I felt a bit weird after I wrote about fashion shows last week. I hate when bloggers won't commit to what they stand for in case they offend somebody (although I'm still trying to figure out how running a business, even with integrity, fits in with being myself), and I think it's something style bloggers are especially guilty of, which is why I've sworn off so many of them. However, I don't exactly know where I fit into this whole fashion thing either. Does anyone? I've been having discussions with my excellent, thoughtful, and politically-aware friend who works in fashion in Auckland, about how a person who cares about politics and the environment can engage in the fashion world on her own terms. It's something I've grappled with for a long time, and I don't seem to be able to come to any definite conclusions. Especially not without coming off as all hear ye! or judgemental. Which could easily be because I, um, am...
Anyway, after writing about the vapid nature of fashion shows, I happened to watch the episode of Sex And The City when Carrie walks for Dolce & Gabbana (to Cheryl Lynn, and falls off her gigantic heels; it's one of the most memorable episodes of the entire series), and I laughed, and I oohed, and I cheered inside, and I had fun that meant something. (I should remind everyone at this point that I live almost the length of the country away from my friends, and that three of my best girlfriends live overseas. Hanging out with Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha - my favourite - is healthier than pretending to myself that I really know Naomi's family on Love Taza. At least the SATC girls aren't real to anybody). It made me feel like kind of a heel, or worse, like this awful self-righteous pseudo-intellectual girl in one of my philosophy papers who always had her long mouse-coloured hair in one of those pony-tails that is supposed to show a lack of concern for anything as superficial as looks, whom I once heard talking to another girl about those awful chain-stores with their cheap clothes, especially that one, "what is it? Super?". Even though I was going through a phase of wearing an androgynous ensemble of singlet, cigarette jeans, chucks, and hoody (you'd best believe I wore a decent push-up bra with that), I wanted to run out and hug all of the business students in their heels, minis, and oversized sunglasses, like long-lost kin. I don't want to be like her; I don't want to be all hateful and lofty about fashion and the people who love it. I love clothes. I love seeing people dressed well.
On the other hand, there's a lot about fashion that I can't be down with. There probably isn't time to go through all of things I don't like, but since I often talk disdainfully about mindless trend-following, one of them is the way trends work. I'd like to think that the inspiration for a season is a beautiful process, where a muse delivers a series of looks so meaningful and beautiful to the designer that they simply must share them with the world. However, all I see is an artificial capitalist system of generating want where there is no need. If fashion was like other forms of expensive art, which a person could keep up with without buying something every three months, it wouldn't seem so bad. But the way it's set up is that every season there is a set of new looks, and if you want to be part of the scene, you buy as many as you can. Maybe that's how you want to spend your money, in which case I won't judge you (that's a lie; it costs $15 a month to support Kidscan, and if you're spending $400 every two months on a new pair of shoes but claiming poverty when you see the ads, I AM judging you). I said on Friday that I liked this off-the -shoulder trend, and if I didn't already have such a top, maybe I would take advantage of their temporary availability to buy one. But every single season? I would feel like I was being played. And when I read style columns giving advice on where to spend or splurge (eg chain stores are the perfect place to try out those looks you're not sure of, or aren't here to stay), I feel so weird. These chain-stores are copying looks from international runways. Some people say that makes them accessible, and I can understand that. But they make me feel a bit like a joke is being made of us if we choose to take part in them. The pieces from which they're copied cost thousands of dollars each. They're not being made for "us"; they're being made for people who own most of the world's wealth, while "we" do most of the work. I'm assuming if you read this blog that you agree that's not cool; that the division of wealth in the world is unethical. So why would "we" want to dress like the people who benefit from our relative oppression? In cheap versions of what is being made for them? I feel as if doing so threatens to cheapen us. I'm not agreeing with what Miranda Priestly says to Andie about the colour of jumper she's wearing in The Devil Wears Prada (I thought that was the dumbest "ahh" moment ever; and as a turning point, made me think Andie was a certified idiot); if anything, Andie is subverting what Miranda or whoever meant when they picked that colour. People in Haiti wearing tshirts with crude American slogans are not cheapened by what they wear (and they certainly deserve better). I also recognise that some trends become part of a wider era, and that even someone who resists them probably follows some simply by osmosis; whether or not I have current trends in mind, there's a reason why I don't look at low-rise jeans at thrift shops. Although I like to think of that as finally knowing better. (Britney jeans 2002; the best of times, the worst of times.)
This wasn't supposed to have a clear conclusion, and I have lot more to say about what I love and hate about fashion, but not just now. I just wanted to make it clear that I don't really know where I fit, or if there's really an in-between. I might criticise shows, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't have a good time at one. I have a problem with the artificial origins of trends, but I'm not immune to them, though I try. All I'm sure of is that if you can do something good, you have a responsibility to do it, and that "good" isn't always straight-forward. I'm pretty sure you can care about fashion AND politics. And I really believe what Maya Angelou wrote: "Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better."
