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Vulgarity: The Spice Of Fashion Life

Le 15 octobre 2016, 09:18 dans Mode 0

Vivienne Westwood’s print of bared bosoms, Chanel’s supermarket shoppers in sneakers, Galliano’s padded hips, and Manolo’s thigh-high boots for Rihanna - can high fashion sink much lower? All that is missing in this line-up of vulgarity is the Kardashian clan.

But is it as easy to define what is vulgar in the 21st century as it was in the days when the word was a simple translation from Latin? Vulgare once meant “ordinary people”. No judgement. Only later did the explanation evolve into a definition of showing off, bad taste, and crossing a barrier from the acceptable in fine society. Add today the kitsch and the camp.

The Vulgar: Fashion Redefined (at London’s Barbican Art Gallery until 5 February 2017) is an eye-opener – especially in the case of the inflatable Stephen Jones hat blown-up to full-size for a John Galliano show. But also metaphorically, in the mental agility of co-curators Judith Clark and psychoanalyst Adam Phillips. In words and fashion displays, they make a case beyond the easy answer that once-exclusive fashion is now for everybody.

“Vulgarity exposes the scandal of good taste,” announces Phillips in one of his smart phrases.

So what is the true meaning of “vulgar”? Clark’s definitions add up to 11 separate categories. The curators start with copies of classicism, meaning nymphs re-imagined and illustrated by the ancient Greek-style draped dresses from Madame Grès and by Karl Lagerfeld for Chloé. More explicit displays include Vivienne Westwood’s “Eve” body suit with a plastic fig leaf at the crotch to preserve modesty.

I asked the curator why gracious drapes should be defined as vulgar?

“It’s the idea about whether a copy is always a diminution of something. ‘Vulgar’ is always thought of as a poor imitation, whereas we show loud and clear that it does not need to be,” Clark explained.

“Showing off” is a second category: the excessive, as overblown silhouettes from 18th-century “Mantua” dresses, requiring a sideways turn to get through the door; or huge gestures of grandeur from John Galliano’s Dior years. Add to this the rock-the-baroque decoration from Christian Lacroix or Jean Paul Gaultier and innovative sculptures as clothing from Iris van Herpen.

A laundry list of designers does not do justice to the exhibition’s broad sweep, which includes Miuccia Prada’s deliberate plays on body language with appliquéd external bras or mighty prints of female faces. They are played against the 18th-century embroidered bodices known as “stomachers” and covering just that body area. One of my favourite sections came under the headline “impossible ambition”, with labels from Galliano’s Dior to Undercover latching on to symbols of past glory. A Stephen Jones headpiece of religious cross and stars for Galliano is a prime example.

Interviews with designers both on video in the museum and in the catalogue (published by Koenig Books) include intriguing comments from Stephen Jones, Manolo Blahnik, Pam Hogg, Zandra Rhodes, and Walter Van Beirendonck.

The Belgian designer’s frankly sexual padded penis is as shocking as the Puritan lace collars are apparently innocent - except that Adam Phillips claims in the book that white lace against black dresses shows “vulgarity in the purity”.

So what is the definition of “vulgar” today? I wonder if I agree with Sixties fashion queen Mary Quant when she claimed in 1967, “People call things vulgar when they are new to them.” Surely the mini skirts that she and André Courrèges invented were as much signals of sexual availability, reflecting the invention of the contraceptive pill, as they were fashion items?

Clark takes the story of the mini forward when she shows the famous Yves Saint Laurent couture dress that used the geometric lines of Piet Mondrian’s paintings (vulgarity as appropriation) beside a comercialised YSL ready-to-wear version in the Eighties.

Conversely, I remember the often-quoted words from iconic US Vogue editor Diana Vreeland: “Vulgarity is a very important ingredient in life... it’s got vitality.” She wrote in her autobiography: “A little bad taste is like a nice splash of paprika... it’s hearty, it’s healthy, it’s physical - I think we could use more if it. No taste is what I am against.”

Visually, the show is not as complex as the different categories suggest. There are some flamboyant cross-overs, as evidenced by a recent, flower-embroidered Gucci suit from designer Alessandro Michele displayed on a platform against an 18th-century men’s outfit, while a glimmering Lacroix dress forms a background.

I asked Judith Clark, raised in Seventies Rome by Australian parents for the first 18 years of her life, whether she believed that she had been influenced by the Italian conflict of extravagance and purity, after she had described the experience of other mothers swishing to school in floor-length fur coats.

“My mother was more restrained and in a way I regretted that, because it was as though the others were getting pleasure from their excesses that my mother must have been uneasy about,” the curator said. “I loved experimenting, so I made my own clothes and when we came to London my sister and I would go and buy fabric and fashion our own kind of New Romantics outfits.” 

The aim of this exhibition is evidently to make the viewer think about vulgarity not just in the present but in the past, when one of the historical works on display reads: ”Well-bred people do not often dress in what is called ‘the height of fashion’, as that is generally left to dandies and pretenders.”

The Barbican exhibition achieves its aim as a thought-provoking study of “the vulgar” - even without trying to keep up with the Kardashians.

Now-stalgia: why fashion is obsessed with looking back

Le 23 septembre 2016, 07:55 dans Humeurs 0

The two most memorable shows of London fashion week had a common theme: memories. Ryan Lo’s fantasia collection of clothes (ruffles and balloon trousers in sweet-shop colours) recalled Pierrot. The rainbow wave was helped along by a triple whammy of music: A Whole New World from Aladdin, Immortality by Céline Dion and Walk Like an Egyptian by the Bangles.

While in a mise-en-scène that included an unmade bed and a girl cutting her own hair in a mirror, Ashley Williams’s collection was a what’s what of a teenager’s wardrobe: a baseball jacket, hoodies, dungarees and Star Trek-ish sunglasses. As with Lo’s show, the music – Kate Bush’s Under the Ivy, Kirsty MacColl’s A New England – suggested the emotional terrain and introspection of the adolescent years. Both collections followed the trend for “now-stalgia”, the idea of using a patchwork quilt of memories to make something current. It’s big in 2016, from Stranger Things to Drake’s love of the Cheesecake Factory.

In fashion terms, it is a very now phenomenon, from the mood-board to the catwalk. There is Gigi Hadid’s collaboration with Tommy Hilfiger that drew on 90s sportswear trends and the silhouette of Aaliyah, Vetements and Kim Kardashian’s re-configuring of the Juicy Couture tracksuit, and Christopher Kane’s inclusion of Crocs on the catwalk at London fashion week.

Nostalgia not only provides us with a safety net at a time of political or economic instability, it allows us to engage with the stylistic elements at a distance. On the internet, the past is presented as a smörgåsbord of interconnected trends and pop culture moments, spliced with a new twist. Instead of a wide range of sub-cultures roaming around organically, styles and tastes are dictated by Tumblrs and Instagram accounts. The pre-internet age has been fetishised. Buzzfeed (45 things from your 90s childhood you probably forgot about) and Instagrams (such as Every outfit on Sex & the City) illustrate our bottomless need to revisit and re-evaluate visual signifiers from our childhoods.

This interconnectivity, where nostalgia meets current fashion trends, can be seen whenever an Instagirl celebrity, such as Hadid or Kylie or Kendall Jenner, wears items rooted in the not-so-distant past: round sunglasses, chokers or distressed denim. Or when labels such as Hood By Air and Gosha Rubchinskiy pay tribute to retro sportswear, and new iterations of jean shape and colour reference the past. As our reference points bounce from the fashions in Clueless to My So-Called Life, now-stalgia exists with less ironic distance and more joy as the architecture for fashion now.

Beauty: The Best Of Victoria Beckham’s Estée Lauder Makeup Line

Le 3 septembre 2016, 10:56 dans Humeurs 0

Few beauty launches have been as carefully and strictly orchestrated as Victoria Beckham’s limited-edition makeup line for Estée Lauder. Before the unveiling, I had to sign two legally binding agreements not to share with a soul what lay behind the specially blacked-out windows at Beckham’s Mayfair boutique. My cynical heart was steeled for anticlimax; I didn’t expect to be then sitting on my hands for three months, desperate to rave about the collection.

Not that everything is a 10. The Java Sun bronzer (£48) is too dark and a tad too red for many, while the Lip Gloss in Moroccan Heat, a generic nude (£28), brings little more to the party than any other at a fraction of the price. But what is good here is exceptional.

Beckham has wisely skipped foundation (if you can’t do a proper shade range, as Estée Lauder already does, then some looks worse than none) in favour of a universal illuminator called Morning Aura (£68), a gold-flecked 2-in-1 moisturiser and primer that goes on beautifully and looks glorious on the skin. The reintroduction of Lauder’s much-missed Modern Mercury powder highlighter (£48), loved by Beckham, who’d taken to scoring hers on eBay, is another nice touch. But, overall, the eyes have it. Eye Metals (£36) are dense, metallic shadows in cool brown and dark green with superlative colour payoff to give grownup, sophisticated sparkle to lids. They’re especially good worn over Eye Ink (£36), a highly pigmented black gel-powder that adds a deep, smoky undercoat. If shadow isn’t your poison, bypass the faff with the excellent Eye Foils (£28), two translucent, idiot-proof liquid eyeliners with high-shine metallic flecks that give an instantly eye-widening party look to otherwise bare lids.

The weighty compacts in gold and ribbed black leather are sleek, stylish, expensive – and not a million miles from Tom Ford Beauty’s packaging. And I wonder if Ford is a fitting example of where this might go. I asked Beckham if this was a one-off passion project, or the start of a career in beauty. “I hope it’s just the beginning,” she replied, making me wonder if we’re not far away from a full product line and a fleet of department store counters. Based on the quality so far, I say, bring it.

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