I’m going to get shit for this post, I know it, and I am highly conflicted about whether or not this entire situation is at odds with my “snarky intellectual fashion enthusiast” INTERNET IDENTITY. But that’s okay. Because I’ll admit it: Lately, I’ve kind of been having this obnoxious crisis of “OMG YOU GUYS HOW AM I GOING TO DRESS THIS IS LIKE REALLY SUPER IMPORTANT SRSLY OMG YOU GUYZ I DONT’ KNOW WHAT I WANT TO CONVEY TO THE UNIVERSE THROUGH MY CLOTHING AND/OR WHAT I WANT TO LOOK LIKE AND EMULATE AND THIS IS CHALLENGING MY IDENTITY OMG HALP.”
As much as I twitter-gushed over so many amazing collections of SS2011, at the same time, it bored me in the worst of ways. I looked at things I wanted to love and thought that a billion things were amazing and beautiful, but… I have to say it. Is there anything more obnoxious than people talking about “fashion inspiration”? But — I felt uninspired. I felt blase about layers of black leather and sheer chiffon, I felt annoyed by 90’s references and editorials of high-contrast black-and-white architectural clothing and “androgyny.” I was all: oh, great, more black, more layers, more everything I have in my closet that’s wearing itself thin already and looks like every single person I see on every single night I go out in this city, not that it’s bad or anything but like, that’s it? I WANTED SOME HELP HERE PEOPLE.
Shortly after the flurry of SS2011 fashion weeks are over, what am I left wanting to save to my hard drive for practical (read: thrift store/bargain bin hunting) purposes (because YES, I do that, and you are all more than welcome to chastise me for such absurdity)? Where do I figure out that disconnect between what I like (Yohji! Rick! Givenchy! Haider! Gareth!) and what I actually dress like on a daily basis? I’ve got endless editorials and movie stills and whatnot saved, but aside from the things I post becuase they’re amazing and wonderful and briliant or whatever, are there any designers I actually look at and think, yes, I want to dress like this? And what does that mean? But let’s disregard the meaning bit for a hot second, since JESUS GOD I NEED TO PUT CLOTHES ON MYSELF TOMORROW. I can covet all the Demeulemeester and Margiela I want - but whose knockoffs am I actually buying at H&M?
And so - after the jump, the four designers whose style I actually and practically love. In the most irrelevant and consumeristic of ways. Hell yes!
I’ve always been more attracted to the darker, edgier, and less “feminine” (in the sense of like, florals and ruffles and anything marginally cutesy, not in the makeup-and-heels way, around which my existence basically revolves) collections; I probably dress like a tough bitch to overcompensate for the fact that I’m actually at heart this uber-shy people-pleasing sweetheart of an anxious little mouse. (Okay, with a big mouth.) Black/grey/white and muted earth tones are the only colours I can pull off thanks to my skin and hair — so what’s a girl to do when I’m bored to tears of the things I’ve coveted for the past two years and peed myself with excitement when they started coming back in vogue a few years ago?
Depressing truth is, for the most part, I (sort of unintentionally, I swear, I’m not that cliche, am I?) that I dress more blatantly Balmain than anything else, and probably have for at least the past five years. Days, in general, consist of skinny jeans or uber-short-shorts, ratty shirts, and leather jackets or blazers, and either serious clunky boots or heels, and nights consist entirely of strong-shouldered bodycon black impossibly short dresses with shredded tights and again, boots or heels. That safety-pinned American flag denim jacket from this season? Yes, a thousand times yes. Dressing like this has looked cool for about fifty years now, and I am more than okay with continuing that. Is tight black jeans or cutoffs, a white tee, a leather jacket, pumps/ankle boots, and Ray Bans (the practical version of all Balmain, basically) ever NOT going to work? That’s what I thought.
Burberry. I hate myself for this one, because for some reason the whole khaki-plaid British prepster thing also seems at odds with my entire existence. But there are a few things I am unable to argue with: leather, good jackets, military details, shabby-girly dresses in earth tones paired with boots and said leather or military jackets, waist-belting, skinny jeans, killer heels, a good coat, a good scarf, things that are both excessively girly and excessively tough at the same time. Also, I wear Burberry Brit when I’m not wearing Dior Addict or one of Serge Lutens various I-don’t-know-what-this-is-but-I-sure-do-like-cinnamon-and-sandalwood perfumes. So. I CAN’T HELP IT, CHRISTOPHER BAILEY. I LOVE YOU.
But kids, I’m in my mid-twenties. I’m an old lady. I may still have a babyface and (hips aside) an unreasonably prepubescent 32-25-35 figure, but these things have lost their appropriateness for daily life and are resigned to days off and Friday nights, when everyone probably thinks I’m 18 anyhow. WHAT DO I DO?!?!
Peter Copping’s new vision of Nina Ricci has sort of been a sleeper favourite of mine for the past few seasons, in strange ways — while most of that pink frilly nonsense makes me squirm with discomfort, the Victoriana-30’s-50’s glam, hourglass silhouettes, and the neutral palettes heavy on the black, grey, and muted tones appeal to me in the strangest of ways, and I love the just-slightly-off not-quite-done-right slightly-disheveled girlishness. How great would those neutral little dresses, tailored skirts, and sheer ruffled blouses look toughed up with shredded tights and a pair of my sky-high wedge boots, or toned down with a beat-up moto jacket? These pieces paired with that Yohji-style makeup — pale bare face and deep almost-black lips — am I wrong about this?
Helmut Lang, about which I have no other comments than it has looked good for fifteen goddamned years and I can actually afford some of this and it’s all gorgeous and this is my enthusiastic response to that awful “if you could wear only one designer for the rest of your life” question. There is nothing else to say.
