2008 Woodie Awards
Fashion failures prefer flannel
William Ruff
Issue date: 11/9/07 Section: Opinion
- Page 1 of 1
Fashion, in revolt against nature, blooms in winter and not in spring. It is against the worst winter blusters that we take the most comfort in warm jackets and the most pleasure in dressing like ice kings and queens, in demonstrating the grace and elegance with which we can defend ourselves against the cold. And now that winter is approaching, the "chic" among us will narrow their eyes at the "un-chic" who dare to wear the boots of last season. Did they miss the memo? This year, it's knee-high leather and fur-lined hoods.
Before leaving to study abroad last year, no one I noticed wore knee-high boots and boggle-eyed sunglasses. Now everyone does.
Two years ago, I'd never seen men wearing boots with angular, pointed toes. Or anyone except gardeners wearing Crocs. Now these things are common. I suspect, though, that they could soon fade into obscurity along with bell-bottoms and perms.
Fashion blows in and blows back out again. Everyone knows that-it might be one of the great clichés of America, a nation signed into existence by men wearing ridiculous powdered wigs; where bellbottoms last as long as the ideals they signify, and bleached cut-offs live on only in high-school textbooks.
It's no surprise. America is more susceptible to rapid changes in style than any other nation on earth. Every year the fashion world undergoes an identity crisis, and each successive generation revolts against the styles of their fathers and mothers.
Why? Who knows? It's a complex question. But perhaps it has to do with advertisers, who cleverly engender insecurity in folks by convincing them that financial success depends on how they appear, and that happiness depends on financial success. The product of a season is pushed, and then discarded.
I for one find these vicissitudes absurd and wasteful. I would prefer to purchase a piece of clothing that would last for years and years, style be damned. But unfortunately, most clothes don't last.
Isn't it strange that the clothes we buy are designed to decay in order to encourage a quick return to the market, that tires last for fifty-thousand miles while our shoes unravel in a few hundred, that almost anything you buy from Wal-Mart falls apart in just a few days? And finally, that most of our clothing is produced by people who live on another side of the planet often in conditions that would make us think twice about wearing the clothing we wear if we had to spend even a day living as they do?
That's why I can say with all confidence that I am among those who call themselves "fashion failures." I am not going to purchase the latest clothing, adopt the latest hairstyle, or wear the latest boots, because I believe those things symbolize impermanence and mindless consumerism.
And as Christmas time approaches, and we all begin preparing ourselves for massive corporate bombardment and Santa Claus shoving his gimcracks down our chimneys, there is no better time to stop and question the comings and goings of fashion.
Before leaving to study abroad last year, no one I noticed wore knee-high boots and boggle-eyed sunglasses. Now everyone does.
Two years ago, I'd never seen men wearing boots with angular, pointed toes. Or anyone except gardeners wearing Crocs. Now these things are common. I suspect, though, that they could soon fade into obscurity along with bell-bottoms and perms.
Fashion blows in and blows back out again. Everyone knows that-it might be one of the great clichés of America, a nation signed into existence by men wearing ridiculous powdered wigs; where bellbottoms last as long as the ideals they signify, and bleached cut-offs live on only in high-school textbooks.
It's no surprise. America is more susceptible to rapid changes in style than any other nation on earth. Every year the fashion world undergoes an identity crisis, and each successive generation revolts against the styles of their fathers and mothers.
Why? Who knows? It's a complex question. But perhaps it has to do with advertisers, who cleverly engender insecurity in folks by convincing them that financial success depends on how they appear, and that happiness depends on financial success. The product of a season is pushed, and then discarded.
I for one find these vicissitudes absurd and wasteful. I would prefer to purchase a piece of clothing that would last for years and years, style be damned. But unfortunately, most clothes don't last.
Isn't it strange that the clothes we buy are designed to decay in order to encourage a quick return to the market, that tires last for fifty-thousand miles while our shoes unravel in a few hundred, that almost anything you buy from Wal-Mart falls apart in just a few days? And finally, that most of our clothing is produced by people who live on another side of the planet often in conditions that would make us think twice about wearing the clothing we wear if we had to spend even a day living as they do?
That's why I can say with all confidence that I am among those who call themselves "fashion failures." I am not going to purchase the latest clothing, adopt the latest hairstyle, or wear the latest boots, because I believe those things symbolize impermanence and mindless consumerism.
And as Christmas time approaches, and we all begin preparing ourselves for massive corporate bombardment and Santa Claus shoving his gimcracks down our chimneys, there is no better time to stop and question the comings and goings of fashion.
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