“I have my own experiences that are just unique in the world,” Reid says of her approach. “I think that the show will be different because of that. And the things that I focus on and the things that I care about include a lot of things that are about the community I come from. “We are going to be the first show out of D.C. for the night,” she continues. “We’re setting that stage of being able to directly question our elected officials pouring out of the capitol, to say people want answers to what democratic responsibilities change in this country. We’re going to be there with that urgency to say, ‘This is what people are demanding. What are you doing to change it?’” Princess Beatrice, like so many spring 2020 brides, was subject to unfortunate timing: Her May 29 wedding in London was postponed indefinitely due to the coronavirus epidemic. Buckingham Palace stayed mum on any rescheduling details—would Beatrice and her fiancé, Edoardo “Edo” Mapelli Mozzi, ever have their reception in its gardens? With so much in flux, it was impossible to know. The couple didn’t wait to find out. This weekend, they wed in a small ceremony at the Royal Chapel of All Saints in Windsor. It was a small, socially distant ceremony, where, due to government regulations, not even a hymn was sung. The palace confirmed “close family” was in attendance, which included the bride’s grandparents, Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip. On Saturday, the royal family released several pictures from the affair, which captured a set of sumptuous details. First, of the floral arch which surrounded the chapel door: ivory roses, pink hydrangeas, and assorted greenery from Windsor Great Park, all by florist Rob Van Helden. (He also did the wedding of Beatrice’s sister, Eugenie.) Then, of the bride herself, wearing a vintage Norman Hartnell dress made from peau de soie taffeta and adorned with ivory Duchesse satin. It was on loan from Queen Elizabeth, who wore the same gown to Lawrence of Arabia in 1962 (it was refitted by the monarch’s dresser, Angela Kelly).
What I think we really learned was something about attention span. In the hyperspeed of social media and the onrush of Fashion Weeks, it used to be deemed that everything had to be communicated in a few over-in-a-flash seconds. John Galliano went completely against that with his riveting 50-minute film made with Nick Knight, which captured all the layers of research and development that went into the Maison Margiela Artisanal collection. Instead of a runway show, it became a form of online educational resource, deliberately designed to inspire young people and egg them on to be creative. Yes, there’s still a role for look books, so that everybody can see clothes plainly (though Galliano’s blurry, ethereal one seemed to set out to break that convention too.) But now, there’s an equal desire for an explanatio an opportunity for a creative director like Kim Jones to make his relationship with the Ghanaian artist Amoako Boafo visible in a video and interview shot with the artist in his studio in Accra. I don’t think anything like as many of the press would have had time or headspace to pay full attention to discovering Boafo’s work in that video if the hoopla of a physical Dior Men show had taken up the foreground. A nice row or two of good pearls plus matching earrings was just the traditional look. In many families, girls were given individual pearls for birthdays and other occasions so that by their weddings they had enough for a full string. The wearing of pearls as a part of formal dress made its way across the pond. The women of the wealthy Vanderbilt family were famous for their pearls. In the 1940s through the 1950s no teenage girl was without her kitten necklace of small pearls to go with her sweater set, and The Beaver’s mom notoriously kept the house in high heels and pearls. Shortly before my own wedding, my grandparents presented me with a string of lovely Japanese pearls they’d bought years prior and kept for me. While my colleagues make the expert point that fashion shows are about the clothes—as they must be at their core—for thousands of fans and followers, the clothes themselves are but a distant dream. What propels fashion-forward online is its message: What does this brand stand for? Who does it collaborate with? What value does it have why that?
Though it was something to see Simon Porte Jacquemus’s spectacular runway in a French wheatfield all those sweeping aerial drone views and to feel the poignant emotion as three young Italian tenors sang live at Dolce & Gabanna’s socially distanced men’s show in Milan, ultimately this season proved that there are so many more options for effective, compelling, and long-lasting ways of capturing what fashion’s all about today. Those who’ve experimented with media to say something genuine and personal during the pandemic Gabriela Hearst’s video of riding with her sister in California and her honest spoken-word statement about sustainability stick in the memory are for certain pointing towards a more open, intelligent, and progressive future for the way we view fashion from now on. There were a couple of digital Fashion Week experiences that added real value to their real-time Fashion Week equivalents. A long chat with Walter Van Beirendonck in which he ran through his rationale and showed off his miniature looks was one. Mihara Yasuhiro’s thoughtful and hilarious puppet show was another. Undercover’s 3D look book pointed to the gamification of the fashion-buying business. On the whole, though, my conclusion albeit from the privileged perspective who someone who usually gets to go to physical fashion shows is that while digital assets can be complementary, they will not make real-life fashion shows obsolete anytime soon. Rick Owens’s decision to put himself and Tyrone Dylan Susman in his video lookbook was effective, but as we discussed it over a Zoom pre-stream, it was hard not to lament the missed the real Rick show that this replaced. Also: It was a pity that Miuccia Prada’s last solo collection was reduced to a series of videos that were perfectly fine but inadequate substitutes for what her last show would have represented. There is another country in the Sinosphere that you didn’t mention, and their history with their traditional clothes is similar. I am, of course, referring to Vietnam. When you think of Vietnamese traditional clothing, the first thing that comes to mind is an Ao Dai. The good news is, the Chinese have started to embrace Hanfu recently, which corresponds to China’s rapid rise in the world. You can see a lot more people wearing Hanfu today, and it is acceptable to wear on all occasions. One last thing though. Wearing of hanbok and kimono is still very much a minor thing in Korea and Japan. This is simply because T-shirts and sweatpants are just so easy to wear.
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