Romy Finbow \ Foamy Rainbow

Fashion (un)defined

Unicorns again…

A few days ago I found myself pondering a unicorn sandwich. This concept, conceived by the wonderful Real Camille, became a crucial aspect of the Dentsu London strategy. When, over a year ago, the unicorn sandwich became a familiar feature in my (working) life, I understood it to represent our [Dentsu London’s] shared ambition to bring future magic into the world – to make communications, products and services that transcended the timely, relevant, useful, rational. It was about Making Future Magic. 

The word making stood for “collaboration, an understanding of materials, and craftsmanship.” We took future to mean “new… something that’s not been seen before”. And our magic was to be “playful, surprising, unexpected; with a positive cultural impact.”

       

Thinking about unicorn sandwiches again, away from the context of Dentsu, it suddenly occurred to me that this seemingly obscure concept makes more sense to me now than ever before. I started applying it to another thought that has been occupying my mind recently; how do we define fashion?

It was a question that my designer friend planted in my head after a tutor advised her to inject her collection with a concrete fashion reference. I asked her, “so when does a garment become fashion?” I wanted to understand the distinction between what is considered ‘fashion’ and what is not, from a designer’s perspective. Responding quickly, she explained that something becomes fashion when it embodies some sort of juxtaposition, tension, and an element of the unexpected; a silk floral print combined with tinsel, a different collar to what you’d expect on that type of jacket… some sort of suitable contrast. But she emphasized the precarious line between fashion and ‘trash’. 

Since then, I’ve been fascinated by other definitions of ‘fashion’. Diana Vreeland, the iconic magazine editor, also identified ‘the unexpected’: “Like new architecture, it shocks, it breaks the rules.” She embraced fashion with open arms: “It is change, it gives a little air… Fashion is for pruning… a woman’s own form and circumstances. She should use it, not fight it. Study it, observe it and then apply it, with discrimination, to herself. Listen to the drum that beats for that and the lute that plays for this. She should hail the hero of the hour, the sport of the day, the place, the fun of fashion in all of its flavors – without prejudice, with humour and understanding. Fashion is made up of opportunity and change, and is therefore for the young, of every age.” 

      

Photographer Nick Knight considers fashion as something fantastical, comparing it to Renaissance frescoes and wall paintings in terms of its effect on society: “These huge frescoes and wall paintings and vast cascading statues were the cinema of the time, the agents of imagination, as fashion is now becoming. People enjoy fantasy. They enjoy the freedom it suggests and the proposition of a different life.”

Yet Yves Saint Laurent was less enthusiastic about fashion’s role, stripping it of this association with fantasy and positive change, instead describing it as futile, something that fades, and a great danger:

“… One must not singe one’s wings on the fire of fashion. The poison of fashion kills. Style enriches, develops, fortifies. Women who follow fashion too closely incur a great danger: lose their real nature, their style, their natural elegance. Anyone can pass time creating a fashion. Few people are able to make a real garment. Haute Couture is a multitude of whispered secrets. Scarce are those who have the privilege to hand them down. All creation is only a re-creation, a new way to look at the same things, to express them differently, to precise them, to magnify one aspect unperceived until then or underline its contours. [Yves Saint Laurent , 1975 originally published in Interview Magazine, and again in A Magazine curated by Giambattista Valli, 2010]

And so it seems that there is no clear-cut definition of fashion. Yet certain threads are emerging and relating back to that rich unicorn sandwich… that focus on breaking the rules and creating something unexpected (or re-creating by expressing the same things in surprising ways), playful, while all the time being held together by the skeleton of craftsmanship. It can be fantastical (perhaps leading to opportunity and change, perhaps fading into the past), and dangerous, whether we choose to view that in a positive or negative light.

Like Future Magic and the unicorn sandwich, fashion is intended to inspire. While Yves Saint Laurent may have criticised it for its tendency to fade, we could argue that fashion and future magic are constantly morphing ideas, in permanent beta. 

The Art of the Invitation

I had a sudden memory jolt when I first saw the enchanting Meadham Kirchhoff invitation to their A/W12 show of being about 6 and opening a BEAUTIFUL glittery invitation to a friend’s birthday party. That feeling of intense anticipation and my imagination beginning to flicker - what would that party behold? 

Several weeks on (the show been and gone), I still can’t divert my eyes away from the intriguing card and envelope that are propped up on my desk. My friend gave them to me, I think to indulge my love of rainbows (stemming from my adopted name Foamy Rainbow… thank you Glyn Allanson), unicorns, and all things magical. 

Whilst my gaze wanders from bold flowers, to bat, to fried egg-shaped clouds at either end of a four-band neon rainbow, and a trotting unicorn on the invitation’s envelope, I find myself thinking about the significance and charm of invitations.

   

Meadham Kirchhoff isn’t alone when it comes to sending out fashion show invites via post. It seems that in this day of constant social media activity and a general consensus that email invitations have become not only acceptable but expected, an invitation that arrives via post – something tangible and memorable – has a wow factor and often succeeds in generating excitement and curiosity amongst recipients.

Whether a pop-up card with interactive features, a giant key or a ceramic plate displaying details of the show, these physical entities serve as an extension of the designers’ collections. Or rather, a teaser of what the show has in store for those lucky enough to receive one of these rare golden tickets. What will the show have in store? Do the neon colours reflect the colour palette of the collection? Is the mood of the show embedded in the bold graphics, the recycled material, or the deconstructivist aesthetics? Guessing games begin and anticipation sets in.

       

My very sketchy reproduction of the quirky interactive Meadham Kirchhoff invitation… materials: highlighters.

I spend a lot of time thinking about brand communications. What intrigues me about this culture of posting out creatively designed cards (objects even) is that fashion houses have recognised that these invitations serve as another (physical) touchpoint through which their brand essence can be infused. Take Maison Martin Margiela’s ingenious flash light key chain (as featured on AnOthermag.com) that, when switched on and projected onto a dark surface, reveals the show details; or Meadham Kirchhoff’s fluorescent / candy colour palette, daringness and pure playfulness; or Mary Katrantzou’s invitation which featured Crayola crayons, prompting the fashion blogger Tala Samman to speculate about ‘what prints she would be coming out with – crayola inspired?’; and let us not forget Mulberry’s giant golden key which shouts “we’re unmissable.”

So on the one hand we’re seeing the increasingly essential employment of social media and the need to be ahead of the curve when it comes to communicating with consumers and amplifying brand awareness. But on the other, fashion brands seem more aware than ever of the power of the more traditional, often witty, invitation. 

emerging from the blur: a clearer view of London Fashion Week

      

As my photos below suggest, my first true experience of London Fashion Week (by true I mean my first experience of attending the shows themselves) was a blur. I was working for My Beautiful City and the hugely talented visual designer Tupac Martir (aka ‘the light magician’ as he has been dubbed by Wallpaper Magazine’s Editor-in-Chief) who was waving his wand over a number of catwalks. So my purpose for attending these shows was not only to eye up the new collections for A/W 2012, but also to observe the spectacular ways in which lighting can be used to enhance the silhouettes, models and the space itself.

The experience was enlightening on many levels: I had the opportunity to compare the emotions and buzzing atmosphere backstage, in the heart of the venues, pre-show and after-show; I observed the wonderful juxtaposition of the technical lighting / set design teams (whose interest in fashion was largely non-existent) and the designers and their entourage; I sensed the anticipation, apprehension, and occasional anxiety moments before the show, while witnessing the front-row occupants’ apparent nonchalance; and I was able to watch the shows through the eyes of a lover of beautiful design, both in terms of the clothes and the lighting.

For the first time in the many years that I have been following London Fashion Week I was able to sympathise with all those editors writing about the exhaustion and stress of LFW as I ran from show to show, tottering behind Tupac in my rarely-worn heels (secretly envying his trainers and combat trousers). Yet the adrenaline was addictive and when our last show (JW Anderson’s Menswear) concluded with a briefer than brief appearance and wave from Jonathan Anderson, a little part of me felt disappointment as opposed to relief that LFW A/W 2012 had come to an end.

The shows themselves were indeed a blur, but each had its own unique character. Clements Ribeiro’s clashing pinks and reds, and the silver brocade which reflected the light from the opulent chandeliers above, provided a bright start to my week, followed by a dynamic sporting vibe at House of Holland, while Temperley’s bejeweled silk gowns and fur hats created a more romantic, sophisticated air. JW Anderson’s show the following morning was a beautifully stark contrast to this gilded extravagance, and his silhouettes (which touched on utility with an element of kink – the two-piece rubber numbers being particularly memorable) provided a totally different aesthetic. His menswear collection, shown several days later, was equally dramatic with grid-like motif knits and that same hint of kink.

          

But if we’re talking about shows as spectacles, Matthew Williamson’s occupation of the great hall inside the Royal Opera House was the epitome of spectacle. Tupac’s ability to get into the disused law courts opposite to send beams of light through the Opera House’s dramatic wall of glass so that they travelled through the hall, hitting the mirrored wall opposite, was evidence of his creative genius. 

So to those who are curious about LFW, this sums up my eye-opening/ blurring experience.