Fashion Dalliance: 2010

8.3.10

On talent

Alright, I'll just get out of the closet right here and now: I severly dislike multi-talents. And when I say 'dislike', obviously what I mean is that I'm extremely jealous of them and I'd like to rip out their hearts and eat them to absorb their abilities. I've got a few friends who combine musical talents with graphic talents and being highly intelligent en ridiculously awesome in general. They're usually pretty people, too. Or maybe it's the other way around and their gifts make them beautiful. Anyway, if they wouldn't be my friends, I'd go all arty-farty critiquing bitchy on their ass because they'd intimidate me and I'd envy them. It's apparently pretty common for people who rock in one field of the arts to kick ass in other areas - something that is frustrating beyond words to me because I've always felt I'm not completely devoid of talents. I play some piano, I used sing, I can draw recognisable things and I like to play around with words, but I never got better than mediocre.

Let's, for instance, take a look at Tom Ford: fashion prodigy and film director?

It's hard to even describe how much this movie fuelled my love for film as an art form. I'm usually not the biggest film fanatic. There's a lot of classics I haven't seen and being everything but a connoisseur, I find it difficult to voice my movie related opinions. I don't have the vocabulary or the knowledge to accurately do so. I will try for this one, though, because it thouroughly moved me. A Single Man did not only challenge me to think (many a clever dialogue passed by), it challenged me to feel. The beautiful imagery and soundtrack contributed a great deal to this. I don't know if any other movie ever made me feel this way. A kind of sweet melancholy, intense, but not hurtful. A heightened feeling of being connected with the world, the people around me, the thoughts in my head. It felt as if I was a more sensitive version of myself, as if the movie had finetuned my sensory system. If that isn't art, I don't know what is.

4.3.10

On a good day

I was marvelling at the photograph above, and it actually took me a minute or so to figure out that not only did they mess with the shadows, but with the table itself. It's funny how it's almost hard to notice something so obvious. Magritte would've aprroved.

Powerful shot, though.

27.2.10

Why I dislike Trinny and Susannah

Look at those bright and shiny faces. The devil comes in many guises, I guess. As most of my teenage ladyfriends (I love that word, it makes everyone using it sound like an old fashioned gentleman in tweed) I used to love watching What Not To Wear. It was practically the only show on air dealing with clothing and style. If I stumbled upon it, I immediately called out to my sister and we would watch it together, making fun of the clothes of the victims, criticizing their choices after they got their shopping spree and feeling all exultant and warm when friends and relatives got to see the new and improved women (and occasionally men). Of course, there is the nasty part of Trinny and Susannah completely wrecking the confidence of their protégées, commenting on their body shape, ripping up their clothes, cross-examining their loved ones to come up with a pseudo-psychological profile that always comes down to a person being unhappy and not living life to the fullest because of his or her wardrobe. And lo, how the clientele of this self proclaimed fashion police thrived after they were on the show! Or so we are told.

Let me be clear: I do not have a thing against make overs and I do think they can make a change in how one feels about oneself. It doesn't build confidence per se, but positive feedback from others and the insight that changes can be made, that skins can be thrown off, can do wonders.

What I resent in What Not To Wear is the assumption that you most certainly cannot be happy if you don't dress according to you age, lifestyle and body shape. I think that Trinny and Susannah victimize two kinds of people. The first are the blissfully unaware: women who don't really pay a lot of attention to the cloth on their backs, or gals who do put a lot of effort in their looks, but don't realize that they look like they're engaging in a dress-up because their clothes are hopelessly outdated. Whe all have an aunt that is part of this group. The second target exists out of women who dress differently because they think it renders them a certain unique and quirky quality, or just because they like other styles, or because they rank humor and personality above looking as if you just stepped out of a magazine. You know, the Tilda Swintons and Lady Gagas of this world.

Well, and I could not be more serious stating this, I endlessly prefer these both kinds of people over the vast masses of people who buy the same shirts at the H&M and accessorize them with the same stuff from Zara or whatever, just because it's in vogue to look a certain way and their friends all have the same stuff and how can you possibly be cool if you don't? And even if they look good, they still give the impression they just stepped out of The Attack of the Clones.

So please, if people don't care about their looks, LET THEM. If people do care and you think they look utterly ridiculous but they feel good in what they're wearing, LET THEM. Don't send them to the M&S with 2000 pounds. And if you must give them a make over, fucking listen to what they actually like instead of imposing stuff on them that simply doesn't represent who they are.

These girls are going on and on about how they boost confidence without any diets or plastic surgery. Call me crazy, but I think anyone who gets the full attention of two pseudo psychotherapists and a party of friends celebrating them, telling them how wonderful they are and how good they look, will gain self respect. New clothes or not.

21.2.10

Duro Olowu

I'm picturing myself wearing this, cruising the streets of Paris. Eating madeleines on the pont neuf and tiptoeing through the Musée d'Orsay. Rummaging the book stalls by the Seine and secretly following handsome frenchmen carrying Proust in their one hand and a baguette in the other.

8.2.10

Wondering

How on earth is it possible that a 14-year old sounds so much more mature, moderated and wise than the entire batallion of fashion editors out there? I guess it means that either magazines and papers are hiring the wrong people, or we're being infantilized. Great post by Tavi.