As a “young professional” (we’ll go with that) of the fashion industry, I am fairly certain that it is not in my best interest to smack-talk the hand that feeds me. That being said, fashion is weird.
Wut.
Wut the wut.
…K. So much going on here (yet so few clothes, amirite)
At this point is anyone even sure if “fashion-forward” is a term of praise, or insult? Because if you ask me, the world of couture is currently lookin’ a whole lot like this:
..a haute a$$ mess.
I have made many earnest attempts to understand the sartorial world to which I’ve willingly sold my soul. Though I am no self-proclaimed style sociologist, I have come to a conclusion of sorts that all fashion is cut from one of two fundamentally different cloths: Avant-garde or commercial. Off-beat or mainstream. Muppet or man, if you will. This simple classification is what separates the Gaga’s from the Hepburn’s, the Bjork’s from the Kelly’s.
And let me tell you, I am no fan of the Swan song.
Sorry, homegirl.
A visit to the Charles James exhibit at the Met this past summer– one memory I did not selectively terminate from my vault of NYC horror stories, awakened my appreciation for the increasingly obsolete art of classic fashion (Classion?). James, a creative genius well ahead of his time, achieved acclaim through his strategic placement of curvilinear seams, clean tailoring, and rich textiles– design considerations intended to enhance the beauty of the feminine form rather than to loudly overpower it.
Sooo…what happened to that, and why is it suddenly ultra fetch to cover oneself in steak tartare?
Also plz excuse the seriously poor quality of these photos. I’m fairly certain that I took them against the will of the Met, unless the security guard was just particularly fond of my face.
…Cue the point of the blog where I’ll proceed to uncomfortably answer my own question.
As experimental fashion has gained prominence on high-end runways, the body has been relegated to a position of subservience to the clothes. In the world of commercial fashion, clothing is designed to enhance the appearance of the body. My interest in fashion stems from the relationship between clothing and the individual, whereas many designers discount the psychological aspect of clothing altogether in favor of performance artistry. So not only is fashion weird, but it’s a bit of a mind-you-know-what.
I can think of no better way to conclude this blog by not actually concluding it at all, but instead by sharing some Beyo in honor of National Women’s Day, because apparently that is a thing, and because this blog is officially dripping in estrogen and girl power.
