Monday, 16 February 2015
I felt like there was a connection between crap high-street T-shirt brands and the way that even top-end fashion houses will do a basic T - basic of course is no reflection of the price, but it's an easy buy-in for most, and while around £50 (yes, and upwards) is expensive for these kind of garments in the high street context, but you get into a brand a fall in love with its aesthetic, manufacturing values and general vibe.
Then I realised (after much mucking about with 'arty' lighting [aka me trying to use a £5.99 argos lamp as a lightbox and failing] and a pile of T-shirts) that I really just wanted to write about Gosha Rubchinskiy.
First a little more preface. I am a T-shirt lover. I have waaaay too many (colour-coded, natch) and a drawer just of white ones. Along with jeans/shirts, nice trainers and a crewneck sweater, I live in Ts, and I try to find interesting ones as much as possible.
As with my weird attempts to dress like a football hooligan from the 1980s, I've no idea where my wanting to dress like a skater boy comes from. I'm not very grungy - obvs. But I do like that California style, the whole Kurt Cobain, baggy jumpers and ripped denim, setting out on your board to do tricks and such. I bet it probably has something to do with me being not very sporty as a kid (aren't all these deep-seated desires rooted in our childhood), but tbh I don't really care - and that means you definitely won't either.
But skate style is something that I've always been drawn towards, which is why Rubchinskiy's aesthetic is so appealing. Working in Russia but showing in Paris, the designer is channeling local skate culture through modern streetwear, simply put. Increasingly interesting in his aesthetic development is this desire to explore a subculture in a country that seems to be careering out of control (cheers Putin, you dick), in many ways paralleling the horrors of late '80s American capitalism, but in a weird, very Russian way.
Look, there's a whole lot more to it than that, but here's what I love about Gosha's pieces. In fact, in pictorial form:
This T-shirt is an acrid yellow, reasonably well-made soft cotton T. Aside from the pretty ridiculous colour, it's a raglan-sleeve. But only from the front. From the back, Rubchinskiy has crafted the entire shoulder of the T with two pieces; one seam stretching from armpit-to-armpit, and one directly vertically from the neck down. The construction does two things: it constantly reminds you that you're wearing something unusual; it gives a sensation of difference, of otherness, and of thought. It also creates a different hang to the garment; it moves from the way you move your back, it's slightly awkward, and isn't entirely comfortable.
This sounds perverse (and possibly pretentious, but I've already used talked about 'otherness', so I might as well steam through) but the way this garment makes you feel means that you're constantly thinking about it as you wear it. Not in a 'how do I look?' way, but a 'what does this mean?' way.
In brief, it challenges the wearer. Much more than you'd expect from a humble t-shirt. With the simple space age graphic, PACCBET (meaning sunrise, or dawn - make of that what you will) on the front, it's one of the oddest Ts I own.
There's something challenging about Rubchinskiy's work, which is possibly why he's supported by the Comme des Garcons/DSM stable; it's conceptual, but not in the way you think. Crucially though - and if you have an inquiring mind - it does make you think. And not many garments do that, right?
Monday, 9 February 2015
Anyone that knows me knows I am a creature of habit. From my Sunday evening Countryfile and Antiques Roadshow routine to my pretty much unshakeable current wardrobe of crewneck sweatshirts and jeans, I'm not often knocked out of my comfort zone - part of the reason that the Shirt challenge was a bit, ahem, challenging. (That said, I have actually done a few days of shirt-wearing; I'm saving them up for a proper post, promise).
Anyway, I have been rooted in my Vans, Vortex and Converse for, well, pretty much the last decade now. But I've always had dalliances with other footwear. Part of settling into the 30something vibe for me this year was about getting a bit smarter...and I still have to deal with that on the footwear front, despite owning some lovely smart shoes. But for some reason, and this is what I'd like to examine today, for the last six months I've lusted over '90s trainer classics the Adidas Gazelle.
These desires are odd, but when they happen, I'm more than happy to investigate. It's the kind of thing I've probably subconsciously seen in magazines, on shoots, in the street (in fact I think Lou Dalton sent her models down the LCM catwalk in them for SS15); the kind of trigger that you don't realise is building up in your brain until you're in a shoe shop on a day off in December, trying on a pair of trainers because you've decided you definitely need them in your life.
As you will have gathered from reading the blog for any length of time, my approach to a lot of fashion - particularly the stuff I buy - is very driven by my gut reactions. I don't often set out to buy something specific - especially during the sales - and I guess the last few years of working at a magazine has meant that freebies poured through the door and that's always a nice position to be in.
However, with these Gazelles I'm not quite sure what set off the desire. It might be in part a real masculine, Northern thing - Gazelles are of course a key part of the football terrace uniform (along with Stone Island jackets). Maybe I'm trying to cling to some Northernesque roots as I've been down here in LDN for over twelve years. TWELVE YEARS. Christ.
Anyway, maybe it's partly that. Maybe it's a 90s thing - that whole acid house, rave generation, leading into Britpop...they would all have worn Gazelles. If the music's good - the clothes must be right? Look at disco! I remember slopping round Camden in Puma Romas back in my uni days, and Gazelles are just a better Roma, really.
I think it might also be a bit of a reaction to the universal fashion acceptance of Stan Smiths too. I had a pair briefly, but they were so flat and uncomfortable (not to mention now ubiquitous at fashion week), that I got rid of them. There's something very pleasing about Stans' minimal appearance, but a trainer that isn't comfy might as well not be a trainer.
So I picked up a pair of Gazelles from Mr Porter - plumping for the black classics, and they've become my go-to winter shoes, despite being not that grippy, and not that waterproof. They're super-comfy and give a nice, dressed-down feel to my outfits. Which is good for those days when I wear a shirt...maybe I am getting out of my routine? Who knows. Only 2015 will provide the answers.
In the meantime, Gazelles. They're fab.
Monday, 26 January 2015
And so to another coat. Sorry about that - in my defence, it is bloody freezing out there! This one though, I haven't written about before - mostly because I bought it just the other week.
The middle of January (the 20th to be exact, fact fans) heralds my birthday, which for the past few years has meant a sale treat. Last year it was the Christopher Raeburn bomber, and this year I surpassed myself and actually bought myself 2 coats in the sales.
This particular one though, as with so much sale shopping (right?) was an accident. I've been a bit of a fan of Ben Sherman over the last few years, as their range has matured to become a sort of junior Albam (that occasionally goes to a rave, rather than constant dull art openings). They've expanded their offering to include some really great things, that are chock full of detail and very reasonably priced.
So for the last few months, before the Sales and as they progressed, I had my eye on a black watch Tartan parka, osensibly to replace my student/miner chic one. On their website, it looks bloody fabulous - tailored in the right places, smart and just the right thing to chuck on over anything to keep toasty warm. In store though, it was another matter. The cut was all wrong on me, too tight at the neck, and with a proper trad parka fishtail hemline, as well as a boxy hood, that combined to give it a touch too much of Italian exchange student for me. A valuable lesson learned there - buying online can often prove fatal.
But with the purse strings opened by a previous Liberty bargain (of which more soon) and the shopping lust well and truly out, couple with Ben Sherman's bargainous sale markdowns, I was determined to make a purchase. Just not sweatshirts (anyone that knows me knows that I already have waaaaay too many!) So I checked out their coats and found this beauty. It's a little similar to the B Store one I bought a few months back on eBay, but made from a sturdier wool, and cut impeccably, as was pointed out to me by one of the menswear designers at work. This coat has a half-raglan sleeve; so raglan at the back of the shoulder, and straight at the front. this gives it the comfort and informality of a casual coat, but also the sharper shoulder shape of a smarter piece.
Unlike the parka, its pockets are in exactly the right place (hand height, durrrr), and the checked wool is clearly not from a 99p shop at the end of Brick Lane. I've taken to wearing it in a kind of Mod-ish way, with the top button done up and the rest free, creating a great a-line shape. It's rapidly become the go-to coat, despite not being as warm as the parka.
Anyway, a little insight there. I've got a few articles brewing post-LCM (and the rest of the menswear shows; just fired off my Paris report), so I'll try and keep a little more regularly updated. But definitely worth scouring the end of the sale. This jacket was knocked down from £195 to £78. £78! That's the price of a jumper in most places. If you get paid Friday, go and have a scout round those sad-looking sale racks and see what you can turn up; there's plenty left to be found if you look hard enough...
Check, mate indeed.
Monday, 5 January 2015
As January dawns, the thoughts of people working in the fashions turn to the upcoming 2-3 months of shows, presentations, catwalks, parties and relentless travel. It's a tough job (no, srsly), and I'm sure there'll be all sorts of thrills and spills across social media and various ritzy locations as the next few months unfurl.
However, January signals two things for most people: 1) it gets very cold and 2) everyone is very poor. Sadly I can't offer any tips on fixing the latter, but for me, every year I return to this jacket for some reason. (aside: January is also my birthday)
I've been in London for, well, this is my 13th year here. So some time. And despite gaining and losing more items of clothing, friends, drinks, colleagues and books, this parka seems to have stuck with me. I bought it as a first year student, living in Max Rayne House on Camden Road (typing those words does indeed take me back). On my walk back from the bus from uni, there was a vintage shop, just by Camden Rd station - now long gone - where I spunked most of my student loan on American college Ts, scratchy cardigans and 1970s kipper ties. And this very parka was a January purchase there.
Why a parka? Well dear readers, I have a confession: I was a noughties indie kid. I went to indie discos across Camden, I loved Trash at the End, I partied at student unions, I was obsessed with the Libertines. It was a fun time. And I must've seen it in NME or read about it in the Face or something, but parkas were cool. I bet Graham Coxon had one. Anyway, I picked this up for about £35, and it was pretty knackered at the time. I wore it relentlessly (with self-ripped and patched bootcut jeans, Puma Roma and a vintage BA flight bag *don't judge, it was 2003*), patched it up, and never quite got around to chucking it out.
Partly because it's so damn warm; it's like wearing a duvet, and it's got those hand-warmy pockets on the chest that are uber-toasty. And partly because, well this is real life. Not sure if you've picked this up from the blog along the way, but I don't go around wearing custom-made Valentino couture, or incredibly rare Miyake samples from 1983. Well, not *that* often anyway.
I've grown to love this parka, there's something refreshingly honest about it - I love the terrible fake fur on the hood, the bobbled hood, the faded orange lining...it's not trying to be ridiculous, and it does its job well. It's the kind of jacket you can pull on over a T to face a cold winter's night, stuff behind a speaker and party til dawn, and then retrieve and wrap yourself up in it, safe in the knowledge that it's done its job. And yes, I have tested that theory - though not enough recently.
Back to January's shows though, and will I wear it to LCM? Probably not. It's practical for cold tube platforms, and like my walking gear at my parents in the Lakes, knows its place. But then, who knows - this parka has been to stranger places before.
(with apologies for the terrible photo - amazingly there is not a photo in existence in the history of Facebook of me actually wearing this. Oh and also, hope some of you get the Thunderbirds ref in the title...)
***UPDATE*** Turns out I've written about this damn parka before. Ah well, enjoy the update and any inconsistencies in the story. The original post is here.
Monday, 8 December 2014
If you've read this 'blog' for more than 5 seconds you'll know that I love a bargain. And while it's true that pretty much everyone in the world loves a bargain, people in fashion definitely love a bargain (and know how to find one) more than most.
Perhaps it's because you do tend to lose a sense of perspective about the true cost of things. You begin to believe that everyone actually buys multiple pairs of £200 jeans, or thinks nothing of dropping on a £700 coat twice a year, or actually pre-orders items from Bond Street stores. As we know from our own actual friends, this really doesn't apply.
Ergo, in fashion, there are a number of accepted, but on-the-DL routes to obtaining your dream wardrobe. You might know someone who knows someone at a PR agency and manage to get gifted, or a discount. You might rigorously shop the sales in high street shops and know which branch of which store is likely to have the exact piece in your size - normally somewhere unexpected like Canary Wharf or Richmond. You might scour eBay for items and get your bidding strategy sharpened up. Or, you might get into the world of sample sales and buy a combination of statement and staple pieces. A warning though, if you have to queue for a sample sale as I was asked to do today, walk away: a queue means that already too many people know about it, and all the best stuff will have gone to that exchange student who got up at 6am with Daddy's credit card to bag all the best stuff. And also, queuing for clothes is so *desperate* darling.
Or, you might (and here's where we come to the title), educate yourself about factory shops and outlets. Bicester Village is one such place, and indeed is one of the biggest tourist attractions in the UK for Chinese visitors. This weekend, I paid another visit to the burgeoning Hackney Fashion Hub, as it's been dubbed, and I came away with mixed feelings.
There's Aquascutum, Pringle, Bally, Anya Hindmarch, and of course Burberry (which was heaving), as well as a brand new Joseph outlet. We went to have a look for a coat for my Dad, which turned out to be an excellent idea since he's slightly larger than average, and those are the sizes that end up in these kind of places. Joseph was exceptionally well-stocked: Lanvin, Trussardi, McQueen, Comme, Dior...all sorts of top quality merch at somewhere between 60 and 80% off. I kept doing this stupid little fashiony gasp when I looked at the labels, deeply irritating my parents with repeated exclamations about 'how AMARZING the prices were for these pieces'. Sorry, Mum & Dad. Anyway, best thing I found was the Junya for Comme suede patchwork jacket that's at the top of this piece. Down from £2100 to £650 (and my size). Sadly I don't have £650, but that's a pretty good saving for a truly statement trans-seasonal piece that'll last for years and become a future classic.
What made me more uneasy is what this means for Hackney. As we know, the irrepressible march of gentrification has claimed a good part of East London and is the reason that I will probably never be able to afford to buy a house in the Capital. It's the reason that crime is down and some of my friends have made £200k on their houses in 2 years. It's the reason that areas that used to be deprived and stab-ridden are now habitable. Gentrification has so many plus and minus points...I'm not going to go into it here. But the new Hackney Fashion Hub is a case in point: transforming a once-no-go area of East London into a hub for designer shopping. The (already-approved) plan involves reclaiming the arches under the overground from light local industry, and demolishing some old terrace houses and a pub to make way for two glass towers and a huge number of retail units.
Yes, this'll surely bring jobs into the area, and trickledown into the local economy, but it's hardly characterful. Having seen the rapid rise of Broadway market from local street just 20 years ago to the yuppie £13-loaf-of-bread promenade that it is now (and playing my own small part in that too), I...well, I don't know. Is this progress? Is it the future? Is it (without wanting to sound *too* Kevin McCloud) better? A relentless rise of these kind of places, that are so blatantly not for locals that it's basically the rule now that anyone who looks vaguely Chinese in Hackney will either be looking for or coming from the Burberry outlet.
It's an integral part of fashion: the global supply chain, and the way things are made that you at least have to be aware of, whatever your opinion on how the wealth is distributed.
But I'm torn. There's no right answer. And the march of progress is tough to deal with. But the one thing is for sure, there is a price to pay for these kind of bargains, wherever you buy them.
Monday, 24 November 2014
I do not wear shirts. Since being forced to iron them for school some years ago, and then forced to wear them while working at a job I despised in the City, I've been off the collar and cuffs look. Aside from weddings, funerals, posh parties, interviews and the occasional fashion week, they hang forlornly in my wardrobe, complementing the colour-coded system, but never used.
Wearing a tie is just not for me (hence my hilarious attempts to be sartorial in the recent Hackett #10Men1City campaign). I loathe ironing shirts. The air tie (or as one friend once commented many years ago "the emperor's new clothes of styling") thing is just not me. Above all, I am not good with authority (if my last post wasn't clear enough), and kowtowing to the shirted authority is something I have, in my own small way, attempted to rebel against.
However, I also realise that this may sound a little childish. I am lucky enough to own quite a few rather nice shirts from posho places like Prada, Miu Miu, Paul & Joe and Liberty. Somehow I even have a custom-made one from Savile Row's Norton & Sons. Strange for an eschewer of the form.
When I rebooted this blog a couple of months ago, I posted the following onto Facebook: "It's been a while but I'm kinda bringing The Staple back! Ish. Still working out what I might do with it... suggestions/ criticism/ LOLZ welcome".
Brilliantly, one of my friends loves this sort of thing. Catherine Sweeney is a woman I have known since I was about nine years old, and she's a part of my awesome group of nine of us that are still fantastic friends since school. Probably, in fact, my most important friends in the world - even though I don't see them that often. Ms Sweeney though, loves an adventure, and a challenge (and is currently in Kenya, sporadically - and BRILLIANTLY - blogging at Twendevso), so she read this as a challenge. Luckily for me, she didn't really set any parameters, so I'm setting them for myself.
So, I'm going take her up on the challenge, and start wearing shirts again. It might not sound like a big thing to anyone that doesn't know me, but to those that do: when was the last time you saw me in a shirt?! Anyway, I've just counted in my wardrobe, and I have 20 - though the spangly Prada one may have to wait. The aim will be to wear a different shirt every week, and see how it goes. Will I become a committed shirt-wearer, or leave them gladly behind? Will anyone aside from Catherine care?
Don't worry btw, this isn't for charity (I'm more of a believer in giving money regularly to charity); there's no participation required. I'm going to do a thing, and then write about it. Hopefully it'll be vaguely interesting...
A disclaimer: Apologies if you find this deathly dull. I'm sure there's plenty happening on Buzzfeed.
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Over the summer, I became a bit of an eBay addict. Nothing too serious, but like most people in fashion, I try and seek out something different to what everyone else is wearing. And like most people in fashion, eBay is my chosen arena for this search.
Now that vintage shops, and even charity shops, are basically the same price as Topman, and the high street's enormous turnover of cheaply-made garments aren't becoming less appealing for anyone looking for interesting clothes, it seems like the forum for buying good quality second-hand clothing at a reasonable price is rather necessary. In the same way that I wouldn't advise anyone buying nice second-hand furniture to buy it at a fancy boutique in any London area with 'Village' in its name, buying top quality vintage fashion in the capital is riddled with issues, namely price and quality.
On the other side, there's a delicious ease to eBay, and a simple naivete to it. Like Twitter, the listings process is a great leveller, equating Balenciaga couture with a pair of old H&M socks, and leaving it to anyone with a bit of nous to truffle out the prizes. And usually it'll be Mr Fury, um furiously, bidding on the couture, so watch out - he's a formidable buyer.
Does it take a bit of time? Well yes. But then so does going to the shops. Also, I can't go to the shops under my duvet, or at 2am. Is there a possibility that you might buy a fake? Well, yes, but like buying a stolen bike on Gumtree, it's pretty obvious once you've looked for more then ten minutes. If you know which labels to look out for then you'll be OK (top tip #1: cult boutiques and smaller labels; if they a massive catwalk show/perfume line/enormous shop on Bond St then you'll be wading through piles of crap). Is it a bit annoying sometimes? Well yes, but that just makes the wins all the sweeter.
But what to buy? It's the same as when that flashing cursor of Google blinks and all of human knowledge is at your fingertips: start with something you know and love. My latest bargain is right there at the top of this post: a pair of Strawberry Thief Liberty print Vans in exactly my size, purchased just the other week, at half the retail price. I tried on the ones they had in Liberty a few weeks ago, but the sizing wasn't quite right, and sixty quid for canvas daps is a bit steep. Cue eBay - these ones are from a few seasons ago, but in this much jollier print, and crucially for me, a UK 10.5. Apparently that's my size, I've been getting it wrong for years.
Anyway, a drunken bid (top tip #2: booze helps all purchases - eBay or not, as we saw from my recent Neil Barrett purchase) secured them for a perfectly reasonable price, and they arrived a few days later. Admittedly the box was knackered, but tbh they've barely been off my feet. Florals for winter - groundbreaking apparently. Just spray them with some sort of protector like the woefully-names but very effective Crep Protect and you'll be AOK.
A warning: like Tinder, eBay is a dangerously addictive way of spending time and money. With an app on your phone, a bit of booze and a few quid in your Paypal account, you can rapidly become obsessed with it. I'm gutted to have missed out on a few items recently (an Aquascutum camel cashmere parka and an Antipodium T back from the days when they did menswear), but this is only fuelling the fire of more purchasing.
There are of course pitfalls to avoid, and ways of scoring that bargain last-minute, but this isn't a blow-by-blow how-to guide. Dive in, make some mistakes and buy something inappropriate, it's *such fun*, I promise.
* why a 'Dark Art', you might ask? Well, eBay is very much the fashion insider's secret, like the Chiswick car boot sale (apparently). Everyone's at it, but no-one talks about it. If someone in fashion tells you they've never used it, eye them suspiciously and quiz them on the names of the staff on the second floor of DSM where that Limited Edition Alaia utility came from, and watch them crumble.
Wednesday, 29 October 2014
Over the summer, I was doing a bit of 'brand consulting' and 'content strategy' for a few different places. You know, the kind of things you can't really describe without sounding like a total wanker. The kind of work that you do at 2pm on a smashed macbook while sipping a flat white in a trendy Hackney coffee shop. Before cycling home.
Yes, it was a cliche filler for sure, but it was also a bit of a confidence-booster. Working freelance isn't all that bad, in fact it can be great (when people 'remember' to pay their invoices). The place that I worked at consistently was Irish accessories brand Stighlorgan.
Run by Yvonne and Christian, the brand is all about taking traditional techniques and materials and giving them a unique spin. Not only that, but the way they put collections together is fascinating: they start with a few outline ideas for the season, then fire these over to one of their mates (a fantastically creative writer named Davin Gaffney), and then he sends back a short piece of writing that is then transmogrified into an entire range. It results in a line of products that are more than just bags and hats; they are the embodiment of the people that run the brand and the way they run it.
On to a bit of product. I've had this Driscoll bag for a good few years now, and in that time it gets more comments that pretty much anything else I own. It's a srsly simple design idea, but difficult to pull off without a sharp eye for detail and a strong knowledge of craft. Harking back to drawstring bags from the '90s (JJB Sports anyone?), it's a classic design, reworked in thick bridle leather with rope shoulder straps and some slick zip pocket details both inside and at the bottom, as well as subtle oversize embossed logo on the front. Over the time I've had it, the leather has softened and taken on a gorgeous patina, and since I started my new job, I've worn this every day. Basically, it's bloody awesome.
It's characteristic of the way Stighlorgan works. While these guys have an eye firmly on commerce, they're also very careful about the way they do things: reworking the entire range every season for example, isn't really necessary, but that's the way they want to do it. I find this approach very appealing, and the designs that Christian comes up with every season are SO on point. He's created the kind of brand that is consistently a few seasons ahead of everyone else. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but incredibly I've not seen anywhere else that's managed a copy of the Driscoll.
Anyway, I appeared at Stighlorgan at the start of the summer, and since then, these two have launched a new season, taken on new clients, moved studios and opened their own standalone retail store in Dalston, with all of the rollercoaster ride that this entails. They are some of the most lovely people I know, and not to sound sycophantic, properly inspiring. They also love a drink, which always helps matters, I find.
Anyway, I'm thrilled to say that the SLG Store is opening tomorrow (Thursday 30th) at 1 Stoke Newington High Street, in a space that's been bespoke-designed by Christian, and built with love over the last few months. Stocking a range of brands alongside their backpacks, it's a beautiful place and sure to become a bit of a destination for discerning shoppers, design lovers, and most importantly of all, prospective new friends, in coming months and years.
Proof, if it were needed, that good things come to great people. Now on with the booze!
A quick postscript: While I did love my old Sandqvist, two things. 1) they're now everywhere (ew), and 2) it broke. None of that with these guys...
(With apologies (um, again) for terrible photo, there are much better ones on the site)
Monday, 27 October 2014
I've made no secret over the years of my love for the form of the magazine. Hell, I even worked at one for four years (before it 'went biannual'). And I had a brilliant time: I travelled the world, was showered with gifts, was invited to events as diverse as you can imagine, ate and drank for free...
It sounds ridiculous, and for the most part it was. But please note: this money for travel and gifts and everything else doesn't come from your publication, but from an increasing number of brands with a small to sky-high marketing budget chasing a rapidly-decreasing number of journalists and publications - especially in print.
The current model of fashion media is still doggedly clinging to print publications. Everyone loves to see something in print, is what we're told, but in truth, who does it matter to? Not to the public for starters. Here's a truth that might sting, if you work in print: no-one reads magazines. Your mates don't, your parents don't, people under 25 definitely don't. It's an industry in decline, and that isn't going to change. Print publications as a mass-market means of communication are over. When was the last time you bought a magazine? When was the last time you saw someone with a daily paper that they'd paid money for? Even the Saturday/Sunday papers tradition seems only kept alive by pubs.
I don't think I'm being overly hyperbolic (and in fact, I'm happy to be put right), but the way people consume has changed. It's all about the internet. Obvs. Print magazines won't die, but I've always likened the relationship to MP3s and vinyl records: you wouldn't wander around today with a turntable in your bag would you? Everyone has an MP3 player, or more likely, a phone that plays music. But the people who love a certain band, who cherish the experience of hearing their music, will go out and buy a vinyl record. Same with magazines; but fashion (like music) is a bit of an inward-looking world, and everyone that works in it buys magazines (or rather, has them delivered to their desks), and still likes seeing shoots in glossy format. Interns devour biannuals at a voracious speed.
This decline in popularity has lead to a depressing lack of money in an industry that is supposed to be reasonably desirable: the trickledown effect being that magazines are run by posh girls who love shopping and Daddy's Platinum Amex, and interns. The resulting effect of the lack of money, is a lack of investment in the surrounding media and talent: the second-tiers of print publications are run now by mavericks with a little VC investment (or inheritance); a lack of competition means that advertisers don't spend money further down the tree - I know enormous fashion websites with readerships in seven figures that are run from kitchen tables. Great journalists and writers are following the dollar signs to the Land of Content, overflowing with rollerball pens and heavy gsm writing paper.
Anyway, without going a bit Lexi Featherstone (or moaning relentlessly about the volume of emails one has to sift through) I guess it's just a bit sad to see that the established media hasn't found a way to get around this and jumpstart the industry. The halcyon days of making whatever you want and getting paid top dollar for it are over. Writing a 20-page feature for a glossy magazine and being paid £10k just doesn't happen any more. You're lucky if someone even pays your paltry invoice these days, especially in music journalism.
Some might say that the closure of a magazine is a sad thing, but really, it's an inevitability - they were never meant to last forever. It's the medium that I'll miss; the idea that you could turn a page and have no idea what's coming - a hugely powerful trope in a mass-market product. As my old Editor once memorably put it: "A magazine is a storage space for dynamite; and we want ours to blow your face off."
Don't get me wrong. There are still great opportunities to make content and tell great stories (I'm working in one such place now, in fact). You could start a blog, work with your mates, start a niche magazine...it's not hard. Build your voice on social media, speak what you believe to be the truth, read (for God's sake READ!), write some words somewhere, and who knows, you could be the next Suroosh Alvi or Shane Smith - seemingly Vice is the last hope for some sort of future to the media, and I can't imagine having typed that a few years ago.
I guess what I'm most sad about is the changing idea of telling a great story, and telling it with words, really well. So many fashion writers are so bad at using a keyboard (not that I'm Proust, but at least my sentences are vaguely grammatically correct), which I find to be a huge shame: there are so many fantastic stories in the fashion industry that are just waiting to be well-told.
But I'm going to end on a positive note (and try to get this one put to bed).
First, remember that as long as those sky-high marketing budgets are there, there's always a way to get your words read.
To conclude (and continuing the musical analogy): all the best music has come from tiny, unknown scenes; repressed people, searching for a way to do things their own way. Look at disco, or acid house, or techno. Perhaps this switch in writing culture, driving the best writers away from established channels, away from the old structures of work and supporting themselves will drive a revolution in people writing great stories, putting great words in unusual sequences and making thrilling narratives, just because they want to.
Monday, 20 October 2014
Apologies in advance for the Lightning Seeds reference - I'm sure you'll get over it though (aside: CHRIST, that song is nearly 20 years old.) It's a terrible reference to coats, and thank the Lord, one that avoids talking about a change of seasons. #copywriterproblems
Anyway, I seem to have developed an obsession with coats of late; partly because, well, why the fuck not, and partly because of my summer-fuelled eBay addiction. It started off (like all good addictions) with a bit of fun, and has of late turned into a proper compulsion; I'm constantly searching for some really good menswear pieces from brands like Cacharel, Wooyoungmi, Carven, APC (of course) and vintage Helmut Lang and B Store. And there's plenty to be had, at a pretty reasonable price. A month or so ago, I managed to pick up an old B Store raglan-sleeve coat for £15, which was a bit of a steal.
Anyway, I digress. After a late-night booze-fuelled trawl of the Neil Barrett stream on eBay (tip: NEVER do this), I decided that bidding a not inconsiderable, but just about bearable amount on a short, DB camel peacoat was a superb idea. Also, I'm newly employed, so obvs had to treat myself. And I'm SO glad I did - this piece was a runway piece from AW13, and appaz retailed for in excess of $1200 originally, so it was a total bargain. And it is EXQUISITELY made; all stiff wool lapels and beautifully-lined interior. It's also bloody warm which is nice on the freezing overground platforms of east London. There's something rather pleasant about a coat like this: it is clearly beautifully-tailored and constructed, and you feel that every time you put it on. For significantly less the price of a wool & leather-look jacket from Topman, I've got a proper, made in Italy, piece of craftsmanship. Long live my eBay addiction, right (currently bidding on an Aquascutum cashmere parka - OMGZ, right?)
My other coat acquisition comes from Stone Island - the other end of Italian outerwear. This was, I am incredibly lucky to say, a gift for working with the brand and their fab PR agency 4M over many years at Notion (they got their fair share of coverage), and I was invited to pick something out in-store (yes, clearly missing some parts of being a magazine-hack). Cobalt blue has always been one of my favourite colours, and in this classic windbreaker shape, it's a lovely bit of bright on the overground. It's featherweight, beautifully-tailored (with narrow arms) and makes me walk with a weird kind of lad-swagger. I'm obvs such a terrace hooligan IRL, though I'm not sure it sits well with listening to Annie on repeat on my iPhone. I'm actually after a nice pair of Adidas Gazelles to complete the look, after seeing some look fabulous at the Richard Nicoll SS15 show in June (OMG ALERT: 4 days of LCM in Jan!)
Anyway, I have much-digressed. The great thing about these two coats is that they are both fantastically-made, fit brilliantly, and cost about the same as a run-of-the-mill high street winter jacket (OK the Stoney was a gift, but you can pick them up for about that much on eeBs). It just proves that with a little research and a well-timed drink/bid, there's stuff out there that will really elevate your wardrobe from the masses. And make you feel great at the same time. Cos that's one of the most important things about buying great statement pieces, right? Especially when you wrap yourself into a winter coat? You want to feel great.
(With apologies for the photos: I'm a Wordsmith, not a photographer, so these cheesy shots in my hall mirror, nicked from Instagram, will have to do. Plenty more baking, mirror shots and embarrassing moments there if you need a laugh.)