Chanel – New quietly infiltrates Old

Chanel, like all fashion houses, has a look [Gucci is leather and interlocking horsebit, YSL is 1960s cafe polemics and Burberry will always – in part – be in the trenches, to traverse three countries in one sentence].

In the nineteen nineties, when fashion became of interest to the emerging middle classes, and following a boom and bust period for several major brands, branding and identity came to the fore, with the corollary that popular past looks and lines could be mined to please a loyal customer base, whilst also reinforcing the marquee.

The styles we take for granted now, whether it be Armani‘s double breasted suits and generous pants or Gaultier‘s corsets and cones, can be traced to this era, following a nascent demand for label-centric clothing mastered by Nike and Levi‘s.

These days, customers, we are told, are too savvy to simply buy-in . In truth we just have more choice, which makes us no less susceptable to bad or new ones, but more open to alternatives.

Of course, fashion brands have always been about reinvention. Without it, since those icon-making days, the whole treadmill would have stopped turning [and nearly has thanks to the internet and fake goods].

The difference now is the way [the best] fashion houses invert the archetype: the relaxing of formalism, the full-circle re-appraiasal of logo as retro-shift, hybridization [of formality, gender, purpose, materials and fit] and in its highest realization, a melding of branding as [non logo] design component [Balmain], colours and patterns [Burberry] and hardware [Gucci].

Streetwear has played a part in all this: wannabe fashion students scraping together what they can to buy branded goods, and stitching together the rest. It’s a process that has informed the best of the current stock [Jeremy Scott or Chitose Abe] as the boundaries of ettiquette and appropriacy diverge and are replaced with post-postmodern allusions with intricate high impact silhouettes

None of the above really applies to Chanel. It retains a focus on quality and on beauty as its core values. Chanel‘s ‘angle’ has always been anchored in its marquee [Coco’s black always lingers, as does the smell – regardless of whether you’ve actually smelled it – of Number 5, while Chanel designer/legend Karl Lagerfeld only had one black and white look.

The brand’s client base has also stayed rooted in the same economic demographic just as its geographical one has spread East and South of Europe. There’s no diffusion line, while there is modernity there’s a continued embrace of Jackie Kennedy-esque era jackets and dresses, and while there’s athleisure [of a sort] it’s either conservatively coloured or tastfully logo’d [by way of part concession.] Yes, Lagerfeld brought sexuality and cheek, the line increased in vampiness through his reign, but for an empire that has been built on Coco’s legacy of cutting the corset and apron strings, Chanel has resisted the flamboyant and far seeking adventures that its own risks initally allowed.


References for Virginie Viard’s take on the Chanel spirit for its Resort collection were osteninsibly in keeping with its tendency towards glass house/art house fair, with Jean Cocteau a nod to the epoch that made [and still makes] French culture and Chanel great, but that also affirms that this is where great ideas still come from. In adding a later 20th Century flavour, Viard puts her own imprint on the collection, primarily through the multiplexity of black and white that acknowledges the chess board ettiquette of wearing Chanel, while moving it into more complicated and fulsome areas that aspire to punk and modish freedom.

With Chanel you’ll always be referencing the past and adhering to a well-established code, but that past and that code can be interpreted, so it seems.


Saint Laurent’s Mystery Tour

Saint Laurent headed north for its A/W 2021 collection. About the exact locale, nobody knows other than – as a scouting and modelling exercise – it can’t have been very cosy.

The ouvre of the collection video is reminiscent of the 2012 Tom Cruise movie Oblivion: sweeping shots across grandiose plateaus and charcoal vistas and climbs. Anthony Vaccarello’s explantion that, “It’s the idea of a girl in a landscape where she doesn’t belong” partly matches themes from said film. But where Olga Kurylenko and Cruise pursued a return to Eden-like innocence via sci-fi action, Saint Laurent‘s girls are anchored in the secular terrain, no matter how damn cold their steel capped toes may be.

As a fashion ideal, the sparse/nature narrative runs counter to the likelihood that only very wealthy ladies in manufactured environs will wear these clothes (Kurylenko had a jumpsuit and a spaceship).

But muted colours and slivers of texture are where YSL usually takes off; metallic and muted hues [chartreuse, daikon green, burnt amber] that intergrate with and bleed from the landscape as they would a modern city, with enough suffused shine and edge that it rubs against the zeitgiest or the wilds.

Perhaps a return to the elements or a simpler ‘Eden’ is the less-is-more conclusion. YSL has always been skinny and cropped but here it’s more bare bones. Vaccarello talks about fun, but this is skimpy as deconstruction of the superflous.

Even existenially stripping is still stripping though; Vogue‘s Mark Holgate posited the look somewhere between [rock] goddess and post-punk disrepute, but is doesn’t take much imagination to see Mika Schneider in underpants as a provocation on France’s new consent laws, or at least an aggravation of the politics of sexual power.

The line is fine: these ‘runaway’ girls – none of them beyond a size six, with miniscule busts – look like they want to challenge the Lolita paradox: that they are nothing more than desirable, and nothing less than all powerful.

Or maybe they simply want to do their own thing. Tailleurs are a middle finger push-back at any prude criticism. YSL’s eternal combination of the ‘debacle’ with the sophisticated teases us with models who may have eloped sexual or polemic definitions, but those jackets let us know who’s running the show. Layers of necklaces and other jewels consolidate the sense of grabbing what they can before they escape. Cold weather makes short thrift. This scene is only temporary


NYFW – Towards a New Kind of Fashion Show

In the absence of conventional shows at NYFW, a number of alternative presentation models have been adopted with varying degrees of success: film shorts (Christian Cowan), runway shows sans audiences (Jason Wu, Raisavenessa) and capsule-like videos in static locations (Epimonia, The Blonds).

What most of these shows highlight is the extent to which – under normal conditions – the full show adds value. We generally think we’re at the show for the clothes, but lockdown challenges this presupposition; most attempts at something like normality fall short now. What’s needed (and only been partly attempted) is a new visual medium.

C+ Plus Series attempted a digitally enhanced techno fest that matched the sci-fi garb of its Asian models. Christian Cowan broke the mould (and the fifth wall) with a comical sketch featuring Bowen Yang and Chloe Fineman that seemed part camp send up and only part fashion show.

Marcell Von Berlin just sounds serious, and the show (at an abandoned Malibu pad with panoramic views of sky and ocean) was also (ironically) weighted. But with a heavy duty techno soundtrack you got pop sultriness, even if none of the models turned out to be Dua Lipa. Outstanding colours, fine materials, a lack of compromise or toning down. It even verged on vulgarity (if not actual ugliness) from time to time. This is what I want in a fashion show – fusion with film to provide a visual feast that can stand without a crowd.


NYFW – How we Dress and Who we Dress For

NYFW has been noticeable for a number of reasons this season, some of them obviously related to the pandemic (the utilization of big, empty spaces) and some of them corollaries of it: irrespective that bigger designers and fashion houses always have more money to spend on lavish shows with impressive locations, what’s interesting now is how much difference the lack of a huge crowd makes in neutralizing ambience, ‘importance’ and a sense of occasion.

Other art forms have suffered similar modifications to the platforms and environs in which they are presented (film is the most obvious case in point – it was exclusively absorbed as a recorded medium and premiered in the public sphere) and pandemic restrictions have affected the communal aspect of much ‘artistic’ appreciation and validation.

The obvious point to take from this in fashion is that the ‘show’ experience is lessened, but also that the lack of an audience creates a more level presentational playing field, and draws the online viewer’s attention more directly to the clothes being presented.

Of course, a crowd, music and good lighting can help embellish and clarify themes that the designer wants to draw attention to. A lack of a crowd is also detrimental to those designers who don’t have a fortune to spend; smaller intimate venues (like studios or converted shops) need a throng of onlookers to create atmosphere in the absence of pricey production.

There’s also the argument that some designers –  like Prouenza Schouler – are better suited to a pared-down presentation because their clothes have an austere or simple vibe and/or because they’re more work-oriented. This is actually the case with a lot of New York designers.

Elsewhere this week, Bronx and Banco delivered a black-and-silver take on a girls-night-out that a Las Vegas Raiders cheerleaders’ party would envy. There was a sexy glad-rags element to the whole affair that would have been missing had a crowd been present.

So in general, I think that crowd-free egalitarianism is a good thing. But the absence of ‘external stakeholders’ (the press, buyers and public) poses additional questions about fashion in the digital, pandemic and environmentally conscious era: We’re moving into an era when many forms of travel for business and pleasure are becoming undesirable or unecessary; If we’re staying in more, and if nothing but a camera is physically present when we dress, then who are we dressing for? Eventually designers will grapple with this question through their clothes; until then, enjoy the show.


Spaced Out at NYFW Feb 2021

NYFW is very concerned with space this season. The shows are already notable as much for their choice of architecture as much for the clothes – Raisavanessa utilized post-modern metal and glass while Jason Wu opened his own ‘General Store’ in Noho. Both shows sans guests, of course. This emptiness only advocates a sense of iconography – models walking uncluttered catwalks (or in Wu’s case a showroom laid out like a vegetable market) have the effect of placing more emphasis on the clothes and of taking us back to a time when buildings in New York could be traversed – door to escalator – without having to turn to avoid someone coming the other way.

This works especially well at NYFW because the city matches – better than any of the other major fashion week –  its locations with its ideals. New York creates clothes for women who choose to work (why else would you be in Manhattan?) and Manhattan is physically, geographically right for fashion shows. Why use a purpose built gallery space or disused church when you can wheel the clothes hangers out and use your own studio or (during Covid) politely ask the cleaners and security to vacate and use an old bank.  

There’s a lot going on with designs too, of course. At RVNG the whole idea of bohemianism plays up the idea of having lots of time and money without needing to do anything. You could quite easily imagine these gorgeous creations being worn to a party in a time since-past or equally to the owner’s spare room. Of course people are still working, just not in their workplaces just yet and seeing beautiful people strut their stuff around Manhattan is something to behold.

Fashion Business Style Tips

5 Streetwear sites that actually represent the street

Generally the people at Vogue send a photographer to the shows each season just to snap all the trendy buyers and (fortunate) students on their way in.

These people are frequently wearing something notional from the country or label whose show they’re going to see – they’re dressed as an acolyte of Gucci or in the Chanel pants and floral tie they own, and – of course – they know fashion.

This is not strictly streetwear. It’s neither highly representational of what fashionable people wear around major city streets, nor is it especially inspiring (it is aspirational in a sense) or even true to the way the designers of those labels piece together their ideas – stealing, ripping and borrowing from their label’s respective history, what is going on in their head, what the client-base wants and what is happening on the street.

Streetwear that is informed by designer labels can be a valid contributor to a vital scene and to a vivacious sense of personal style. Sometimes it works in the opposite direction too: Nicolas Ghesquière at Louis Vuitton has advanced a future synthesis by looking in all directions (geographically and chronologically) including the streets to create superb lines; The kind of collections that every authentic fashion follower dreams of achieving with at least one outfit.

But one of the problems with streetwear (or rather the term) is that it tends to encompass exclusively what street photographers are looking for when they prowl specific neighbourhoods looking for specific type of dress. It’s a little like creating a portfolio of New Yorkers with all of them being models; like expecting all of us to be able to afford and manufacture the LV look.

Yes, fantasy and costume has an important place in fashion and its streetwear incarnation, but the focus on brand-heavy, costumized clothing ideals is misleading on a number of levels.

It creates tropes about what ‘fashion’ people wear (and what non-fashion people can’t). It frequently expounds the virtues of dressing with money – a kind of philosophy of fashion in itself. And lastly and most harmfully, it creates a dialogue about fashion and the street that is completely out of tune with what the majority (and the extremely stylish minority) actually do wear, whilst placing an emphasis on extroversion.

Tokyo may have provided the underpinning for such a philosophy. The alleys of Harajuku are still a haven for streetwear afficionados and cosplay innovators, and the city as a whole is a place where moneyed working people will wear expensive luxury items well. Western streetwear practioners have, to an extent, embraced these values at the expense of their own cultural heritage and a more innate sense of personal style.

That’s not to discredit the immense value that Japan has brought to fashion; just that the West has misapropriated aspects of these forms of dress and self-representation, as I’ve outlined at length previously.

Street style is analogous to all style, as long as you’re wearing it on the street. It’s about an adherence to personal preferences of fit, colour and formality. It’s also a matter of attempting to maximize these elements without resorting to excess funds – in this sense it’s like a working project. It’s also never about following (either a designer’s philosophy or a crowd’s preferences), but leading.

The following five sites are examplars of promoting this particular philosphy of fashion insofar as they’re inclined away from showing only how people dress to and around fashion shows.

They are also interested to some extent in promoting the character and sense of personal style of the people wearing the outfits.

That’s not to say that there is anything particularly deep in this approach: all fashion is objectively viewed and subjectively experienced, but it’s important that fashion is not just allowed to parade as a name-checking exercise, and that people are shown attempting to style in a way that suits them (whether they succeed or fail in anyone’s eyes). Not partly succeed because they spent enough and tick the right boxes for a Vogue photographer.