FLASHDANCE FLASH BACK

I recently just re-fell in love with 'Flashdance'.

(She's got it)

I'm not a huge fan of the 80's; or maybe I am, but I'm very selective over which aspects I consider to be fashion moments. 

The film's story is one that I feel I can increasingly relate to: Girl has dream. Girl has to overcome struggles to reach dream. Girl debates giving up. Girl has epiphany. Girl accomplishes dream, all whilst looking fashionably fabulous. (I am yet to have expected epiphany or therefore reach my dream but any day now I'm sure...)

So anyway, synopsis over. Now to the good bit; the fashion. 

The scene, you know the one. Alex is on stage, ready to perform but it's all about the silhouette. That suit. Those sharp shoulders. That masculine shell that she peels off to reveal the skimpiest red playsuit. And then the water. Mind is blown. The end *almost*.

(Perfection)

There's also the trip to the laundrette. Perfect in oversized grey jumper and stripey scarf just slung casually around her neck, with Jeanie in her high heels and frilly socks. Uh! I can't explain my delight and it doesn't end there. Cue the list. The scene where Alex and Jeanie are simply walking down the road, parker coat and russian hat in tow, with her Nike daps on, accompanied with red socks and navy leggings. I tell you, you could use the film's outfits as a step by step guide on how to dress chic for those winter months. I've previously posted on the trials of dressing both fashionably and weather appropriately but Alex - or should I say the costume department - have absolutely nailed it. Pink heeled pumps and yet another oversized overcoat to walk down railway tracks. Why not? (The obvious answer here is that such a thing would be incredibly dangerous, but for the purpose of the film - and my need to romanticise fashion - it acts as the perfect catwalk.) 

(Effortless chic)

And the inspiration really just keeps on coming. Tina's performance costume of black cut-out crop top and matching high cut briefs has got me all excited for Christmas time dressing. I'm not saying I'll be stepping out sans trousers but the glitter, her grit, her attitude. Who says you can't be tough at Christmas anyway? I'm bored of the same old red and gold thing that magazines try to sell to us as the way to dress for Christmas-time celebrations. Bring on a bit of sexy peekaboo, black crop topped, gold chained, masculine yet sexy yule-tide fashion fun! 

(Just screams Christmas doesn't it?)

Party dressing aside though, I think above all what I really love is how 'Flashdance' plays with the performative qualities of fashion. They aren't just props, they are an intrinsic part of the performance. A key element. Stripping off the layers to reveal yet more clothes, every layer getting thinner and thinner, daring the audience to watch the change in her movements as her body becomes evermore visible. 

Clothing is a part of play, and what better way to illustrate this than Alex going to the fancy dress party as a clown. Her beauty eclipsed by the borderline ridiculousness of her over the top costume. It is all about the clothing. Or when Nick and Alex go on their lavish date. Fashion in this instance becomes a tool of social subversion, an instrument of blurring gender lines. The norms are inverted as Alex sports a masculine power tux only to whip off her jacket to reveal the smallest, backless and sideless under shirt. The sexiness of this unexpected under layer is almost palpable, as she sarcastically remarks to his ex-wife: "yes I really do work as a welder". Her delicacy, coupled with the tux that almost overwhelms her tiny frame, creates an interesting dichotomy that is only saved by her 'fuck you' attitude. After all, fashion can't work alone. You, the wearer, have to make it come alive. 

(The tux)

As you can tell I'm having a major 'Flashdance' moment. Is getting a perm a step too far in my goal to be - I mean channel - Alex? I might just wear leg warmers to bed. Or maybe not. The oversized grey jumper/leather skirt combo is a must though. 

I feel like we can all relate to Alex. Haven't we all had those moments when we're on our arse, when it all appears bleak and hopeless. But then I think we need to remember the words of Jeanie; "I gotta tough ass". I mean aren't we all just girls trying to pirouette through life without spilling our soda? *

(*You may have to rewatch the film to get this reference but it's totally worth it.) 

MAKEUP: MAKING UP WITH YOURSELF

Do you honestly think I care what I look like?

In short, Yes.

(Mantra of the enemy)

I’ll give you the scenario. I was in work, when a lady tried on a hat. She turned to her partner to get his opinion. He responded with a very safe, I mean sweet: “you look beautiful”. To which she replied, “Do you think I care what I look like?” Ironically she then turned to look at herself in the mirror and redid her hair.

You could argue that I’m looking too far into this. I, however, would disagree.

Firstly, this lady not only felt that she needed reassurance but also approval and despite getting this, her default response was self-mockery and a very defensive and utterly transparent ‘I-reeeally-don’t-care-honest-I-don’t’ retort.

Secondly, I feel that this one lady is not alone. I see her as the ‘Everywoman’.

But before I attempt to pick apart the aesthetic worries of all womankind I think I should start by introducing myself. Hello, my name is Sophia and I cannot leave the house without makeup on. I’d like to say that just through this confession that a huge weight has been lifted, but I’d be lying.

For me I cannot think of many things worse than having to leave the house sans makeup - obviously in reality there are many, many things worse, like snagging your tights or your stripey Bretton top running in the wash... (I kid, I kid) I understand the superficiality of this but nevertheless I figured it was worth investigating my neurosis.

(Shock horror, makeup free living)

So lets start from the beginning, what does make-up mean? In its basic form when applying cosmetics you are ‘making yourself up’. It’s a grown up form of playing pretend, a way of temporarily transforming yourself, or your face at least. I’d like to draw upon one of my favourite trios of all time (cue eye rolls); the Kardashians. Yep, despite the controversy surrounding them and their family life, and the criticism over their status as bonafide A-listers, you can’t deny their flawless make-up.

Much has been made of - and many have attempted to emulate- the unique way in which Kim in particular has her make-up applied. One word: contouring. This handy trick sculpts the face, adds definition, plus highlights and slims both cheeks and, if necessary, can minimize larger features. It’s liquid magic; trickery right from a little bottle – actually quite a few bottles, all in different colours, multiple brushes, not to mention an expert hand... – but I digress. My point is that in this day and age, anything is possible; with make up at least. You don’t like the shape of your eyebrows? Draw them on, fill them in, change their colour if you fancy. Thin lips? Lip plumper and a well-matched lip liner should do the trick. I’m no beauty expert but generally the twenty-first-century girl knows plenty of ways and means to alter her appearance. This, I would argue, is due in large part to the mass pressure of social expectation.

(Contouring a la Kim K)

We aren’t all blessed with a face like Kim Kardashian- or the finances to keep up such an image – but why should we feel like we have to apologise for this? In doing ourselves up, what is it that we’re ‘making up’ for exactly?

When I put on my daily dose of foundation I’m not just trying to even out my skin colour. Oh no, that would be far too simple. I’m covering up my skin, trying desperately to get it to blur in with the tide line of fake tan that reaches just under my chin. I’m pale. I live with it but I don’t like it. Countless times I’ve been asked by worried onlookers “are you ill?” or “do you feel okay?” and whilst I’m sure this curiousity comes from a deep place of compassion, I can’t help but want to run into a very hard wall. ‘NO I’m not ill thank you very much, I’m just testing out au naturel, which is something I will NEVER do again.’ A quick rummage/dive into my makeup bag, to desperately rectify my ‘problem’, and in no time at all I’m a lovely shade of Maybelline ‘sand beige’. Yes, it says it all. By reattaching my cosmetic safety mask, my flaws are well and truly hidden or at least blurred. Afraid of standing out from the crowd, I crave to be ‘sand beige’. Have you ever heard someone being described as ‘beige’ in a positive way. “Oh yeah, Frida is so much fun, she’s totally beige”. Somehow I don’t think it’s going to catch on, you might as well just call me vanilla.

(The reaction in my head)

A friend of mine in work suggested we go bare for comic relief. I’d seen the adverts but I still desperately clung to the idea that she meant lets all come in naked. Alas I was wrong. Luckily this idea was forgotten. Not only was I relieved but I think all the big shots at ‘Very-Popular-Department-Store-That-I-Work-In’ should heave a group sigh of relief too. I guarantee they’d have seen a stark decline in sales if I’d been let on to the shop floor in that state.

As I’m writing this it’s hard not to notice that I too am re-enacting what the lady that started off this post did. In my very long-winded and slightly repackaged version I too am self-deprecatingly mocking myself in a bid to hide my insecurities. A dear friend once told me I looked like ‘Thomas the Tank’ – pale face and dark neck. Of course I laughed my hurt off but on reflection he wasn’t mocking my 'problem' pale skin, he was mocking the contrast of my dark neck against my pale skin. A dark neck that wasn’t really my own. In trying to hide my flaws I in effect highlighted them and whilst doing so managed to look like some ridiculous, and not to mention, weird zebra/girl hybrid.

We live in a society crazed by appearance and in this narrow ideal we are all supposed to fit. Can this ever be possible? 

NO!

But regardless of this we all still try. This obsession with ‘perfection’ is an empty quest. Very few people will ever be one hundred percent comfortable with themselves but it seems to me that we never even try. It’s far easier to cover, hide, alter, mask, or even surgically remove our ‘flaws’ but what about trying to love, or at the very least accept them.

I see makeup in one of two ways;

1) A means to an end... of individuality. How many orange faced, spider-eyed, pastel lipped girls do you see walking around everyday. Yes, I think my point is made.

(Case in point)

2) A means of making you look better, more attractive and the thing we all crave the most; normal. I hope you're sensing the sarcasm here. I'd love to meet the person who set the standard of normality or who defined the narrow ideals of what is deemed attractive. 

The bare faced truth (groan) of the matter is however, that there is no unequivocal definition of beauty and unfortunately there isn't one person who created the rigorous set of rules that we all clamber to abide by. I'm sure that if there was, they'd have been captured and tortured long ago, but alas it is a lot harder to change the minds of the masses. It is 'us', the all encompassing 'we' that have put these pressures on ourselves. 

During a particularly raucous seminar, one girl decided to slate not only makeup but the women who wear it. She declared that it was unfeminist because women only wear it to attract men. Now steady on, I can't argue that she was wholly wrong in that some people do wear makeup to attract the opposite sex, but to label it unfeminist is a bit much. Makeup is a form that allows women to take ownership of their bodies. It is a means of self-expression, something feminism triumphs. I do however wish that the narrow field of what is thought of as beautiful, who is beautiful and what measures one is expected to take to reach this level of beauty were expanded. 

Makeup is something that should be enjoyed but we should love ourselves just as much with it off as we do with it on. It should be remembered that beauty doesn't  have to only be skin deep. On this very rare occasion I’m going to quote Tyra Banks, who suggested in this months copy of Nylon magazine, that we should celebrate not shun our “flawsome characteristics”. Now I’m not usually the type of gal who supports such catch phrases as those that have typified Tyra’s career (I mean 'smize', smiling with your eyes? Really?!) but her motivational outlook in this instance really caught my attention. The only thing flawed here is our perception.

(The new mantra: Independence from makeup 

*sometimes)

I can't promise that I'll be walking around makeup-free but I will stop texting my boyfriend to 'warn' him before he comes over. This is very much a work in progress but it's something I think all women should undertake with me. Grab a makeup wipe, scrub that face and walk out that door with me... or maybe just open the door to the postman without cowering into the folds of your dressing gown. Baby steps.

INSPO 2.0

I've hit a wall. 

I think it's the same wall I hit about this time every year. The mornings are getting darker. The evenings are getting darker that much earlier. The bus journey to work seems longer. Nothing I wear seems befitting of the weather conditions...

But before I bore you too much with my moaning, I think I should go straight ahead and combat these oncoming winter blues before they swallow me, my trailing scarf, sniffly nose and woolly socks up with it. 

To help warm up my little fashion heart I thought I'd do a quick post of all the things inspiring and therefore keeping me sane at the moment.

Nothing delights me more than partners in fashion. Love how all these couples compliment each other yet remain distinctly individual.

All black outfits: chic not goth. Layers. Layers. Layers. And Abbey Lee Kershaw.  

Points and parties. Christmas is coming and points are the perfect shoe to welcome in the festivities. 

                                           

 Crazy accessories to liven up winter layers.

Fancy coats - outerwear needn't be boring. An understated but well fitting pair of jeans is always fashionable. And messy hair - I'm loving a peekaboo fringe at the moment. 

                         

Loving all things green, emerald jewellery is a big favourite with me right now, and long skirts, perfect for comfort and hiding a million layers underneath. 

And when all else fails, some vintage Kate Moss can't help but make you smile.

Happy Thursday! 

(None of the above photos are my own and I do not take credit for them) 

WHO DO VOODOO?

I was unsure whether or not to call this post 'Retail Voodoo' or 'Fashion Voodoo'. In the end I went with neither but perhaps I should explain what voodoo has to do with fashion before I launch any further into my tirade.

My first encounter with fashion and voodoo was in the James Bond film 'Live and Let Die', where in the faraway land of Kananga, James has to fight against the wicked voodoo ruler and save a few helpless females along the way. Despite only being about six years old when I first watched this film, a lot of the story and its context went unnoticed by me, instead I focused on the magic and the costume (I mean what else as a six year old could I take from it? How my mother sat through two and a half hours of my incessant questioning I'll never know...) Voodoo, at that time, was purely magic, scary magic mind you but nonetheless coupled with the pretty girl's clothing (I now realise she was the sacrifice, which gives a slightly morbid tinge to my childhood memories) it was magic. 

(classicfilmtvcafe.com)

As I grew up my belief in magic became evermore fictional, however I remained utterly enchanted by the powers of fashion. And that is almost the end of my story, but just before the theme tune kicks in, the end credits start to roll and the well worn phrase, 'and they lived happily ever after' floats on to the screen, I must tell you something: 

Voodoo in fashion is very real.

No, I have not cracked up. Please read on. My incredibly vague understanding of voodoo goes like this; the loss of autonomy by one due to the power gained by another (I'm keeping this definition very PG, choosing to gloss over any links with devilry). The fashion world works in much the same way. There are a few conjurors out there (aka the designers) who create the trends, which are passed on to the witch doctors (the fashion big-shots) who through the spell of printed media, the allure of advertising and by prying on our inherent greed for the next best thing, leaves us mere mortals powerless to resist.

(soundonsight.org)

But it doesn't stop there. 

When the clothing has been cast into the melting pot and been filtered down on to the high-street,  more witchery is cast. You may think that you've just picked up and created a completely individual ensemble but I'm afraid you'd be wrong. 

Every item of clothing, from where it is positioned in store, to what it is placed next to, above, below, diagonal to, opposite, the colour scheme, the ease at which one item can be accessorised with another... It has all been meticulously planned and actioned, probably without you even knowing. Now tell me there isn't some kind of mind control there! I'll explain further using the store I work at as an example.

Generally men don't like shopping, but what they do like to do is eat or at least get a coffee to escape their partners need to shop. With this in mind, hey presto! the menswear department is right next to the restaurant. If he should therefore wish, the gentleman can browse at his convenience (or so he is led to believe). 

Heres another example. The toilets are housed at the furthest point of the store on the second floor, meaning you have no choice but to take in all that the store has to offer. And I've already mentioned the psychology behind the layout of all the clothing that acts to guide customers to purchase ready made outfit ensembles. 

(designingretail.com)

Now before you think the only way out of this trance is to walk around with your eyes closed, intentionally clash clothes from opposite sides of the store (hey it could work) or chaotically grab at random (that level of defiance will show 'em ey). Stop. Breath and enter a pact with me now. 

Repeat after me: I solemnly vow to remain acutely aware of the fashion voodoo at work here, and with that in mind I will see fashion magazines, trend reports and store layouts as helpful but not essential to my life as a fashionably aware individual. I therefore swear to purchase items that I love, regardless of trends or what stores would lead me to believe. 

Now welcome to the world of fashion freedom.

Everyone needs a little help now and again, but just make sure to not let it squash your individuality. Invert the voodoo and make the trends work for you.

Power to you people. 

LEGGINGS: TROUSERS. REALLY?

Leggings: Comfort trousers? Leisure pants? Gym wear? The ubiquitous jeggings. Available in every colour imaginable, tie-dyed, studded, bejewelled, leather, suede, for young and old, for the models of the world and the crazy cat lady alike. Leggings have become synonymous with the modern woman. It's hard to venture outside and not see someone wearing a pair of leggings. The hybrid of tights and trousers has taken over the wardrobes of most women and become a staple of both fashionista's and the fashion ignorant of society.

However, despite the practicalities of leggings and the ease/ comfort of said item, they are somewhat both overused and thus misused. 

Leggings are not trousers.

(Photo: Huffington Post)

I feel this statement should stand alone to both emphasise and highlight my viewpoint on this matter. In fact it's a point I believe should be repeated, emboldened and underlined thrice. Anything to get this message through to the masses. I do however, realise that there is a time and a place for leggings. My problem is not with leggings in the basic sense - they're useful for lounging around the house or even the gym (I myself prefer the elasticity of leggings whilst working out over a baggy tracksuit). My main point is this - once outside in said leggings your arse is exposed. Yes, even the itsy, bitsy g-string you're wearing is visible. 

As with all 'fashionable' items once they have hit the catwalk, received an influx of demand and therefore proved popular enough to warrant copies, a trend is born. However, leggings are beyond a simple 'trend' they have had somewhat of a boom, transcending from comfort-wear to the profile of everyday uniform. Of course your price range has a lot to account for, namely how much of your derriere is exposed. I highly doubt there is anything see-through about the studded balmain beauties that have bedecked many an editor-in-cheif since their creation. Whereas the Primark pairs that march around town, that cost little more than the newspaper that wraps your chips, offer little to no coverage. These unfortunately are the leggings that plague my existence. 

Though I realise the difficulty in finding the 'perfect' jeans and therefore the relief found in the stretch of leggings, it does not redeem them in my book. Even those blessed with pins to die for cannot avoid the saggy knee situation and the even more pitiful saggy crotch predicament. Instead of celebrating the female body, they merely swathe it in ill-fitting stretch fabric, that poorly covers the female form in a shabbiness akin to laziness rather than chicness. In a world of supposed freedom, where women can do whatever and wear whatever they want, why do women continue to wear these leggings? All that they communicate is a vulgar display of a society oblivious to what these leggings actually convey, and that is a lack of inspiration - a stunted ability to express our individuality.

The shocking entrance of Sandy from Grease in the outfit that signalled her transformation from high school prep to pink lady babe, is configured through her figure hugging satin leggings. Despite this metamorphosis being fuelled by the need to win over a guy (a discussion in itself) the leggings become a symbol of Sandy's transition from girl to woman, the embracement of her sexuality and the end of the film. Nowadays leggings give a considerably different message. Sandy has vanished and in her place is the Everywoman, an army of crotch exposed females, parading arse out around town. Something makes me think that Sandy might have opposed the crudeness of this sartorial staple.

(Photo: leblow.co.uk)

Do I want leggings mass destroyed? No. I enjoy having the comfort of a slouchy pant for those can't-be-arsed days. What I would encourage though is a bit of experimentation. Whether that is a fabulous pair of jeans, a well tailored pair of trousers, a figure flattering skirt, I mean the list could go on. The sartorial offerings out there are numerous and women should not limit themselves to being forever clad in leggings. 

But if you cannot bear to part ways with your beloved leggings, then please could you do me a favour? Invest in a long top, something that goes beyond crotch level. If change is not the answer then coverage will have to do. Sigh...

HOMEGIRL SS14

Here's a little story. 

One day I was sat bored in work, so I did what any self respecting twenty-first-century girl would do and I trawled through twitter. Upon my perusal I fell upon Vogue's review of the Henry Holland S/S 2014 collection. Needless to say I was no longer bored.

Henry Holland is a bit of an anomaly to me. Don't get me wrong I'd recognise Holland in a line up. I vaguely remember the slogan tees but as for any other fashion moments, well lets just say I've always figured him as the Eliza Doolittle of the fashion world - famous for being, well, famous. His collections always seemed to get more buzz for the front row rather than the actual garments coming down the runway. What with him being able to boast some of the fashion elite as his closest BFFs (Pixie, Alexa, Cara, Daisy, Kelly, Grimmy... to name just a few.)

However, his new collection floored me. His focus on shape and structure, his use of print and colour, his feminine yet tomboyish design, the lace, the gingham, the florals, THAT copper metallic bomber  jacket. This was a collection of excess, taking inspiration from Baz Luhrmann's 1996 film 'Romeo and Juliet', Latin-American Catholic iconography, and the gritty landscapes of Mexico, culminating in a distinctly feminine aesthetic that resonated cool from every stitch. 

Holland's sense of humour is ever present, yet the 'homegirl' walking down the runway had an undeniably ladylike quality about her. The shape, the length, the nipped-in waists, the provocative lace inserts, the boxy silhouettes cut high upon the thigh, the red pout-enhancing lipstick, the slicked back hair and the delicate quality street coloured strappy sandals; the sexiness of the clothing was undeniable. However, what elevated his collection for me was the juxtaposition of this sexiness with the gold hooped earrings, the low peaked caps, the phone holsters and the holographic sunglasses that deeply rooted his looks in the realm of 'hood' life.

If money was no object then this collection would be mine, but alas a dedication post will have to suffice. However, I do see gingham in my fashion future (although hopefully more Holland than Dorothy), I also see my fixation of the midi growing (perfect for those days when shaving seems too much of a chore or when the white glare of your legs is just that little bit too blinding) and finally I see my quest for the perfect lace dress becoming ever more urgent. 

 (All photos thestyleexaminer)

Holland, if you're reading this; respect homeboy.

CLONE LIFE

To a great extent print media is dominated by pictorial representations of the very stories they coexist alongside, which are in turn intermingled with various advertisements. This is not a new phenomenon; magazines inform through the medium of both written text and pictorial documentation, being a feast both for the eyes and the mind. Anna Wintour describes Vogue as the ‘cultural barometer’ of society, a hefty mission statement if ever I’ve heard one. The role of the magazine is thus to capture an entire cultural moment before it has even happened, prophesizing trends and interests before the regular folk (that’s you and I) have even seen it coming. I mean who’d have thought Puffer jackets would have made a comeback?!

However, nowadays adverts are not merely a vehicle of brand promotion but also of the people behind the photo. Models, stylists, makeup artists, photographers, pretty much everyone involved in the creation of the image is desirable to the general fashion public. We want their knowledge, their stories, and more often than not, their wardrobes. Consequently fashion is extricated from the confines of the magazine pages as mannequin and model, stylist and socialite and photographer and ph… (okay that’s where my alliteration ends but you get the point) are blended seamlessly. The result is somewhat of a fashion personality, which quickly transitions to the status of celebrity. Models and the fashion elite (Alexa Chung, Cara Deleveigne, Karlie Kloss, Kate Moss, Anna Dello Russo etc…) are as popular – arguably more so – than the clothes they are wearing/modeling.

Whilst I consider the rise of fashion personalities a hugely exciting element of fashion (allowing keen fashion devourers like myself evermore exposure into an increasingly undiluted world of fashion), I can see how this can also be considered an alienating fact. Did my grandmother recognize the cultural significance of Marc Jacobs using the notoriously staid Victoria Beckham in his tongue in cheek advertisement? Probably not.* 

The growth of social media has had a significant hand in promoting the image of the fashion world as something increasingly tangible. It is now possible to watch a fashion show hundreds of miles away whilst in the comfort of your own home, someone else’s home, on a park bench, on the move or in fact, any continent, anytime, and anyone can do it. There are no boundaries, fashion media is now continually updated minute by minute and it has never been as readily available or as easily transportable as it is now. People want to be closer to fashion, want to be a part of the world, want to experience it as it happens. Today’s society is built upon a culture of images; point in fact the rise of sites like Instagram and Tumblr. The world of fashion is therefore not only documented at a moments notice but is also made all the more enticing by the use of photographic filters that not only allow you to record life but also manipulate the very aesthetic of it. Not only do the clothes look remarkable but the fashion bubble surrounding it looks utterly delightful too.  

However, my grandmother is less so impressed by all of this. Her true love is of the clothing, in their material sense rather than the celebrity buzz or promotion and she prefers to follow her own sartorial compass rather than the trend forecast. It seems blasphemous to admit but whether Kate Moss wears skinny jeans or bell-bottoms on her morning round is of little importance to my gran. The generational shift in this scenario is obvious, there has been a definite move in interest from actual fashion garment to catwalk model to model off duty to celebrity and this has left many, including my gran, disconnected from the pages of her favourite fashion magazines. Does it make the clothing any better if the highest paid model is wearing them? No. There may be a fashion frenzy over who can get the best picture of said model or in worst case scenario detract attention from the clothing if it falls short but ultimately they will have no influence or impact on the makeup of the clothes they are modelling.

Of course, with most arguments, I am generalizing hugely, not all magazines feature models in the celebrity sense but it is increasingly becoming less and less common for the two to be considered separate entities. The categories that once separated model from actress and vice-versa are all the more fluid. Actresses now endorse fashion brands (Emma Watson became a fashion darling due in large part to her association with Burberry), models are now turning their hand at designing themselves (both Rosie Huntington-Whiteley and Elle Macpherson designing lingerie lines) and models like Tyra Banks and Heidi Klum branching into television. No longer can fashion be as neatly packaged as it previously had been. The fashion industry is after all a business. In its simplest sense fashion is a product that needs to be sold and celebrities are a guaranteed means of doing this.

Whilst the printed representation of fashion is a powerful means of generating fashion buzz it is by far not the only or most popular means of doing so. In a society built upon fast trends, the focus is not how to procure the item but rather what is to be done once the garment is secured. And with the pace at which fashion now moves, can a monthly magazine (though supposedly forecasting trends months/seasons in advance) keep up? For my grandmother the race has been lost. The printed word focuses now upon bringing the trends through the lens of celebrity. But what of the art of fashion? What of its craft and history? What of the future? No longer do magazines weave a text of fashion, communicating the intricacies of fashion as art, giving voice to material. Rather it offers categorized pictures, silencing the rhetoric of fashion individuality and instead perpetuating a sense of uniformity. Seasons are organized as trends but the focus then narrows on to what is deemed ‘trendy’, what the fashion personalities/celebrities are wearing and what in turn we should be wearing.  

It’s a difficult gap to bridge, magazines are in competition with the various forms of social media and in a bid to remain relevant it’s easy to become oversaturated with the celebrity culture surrounding fashion rather than fashion in it’s purest sense. Despite this I know I’ll remain a loyal follower and avid reader of my favourite magazines. I fully admit I’m just as interested in what Rihanna wore last Thursday as the next person but the only trend I’ll be following is the one my grandmother has set and that’s to wear whatever the hell I want. I mean isn’t that ultimately what fashion is all about? Can my outfits ever be considered ‘out of fashion’ or ‘so last season’ if my opinion is the only one that matters to me? The answer is no. So here it is, my individuality is out. You’ve been warned! 

(All pictures my own)

*(An interesting thought: what was he trying to communicate in putting Victoria Beckham in one of his shopping bags? Does buying his product buy you the credentials of celebritydom? Illustrating my point of the fashion personality and the fashion product becoming ever more indistinguishable.)