RE: The Anti-Circus of Menswear

I feel obliged to reply to Susanne Madsen's recent article on Dazed Digital. Not just because I am the one pictured most prominently on it (there's a lol in here somewhere), but more that I am saddened at the profound lack of empathy towards those of us whom she considers – and let's not beat around the big top here – circus freaks.

Madsen's argument is that London Fashion Week is a 'frenzied spectacle' in comparison to its calmer cousin, London Collections: Men. Indeed, LC:M has come into its own over the past few seasons, and designers like Katie Eary, James Long and Meadham Kirchoff have propounded menswear into a domain of success previously unknown to the industry.

But this isn't what matters to Madsen. She is more concerned with preserving LC:M as what she calls one of fashion's best-kept secrets, and with keeping it a 'circus-free zone'. And she's not clowning around. Madsen envisions LC:M as a happy-clappy school outing, where the female fashion editors dress in a 'relaxed mood', swapping their Jimmy Choos for J Brand flats. Madsen then contradicts herself: "The menswear shows show less of a disconnect between runway and reality" yet, apparently "it’s still about what’s walking down the runway rather than what’s parading around outside." Here's an idea Susanne: how about we make LFW and LC:M judgement-free zones.

"You get a lot less bitching and a lot more people who actually seem to enjoy themselves at menswear." What? Strangely enough, I always have a fantastic time at fashion week, and the only bitching I heard was from people like you, incessantly whinging about the looks on the street rather than paying attention to the clothes on the catwalks.

Curiously, the article is illustrated exclusively with images of men dressed up at fashion week. Am I missing something, or is this a dig focused only at men who wish to dress up? I see, I see. The medieval idea that it's fine for women to be eccentric, to peacock themselves (see Anna Dello Russo), yet men are to be confined to the 'dapper' cages of suits, ties and tasteful pocket squares. Anything else is considered bizarre and over the top. We have forgotten, again, that fashion should be breaking these barriers down, not reinforcing them. Tut tut.

But perhaps I am being too rash, too hot-headed. Perhaps Madsen means only to say that those of us who attend menswear are less worried about getting snapped by the street style paps. Dressing up isn't always intended to stimulate a reaction from the outside; sometimes it's a lot more about how it makes you feel from within. If you take anything from this article, please, please, take that.


As I have said before, fashion is one of the few realms in which 'circus-types' are able to dress up without fear of abuse and judgement. Why be in fashion if you are so distressed by what people are wearing outside on the streets? Keep your eyes on the runway if you are offended.





                                         I'm having a great time I promise

Madsen hopes that things will stay 'congenial' at LC:M. Let me assure you Susanne, that I, for one, will make sure that the circus is in town, season after season. I'll see you at the shows.

THIS MUCH I KNOW

It's now been one year since I completed my degree, and I'm considering the progress I've made.

Life after graduation is, perhaps predictably, a disheartening anti-climax. As the weeks pile on top of one another, post-university life becomes stale faster than that Sainsbury's Basics bread you're still buying. What's worse, the student loan has long dried up, interest-free overdrafts become not-interest-free overdrafts, and that graduate job you were secretly hoping would waltz into your life is off dancing somewhere faraway in the distance.

The moment of truth where you enter the so-called 'REAL WORLD', as so defined by our parents and teachers since we were small, can only defined as a moment of truth in the way that finding out Father Christmas wasn't real can be defined as a moment of truth. If the preconception of the real world is Santa, then the REAL real world is the fat white man in the red suit and hat at the shopping centre that smells of beer and doesn't give a shit whether or not you get what you want for Christmas.

I entered the real world with a dreary thud, and accepting the fact that life moves nowhere without hard work is something that I'm currently struggling to swallow. Digesting it completely seems nigh impossible. But that's just my pessimistic side shining through with its black light.

I work so hard but I'm so lazy, and the fight between the two is exhausting. Some days I want to give up and just stay in bed, and vegetate my life away watching Girls and playing the Sims. But vegetating in the real world gets old. And knowing what you want is paramount; I'm fairly sure that what I do want isn't what I should want. Because all I want at the moment is an easy and boring life; the polar opposite to what I thought I wanted when I started uni. I want someone to tell me that perseverance is key, that it will pay off, that I will be able to say on my deathbed that I wouldn't have changed a thing. Sometimes, caring too much can be suffocating.

THE CIRCUS OF FASHION

It's post-fashion-week in London, and I don't quite know where to start. Post-fashion-week always somehow feels post-apocalyptic. I could write thousands more words on this, but I'll keep it short. We are online, after all.

Fashion is changing. Of course, there is nothing groundbreaking about a statement like that. As Oscar Wilde once said, fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable we have to alter it ever six months. However, these past few seasons, the winds in the fashion industry have changed in ways that neither Wilde nor even Wintour could never have possibly predicted.

The influx of communicative technology into everyday life means that an industry which once was considered inordinately exclusive is now accessible to the masses. Which means that select circle of fashion's elite has been snapped apart, creating an influx of 'self-made' followers of fashion. Of course, the bloggers, camera-whores and dress-ups have always existed, but it was not until now that they had any means to break down the barriers of the industry, i.e. the internet. Fashion war is waging, and the outcome remains unknown. But there are those who have formed their opinions already.

My previous post directed a lukewarm anger at those who were denouncing the so-called 'circus of fashion'. In the nature of a childish tantrum, my rash rage has now subsided, and I am left agreeing with the other. In a fashion. Not entirely. I still believe that dressing outlandishly is perfectly acceptable, and fashion week is a brilliant opportunity to do so.

But I digress. At the core of her argument, Suzy Menkes, High Fashion Priestess of the New York Times, is right. She writes: 'Whether it is the sharp Susie Bubble or the bright Tavi Gevinson, judging fashion has become all about me: Look at me wearing the dress! Look at these shoes I have found! Look at me loving this outfit in 15 different images!' Fashion now revolves, at least to the internet generation, entirely around the self.

Because to us, everything is there to be shared. And instantly so.

New pair of shoes? New instagram photo of them. Maybe even add some hashtags #omgshoes. If not clothes or possessions, instagram profiles are littered with selfies. Varieties on the theme of "#brunette", "#girl", "#makeup", – and sometimes even the sinister "#pretty" – these pictures are autobiographical little snippets of the iphotographer's life.

(It seems to me that the #pretty hashtag isn't there because the author thinks they are actually attractive. They are simply looking for the validation of this from the internet, or, perhaps more accurately, through 'likes'.)

Which brings me back to fashion week, and its 'circus' of posers. Let's for a minute imagine that each click of a camera equals a 'like'. So when one supposed fashionista wanders down the cobbled slopes of Somerset House and is snapped fifty times by the surrounding paparazzi, others will look on, envious of the amount of 'likes' their outfit has produced. So competitions begin. They are subtle, but they are there. Because, really, there are few of us that don't want to be validated, and more so in the world of fashion.

First and foremost, I dress for myself. Yes, of course I also enjoy feeling validated by others, and commanding their attention through what I am wearing. This is human nature, and it's understandable. It is human nature to feel the need, as Stephen Fry has said, to be unique, but also the need to be accepted and loved, to be part of a wider community. Which is why it is so petulant when those 30+ year-olds might say, of goths, for instance, that 'they're all trying to be so different...', with a sneering, self-assured smirk, 'But they all end up looking the same!' in a statement which is essentially a gross oversight of human nature. To be different, but to be part of a community as well. We are sociable animals, and we need to feel part of something. Fashion is one of the primary ways through which we are able to achieve this.

"If fashion is for everyone, is it fashion?" – Suzy Menkes

I doubt I will ever truly understand what Suzy Menkes meant by that statement. I want to scream 'OF COURSE IT IS! WHY CAN'T FASHION BE FOR EVERYONE?!'

But I repress my tongue and turn the idea over and over in my head. Fashion, I slowly realise, is not for everyone. But of course. As an art form, it is not in fashion's nature to appeal to everyone, and although almost everything we do is touched in some way by fashion, that does not mean that everyone must care about it, lest 'follow' it.

My final word on Menkes is that I understand her. Her articles makes it clear that she craves the exclusivity that fashion offers, and it's a sentiment that I respect:

"Something has been lost in a world where the survival of the gaudiest is a new kind of dress parade. Perhaps the perfect answer would be to let the public preening go on out front, while the show moves, stealthily, to a different and secret venue, with the audience just a group of dedicated pros — dressed head to toe in black, of course."

My understanding of this is that Menkes wants people to appreciate fashion, to welcome its beauty, to peer it at cautiously with a critical but caring eye. An eye which is currently on the posing and attention and narcissism, which needs to be brought back to the craft, the art, the clothes. On closer inspection, the gap is clear between those who care about fashion, and those who only care about themselves.

Dressing outlandishly doesn't always mean one or the other, and I do think that we should not write off wacky dressers and assume they know nothing of fashion. People dress the way they do for thousands of reasons, and even if it is for attention, this doesn't necessarily mean they aren't a 'dedicated pro'. What better example than Anna Dello Russo.

A word on fashion bloggers: Those who work hard, and those who truly care about what they are doing, will always float above those who do not. Quality always triumphs eventually, and it would be naive to dismiss a blogger's opinion simply because they do not have an editor's title. We cannot, however, discredit a blogger simply because they are a blogger, neither credit an editor because they are an editor.

These are changing times in murky waters, and predicting the future of fashion is nigh impossible. Lauren Laverne noted in last week's style special Observer Magazine that trends are dead because everything is so instant and accessible through the internet. Which means that thousands of trends are happening all at once, and going in different directions, giving everybody different influences and inspirations through a daily dose of the internet. Which is an amazing thing. And it means that the nature of a trend, 'to go with the flow', is dead, because there is no flow anymore. Just a fluorescent lake of ever-changing colours, thoughts and feelings, just waiting to be tasted.

Be individual but stick together.

Ashley

x

London Fashion Week 2013

So this fashion week I worked for White Noise Magazine. (Click on the link to read my post on the Somerset House Headwear Collections – which were, by the way, astounding).

I managed to blag myself a press pass from a terrifying woman called Sue who told me off for not having a commissioning letter from my editor, but said 'JUST THIS ONCE' to me getting a press pass. 'Thank you so so much. It won't happen again', I wittered, shaking as I filled out my details, feeling like a fraudulent fashion fool. Because fashion is elitist and exclusive. But it's also fabulous.

I recently read some vile articles about the street style at fashion week, berating those who dress up for 'shock value', trivialising them as poseurs who cared nothing for fashion. 'The maddening crowd'. True true true, some of it is for attention. Certain people at fashion week scuttle around the courtyards of Somerset House, pretending to be on their phone, waiting, vying to have their picture taken. But in today's society, it is the norm to want to have your picture taken, for better or worse. It is not 'taking away what fashion should be about', because it isn't for anyone to say what fashion 'should' and 'shouldn't' be. Because fashion is open-minded. Because it's fashion.

http://www.dazeddigital.com/blog/article/15672/1/the-maddening-crowd


The person that wrote it has obviously never dressed up in a way that others might consider ridiculous or mental. This is clear from the fact that they have not addressed how emancipating fashion week can be for those who feel they are not able to dress up the rest of the time for fear of being labelled a poser, a freak, an attention seeker etc etc. Fashion week provides an outlet for this. The courtyard is a safe space to express yourself through your clothing, and a place that applauds difference and creativity, rather than the large majority of the earth that rejects uniqueness. And I know these authors were not necessarily writing about 'uniqueness', but I certainly think that they have not thought about the liberating aspects of fashion when they wrote articles like that one. Everyone wants to feel special, to feel fashionable, to be looked at for the right reasons and not the wrong ones.

I dressed up at fashion week. In the way that I usually dress up to go out to clubs and parties. So whilst I felt like a poser, I did not feel like an imposter. My outfit was for me, no one else, so that I felt creative, so that I felt I was showcasing my mind rather than my body – something that fashion sometimes drifts from. Dressing up for me is a way of extending my mind through my appearance in a world where physical appearance is paramount. Dressing up is my way of destroying that. At least on a personal level.

Impractical, uncomfortable and even dangerous, my outfits and creations made me feel at home at fashion week. Because they were my own. And I felt special, and fabulous and happy. But not because I had my picture taken many times. Because I knew I had injected my own creativity into my style. I knew I had expressed myself. And if others appreciated that, brilliant, if they didn't, whatever. It was never about attention or fawning; it was about emancipation, security and expression.

Sorry for my essay. Here's my LFW AW13 in pictures:






I made my headpiece. It's the first proper thing I've made. I originally made it to go out to the ICA and East Bloc, but I wore it for fashion week and it was really fun. It's an old leather headband, mesh and fabric.



In production.

Based on goat/satyr horns, childhood nightmares, fairytales and genderless human transcendence.



Sancho's blind lady look. In Sancho's own words: 'best fashion week I never saw'.




Photo by Sancho



'Someone needs posing 101'

Slow honey




KTZ afterparty at DSTRKT, photo by Hatnim Lee


 afterafter parties


I made another headpiece in under two hours. I think I might start making them with more finesse and care and actually make a collection for fun, because I loved doing them so much. I met up with Martha properly on this day and it was great to see her. I hope we have many more fashion weeks to look forward to together in the future.


Lewis after the party which posed as a fashion magazine issue launch but just turned out to be a horrid bear party.

Jenkin, Lewis and I before we went to said horrid bear party.





Lewis, me and Krisha at XOYO


group



A couple of weeks before at the Institute of Contemporary Arts for Loulou Reloulou's wonderful PLAYGROUND collection:








I'm off to the box now, bye bye. Also I am going down part time in my shitty shitty job. And I'm so excited. I might even blog more.

Sorry for my tone, I feel that it wasn't quite right. Speak soon,

Ashley

xx

WHERE NEXT?

More a wail of despair than a question, what am I going to do with my life is a sickly thought that is plaguing me more and more frequently. I think about all of these different things I could do with my days, or which path I could take. And none of it even seems that appealing. If someone called me up and told me that I could have Anna Wintour's job tomorrow, all I would think would be oh shit I really can't be arsed with that right now. Maybe I need a holiday.

I'm constantly comparing myself to other people and it is EXHAUSTING. I keep telling myself not to sell my soul for money and to concentrate on my writing and art and education. But I'm working in a shop selling my soul for six pounds fucking fifty an hour.

Call a higher power, tell them they've made some mistake; I was supposed to be working on my second novel by now and editing a top magazine, not counting how many items someone wants to take into the changing room.

So at the moment, I'm living my life through dressing up. So I tell myself that I want to do fashion. But have you read Vogue lately? Where's the intelligent writing, the deep thought? An industry painted as superficial by those who don't look quite closely enough, fashion is more than pretty pictures and styling clothes to make them look good so that they are sold to people with too much money. But the industry floats on that money and without it would sink faster than Galliano's career. So what change can possible be made? Crazy how 'creativity' can get so lost and obscured.

Thus dressing up is my outlet and my little protest against lost creativity. How desperately romantic (and self-absorbed) of me. But when you're finger-spacing hangers for hours a day and all of your thoughts become deeper and more volatile, some kind of imaginative explosion has to happen every once in a while.

And last Wednesday night I was powdered to perfection at The Box in Soho, sipping free champagne and dancing to a remix of Fergie's Glamorous which particularly emphasised the 'IF U AIN'T GOT NO MONEY TAKE YO BROKE ASS HOME' part. But like, 'ain't no' is a double negative, so really most of the other people in there would have been taking THEIR asses home, and I would have been left in there alone dressed like a gothic geisha and drinking my free drinks trying not to smudge my black lipstick. (Barry M from Superdrug like £3, really good too).

Hero to Zero though, because on Friday afternoon I was sat in the office at work in front of my manager as she told me that they couldn't afford to have me on the payroll as a visual assistant anymore. But there was still a place for me on the shopfloor, of course, and they did still want to keep me in the company. Okay, I said. I understand. I swallowed my tears and held myself together. Before spending ten minutes crying in the toilets. Before hobbling to the shop to stuff my woeful face with a mars bar and a strawberry ribena. But so what, boo hoo. Fuck retail, I'm going to sort my life out and do what I want.

So I'm going part time. Because I can't stomach working 45 hours a week folding clothes. I'll be poor but at least I'll have time to write/intern/sort my life out. ONWARDS AND UPWARDS.

My blog is currently my diary. Apologies but whatever; I want to do some writing and this is just what comes out right now. I'm pretty much suffering from IBS in writer's terms. Shit shit shit.




Black lipstick bargain




Velvet paisley skirt worn around the neck, black turtleneck from work, and flowers and chiffon in my hair.


Buttery & Lismore on a mission


Boxin'


Hot dog and a root beer, please.


Loulou's amazing warehouse in Hackney Wick




Patrycja's sticker-makeup


Lunch with a bad bitch



Ashley
x

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

But my darling blogosphere, what kind of blogger would one be, if one did not do a blog post on one's new year's resolutions? Probably not as bad a blogger as me, who is doing their new year's resolutions halfway into January. 'Fashionably late?' I say tentatively, knowing it's not good enough but not really caring enough, which isn't good enough either.

So anyway, here you go: my generic blog post with non-generic resolutions. Faites attention!

1. Omg I'm really gonna start blogging more
No promises. Although I will write more. Because let's face it, however much I love schpieling out loads of shit on this blog, I would much rather my writing was on the guardian and not on a blog that gets read by about half a person a day.

2. Start Running.
Already started yesterday! Read this and know that exercise genuinely does make you happier and feel more in control of your life. Depressed people don't go for runs. They just don't. Unless it's off a bridge. (Okay so it's absolutely freezing. So running is off the table for a while. You know, until it warms up again. I also just ate 4 of those chocolate breakaway biscuits in the space of about 15 minutes. Fuck.)

3. Begin Learning Japanese.
Ohayo gozaimasu. I want to go to Japan in the near future because I am HUNGRY for something new. I love London but I'm a poor graduate and I don't exactly love my job, so I need to inject a bit of variety and culture into my life. So Tokyo here we go. In about a year's time hopefully, when I can apply to the program I want.

4. NO MORE MEAT.
Yeah because this is going to be easy if I live in Japan, not. But seriously, I don't think killing animals to eat them is morally right when there is no need to do this. Anyone who says murdering animals for food is okay needs educating. We don't need meat to survive anymore and a meat-free diet is healthier and more environmentally friendly. My morals are at a constant war with my tastebuds and I hate myself for it. Ideally I would be vegan but I'm hiding from that until I have more money and time (excuses). Also I ate fish yesterday. I'm a nightmare oh my god HELP.

5. Take more pictures!
I really need to, like, actually document my life a bit more? (read in Made in Chelsea accent)
Please recommend me some wonderful point and shoot cameras please.
I just want some amazing pictures to look back on in my YOUTH. Also I have been going out in London more recently and dressing up! Which I LOVE, and which I will write a post on very soon. Until then, have a look at my life (sorry there's not really any explanation to these pictures but they are my life over the past couple of months):


Lighting shop on Beak Street.






I spend too many early mornings waiting at this fucking bus stop. My destination needs to be somewhere better. I'll work on that.




Cinema Museum/Lambeth




Makeup = fundamentalist palette by Illamasqua





Before The Box/Soho






Orion, Lewis and Naddy.



Went back home for a few days for the first time in so long. This is the best fish and chip restaurant to have ever graced the earth.


Home. Walking with my Mum on the field near our house. Lyra.



 Teddy being a naughty teddy bear.


And back to London. Kathryn being a howler.







Winter windows, cold pillows and unsure footsteps that are worried about more than just the ice.
I need a hair cut.

Speak soon.

Ashley

x

SORAPOL SS13

Hi blogosphere,

Sorry I haven't been with you for a while, I have been super busy with my new job and with writing articles that I have actually started getting paid for woohoo! And also arranging MORE writing jobs so basically, I'm going to be busy busy busy for the next few months. But good busy. Anyway, on to things that aren't me using my blog as my crybaby diary. A FASHION SHOW REPORT!

Who: SORAPOL. An Avant-garde Womenswear label created by Sorapol Chawaphatnakul and Daniel Lismore. Sorapol and Daniel founded the brand together after meeting a few years ago and finding a creative affinity with each other. Lismore is the Creative Director of the brand, and Sorapol is the head designer.

What: SORAPOL creates powerful garments for powerful women; in the past six months alone they have dressed Azaelia Banks, Paloma Faith and Nicki Minaj.

I'm over a month late, but! On Friday 19th October, I was 

It was a sopping, blustery night, and I rushed alone through the backstreets of Soho. Umbrella clutched with both hands, and trying hard not to lose my footing in my six-inch platforms, I made my way to the show. The hard black ground glistened with the neon reflections of Wardour Street, and I stumbled through the crowds of bawdy soho pub-goers, turning down a dimly-lit street to see a buzz of people lining up outside my destination: an abandoned carpark. Cones and roadblocks littered the road outside the venue, and the air was alive with a grungy, anarchic excitement that the thickening rain did little to dampen.

We were led up through a brightly-lit staircase with dusty grey walls. At the top of the staircase, a huge room opened out before us, in the centre of which was a catwalk lined by the most daring fashion crowd that London has to offer. Portia Shaw was – of course – on the door.

I spotted the Creative Director of SORAPOL, Daniel Lismore, as he floated around the empty catwalk greeting guests.

The illustrious Mr Lismore. Handbag in one hand, iPad in the other. Classic.

London socialite Philip Sallon was also there, dressed in an outfit fit for a villainous Disney queen.

 Phabulous Philip.

After over half an hour's waiting for the show to begin (my impatience was satiated only by an Illamasqua gift bag), the whole place went silent as the beginning of the show was announced. This went off with a bang, and a roaring motorbike rocketed to the top of the catwalk and back again. Here is my pathetic picture of this:

Then, the clothes came. And so did everyone else. Oh, the clothes! Woops and screams echoed through the concrete space as fantastical costumes were showcased by models wearing painted canvas masks.

I tried my best to grab some pictures, but they are truly AWFUL. I need a new camera, advice on what to get is very welcome!

 Luke Worrall and glittering fiery sheer skeleton top

 I see Maleficent wearing this in 2014

 Scroll down to see what happened to that fabby skirt

 (almost pleased with this picture actually)

 A green-bearded Aiden Shaw

 Twins in one-legged trouser-suits, spiked hats and purses clutched by talonned fingers.

The clothes were bright and daring, with each piece blessed with an ethereal sheen. Golds, blacks, oranges and purples lit up a bonfire of terrific collection of craftsmanship. One legged suits were adorned by a duo caricature of the Olsen twins, who tottered down the catwalk, shying from the cameras, covering their faces with manicured talons as if they were being chased by the paparazzi. All of the models had a part to play, and acted their way down the catwalk, injecting some personality into the garments. Refreshing, certainly. A standout piece was an acrylic skirt that Lismore later wore around his neck at the afterparty.

Vince Kidd performed at the finale of the show, and I got a howling picture of him looking a bit like a bulldog:

I was feeling brave and inspired so I went to the afterparty alone. It was held at the opening of Tonteria in Sloane Square, a new club inspired by the increasingly popular Day of the Dead Mexican theme. I met the wonderful Aurora Bankhead and Vika Nightingale.

On my way home. Human Fundamentalism eye makeup and lipstick in Apocalips, both by Illamasqua. Sorry for shitty quality pics.

The next night I bumped into Daniel Lismore and Sorapol at a showing of Taboo the musical in Brixton. I asked them about the show. Both of them were there with their parents to celebrate months of hardwork. Daniel sighs, brushing his long brown hair over his shoulder: 'We just thought, you know what, fuck it. We're going to do what we want.' There's something in his voice that says he's tired of the world the way it is. He's been in the fashion business for a long time now, and it's clear he wants to change things. Himself and Sorapol are candid artists in a commercialised and capitalist fashion world, and that's what makes their work such a refreshing change. A british label with eastern influences, SORAPOL will certainly be a name that will be with us for seasons to come.

The SORAPOL SS13 show was, appropriately, held just after fashion week. SORAPOL is the latecomer, the fashion freak, and is well on its way to making history in London's fashion domain. I feel confident in saying that SORAPOL has an intensely bright future ahead, and if the effort going into it is anything to go by, it will be a well-deserved bright future.

xxxxxxx