This week, I listened to an interview on the podcast Fashion No Filter with The New York Times’s fashion critic, Vanessa Friedman. And let me tell you, it changed the way I look at fashion.
It’s not like I did a complete one-eighty; I was aware that fashion is political, and that different trends can come out of different societal climates.
A piece of me always hesitated when critiquing fashion; I suppose the cerebral, snobby part of my mind assumed that a truly academic critique would be a stretch. Like those friends we all have to make a show out of wine-tasting, when you know they care less about the wine and more about stunning you with their boldly stated and ill-informed opinions. If I were to give a go at analyzing fashion too much, it would turn in to a hollow exercise, a ditz trying to make something out of nothing.
But man, I wanted there to be something. By “something,” I mean that I always wished for a framework to use, a lens that would make critique make sense, to make it have intrinsic value other than a thinly constructed opinion meant to impress your dinner guests.
And then came Vanessa Friedman and her unapologetically feminist take on fashion critique.
Simply put, and not nearly as eloquently as in her own words, her view on fashion is more of a question and less of an opinion. What are these clothes saying about women? Are they empowering, freeing, allowing her to move through her life, allowing for a full range of self expression? Is it relevant to how we see ourselves today? Is it saying something new, something that strengthens and broadens our sense of what we as women can be?
Let it be known that I was listening to this in the car on the way home from my samba class, where I had just shaken my butt so hard that my cheeks started clapping for me. I went from feeling joyful and connected to my body to joyful, connected to my body, and intensely curious. What an amazing trifecta, no? As I drove, I catapulted into a new, fertile cloud of thought that made my mind’s gears click together in a way that they hadn’t in a very long time.
And what a timely thing to discover – smack in the middle of Haute Couture Week, when I am constantly checking the day’s shows and reading reviews and processing what it all means.
The shows this week meant a lot – they sure said a lot, literally, figuratively, and I’m sure, accidentally. Please find below my short takes on a handful of the couture presentations this week, and how feminism wove in and out of each.
Dior
One of the first to show this week, Dior was a circus. Literally. They set up a tent and hired acrobats to perform as models walked through the tent/runway.
I am not a fan of circuses. I find them creepy, outdated, and don’t get me started on the use of animals. Knowing this about myself, I tried to step back and view the show with impartial eyes.
What I saw was that Maria Grazia Chiuri, Dior’s (first female) artistic director, was superimposing playful, goofy elements onto the traditionally ultra-feminine Dior aesthetic. But what comes with a circus theme is something more than that; it’s a little brooding, a little dark, that tension between your outer, performance, life and whatever is going on in your internal space. I think most people relate to that tension to some degree.
The difference here is that Chiuri is saying “no” to a one-note representation of women. We can be elegant, we can be goofy, we can be melancholy, we can struggle with that balance of our outer and inner lives. In short, we’re people. That shouldn’t be revolutionary, but is sure feels that way.
And then there’s the much more literal layer of feminism happening – that acrobat troupe they hired is all female. As my girl Friedman said in her New York Times review on Tuesday, the acrobats spent the 15 minute show “balancing on one another’s shoulders, reaching ever higher. As an opening act for the couture, the metaphor was hard to miss.”
As the oh-so-trite and oh-so-true saying goes, we rise by lifting others.
(And I still find circuses creepy. Some things just can’t be changed).
Viktor & Rolf
So much more than that Flowerbomb sample that comes with your Sephora order.
I have to say, when I first saw this collection, my gut reaction was, “they designed this to go viral on social media.” And it did. Part of the reason was, well … just look at it:
Would I ever wear that? Absolutely not. But that’s not the point (see Monday’s post on why).
While not at all subtle, the collection is deeper than simply being Instagrammable. In fact, part of the genius of this collection is that it is NOT subtle at all.
Some things need to be shouted, because you’ve asked nicely, you’ve said it firmly, you’ve stated the evidence, and seen no change.
Like evidence of disproportionate arrests and police brutality on communities of color, wage inequality, low voter turnout, climate change, that the trickle-down effect is bullshit, or that Ikea raised the price of their hot dogs from $0.50 to $0.75. To that, they present:
The idea is that women have something to say, and that sometimes in order to be heard we have to make a stink. Even if that means coming off as a “bitch.”
Which leads me to this number:
And this:
Raise your hand if you’ve ever had trouble with that fine line between being “too nice” and “leading someone on,” and being “a bitch” because you’re trying to protect yourself. I’ve had periods in my life where that was a line I had to walk every day, and most women I know would say the same.
I once let a stranger kiss me in a dark parking lot because I was afraid to “be rude.” Then, ironically given what would eventually become of him, I laughed at loud at Matt Lauer’s cameo in the Netflix show Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt: “I’m always amazed at what women will do because they’re afraid to be rude.”
I have so much to say about this collection. About how they’re using traditionally “girly” shapes and a very “feminine” fabric, tulle, as if mocking how women are infantilized and diminished. Then they’re exploding it into huge shapes, as if to say “you want girly? I’ll give you girly,” and flipping the bird to the idea that women should not take up space. It’s a kick in the teeth to chauvinism.
The designs scream, I look demure, but I am a HUMAN with a point of view, and I am H E R E.
Amen.
Valentino
Pierpaolo Piccioli, Valentino’s creative director, set about correcting the traditional concept of who couture is made for. Because of the mess that is colonial history, structural racism, etc, couture is marketed to white women by mostly white models.
Thankfully, Piccioli wants to change course (although I doubt he can to much about the unequal concentration of wealth in the world, but whatevs). He evidently reenvisioned, according to Friedman’s review, numerous famed couture editorials with black models, using a mood board with old photoshoots and different versions of a black Virgin Mary as inspiration. As a result, 45 of the 65 models were black.
Here’s the thing – a lot of times, especially in high fashion, feminism is marketed towards an upper class white consumer. To me, and to a lot of people, that isn’t true feminism because it only recognizes one socioeconomic bracket. That’s where intersectional feminism comes in – if we’re only advocating for equality from a white woman’s perspective, we’re leaving important voices out. This is a team effort!
The collection relied on bold, saturated color, often in large volume and/or in unlikely combinations, creating an effortless sense of individuality. And that was the point – to emphasize the fact that style is a form of expression of YOU and your perspective. And according to Piccioli, that individualism is directly linked to the need for diversity on the runway. I would argue to extend that need for diversity into the atelier, into the board room, and into the client base.
It made my heart sing to see Piccioli’s casting (which included Naomi Campbell at the finale). My fear is that this is a “band aid” effort, or a gimmick meant to drive the artistic engine of this collection. I certainly hope not – I would love to see this example raise our expectations of what casting should look like, beyond the tokenism of one or two models of color.
I’d also like to see models of different body types and ages, but hey – baby steps.
What are your thoughts?
There are so many other designers with important and interesting messaging – Guo Pei with her east-meets-west warrior-queen aesthetic, Iris van Herpen with her tech savvy commentary on our oceans, and many more.
What were your favorite pieces from Couture Week? What did you take from the collections?
love
Stig.
