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.)

UNIFORM DRESSING

So, I work in a well-known department store. In said store, we - as with many other companies - have to wear a uniform. Despite being an avid fashion lover/collector/worshipper, I spend most of my life in this uniform. I am a reasonable person; I understand the benefits and in some cases the necessities of wearing a uniform. It creates a standardized aesthetic for the store and its staff, and although sometimes – usually when I’m running late – I greatly appreciate the monotony of my plain black uniform, I do see it mainly as a means to mask any semblance of individuality. We become an army of sales assistants, made recognizable only by the blindingly yellow name badges which invite perfect strangers to address me like an old friend.

In many ways working in retail is an act, and in my opinion the costumes we have to wear do not live up to the role we are expected to play. An all black outfit can be sexy, seductive, darkly alluring, slimming, chic, smart… the list goes on, but I doubt any of these things came into the minds of the company gods when they were brain storming ideas for uniforms. So whilst wrestling trousers into submission and battling tables of unruly t-shirts today, I tried to dream up what my ‘ideal’ uniform would be.

My first obstacle? Colour - how could I pick one that would compliment staff members, male and female, without being too gaudy or downright tacky looking? I sifted through the work garb of other stores and there seems to be no template out there to aspire to. The staff over at McDonalds are currently donning a rather dowdy swamp coloured polo, whilst Zara have traded in their European-style all black get ups for a rather gothic/punk, candy cane vibe with black and white stripes. Carrying on this striped trend Matalan too is following suit with horizontal black and red (umm... is Dennis the Menace on the directors board?)

I thought I’d skip the colour dilemma and think about style. Long sleeves? Too warm for the under air-conditioned store. Short sleeves? Right, yes, we’ll go with short sleeves. Round neck? Possibly - anything too low will result in wandering eyes. Fabric? Something that doesn’t fade or go quite so pug as the current style. The list went on and as you can imagine my answers became more and more vague. Trying to create something for everyone, I discovered is hard and frankly exhausting.

My mind then wandered back to my dissertation in which I explored the wider cultural implications of uniform dressing, particularly how bodies of power enforced uniforms to eradicate individuality (something I have already touched upon) and re-mold society into an aesthetic pleasing to them. I found this idea very interesting and whilst I am by no means trying to compare my department store uniform to that of some cult or dictatorship (I swear!), I was intrigued as to what the company bosses were trying to communicate through our uniforms. Yes, we do wear the company name across our chests but it’s easily overlooked. Maybe, in giving us these rather blasé uniforms, perhaps rather than cloaking it they are offering us a blank canvas on which to project our individuality. Against all odds we must still appear friendly and approachable so what better way to do that, than to be friendly and approachable rather than relying on a sunny uniform to do it for us.

Don’t get me wrong, I won’t be parading around in my uniform off hours, but I do appreciate the challenge of making this uniform work for me. So as my signing out message to the Man, I’d like to say thanks for limiting my sartorial expression, I’ll be exploring a less materialistic route to channel my individuality from now on.

 (Picture from windyskies.blogspot.com)

JINGLE JANGLE

I’m currently packing to go on holiday and nothing says holiday to me more than an armful of friendship bracelets. The more the merrier and the more vibrant the better! Bracelets for me mark a definite seasonal change. Summer is the time when exposed body parts cry out to be adorned with clashing threads, beads, bangles and chains. Whereas anything attached to my wrists in wintertime is a hindrance, limiting my ability to hide my hands up my sleeves and inevitably causing a draught to run up through my entire body. But enough of the winter chills, I am now faced with the huge dilemma (no exaggeration) as to which bracelets to take with me. No summer look is complete, in my opinion, unless accompanied with an armful of colour so my plan is to stock up my collection whilst on my travels but that doesn’t mean I won’t be hauling a plethora of jewels with me. The main question is, how much is too much? Oh the woes of being a self confessed magpie.

Here are some photos that really feed my arm candy fixation

(All photos from WGSN Tumblr)

TURNING ALL BLUE

I'm not sure if it's the abnormal heat we're currently having or the fact that summertime shopping is nigh but impossible due to the influx of cosy jumpers and body swomping scarves; but I find myself looking forward to, no craving, autumn.

I am the British stereotype. I moan when it's too cold and I moan even more when it's too warm. A lot of this is due in fact to my pale skin which I like to coat in a thin (honestly I'm not aiming for 'Towie' colouring, just a little less casper) layer of fake tan. This, however, does not mix well with the heat and often I am left streaked - I have ruined more then one perfectly slouched white top from this melting. I hope as I get older that I will in fact come to embrace my pale skin but for the moment the longing for a summer glow rings incessantly in my ears.

However, I do digress. I am aware that I seem to have made up some sort of fantastical idea of Autumn. In my mind the leaves are strewn multicoloured over pavements and along walkways, there's a chill in the air but bare legs and thick socks are more than enough to combat that and no matter how many layers you wear you're never too hot. But as we all know this is not the case. Summer and Winter tend to blend seamlessly into one, with a blur of warm nights heading straight into bitter cold mornings. In reality even I scoff at anyone who dares to wear bare legs for anymore than a few days in summer and to those few who do I take my wooly hat off to you. The risk of potential pneumonia is enough to deter me. And the one thing that annoys me the most about British Autumn is the very delicate balance that one has to assume when layering. Your arsenal against the elements is the one you concoct via your wardrobe, and what might seem the perfect arrangement of fabrics chicly shielding your body when outdoors becomes a woollen entrapment once in the rhythm of a brisk walk or upon entering a heated shop/cafe. The well executed outfit is thus left a tumbling mess of trailing scarf, squiff hat and haphazard jumpers hanging off any bodily extremities to hand.

Although it may seem that I have managed to talk myself out of my love of Autumn, I now come to see it as a sartorial challenge that I look forward to defying. My weapons of choice are an array of delicate jumpers, loosely draped t-shirts and scarves that have the potential to cocoon my entire body. I'm thinking light layers and huge bags that will hold any surplus layers (and a flask of tea!) And although this may not seem ground breaking, traversing the line between layered perfection and looking like a woollen lump is not an easy feat. So enjoy the barely there bra tops and the skimpy skirts and dresses while you can as this year I'm wishing for a shiver inducing winter!

 (I do not claim credit for any of the above photos unless stated)