military to civilian control, and groups of tourists now pass through daily.

Although much of the technology in use was developed decades ago, the space program here is successful because it emphasizes functionality at the expense of innovation.

For instance, “American space suits are way more maneuverable during spacewalks,” Kelly says. “But the prebreathe takes four hours.” Russian suits operate at a higher pressure, so a cosmonaut can be out the hatch in just 30 minutes.

The launch vehicles are another example of Russia’s intensely down-to- earth approach. Where the U.S. space shuttle is a reusable mobile laboratory that can multitask, the single-use Soyuz does one thing: deliver people into space.

For Kelly there will never be anything quite like the first eight and a half minutes in a shuttle. “When the solid rocket motors light, you get the sense that you’re heading somewhere in a hurry, and it isn’t Florida,” he says. “Seven point five million pounds of thrust applied to your back instantaneously. To a spectator, it looks like it lifts off slowly. Inside, there’s nothing slow about it.”

KELLY AND KALERI are practicing docking procedures early one morning at the Gagarin complex, a series of cavernous, fluorescent-lit rooms joined by a maze of hallways. A Soyuz replica around two- thirds the size of a Toyota Prius stands in a bright warehouse surrounded by a busy team of engineers and technicians. It’s obvious that comfort wasn’t a priority for the Russian rocket’s designers: Inside the module, Soyuz passengers assume a position reminiscent of a ski tuck and hold it for four hours on their way into orbit. “It can be tough on the knees,” Kelly says. It takes two days to get to the comparatively spacious ISS, a trip made more pleasant by the recent addition of bay window–style “cupolas” so passengers can enjoy the view.

Once in micro-gravity (Kelly points out that zero gravity doesn’t exist), he’ll get to experience the effects of an extended stay in space for the first time. His previous two trips, lasting eight and 13 days, respectively, will be dwarfed by his planned five-month visit. “It takes about a month for the body to adjust,” says Kareli, who has already logged more than 600 days in space.

Life on the station is heavily regimented, consisting of daily experiments, exercise and chores. (Bathing is done with baby wipes.) R&R has improved vastly since the old days. Cyberspace extends all the way into actual space, and ISS residents can surf the net, pay e-bills and update their Facebook status. Kelly is planning a video blog to chronicle his days, but he’ll have to do it without his iPad, which hasn’t yet been certified for space.

Maybe it’s his military background— Kelly was a Navy pilot before being selected by NASA—but he has no complaints about Russian orbital cuisine. The Russians can their rations, so the meat is juicier than the pouch-sealed stuff the U.S. sends.

“The hardest part is being locked up for months without fresh air, the color green, a breeze or my kids,” Kelly says, as he climbs to the capsule hatch.

“But you won’t miss your brother,” adds Kareli.

“No, I’m a lucky guy in that respect,” says Kelly.

Turns out Kelly’s twin brother, Mark, is also an astronaut. In fact, he’s scheduled to command the shuttle’s swan song, a voyage to the ISS, next February. His arrival at the station will mark the first time siblings have met in space. “Not so bad for two boys from Jersey,” Kareli says.

THE AMERICANS and the Russians haven’t always seen eye to eye on earth, but things are different beyond gravity’s reach. Since the days of Sputnik, Russians and Americans have routinely cooperated on space technology. In 1975, in the heat of the Cold War, an Apollo and a Soyuz linked up in orbit for the first international space effort.

In the 1990s, NASA and the RKA developed even closer ties, with the shuttle making multiple trips to Mir and paving the way for cooperation on the ISS. “NASA probably understands Russians, their culture, their way of making decisions and how to work with them better than any other U.S. government agency,” Kelly says. “And that’s because we’ve done something so difficult together in this incredibly challenging environment.”

That’s putting it mildly. The ISS, which is so big it can be seen from earth with the naked eye, is made up of 14 highly pressurized modules that fit together like an intergalactic Erector Set.

“These sections are flying at 17,500 miles per hour in a near vacuum with temperatures ranging from plus- to minus-two-hundred fifty degrees, and we connected them to each other using complicated robotic procedures,” Kelly says with unfeigned awe. He adds “It’s amazing that we’ve done it as an international effort.”

As a result, NASA astronauts are as likely to find themselves training for launch in Tsukuba, Japan, as in Houston. Even before Kelly begins his tour on the ISS, where he’ll hurtle around the earth some 16 times a day, NASA’s training regime keeps him circling the globe at nearly as intense a pace, with prep work in Germany, Japan, Canada and Russia.

“The travel can be challenging,” he says. “Try flying halfway around the world and showing up the next day for an eight a.m. class to learn stuff that’s potentially very critical to your future.”

Still, the dream of space flight is a powerful tonic, and on the scale of difficulties that astronauts face, jet lag rates pretty low. But in Kelly’s mind, all the sacrifice—the discomfort of training and then space flight, the physical punishment, the three months of rehab for atrophied muscles after returning to earth and, of course, the mortal risk—all blur together as minor inconveniences. Eight Gs is a small price to pay for all that space.

Moscow-based writer JAKE RUDNITSKY once pulled five Gs doing a jackknife dive at the YMCA pool in Greenwich, Connecticut.

THE FASHION WORLD CAN BE…INTIMIDATING. For the seasoned reporter as for the fresh- faced intern, then, the trip from the entrance of Anna Wintour’s office at Vogue magazine to the vintage chairs in front of her immaculate desk (with its selection of black markers and sharpened pencils) can feel like the longest seven yards on the planet. She smiles as I walk in—Wintour is nothing if not well mannered—but I can’t help but wonder about my choice of footwear and the mysterious streak of god-knows-what that’s alighted on my lapel since I got dressed this morning.

Unsurprisingly, Wintour herself looks well turned out. There’s the Prada coat over a Calvin Klein sweater and a large vintage necklace. The shoes? I’m too embarrassed to look under the desk, so I just ask, and she smiles again as she delivers the information: Manolo Blahnik.

She’s doffed her sunglasses for the moment, but that eyewear, framed by Wintour’s unwavering pageboy haircut, has become one of haute couture’s iconic images. Even so, it is what goes on behind those glasses that has made her reign such a fruitful one. If editing is an act of assertion, the 60-year-old Wintour, a native of Britain, is very well qualified for the task, a magazine maker who knows exactly what she wants and usually gets it. Vogue is as much an empire as a publication, and important designers seek Wintour’s counsel and approval before making major decisions.

She’s busy as usual but still recovering from her friend Roger Federer’s loss in the quarterfinals of the French Open the day before. “I’m very sad about that,” she says. She’s quite capable of having fun, if you consider it fun to get up before 6 a.m. to play tennis (singles, naturally). Her skills on the court are applied to her work as well. Several years ago, I accompanied her to a fashion show, and at the end of the event, I hesitated for just a moment. The editor took three long, quick strides and was gone. You have to be on highest alert if you want to keep up with Wintour.

HEMISPHERES: You’ve edited Vogue for 22 years and counting. Has fashion grown in importance in that time?

WINTOUR: There’s just so much more coverage than there used to be. Beyond all the television, everybody now has a blog or a website. Ten years ago, someone living in Kansas wouldn’t know who any of the designers were, and now they all know who the models are, who the hairdressers are, who made the shoes, who made the jewelry. It’s been great for fashion.

HEMISPHERES: So it’s not as rarefied as it once was?

WINTOUR: It’s so much more democratic, in part because we have a first lady who loves fashion and wears it wonderfully. She’s been a huge asset to the fashion world.

HEMISPHERES: Vogue has generally focused on the high end. Does the fact that we are in difficult economic times influence your choices?

WINTOUR: Well, I think it’s been about having the right mix—the aspirational along with something much more accessible. We’ve made a big effort in terms of highlighting clothes that women can really wear, but without walking away from what Vogue is. It’s an interesting conversation I have with myself every month.

HEMISPHERES: That mix is not entirely new. Your first Vogue cover had a model wearing a $10,000 Lacroix top with $50 jeans.

WINTOUR: That’s the way that women wear clothes today. I think women are so much more adventurous about fashion and personal style. We don’t have the fashion icons, say, of the Jackie Kennedy era, when everyone just wanted to look like her. It’s so much more diverse now.

HEMISPHERES: Do you think the ability to be fashionable is innate? My father is an extremely natty dresser, but I always end up looking like a garbage bag with legs by the end of the day.

WINTOUR: You should come to work at Vogue for six months, and we’ll perfect you. I think that people learn what works for them over time.

HEMISPHERES: Your father, Charles Wintour, was an editor as well, eventually heading up the Evening Standard in London. How did that affect your career choice?

WINTOUR: Both my parents were extremely hard workers. My mother was a film critic before having all of us. I think being brought up with journalism and being around my dad when there was a breaking story—being called by Lord Beaverbrook in the middle of the night, things like that—it makes a big impression. I remember the excitement of it all.

HEMISPHERES: He had a reputation as a fairly tough boss. Did some of that rub off on you?

WINTOUR: Am I like my dad? I never worked for my dad. But having worked for people who were not always very clear, it’s much easier to work for people who do know what they want and who communicate what they want. He was certainly excellent at that.

HEMISPHERES: So editing requires decisiveness.

WINTOUR: A benevolent dictatorship.

HEMISPHERES: Maybe not all that benevolent. You’ve got a reputation for being extremely tough.

WINTOUR: I think it comes from being brought up in quite a strict household. Both my parents were very disciplined. My dad came from a very Victorian British background where you just didn’t complain about certain things, and I believe that as well. It doesn’t help anything to take a shot at someone, so I just think it’s better to move on—smile and move on.

HEMISPHERES: So when a former assistant published the novel The Devil Wears Prada, which was then made into a movie, you took it in stride and even attended the premiere.

WINTOUR: When something like that happens, it’s almost like you’re looking at another person. You just don’t feel you’re that person.

HEMISPHERES: Despite your success, you had your knocks on the way up. Is it true you were fired from Harper’s Bazaar in 1975?

WINTOUR: Totally right. I was told I would never understand the American market. I did a shoot in Paris, and I remember it very clearly: It was a couture collection, and I put dreadlocks in the model’s hair. It was too much for them. That was the end of me at Harper’s Bazaar. I think everyone should get fired once. I think it’s really important. It worked out great for me. You come back. I ended up at New York magazine, and that was a great, great learning experience.

HEMISPHERES: The publishing and fashion businesses have both faced their share of challenges in the last few years. Has it been a hard time to publish a magazine about high-end fashion?

WINTOUR: The fashion industry was having such a tough time, and everyone was just sitting around wringing their hands. I think it’s important to be proactive in those kinds of situations, because it is a big industry, and a lot of people were losing their jobs. Fashion is a huge source of employment in New York City alone and while the glamour of it is wonderful, it’s also a very important business. To me, that’s often overlooked.

HEMISPHERES: Okay, now for the lightning round: What is the one accessory a young woman starting out in the world needs?

WINTOUR: Enthusiasm.

HEMISPHERES: Name your favorite food.

WINTOUR: I’m very fond of avocado. And I love steak.

HEMISPHERES: What’s your greatest pet peeve?

WINTOUR: I don’t like people who are late.

HEMISPHERES: Favorite TV show?

WINTOUR: 24. I’m very sad it ended.

HEMISPHERES: Biggest personal fashion faux pas?

WINTOUR: I had a really bad haircut once. I wore a hat for about a year just so no one would see it.

HEMISPHERES: What job would you want if you didn’t run Vogue?

WINTOUR: I’d like to run the Tennis Channel.

HEMISPHERES: We’d all be wearing white shorts. Meanwhile, you’ll soon be closing the famed September issue, the year’s biggest. It seems unlikely you’ll top Vogue’s 2007 record of 840 pages.

WINTOUR: Well, everything has its ups and downs and cycles. At least now we’re going up, which is in the right direction.

HEMISPHERES: You’re expecting a robust September?

WINTOUR: We certainly are.

DAVID CARR, who writes about media for The New York Times, was unsuccessful in converting Ms. Wintour to flip-up sunglasses…for now.

THE HAGUE

It’s an early June afternoon in Scheveningen, the seaside fishing district of the Hague, and the promenade along the harbor is teeming with a colorful mix of shanty choirs singing ancient songs of the sea, local families, gaggles of tourists strolling the docks with cameras at the ready and flocks of herring connoisseurs awaiting the arrival of the first fillets of summer—what has come to be affectionately called “Dutch sushi.”

Hollandse Nieuwe, or new herring, is a Dutch delicacy fished out of the North Sea in and around the month of June—the first time every year that schools of these oily, silver swimmers are fat enough to eat. The townsfolk have made a custom of the fish’s harvest and consumption, with the official start of herring season marked by a public auction of the first barrel.

This year’s first keg, which contained just 45 herring, sold for 58,000 euros (nearly $70,000, which works out to roughly $1,500 for each fish).

“The first auction is very symbolic,” says Dutch Fish Marketing Board spokeswoman Lisette Wassenaar, adding that this year’s herring has been tasted by culinary experts and a chef and been given a qualified approval.

“It is very good but a little less fatty than last year,” Wassenaar adds, which perhaps accounts for why 2009’s first keg fetched a higher price at 66,000 euros. (The record, set in 2006, is a whopping 75,000 euros.) That may seem extravagant, but proceeds from the first barrel go to charity, and subsequent barrels fetch much less. More modest herring lovers can enjoy a single fillet of the raw fish, lightly salted and dipped in chopped onions, and wash it down with an ice-cold shot of korenwijn, a traditional Dutch malt wine. Total cost? Ten dollars.

ORLANDO

FANS OF HARRY POTTER have been waiting years for this moment: opening day at The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, the massive, $275 million, J.K. Rowling–sanctioned theme park built within the walls of Universal Orlando Resort. The June air is already simmering at dawn as the crowds turn up in droves. By 9 a.m., the numbers exceed 20,000, with more still flooding in by car and van and tour bus. Some even come on foot, toting brooms. Thirty minutes later, a half-mile line leads to the arched entrance to Wizarding World.

“The wait to get inside is seven hours at minimum,” announces a security guard through cupped hands. He then adds, sotto voce: “No amount of magic is gonna make it shorter.”

Despite the heat, legions of wannabe wizards and witches are decked out in ankle-length Hogwarts robes, with striped neckties and wool scarves patterned in the crimson and gold of Gryffindor. They kill time by hexing each other with homemade wands, comparing lightning scars and round-rimmed black plastic glasses, and quoting passages from the books from memory.

Inside is the village of Hogsmeade, an exacting reproduction of the Warner Bros. movie set, complete with crooked chimneys, plastic icicles and snow that seems to mock the Florida heat. And everywhere, ever more lines: bag-toting Potter fans queuing up for Hogwarts Castle (a four-minute ride that chases Harry’s broomstick), Olivander’s wand emporium, Honeyduke’s sweet shop and the Hogs Head (where you can purchase a plastic flagon of nonalcoholic butterbeer—more refreshing than you might think).

“As you enter, please make room for those who follow,” says a monorail driver named Michael, beelining for a butterbeer. “And today please switch out that goblet of fire for a bottle of water.”

Photography Sasha Nialla

WHO STEVENSON MURRAY / 54 / Compliance manager

WHY I’M TRAVELING I’m flying back to Cairo, where I work as a health and safety manager at an energy company. I spend half of my time there and the other half at home in Trinidad and Tobago.

I’D RATHER BE FLYING… With my family, going on vacation. When we travel we like to go to big cities to see the sights and hit all the good restaurants. New York is our favorite.

MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT CAIRO? The fruit. Egypt is loaded with amazing fruit. The mangoes and the oranges are the best.

One of London’s most famous hotels is reopening after a three-year overhaul. In business since 1889, the Savoy was ready for a face-lift. The architects paid careful attention to detail in restoring the Edwardian/ Art Deco look of the place—going so far as to replicate the original showerheads. The remodeled hotel, run by Fairmont, will also have a glass-domed winter garden in which guests can enjoy a spot of tea. www.fairmont.com

A MAN OF LETTERS

Hotshot designer Didier Benderli has applied a literary touch to the Pavillon des Lettres, a boutique hotel opening this month in Paris. Each of the 26 rooms is styled after a different letter of the alphabet and an author whose name starts with that letter, so if you get H, think Victor Hugo. Lest you imagine the hotel is stuck in the past, every room is also furnished with an iPad (in case you finish your book). www.pavillon-de-la-reine.com

SPECIAL TROPICS

With a Robert Trent Jones–designed golf course, a sweeping lagoon-style pool and activities ranging from sushi making and tango classes to laser skeet shooting and catamaran sailing, Costa Rica’s eco-friendly Paradisus Playa Conchal resort makes it almost too easy being green. www.paradisus-playa-conchal.com

MEMORIAL DAYS

History buffs will get their day in the sun—and sand and surf—this fall, when the Waikiki Beach Marriott Resort & Spa offers the “WWII Pearl Harbor & USS Missouri 65th Anniversary” package. Starting September 2 (the 65th anniversary of the peace treaty signing on the Missouri), the package includes tours of the Arizona, the Missouri and other World War II sites. www.marriottwaikiki.com

QUOTH THE RAVEN

This is the best time of year for golfing in the Front Range of the Colorado Rockies, and Raven at Three Peaks Golf Club, an hour west of Denver, is the best course up in them thar hills. Winding through towering pines, lakes splashing with trout and willowy aspen, this par-72 beauty plays hard, but the biggest challenge is trying to putt with all those distracting mountain views. www.ravenatthreepeaks.com

IN TREATMENT

Spa treatments should be soothing; the last thing you want to worry about is the painful cost. Enter SpaFinder. com. The website’s 50/50 promotion offers treatments as well as yoga and Pilates classes for either 50 percent off or $50 at destination spas across the U.S. All you have to do is show up and relax. www.spafinder.com

TRUE SOUTH

Warning: This book may cause wanderlust. In celebration of Mexico’s bicentennial, powerHouse Books is releasing Revealing Mexico, a collection of pictures and interviews by photographer John Mack and writer Susanne Steines that paints a vibrant picture of the nation’s history and traditions. www.powerhousebooks.com

DRESSED TO THRILL

Don’t fret about what to wear to Fashion’s Night Out. The whole point of the Vogue-sponsored event is to pick up something new. From September 7 to 16, cities around the world will host events that bring together models, designers, celebrities, fashion editors and clotheshorses of every stripe. Stores will stay open late to host performances and, of course, shoppers. www.fashionsnightout.com

CALENDAR SEPTEMBER

8-12 NORTHFIELD, MINNESOTA

An infamous bank robber pays his debt to society at Defeat of Jesse James Days, with a robbery reenactment and other activities benefiting local nonprofits. www.djjd.org

22-25 CHAMPAIGN-URBANA, ILLINOIS

The Pygmalion Music Festival is known for its intimate venues, so you can get up close and personal with bands such as Built to Spill and Caribou. www.pygmalionmusicfestival.com

22-25 BUENOS AIRES

Argentine wines are gaining traction among oenophiles. Stay ahead of the curve at Vinos y Bodegas Wine Exhibition. www.expovinosybodegas.com.ar

25-26 CARDIFF, WALES

Feel free to bring your own crackers to the Great British Cheese Festival. They’ll provide the beer, cider and, of course, the cheese. www.thecheeseweb.com

26 VIENNA

Last year, 15 cheerleaders squeezed into a Smart car. See what records will be broken at this year’s Vienna Recordia, a festival devoted to the most, longest, fastest, shortest—and many other superlatives. www.viennarecordia.com

18-OCTOBER 4 MUNICH

Oktoberfest has become a worldwide event, but Munich’s original is still the best. www.munichsoktoberfest.com

8-11 SINGAPORE

Whether you’re a contemporary art aficionado or just think you are, ARTSingapore is the place to see some of the best work in Asia, by established artists and up-and-comers. www.artsingapore.net

1 THROUGH THE LENS

What happens when the paparazzo becomes the subject? Adrian Grenier tries to figure it out in Teenage Paparazzo, his documentary about 14-year-old photographer Austin Visschedyk. A big hit at Sundance, the documentary makes its debut on HBO. SEPTEMBER 27

2 NEXT-DOOR HEROES

Michael Chiklis does what he does best— play a police officer—opposite Julie Benz in No Ordinary Family, a new ABC drama about a clan with superpowers. Look for a new twist on childrearing during those difficult high school years. SEPTEMBER 28

3 RETURN OF THE GEKKO

The ’80s are back: ripped T-shirts, acid-wash jeans and now Gordon Gekko. Michael Douglas reprises his 1987 role in the Oliver Stone–directed Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, which takes on the 2008 stock market crash. SEPTEMBER 24

4 END OF AN ERA

Beloved soap opera As the World Turns is calling it quits after 54 years and more than 13,000 episodes. Or is the show just faking its death to come back as a villain? Stay tuned. SEPTEMBER 17

5 WILD WEST

The list of guest rappers associated with Kanye West’s new album is longer than the track listing and includes Drake, Q-Tip, Wu-Tang’s RZA and Pete Rock. If it’s half as big a hit as 2008’s 808s & Heartbreaks, West can certainly afford the help. SEPTEMBER 14

6 GOING VIRTUAL

Now that the world has begun to catch up with the imagination of cyberpunk pioneer William Gibson, the beloved sci-fi novelist is finding material in the present day. His beguiling new novel, Zero History, concerns a marketing tycoon, an extreme sports star and arms dealers (the shadowy kind, naturally). SEPTEMBER 7

7 TAKE A LOOK AT HIM NOW

Phil Collins’ Going Back, an album of 1960s-era Motown, R&B and soul covers, pays affectionate tribute to the songs that piqued his interest in music, including Stevie Wonder’s “Uptight (Everything’s Alright).” SEPTEMBER 28

8 SOMETHING’S COOKING

“Counter Space: Design and the Modern Kitchen,” at New York’s MoMA examines prefab kitchens of the past century. Please refrain from whipping up a snack in any of them. SEPTEMBER 15

9 HOLD ON

Perched at the midpoint between poignant coming-of-age tale and creepy sci-fi thriller is Never Let Me Go, based on the novel by Kazuo Ishiguro. Mark Romanek directs Keira Knightley and Carey Mulligan in this haunting film. SEPTEMBER 15

10 PREP WORK

A sassy update to the tongue- in-cheek 1980s The Official Preppy Handbook, True Prep modernizes its lists of preppy necessities to include, among other things, appropriate texting etiquette. BRB, G2G2JC (“Got to go to J. Crew”). SEPTEMBER 7

Robert Plant

The Led Zep frontman has a whole lotta love for the american songbook.

WHEN ROBERT PLANT was the curly-locked frontman of Led Zeppelin, his voice was as steely and untiring as Jimmy Page’s jagged guitar. Nearly 40 years later, it’s no longer the “best voice in rock” (as Page called it), but it’s smarter than ever.

The 62-year-old’s new album, Band of Joy (named after his first ensemble), is the natural follow up to Raising Sand, Plant’s 2007 Grammy-winning collaboration with Alison Krauss. A headlong plunge into the history of American song, Band of Joy covers bluegrass, gospel, country and rockabilly.

“People call this album Americana, and that’s a very gracious and glorious term,” Plant says between rehearsals in Nashville. “But basically it’s a walk through the great land of the American song—a chance to peek through the door into a land I was hardly aware of before.”

Band of Joy’s songs range from the old-time country dirge “Satan, Your Kingdom Must Come Down” and Townes Van Zant’s “Harm’s Swift Way” to the ominous drone of Low’s “Silver Rider.” He and coproducer Buddy Miller cowrote a couple tracks as well, including the bluesy “Central Two-O-Nine.”

“Of course, with Led Zeppelin we were heavily into the blues,” Plant says. “And sometimes you’re trapped by your previous success, but I feel like I’m now dancing to an unknown beat. And it feels brilliant.”

Photographs – Courtesy of HBO (1), Courtesy of ABC (2), Courtesy of Twentieth Century Fox (3), Courtesy of CBS/Landov (4) , by Jason Kempin/Wireimage (5), Matt Kent/Wireimage (7), Courtesy of Moma (8), Courtesy of Alex Bailey (9) , by Jan Persson/Redferns (Plant)

WHO • TOMMY HILFIGER, 59

MISSION • To aid Millennium Promise in reducing extreme poverty. Hilfiger has committed $2 million over five years to the Ugandan community of Ruhiira. “We’d like to make a difference and really teach the people of the village to help themselves,” he says. “We’re helping them get jobs, support their community. We’re not giving them fish—we’re teaching them how to fish.” He’s also opening the door for his staff to get involved: All 10,000 Tommy Hilfiger employees around the world are encouraged to take free volunteer vacations to Ruhiira.

MOTIVATION • After achieving tremendous success as a designer, Hilfiger felt compelled to give back. “We did a lot of research and found that Millennium Promise was one of the strongest organizations associated with the UN. Of the money that’s given, most of it gets distributed on the ground.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY • The Tommy Hilfiger brand celebrated its 25th anniversary this year, and Assouline recently published a limited-edition 144-page book titled Tommy Hilfiger, which chronicles the label’s development. “The book is really a scrapbook,” he says. “It’s got lots of photos and little quotes from people I’ve worked with over the years.”

LIKE IT OR NOT, the 3-D revolution will be televised, whether via Blu-ray discs of Avatar, ESPN broadcasts on DirecTV or your PlayStation 3. New laptops from Toshiba and Hewlett-Packard are also going 3-D. And soon you’ll have the technology in the palm of your hand, in the form of the remarkable new Nintendo 3DS, a 3-D image–generating version of the Japanese gaming giant’s popular portable console, due in stores this year.

Unlike some TV-based three- dimensional experiences, which basically use 1950s-era technology, the 3DS is a modern wonder: small but stunning, with eye-popping depth of field. Best of all, you don’t even need special glasses to appreciate it.

One of the handheld’s most compelling features is a slider (similar to a volume control) that allows you to instantly adjust the level of 3-D, in case you’re feeling a little…out of your depth. But the 3DS does more than gaming. It can also take and display 3-D stills, thanks to three different built-in cameras, as well as show 3-D movies from Disney, Warner Bros. and DreamWorks.

That said, the image itself doesn’t look like much of an upgrade beyond those 3-D stills we’ve all known and loved since childhood (you know, the ones they gave out in Cracker Jack boxes). And as with other home 3-D offerings, the screen must be viewed straight on for the effect to be visible. Tilt the device in your hand even slightly—a common occurrence in the twitchfest that is gaming—and your entire perspective on the screen changes.

Hardcore thumb jockeys aren’t quite sold on the technology just yet. “Gaming at the highest level is about precision,” says Sundance DiGiovanni, CEO of Major League Gaming, a professional gaming league. “I think it’ll take a couple of interactive evolutions before 3-D games are solid enough for serious folks to play competitively.” Those serious folks are a tough audience. We all remember how they scoffed at Nintendo’s last great innovation, a little thing called the Wii, which remains the best-selling game console on the market.

Tech writer TOM SAMILJAN might just sit out this latest innovation and wait for 4-D.

IT’S HARD TO IMAGINE WHAT THE ANGELIC SISTERS, THE CATHOLIC ORDER THAT RESIDED in the Church of San Paolo Converso in central Milan between the mid-16th and the late 18th centuries, would have made of the building’s current occupants. But on a sodden day in mid-June, the former nunnery—long since deconsecrated—is crawling with half-dressed men, most in their early twenties, six feet tall or better, with hip bones that could slice proscuitto and cheekbones to match.

Along one side of the room, under towering soot-darkened frescoes representing key events in the life of Jesus, are a series of stainless-steel clothes racks containing what, it’s hoped, will be some of the hottest men’s looks of the 2011 spring season—layered trench coats, suede military jackets, cozy sweaters, plaid waistcoats. The racks are labeled with the names of various models (Zhao, Oskar, Bastiaan…), and assigned to each is a bored-looking if stylish young lady, perched, texting, on a folding chair. These are members of another sisterhood of sorts, the dressers, each responsible for helping a guy into and out of his various getups with an efficiency that would impress Clark Kent. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, beside an industrial-strength garment steamer emitting a spookily picturesque cloud, a number of makeup stations have been erected, each with a ring of lightbulbs, where blemishes are being dealt with, facial shine dulled and hair blown out and tousled just so.

The mood in the room is expectant but calm—remarkably so given that it’s only an hour before John Varvatos’ 2011 Spring/Summer menswear show is set to begin (one of 30 or so such productions taking place around Milan this week). That’s a testament to the man at the center of it all. Just 10 years since debuting his first collection, Varvatos has emerged as one of the world’s top menswear designers, overseeing a growing enterprise that, he expects, will produce $125 million in revenue in 2010—its best year ever despite a pesky economic downturn. Standing on the church’s altar in a black T-shirt, charcoal jeans and cowboy boots, he is mostly bald, with a close-cropped fringe at his temples, and, shattering the stereotype of a high- end designer, he’s extremely unassuming.

Varvatos huddles for a moment with Bill Mullen, his stylist. There’s some concern about a handful of models who won’t arrive till just before showtime. They’re walking in Versace and are expected any moment, zipping across town a step ahead of the army of international press and buyers who spend the week scribbling in notebooks, gulping lattes and dashing en masse from one venue to the next. “I think we are more calm than most,” Varvatos says. “To me fashion is chaotic enough as it is. You don’t want to drive yourself crazy.”

An air of calm suits the clothes as well. Varvatos’ style— from which he has never really deviated during his decade running his own label—is best described as rock ‘n’ roll chic: a louche, unhurried classicism set off by understated hints of the rebel within. “In general we don’t do over-the- top things,” he says. “We’re trying to make clothes that have a realistic sense about them.” The Varvatos touch can be seen in the expert tailoring, the thoughtful details (like the use of old-fashioned hook-and-bar clasps) and the carefully sourced fabrics. His clothes never seem to shout, tending to speak in a raspy, bourbon-soaked whisper instead, and they often display a patina of wear, like something you might unearth from an old steamer trunk owned by Keith Richards.

It’s a testament to Varvatos’ mastery of this aesthetic that the influence is reciprocal, with top recording artists increasingly sporting his looks and, in many cases, showing their appreciation by appearing in the label’s advertising. The latest campaign, geared to Varvatos’ 10- year anniversary, features Led Zeppelin’s Robert Plant and Jimmy Page, Lenny Kravitz, Joe Perry, Ryan Adams, Cheap Trick, the New York Dolls and Iggy Pop, among others— enough icons for a late-night, not-sold-in-stores classic rock mega-compilation.

“They wear our clothes. They’re friends,” Varvatos explains, sitting in a pew in the church’s nave, as the models parade down the aisle, getting the pace just right.

Whereas a lot of his competitors design with big themes in mind, unveiling a distinctive new creative vision for each season, Varvatos is known for sticking with formula—which isn’t to say there aren’t some tweaks from one collection to the next. The nuance this season, for instance, is that he’s taken his rock ‘n’ roll gentleman to the country. “Like when the Rolling Stones were holed up in a villa in the South of France making Exile on Main Street,” he explains. Still, it’s really just a variation on a theme. “We have our handwriting and our personality, and our customer knows who we are and what we do.”

“Some designers design for themselves,” notes Tom Kalenderian, executive VP of menswear for Barneys New York, who bought Varvatos’ very first collection a decade ago and has carried his clothing ever since. “John designs for the man he believes is his client.”

“It might have something to do with being from the Midwest,” says the designer, who now lives in Manhattan with his wife and 22-month-old daughter, Thea (he also has two grown children). “You have to be a little more grounded.”

JOHN VARVATOS GREW UP in Allen Park, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit, the second of five siblings. His father was an accountant, his mother a homemaker. “It was seven people in a three-bedroom house, about 900 square feet,” he recalls. We’re sitting in his office, a tidy space filled with rock memorabilia (signed gold records presented to Zeppelin, a framed thank-you note from Kravitz, a Slash-certified top hat) just off the loftlike John Varvatos showroom in New York’s garment district. “My two brothers and I shared a room this big.” He gestures with one heavily braceleted hand, slicing the office in half. “There was one bathroom for seven people. We did our homework at the kitchen table—you can imagine how hard it was to concentrate.”

Varvatos wasn’t much of a fashionista back then. Instead he was obsessed with music. “It was an escape,” he recalls. “Putting on headphones was the only way to get any peace.” His off hours were spent at a local record store, Sam’s Jams, where he’d grab a spot on the floor and flip through Creem, “reading about bands and trying to figure out what to spend my $2.98 on,” says the designer, who now owns 15,000 CDs. At one point, overcoming his natural shyness, he formed a band, Sweet Wine, with a cousin and played a few gigs at school. Varvatos handled rhythm guitar and sang backup. “We weren’t very good,” he says now. “I figured out pretty quickly that it wasn’t my thing.”

For extra money, he took a job in a men’s store, where his interest in fashion took hold. “I remember this English class in tenth grade,” he says. “I came in wearing bell bottoms and this skinny navy sweater with a red star on it, and this girl I was interested in complimented it. I don’t remember what we were studying, but I remember that moment: realizing girls acknowledged me more when I wore nice clothes.”

He continued working in retail through college, developing a highly attuned sense of what customers are actually looking for. “I made my living on commission,” he says. “I needed someone to feel so good about their purchase that they would come back and ask for me.”

After beginning his design career at Polo Ralph Lauren in 1983, Varvatos went on to oversee menswear at Calvin Klein before returning to Ralph in the same role. He started his own line five years later. It was at Calvin Klein that he pioneered what may well go down as one of the greatest apparel revolutions of the century. “We just cut off a pair of long johns and thought, This could be cool…,” he says. Modeled by the young “Marky” Mark Wahlberg, the new “boxer brief” was an instant success.

Such lasting style innovations are exceedingly rare, but Varvatos has another one to his credit. A few years ago, he entered a partnership with Converse, a sneaker brand with a storied history that was nonetheless in need of a serious reboot. “I was in my studio, and I had this low Chuck Taylor on the table,” he says—when inspiration struck. Finding a piece of elastic in the trim cabinet, Varvatos got to work with a needle and thread. The next day, he presented skeptical Converse executives with his new “laceless sneaker,” now the second-best-selling shoe in the brand’s history.

In addition to the deal with Converse and the men’s collection, the Varvatos brand comprises footwear, accessories, a fragrance line and a line of sportswear, Star USA. “John has thought about everything that’s in this man’s world, including the belt on his waist and the shoes on his feet,” notes Kalenderian. “It’s a very multidimensional approach.” Meanwhile, Varvatos continues to forge ties with the music world. Though he has declined several offers to start a record label, he has a monthly music show, Made in Detroit, on Sirius Radio and hosts regular gigs at the Varvatos store on New York’s Bowery, the former home of the legendary rock club CBGB (the Milan church isn’t the only onetime shrine Varvatos has made his own). Though he shuttered a women’s collection after two so-so years to concentrate on menswear, he says he’s just about ready to try again. A home collection is also on the drawing board.

BACK IN MILAN, the late-arriving models are in the building, and everyone is lined up in their “first looks.” Varvatos stations himself just inside the door leading to the runway, where he’ll keep an eye out for any last-minute tweaks—a collar out of alignment, an ill-fitting pair of shades. In the vestibule, someone has hung a large whiteboard bearing a list of instructions (“ATTITUDE!… RELAXED, SLOW PACE… NEVER, EVER STROLL…KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE WE PUT THEM”) that might not bear the force of holy writ but seem pretty strict nonetheless.

Eleven minutes and 36 looks later, the designer gives the crowd a little wave as a Patti Smith cover of “Gimme Shelter” blares over the PA. “That makes twenty-one collections altogether,” he says with a sigh afterward, holding a flute of champagne. “One more down!”

Hemispheres editor-in-chief AARON GELL has mastered a relaxed, slow pace, but he’s still working on attitude.

THE TOWN HOUSE restaurant, nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains of southern Virginia, boasts its own cozy inn, with claw-foot tubs, pillow-top beds and antique rocking chairs ripped from the pages of Martha Stewart Living. Good thing, too, since most accommodations in the area are spartan, to say the least. But a meal at the restaurant is hardly a homespun affair. At a recent three-hour dinner (the tasting menu maxes out at 10 courses), one cutting-edge dish featured puréed orange frozen into a sphere with liquid-nitrogen then stuffed with mussels and saffron mayo. Another included an edible bouquet of foraged flowers and herbs.

“One of the great meals of our lives,” gushed Food & Wine, going on to name its chefs, John Shields and Karen Urie Shields, the best in the country. Entries from notoriously snarky Chowhound.com stutter with superlatives: “Phenomenal,” “Stunning,” “Unforgettable.” You’d be hard-pressed to find food this inventive in New York or Los Angeles, let alone the town of Chilhowie, Virginia— population 1,800 and a per capita income of just $17,000. And yet there it is, across the tracks from a McDonald’s playground—destination dining in a remote corner of the country.

While great rural restaurants such as Michel Bras in the French Alps and El Bulli in the Catalan countryside in Spain draw plenty of traffic to remote corners of Europe, they have virtually no equal on this side of the pond. Sure, a few venerable spots require a bit of travel (French Laundry outside San Francisco, Blue Hill at Stone Barns just north of New York), but those are short drives from major metropolises. The Town House—five hours south of Washington, D.C., and en route to very little—is a test case for bringing the European model to American soil.

The restaurant, casually outfitted with dark wood tables and faux-gas chandeliers, is a remarkable bargain (four lavish courses cost just $58) and a family affair. At the start of service one night, Kyra Bishop, the maître d’, who owns the place with her husband, Tom, offers wine from what was once her private collection. Her daughter is a server and shuttles entrées from the lablike kitchen, where earlier in the day a young cook spent hours painstakingly cutting raw squid into morsels no bigger than grains of rice (for a mock risotto).

The Town House may look like the same neighborhood bistro that the Bishops (who made a fortune in scrap metal) opened in 2002 as a basic meat-and-potatoes joint, but for the last three years it’s been far more ambitious than that.

The owners lured Shields and his then-girlfriend Karen south from Chicago in 2007. The chefs—he cooks savory, she cooks sweet—had been working for Windy City icons Charlie Trotter and Grant Achatz at their restaurants when they decided to strike out on their own. “We’d put in our time working for other chefs,” says Urie Shields. “We were ready to start doing our own stuff .” The young couple, who’d just started dating, turned down the chance to open Trotter’s new Vegas outpost and instead began scouring want ads for the right solo endeavor. Shields spied a posting on Craigslist heralding “a great place for a husband-and-wife team,” so he dashed off a résumé.

Meanwhile back in Chilhowie, the Bishops, who’d posted the ad, had already narrowed their search for a new chef to a few promising candidates. They never expected to hear from two of Chicago’s most creative young epicureans.

“I called John, and I said, ‘You realize where we are, right?’” Kyra Bishop recalls.

Shields had no idea. “I looked up the place online,” he says. “I was like, ‘No way in heck am I moving out there.’” But he agreed to a tryout. “We made them dinner,” he recalls. “They invited us back to their house, we drank wine, we talked about life and food and travel.” By the end of the evening, he was sold.

“Our friends from Chicago said we were crazy,” Shields says. “‘You’ll be back soon enough,’ they said.”

The Bishops turned out to be generous patrons of the culinary arts. The new Town House would be a labor of love, less about profit than foodie cachet. To sweeten the deal, they built a new kitchen, decked out with $50,000 worth of cutting-edge gastronomic gadgetry.

Shields’ food, a mix of Trotter-style refinement and the edgy technique he picked up from Grant Achatz at Alinea—the country’s most acclaimed avant-garde restaurant—hit rural Virginia with the shock factor of performance art.

“At first we went through a busy period when everybody wanted to see what we were doing,” he recalls. “Then we went through a period when people saw what we were doing and didn’t come back. We rocked the boat.”

They had dropped the customary plate-size steaks and shrimp cocktail from the menu, and, consequently, business declined precipitously. But the chefs stayed the course.

By the fall of 2008, Shields had begun a blog, a visual diary of dishes, which caught the eye of a Chow- hound.com contributor who later dropped by. His subsequent post declared the visit “probably in my top five meals in North America” and put the Town House on the national map. Six months later, a New York Times writer dropped in, followed by the Food & Wine scout. This summer, the magazine featured Shields in its annual roster of best new American chefs.

“There’s something really romantic about having a destination restaurant,” says Urie Shields. “We’re not influenced by chef colleagues or neighboring restaurants—because there aren’t any. So we’ve really been able to tune into who we are as chefs. I don’t think that would’ve happened as fast if we’d stayed in Chicago.”

In the last three years their food has become more naturalistic— many dishes appear to have sprung up fully formed on the plate, and much more reflective of their Appalachian surroundings. One recent dish—described on the menu as “representing spring rain”—was inspired by an early morning stroll Shields took in the woods. It features banana ice cream, foraged nasturtiums and fresh peas with parmesan water as rain drops on the plate. A dessert looks like a bucolic still life, with chocolate soil topped with fragrant flowers and herbs.

Among the local farmers they’ve come to rely on for much of their produce, the chefs have become full- fledged celebrities, which makes for slow going as they wander through the weekly green market in the nearby town of Abingdon. Looking over the season’s first strawberries one Saturday, the Shieldses are crowded by well-wishers. “The hipster chefs have arrived!” booms Mike “Rathead” Riley, from the farmer’s market steering committee.

Despite the local adulation—and the Shieldses’ newfound national renown—the Town House still struggles, often serving just one or two tables on weeknights. “We would have been out of business long ago if not for the Bishops,” says John. Still, the chefs are enjoying the freedom that the slow pace affords them. They closed up shop for two weeks not long ago and jetted off to Europe for a food-focused honeymoon, hitting restaurants with a total of 22 Michelin stars. And they devote plenty of time simply to honing their craft.

“We’re really dedicated to this,” says Urie Shields. “It takes time. We know that. For right now we’re really satisfied with being influenced by the environment, nature, the landscape and the artisans.”

JAY CHESHES, who writes for Saveur and The New York Times, will happily cross multiple time zones for the right meal.

Town House’s peaches poached with sake and lemon verbena, served with shaved tomato ice

• 4 peaches (remove and save pits)
• 1½ cups water
• 1 cup sake
• 1 capful almond extract
• 3½ tbsp sugar
• 6 sprigs of lemon verbena
• 1 lemon, juiced and zested with a peeler
• Pinch of salt

TOMATO ICE
• 6 tomatoes
• Salt to taste
• Coarse salt for garnish
• Olive oil for garnish

PEACHES: After pitting the peaches, crack the pits in half and add to a small pot. Then add the peaches, water, sake, lemon juice, almond extract, sugar and salt. Simmer for 20 minutes until tender, then remove peaches to a container and add the verbena and lemon peel. Chill the peaches; once cold, remove the skin.

TOMATO ICE: Blend the tomatoes with the salt for 10 seconds and pour into a cheese cloth (or coffee filter) to drain. Taste for seasoning, then pour into a shallow pan and freeze. Scrape with a fork to create a fine ice.

TO SERVE: Place half of the peach in a bowl and ladle some of the cooking liquid over top with some tomato ice, a pinch of coarse salt and olive oil.

YOU KNOW THE SCENE: A befuddled male shopper wanders through the sparkly maze of a chic boutique. A rugged washed canvas weekend bag catches his eye, but he hesitates, noting a display of peep-toe pumps a few feet away. His brow furrows as he wonders if he’s really stumbled upon the men’s section after all.

In the last five years or so, fashion-forward retailers have begun catching on to how men prefer to shop, banking on the fact that fellows feel at ease in unabashedly masculine spaces uncluttered by pencil skirts and evening clutches. Surrounded by old leather club chairs, goes the logic, gents will happily splurge on boat shoes and calfskin billfolds. Throw a hunting rifle and some antlers on the wall—even better, serve neat single-malt Scotch—and they’ll pick up rugby shirts without a care in the world. A slew of boutiques have followed that model, keeping their men’s and women’s shops entirely separate. When J. Crew launched a boutique in downtown Manhattan in 2008, the gruff ambiance at the resulting men’s shop was underlined by its setting, a former liquor store, where sherbet-hued cashmere sweaters lined the heavy oak bar.

This summer, the trend has gathered steam, led by Coach, the luxury leather goods and accessories emporium. In May, the label opened its own clubby men’s-only spot on Manhattan’s Bleecker Street where this season’s preppy- cool accessories come in casual materials perfect for a sailing getaway. But though the Bleecker Street shop clearly caters to the outdoorsy, All-American Coach customer, that doesn’t mean the guys are afraid to get a little trendy. “The male customer has evolved over time, taking a more adventurous and global approach to fashion,” says Mike Tucci, the company’s president of North American retail. “Historically they gravitate toward staple shades like black and mahogany, but I think that’s changing as we introduce more offbeat colors, like cranberry and chambray.” Bring out the single malt—we’ll drink to that.

A DOZEN YEARS AGO, Tony Malkin, the environmentally conscious owner of the Empire State Building, installed 6,514 dual-thermal-pane windows in his iconic skyscraper. Over time, he was disappointed to find they were only marginally more energy efficient than the single-pane versions they’d replaced.

So last year, when the building became the test subject for a $500 million upgrade program with the goal of reducing energy use by nearly 40 percent, Malkin carefully considered his options. Replacing all of the windows again—this time, with triple-glazed glass—would reduce the heating and cooling costs. But at $2,200 per window, they’d be too expensive to achieve the desired return on investment.

Among those bidding on the job, only Serious Materials, a Sunnyvale, California–based maker of green building materials, had a tenable solution: retrofit the existing glass. “Other windowmakers said, ‘No, you can’t reuse the windows,’” says Kevin Surace, the company’s founder and CEO. “In fact, you can.”

Today, he has a team working around the clock in a 5,000-square-foot processing space on the building’s fifth floor. They take glass from existing frames, separate it and clean it. Then they insert new spacers, a suspended coated film and special gas before reinstalling the now superinsulated glass back into the frames. The new windows provide almost four times the thermal resistance of the old versions, contributing to a reduction in energy costs to the tune of $400,000 per year.

The process is the first of its kind. It’s also a perfect example of what Surace calls “disruptive innovation,” a swing- for-the-fences approach to business typically associated with rock stars like Apple’s Steve Jobs. That attitude defines Serious Materials, an eight-year-old company that’s become a poster child for the opportunities—both in terms of reducing carbon and increasing profits— that exist in building green.

According to the U.S. Energy Information Administration, buildings are a huge culprit when it comes to carbon emissions. The operation of residential and commercial buildings accounts for a whopping 40 percent of the world’s carbon dioxide emmissions. While we’ve been preoccupied with raising fuel efficiency standards and developing alternative energy for vehicles, we’re still building with essentially the same materials we’ve been using for decades.

Serious Materials has developed dozens of patents in a bid to improve these numbers. They’ve won awards for products such as EcoRock, a gypsum drywall alternative made of recycled waste, and been selected as a 2010 Technology Pioneer by the World Economic Forum. Along the way, Surace has been applauded by President Obama and been named Inc. magazine’s Entrepreneur of the Year.

But perhaps the company’s greatest accomplishment is bringing a rapid- fire, Silicon Valley mentality to a sector resistant to change. “As slow as the car industry is, the people who make building materials are ten times slower,” says Surace, 48, chatting on his way to a meeting. “Most of us are from the tech world. We came to the industry and said, ‘There’s change on the horizon, and the change is around saving energy in buildings. If we can rapidly bring the best products in the world in that space, we should be a major supplier.’”

Over the years, the commoditization of building materials has sapped any motivation for R&D, Surace believes, and now “you have 2,400 windowmakers and they all make the same darn window.” In just a few years, Serious Materials has shot up to the top five percent in the residential window category, he says.

“Windows are one of those things that have been lacking,” notes Blake Bilyeu, co-owner of Bilyeu Homes, Inc., an Oregon-based building company that focuses on high-performance residential construction. He says that before Serious Materials came into the market, high-performance windows were available only from Europe, Canada or small domestic boutique shops.

Surace hasn’t always been green (he admits he used to drive an SUV), but he’s always been an entrepreneur. After ventures in wireless, handheld communications and online shopping, in 2002 he reconnected with a former colleague and took over a company that made a liquid polymer to soundproof automobiles. When potential customers called about using the product on their walls, he invented QuietGlue, a substance that dampens sound when spread between layers of drywall. That product evolved into the soundproof drywall sheets still sold by Serious Materials, called QuietRock.

It wasn’t until 2005 that Surace became interested in climate change. And when he saw An Inconvenient Truth in 2006, he says, “It woke me up, and we turned all of our R&D toward saving energy.” Even so, he’s as passionate about the bottom line as he is about the issue. “We have a rule: Green has to mean dollars,” he says. “You have to show a return on the customer’s investment. Once you accomplish that, it doesn’t matter if you’re selling to the staunchest Republican in the world. Saving money isn’t a red or blue issue— it’s a purple issue.”

“The great thing about Serious Materials is this is a real business,” says Malkin. “They have real capitalization— and a real ability to execute. We’re not sitting here with a bunch of starry-eyed, garage-based venture capitalists.”

The political winds are also in Serious Materials’ favor, with about $20 billion in U.S. federal stimulus dollars dedicated to the renovation and construction of government buildings and low-income housing. With so much cash available, Serious Materials now has staff like Robin Roy, a vice president of projects and policy, actively meeting with stakeholders on the local level to spread the gospel about the benefits of the company’s high-performance products.

On a recent summer day, Roy, a fiftyish man with a salt-and-pepper beard and shirtsleeves rolled above his elbow, leads a group of Illinois policymakers on a tour of the 270,000-square-foot Serious Materials window factory on Chicago’s Goose Island—an industrial corridor just northwest of downtown. The site is the former home of Republic Windows, a company that made national news after its 2008 bankruptcy, when 250 workers staged a sit-in. After striking a deal with the local union, Serious Materials scooped up Republic in early 2009 (along with another shuttered window factory in Vandergrift, Pennsylvania) and has been in the process of bringing back employees as work ramps up.

During the tour, workers are busy filling an order made possible by funds from the Department of Energy’s Weatherization Assistance Program, which helps improve the energy efficiency of low-income homes. Large sheets of glass are lowered onto an airflow table as a computer-directed machine punches out glass sizes, which line employees snap at the designated score marks and place into racks.

At the moment, the plant is operating far from peak capacity, but those on hand seem likely to be joined by their former colleagues very soon.

ROD O’CONNOR, a freelance writer based in Chicago, doesn’t do windows.

PARIS, THE DIVINE CITY OF LIGHT, elicits passionate reactions from visitors, and for good reason: Its streets and architecture are aglow with captivating light at all hours; its cuisine is widely imitated (though never replicated) in nearly every corner of the globe; and its sidewalk cafés are so redolent with romance that Hollywood has tried for decades to bottle the magic. Some visitors arrive in Paris with return tickets and are so completely seduced they simply never leave. Others depart reluctantly, only to remember their time here for the rest of their lives.

And then there’s a third group, who find the maze of narrow streets overwhelming, the language a roadblock and the pressure to make the most of the mind-boggling selection of historical sights enough to provoke a major meltdown in the shadow of Notre Dame. The trick? When in Paris, do as the Parisians do: Hardcore lovers of culture, the locals would never try to visit half a dozen museums in a day. Committed food fanatics, they cheerfully let lunch stretch to three hours whenever possible. And when a server seems brusque, they never, ever take it personally.

The most important secret to enjoying Paris? Don’t fret if you get lost. Sometimes a wrong turn is the fastest route to that perfect little shop or picturesque wine bar. A sprawling, heartbreakingly beautiful city, Paris is ripe for those who appreciate serendipity.

So take a deep breath, and off you go.

Hôtel Amour
Image – Bruno Fert / Picturetank

DAY ONE Stretch indulgently as you open your eyes at the Hôtel Particulier (1), a Montmartre mansion that once belonged to the Hermès family. Descend to the mod salon for a taste of perfection served on a silver tray: a warm chocolate croissant, slices of airy, chewy baguette with butter and jam, and a steaming pot of coffee, all proffered by a demure serveuse clad in a proper French maid’s uniform.

Outside, wend your way down majestic Avenue Junot, admiring the grand Haussmann-era homes that French film stars like Fanny Ardant call home. A well-heeled dame shuffles past, off to do her provisioning at the local boulangerie Le Grenier à Pain (2), which was awarded the prize for best baguette in Paris earlier this year (and is therefore duty-bound to supply President Sarkozy and Carla Bruni’s daily loaves).

After getting lost on the crowded stairways of Montmartre—made famous by Toulouse-Lautrec and Picasso—you happen upon the Lamarck-Caulaincourt metro stop, where you’ll say goodbye to this arty enclave and make for the center of the city.

At the St-Michel stop, avoid the noisy bustle of the Latin Quarter and turn toward the river, wandering down the Quai des Grands Augustins and browsing through the bouquinistes’ stalls of vintage books before crossing the Seine on the Pont des Arts (3). Here, on the wooden span of the bridge, you’ll find a bench at which to pause and take in the Ile de la Cité and much of medieval Paris arrayed before you. Suddenly you feel a touch of vertigo, but relax, it’s just a little sensory overload. The best antidote is lunch.

Thankfully, you’ve booked ahead at La Régalade Saint-Honoré (4), one of Paris’ most highly regarded “neo-bistros,” set just behind the Louvre. Take respite in the unadorned dining room and kick things off with a rustic pot of chicken pâté served with delectable mini cornichons. The prix-fixe menu, concocted by chef Bruno Doucet, is exactly the initiation into French dining that you’ve been yearning for, all the simple joys of foodie Paris on three no-frills white plates.

Sated, you decide to walk off this feast in the Jardin des Tuileries (5), beginning at the glass pyramid of the Louvre and sauntering west, marveling at the precisely pruned gardens first laid out for the delight of Louis XIV in 1664. Once filled with courtiers, the Tuileries are now packed with chic sunbathers who lounge on green metal chairs wearing ballet flats and ultrashort shorts, small dogs napping in the shade under their legs.

You extract yourself from the bliss of people watching for a healthy dose of culture at the Musée de l’Orangerie (6), the French monarchs’ former greenhouse just off the Place de la Concorde. You are transported by the room full of Claude Monet’s water lilies and feel your blood pressure lowering as you settle into the rhythm of Parisian life.

Next, hop the metro back to the hotel and slip upstairs for a late afternoon nap before primping for a fashionably late dinner. You’ve made reservations in cool- again Pigalle, where you dine on the back patio at Hôtel Amour (7) among the very young and the very thin. Order some French comfort fare and raise a glass to your exceptionally tired feet.

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1 First stop: coffee. Strong, Cuban coffee in a demitasse cup from Versailles Restaurant (3555 SW Eighth St.), a landmark eatery on Calle Ocho in Miami’s Little Havana. When you get to South Beach—SoBe for short—a vibrant strip of sand where retirement community meets party town, you’ll be glad for the boost. (0:20)

2 Driving to the beach, enjoy the view on Julia Tuttle Causeway, a four-mile bridge over Biscayne Bay. If it’s sunny—and it’s always sunny—stop at Wells Fargo (750 Arthur Godfrey Rd.) to discover one of the city’s best-kept secrets: dozens of enormous iguanas lying in the parking lot. (1:00)

3 Once on the South Beach strip, you’re feeling a bit Hollywood, so you stop by Love Hate Tattoo Studio (1360 Washington Ave.; www.lovehatetatoos.com)—the home of TLC’s Miami Ink. You’re just browsing, of course; the dragon for your shoulder will have to wait for another day. (1:40)

4 For something you can take with you, head to The Webster Miami (1220 Collins Ave.; www.thewebstermiami.com), a three-story boutique housed in a stellar example of South Beach’s famous Art Deco architecture. It features the best labels—women’s and men’s—along with accessories and photography exhibitions. (2:15)

5 Stick with the Deco theme as you head to The Wolfsonian-FIU (1001 Washington Ave.; www.wolfsonian.org). This very SoBe museum showcases a permanent collection of industrial art, political propaganda and architectural models created from 1885 to 1945. (3:15)

6 Given the climate, an occasional beverage is key. Good thing Larios on the Beach (820 Ocean Dr.; www.bongoscubancafe.com) is only a couple of blocks away. Try one of their mojitos; they were voted the best in town by Miami Herald readers. (4:10)

7 Before returning to the airport, find your way to Smith & Wollensky (1 Washington Ave.; www.smithandwollensky.com) in the spectacular South Pointe Park, which recently underwent a $22 million renovation. You’ll have a front-row seat to watch cruise ships come in and out of the port, the perfect complement to a shellfish bouquet. (5:00)