Presley Gerber was beautiful. Almost startlingly so. He had the genetics of two models, the face of his famous mother, Cindy Crawford, and an entrance into a world most people spend their lives trying to reach. He was born into money, fame, access and extraordinary privilege. He became a model himself, working for major fashion houses.

Kaia and Presley Walker Gerber

His sister, Kaia Gerber, became one of the most recognizable models of her generation. From the outside, the Gerber family seemed to possess the kind of life our culture continually tells us is the prize.

Rande Gerber, Cindy, Kaia and Presley Gerber

Presley Gerber died Sunday at 27 years old. According to the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner, he died at a rehabilitation facility. His family has confirmed his death and asked for privacy during what their representative described as a “very difficult and painful time.” As of this writing, no cause of death has been determined.

Rande Gerber, Cindy, Kaia and Presley Gerber

That last fact matters. We do not know what killed Presley Gerber, and his death should not become an invitation for strangers to diagnose him after the fact. What we do know is what he chose to tell us while he was alive.Presley had spoken publicly about depression and his struggles with mental health. He created “Mental Health Mondays,” using his social-media platform to discuss those struggles and try to help other people experiencing their own. Years earlier, he tattooed the word “misunderstood” across his face, later explaining that he chose it because that was how he had felt throughout his life.

In December 2025, his disclosures became considerably more troubling. He spoke publicly about panic attacks, loss and the medications he was taking. He also expressed fear about medication withdrawal and frustration that, after seeing numerous psychiatrists, he felt he needed more direction in managing what he had been prescribed. He told followers that he was speaking because he hoped someone listening would realize that they were not alone.

There is something heartbreaking about that now.

We live in a culture that is very good at measuring what somebody has and remarkably bad at understanding what somebody carries. Presley Gerber had beauty. He had famous parents. He had money. He had access. He had opportunities most aspiring models could only dream about. None of those things tells us what it felt like to wake up inside his mind every morning.

That may be the hardest thing for people to understand about suffering. Pain does not conduct a financial background check before entering the room.

Money can buy excellent doctors. It can buy treatment, privacy, beautiful surroundings and opportunities unavailable to millions of other people. Those advantages are real and should not be romanticized away. But money cannot guarantee peace. Beauty cannot guarantee self-worth. Fame cannot guarantee that somebody feels seen. Loving parents cannot climb inside an adult child’s mind and repair everything hurting there. Sometimes the people who appear to have been handed the entire world are fighting battles invisible to everyone looking at them.

Presley’s life also reminds us how little a photograph tells us. We look at beautiful people standing on red carpets and unconsciously complete the rest of the story ourselves. Beautiful means happy. Wealthy means safe. Famous means fulfilled. Successful means whole. None of those equations is reliable.

Perhaps that is why the word Presley once chose to put on his face feels so haunting today: misunderstood. We cannot know everything he meant by it, and we shouldn’t pretend that we do. But we know that a young man surrounded by enormous privilege nevertheless felt misunderstood strongly enough to write the word across the face the world considered so beautiful. There is an uncomfortable lesson in that.

We spend enormous amounts of our lives chasing the things we imagine will finally make us safe from unhappiness. More money. A better body. A beautiful face. Recognition. Connections. The right family. The right address. The right career. We look at people who possess those things and think they have somehow crossed an invisible border into a life where ordinary human suffering cannot reach them. There is no such border.

Presley Gerber was someone’s son. He was someone’s brother. He was a young man who struggled, talked publicly about those struggles and tried to turn some of what he had experienced into something that might help another person. Whatever the medical examiner ultimately determines about how he died, that deserves to be remembered alongside the photographs, the famous surname and the headlines.

Twenty-seven is terribly young. And somewhere tonight, behind all the celebrity attached to this story, there is a mother and father who have lost their son and a sister who has lost her brother. Fame does not protect them from that grief either.

You can be gorgeous. You can be famous. You can be born into money, prestige and opportunity. You can seemingly have the world waiting at your feet. And you can still hurt.

Perhaps Presley Gerber’s life asks us to stop assuming we know who has everything.

Sometimes everything we can see has absolutely nothing to do with what is happening inside.

G.H. Harding

BACHARACH FOR SURE — Regular readers of this column know that I hold a special place in my universe for Burt Bacharach. His music, from “Alfie” to “What The World Needs Now” are just exquisite works. Each one totally special but fused with Bachrach’s complex chord structures and time signatures. More often than not, you can spy a Bacharach-tune immediately.

 At the Marjorie S. Deane Little Theater on NYC’s West Side, located in a YMCA no less, there’ s majestic show going on called Going Bachrach. 

With a terrific band led by Adrian Galante, and singers Ava Locknar, Meecah and John Pagano, they tackled Bacharach songs that are simply delightful to hear. Be it “Alfie,” or “Don’t Make Me Over,” these are just timeless classics in the Great American Songbook. They also did another personal favorite, Burt’s own “This Guy’s in Love With You.” A classic for sure from 1968!

I am a Bachrach fan, but the album he did with Elvis Costello in 1998, entitled Painted From Memory, is my all-time favorite. It’s even the album I’d take as a Desert Island Disc. Costello said that when the pair decided to team up, the songs they would create would be about lost love. Each and every song on the album is joyous and bittersweet. My favorite track on the album is “God Give Me Strength” and the team performed it. Just incredible. Take a listen:

Burt Bacharach and John Pagano

Pagano, who toured with Bacharach for decades, paused at one point to introduce a special guest in the audience, Burt’s widow Jane.

One of the best shows I’ve seen this year. Bacharach’s art was his marvelous songwriting. Staggeringly sensational show.

GOIN HOME — Enroute to my Going Bacharach show, I arrived in midtown a bit early to see what if anything had changed since I worked there some 11 years ago. I got off at 49th and 7th and walked uptown, passing the just re-opened Carnegie Deli. Now it sits about two blocks south from where it originally opened. At 5:15 PM it didn’t look all that crowded, but impressive nonetheless.

I continued on 7th to see the decades-old Wellington Hotel gone, and I suspect a new condo is in-store.

Nordstrom now occupies most of 57th and Broadway, TJ Maxx still occupies 57th and 8th, but Lee’s Art Shop and Salon Ziba are gone forever. Also, the Red Eye Grill is empty too, but the wonderful Trattoria Dell’Arte and sweet-shop Myzel’s,still stands.

I said to Tom Cuddy, after a brief, but satisfying dinner at the Astro on 55th and Sixth and who would join me for the show, it’s amazing what’s new, but also amazing what has stayed. It felt basically the same, but the foot traffic as well as the actual traffic has increased substantially.

I guess you can go home again!

SHORT TAKES – RIP Duncan Sheik. Loved his “Barely Breathing” and Broadway’s Spring Awakening. So sad. Take a read here: https://www.ocregister.com/2026/09/18/duncan-sheik-obituary/?utm_email=5484F4615516C44984F46420F6&g2i_eui=03856d5b039d3c9a315bd8ce19c296fb5da104b4694ec00c727ed48a7a8ae1ea&g2i_source=newsletter&active=no&lctg=5484F4615516C44984F46420F6&utm_source=listrak&utm_medium=email&utm_term=https%3a%2f%2fwww.ocregister.com%2f2026%2f09%2f18%2fduncan-sheik-obituary%2f&utm_campaign=scng-orange_county_register-newscycle&utm_content=curated …

Micky Dolenz at Ameoba/West Hollywood

Here’s Micky Dolenz’s at last week in-store appearance at Amoeba Music in Hollywood tub-thumping his new EP Timeless … Happy Bday Donnie Kehr; Mark Bego; Richard Branciforte; and Suzan Kressel!

NAMES IN THE NEWS — Jarvis Cocker; Tom & Lisa Cuddy; John Boulos; Tony King; Pete Bennett; Allan Steckler; Cori Gardner; Roger Clark; Tom & Lisa Cuddy; John Sykes; Keith Sherman; Bill McCuddy; Tony Bennett; Bill Maher; Cindy Adams; David Fricke; Ken Sharp; Tone Scott; Mark Simone; Herb Rosen; Judy Kaufman; and CHIP!

Images on this page have been licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.

Over the years, T2C had the pleasure of covering Bob Mackie on several occasions, giving us our own glimpses—and photographs—of the man behind all that extraordinary glamour.

Bob Mackie, Marilyn Maye

There are costume designers who dress performers, and then there was Bob Mackie, who understood that sometimes a costume could become as famous as the person wearing it. Mackie, the legendary designer whose feathers, beads, rhinestones, sequins and wicked sense of theatricality helped define American glamour for more than half a century, died September 14 in Palm Springs, California. He was 87. His death from pneumonia was confirmed by his longtime design director, Joe McFate.

Bob Mackie and Marilyn Maye Photo By Genevieve Rafter Keddy

Cher may have been his most enduring canvas, but Mackie’s extraordinary list of women included Carol Burnett, Dolly Parton, Diana Ross, Tina Turner, Barbra Streisand, Bernadette Peters, Liza Minnelli, Mitzi Gaynor, Bette Midler and Ann-Margret. He understood something essential about stars: you weren’t simply dressing a body. You were helping create the image the audience would remember. For Dolly, that included the glorious butterfly gown she wore for the 1979 television special Dolly & Carol in Nashville, another perfect marriage of Mackie’s extravagance and a performer whose personality could actually carry it.

Bob Mackie and Cher

And remember we did.

Mackie created Cher’s daring, feathered sheer ensemble for the 1974 Met Gala and the enormous feathered headdress and midriff-baring black ensemble she wore to the 1986 Academy Awards—looks that helped change what a woman could wear on a red carpet. Decades before today’s stars routinely arrived at premieres dressed to become the next morning’s photograph, Mackie and Cher understood fashion as an event.

The Costumes by Bob Mackie

But Mackie could be every bit as brilliant when the point was laughter rather than seduction. His work throughout the 11-year run of The Carol Burnett Show demonstrated an entirely different side of his genius. His most famous comic creation remains the green velvet curtain dress Burnett wore as Starlett O’Hara in the legendary Gone With the Wind parody “Went with the Wind!”—complete with the curtain rod still running through the shoulders. The joke worked because Mackie didn’t design something merely ridiculous. He made it ridiculous and fabulous.

His relationship with Broadway stretched across nearly five decades. Mackie’s Broadway costume credits began with the 1971 revival of On the Town, followed by Lorelei in 1974, where he designed Carol Channing’s costumes, Debbie in 1976, Platinum in 1978, The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Public in 1994 and Moon Over Buffalo in 1995. He designed Carol Burnett’s costumes for the 1999 Broadway production of Stephen Sondheim’s Putting It Together and Liza Minnelli for Minnelli on Minnelli that same season. In 2009, he designed Bernadette Peters’ gowns for her special Broadway concert benefiting Broadway Barks and Broadway Cares.

The Cher Show photo by Joan Marcus

Then came The Cher Show. Opening at the Neil Simon Theatre on December 3, 2018, the musical told Cher’s life through three actresses portraying the star at different stages of her career. There was really only one person who could design the costumes. Mackie had not simply dressed Cher during that history. He was part of the history.

Bob Mackie:,Diana Ross. Original Design for a Mattel Doll. Fashion. Motown Superstar. Diva. 1990s, ca.1990s

In one of Broadway’s more delicious pieces of theatrical symmetry, Bob Mackie became a character in The Cher Show while simultaneously designing the clothes surrounding that character. Michael Berresse portrayed him onstage, while the real Mackie recreated some of the extraordinary looks that had helped construct Cher’s public image over the preceding half-century. The production contained hundreds of costumes, including painstaking recreations of some of Cher’s most recognizable Mackie creations.

Bob Mackie during the 2019 Drama Desk Awards at Steinway Hall on June 2, 2019 in New York City.

In 2019, Broadway finally gave him the prize that had somehow eluded him. Bob Mackie won the Tony Award for Best Costume Design of a Musical for The Cher Show. He also won the Drama Desk and Outer Critics Circle Awards for the production. Remarkably, despite a Broadway career dating to 1971, The Cher Show brought him his first Tony nomination—and his first win.

Bob Mackie during The 69th Annual Outer Critics Circle Awards Dinner at Sardi’s on May 23, 2019 in New York City.

There is something particularly satisfying about that award. Mackie had spent his career creating clothes for people who walked onto stages to receive trophies. This time, he was the one walking up to collect one.

Bob Mackie attends The 69th Annual Outer Critics Circle Awards Dinner at Sardi’s on May 23, 2019 in New York City.

Broadway was only one part of an enormous career. Mackie won nine Emmy Awards, received three Academy Award nominations and was inducted into the Television Academy Hall of Fame in 2002. His film work included Oscar-nominated designs for Lady Sings the Blues, Funny Lady and Staying Alive. In 2019, the Council of Fashion Designers of America honored him with its Geoffrey Beene Lifetime Achievement Award.

Bob Mackie and Ken Page

His influence never became trapped in the era that made him famous. Generations of younger performers and designers continued rediscovering Mackie’s work, and his designs have been worn or referenced by contemporary stars including Miley Cyrus, Taylor Swift and Zendaya. What once scandalized red carpets eventually became the vocabulary of the red carpet itself.

Bob Mackie

That may be Mackie’s greatest legacy. He understood that glamour did not have to apologize for itself.

Bob Mackie

He was not afraid of too many feathers, too many beads, too much sparkle or a woman walking into a room fully aware that every eye was about to turn toward her. Yet beneath all that extravagance was extraordinary technical discipline. Those costumes had to move. They had to survive dancing, quick changes, television schedules and eight-performance Broadway weeks. Fantasy only looks effortless when someone has done an enormous amount of work.

Mackie’s life also contained profound personal loss. His only son, Robin, died in 1993 from an AIDS-related illness, and his longtime partner and fellow costume designer Ray Aghayan died in 2011. Mackie is survived by his former wife, Lulu Porter, his granddaughter Alyssa Townsend and great-granddaughters Kyla and Keira Townsend.

Bob Mackie spent his life making entrances possible.

Cher walking onto a stage seemingly wearing little more than strategically placed beads and absolute confidence. Carol Burnett descending a staircase with a curtain rod across her shoulders. Diana Ross shimmering beneath stage lights. Bernadette Peters wrapped in a gown that seemed designed specifically for the color of her hair. Broadway exploding into a parade of Cher’s life in The Cher Show.

Those images remain because Mackie understood that costume design isn’t decoration. At its best, it tells us who someone is before that person has said a word.

Bob Mackie made clothes that spoke. Most of them said essentially the same thing: Look at her. And we did.