The semiotics of Rick Owens

(Most fashion photos are from Vogue.com)

I've been eager to talk about Rick Owens for a while now -- not just Rick Owens the designer I adore, not the sharp-profiled patron saint of Goths everywhere, but rather Rick Owens as a cultural force,  and an oblique successor to the avant garde of the eighties and the cosmopolitan minimalism of the nineties.

But let's start with his Spring/Summer 2014 collection. It gained a lot of (well deserved) attention by casting American step teams instead of models.




You can watch the full video of this really inspired performance here:




Thing you will notice first is the diversity of the models, which makes sense: they were not selected by a casting director, but came as an entire group of living, breathing American students, with bodies of different heights, builds, weights and of course colors.

Another thing that immediately jumps to mind is how easy these clothes are to move in. And how GOOD they look on these women -- all of them. This is really the quintessential Owens' clothing -- interesting but not imposing or assuming, clothes that are mostly black or white or dust colored, cut in an inspiring and often mind-boggling way, and yet so easy. A disclaimer is perhaps in order: I love Rick Owens' clothes. I wear them a lot; they are blank and anonymous. And yet people who also love him will recognize his clothing immediately -- by the drape, but the flattering skim of unraveling and  asymmetrical jersey, by a sharp cant of the shoulder.

The thing about this show is how much it says about fashion as an institution -- how often the barriers we see are artificial; and it also seems to be poking a bit of fun. It's as if it says, you want more diverse runways? You don't need more casting directors or a heavily regulated model industry; you can just grab a group of people from anywhere in the real world, and here you have it. (Of course now casting "real people" in the runway shows is a trend. I will not say that Owens pioneered it -- but he certainly got a lot of attention when he did.)

I would not call Owens clothes derivative by any means, as his aesthetic is all his own; and yet it would be a mistake to argue that he has no antecedents. The palette and the indifference in separating eveningwear from streetwear roots him firmly in the nineties, to the works of the Amsterdam six (especially Ann Demeulemeester), as well Yohji Yamamoto. Yamamoto has become a rarefied legend, and yet he was one of the first avant garde designers to actually look to the street, to the "sneaker culture" as he calls it, and to incorporate some very mundane references into the exquisitely cut clothes.

Of course there are also more direct points of comparison between Yamamoto and Owens: both reject the explicitly feminine silhouettes, tending instead toward the androgyny. It is never tight but skimming, it is boxy but flattering, bizarre and yet utterly enchanting.

From Yohji Yamamoto himself: "Men's clothing is more pure in design. It's more simple and has no decoration. Women want that. When I started designing, I wanted to make men's clothes for women. But there were no buyers for it. Now there are. I always wonder who decided that there should be a difference in the clothes of men and women. Perhaps men decided this." 

(Not surprisingly, I adore Yamamoto, even more than Owens.)

But if it was all there were all to Owens -- the reliance on black and the asymmetry, the unraveling seams and the imaginative cuts -- there would be no explanation for his most recent show, Spring 2018.

It starts out mildly enough: 

It is a quintessential Owens, and we can see a similarity to a Spring 2014 piece:



Evolution for sure, but hardly a dramatic leap. As the show progresses, however, Owens abandons his usual skimming/concealing of the body and goes toward the downright distortion:



At this point, one has to recognize that this distortive approach, this refusal to enter the flattering/unflattering dichotomy harks back to Rei Kawakubo, another Japanese avant garde designer (who was honored in this year's Met Museum Costume Institute Exhibit), who refused to even consider the question and went straight for the body distortions, like in her famous 1997 collection:



And all doubts disappear when Owens walks out this look:



The manipulation of jersey, the color is all Owens but the shape is unmistakably referential of Kawakubo. And listen, I am the first to argue that runway presentations are about art first and commerce second, that complaining about runway looks not being wearable is missing the point -- a bit like judging a painting by how well it matches your living room color scheme. And yet...




These are professional ballet dancers performing in those lump dresses from Kawakubo's collection. And the attention to the movement, to the three-dimensional reality of clothing and athletes' bodies -- who, unlike models, inhabit the clothes fully instead of walking them down the runway -- brings this all together for me. That Spring 2014 show that was also shown on bodies of dancers.

So to me Rick Owens' 2018 show is a love letter -- to other designers, to the evolution of his vision, and to the bodies that move and inhabit clothes, bodies that revealed and concealed, distorted and embraced. It is a love letter to movement in all senses of it -- dance, time, music, human body -- and I am grateful for it. This letter came at the right time. 

Luxe Fabrics and Political Choices

The quality of air is different in the fall -- the temperatures that would feel balmy in July are downright brisk in September. Either that, or I am deluding myself in order to wear wool when it's almost seventy degrees outside.

Merino wool, to be exact -- this COS lightweight top is a dream, in a warm beige and luxurious drape, and the pleated sleeves give it a distinct yet subdued character. 

The skirt, however, is the real showpiece here: it is by Litkovskaya, a Ukranian designer, and I recently bought it from Suitster.com, one of my favorite online stores. The material is a substantial, stiff silk, almost taffeta-like in quality but with a rough finish that feels a bit like wool. (Another reason I like overseas shopping is the variety of quality natural textiles, especially silks. Silks in the US market seem to be largely dominated by chiffon and charmeuse, with some washed silk thrown in for good measure. While I enjoy all of those, I also seek out heavier weights and raw silks; so far, Suitster and VanHongo are my go-tos for those.)

And the side view, showing the intricate pleating of the skirt, and the side sweep of the hem. It is quite architectural, and cleverly constructed: the closure is via hidden snaps in front, which allows the skirt to move well despite the rigid fabric. I chose Rachel Comey shoes with wooden heels here because they seemed to work with yet against the more dressy elements. They also played well with driftwood of my reading chair!

The necklace is from Luv AJx JewelMint collection, and it is lovely. Here's its closeup (and my fresh manicure).

And there is also another thing. Shopping and clothes are frivolous, no doubt. But, as any social institution, it matters in that affects our lives as well as lives of those who make the clothes and run the shops. I became interested in fashion as an extension of my fascination with social movements, and specifically the intimate connection between the US garment industry and labor union and suffrage movements in the early 20th century. But even today, manufacturing and distribution of clothing are deeply connected to the social institutions and political climates, and one cannot escape being enmeshed in politics of it all. And I really get that sometimes one doesn't feel like dealing with the complexities; sometimes, high street (like that lovely COS top above) is just fine.

But sometimes, I want to consider what economies are being supported with my spending. And this is when I shop small, local, indie, etc. And I have been making a concerted effort to support Ukrainian businesses and designers. Most of you have some knowledge of the tragedies that have befallen this beautiful country and its people lately; I am heartbroken about it. And I think people and institutions of the West too readily default to charity as a way of supporting struggling countries, with not enough attention given to investing into local economies and supporting local manufacturing. It seems to me that making economies more sustainable is quite beneficial in the long run.

So no, I won't pretend that my shopping will save the world or even solve any of its problems; but I do feel that when we decide to spend money, where and how we do so matters, and thus our choices should be considered... at least some of the time. I wouldn't expect anyone to ditch Zara just yet.

Historical Nerdery: Heart of Iron, Part 4

Religion

Religion is one of those things one is not supposed to talk about in polite company, but thankfully books have no such obligation. Heart of Iron is not specifically about religion, but religion does play a role. The Crimean War is interesting to me because in it a Christian nation (England) allied with the Ottoman Empire against another Christian nation (Russia). Alliances and wars are drawn and fought along religious lines more often than not, so that seemed like a curious case, perhaps signaling that in the modernized world, politics and economic interest would overrule old-fashioned superstitions. On the other hand, considering the number of foreign invasions Russia had undergone, it apparently was considered sufficiently alien -- and while I don't want to go into the whole Byzantium vs Rome thing, Eastern Orthodoxies seemed to have been a direct opposition to Romanized west.

Anyway. Since in Heart of Iron Russia is undergoing rapid industrialization, it seemed reasonable that religion would be pushed back a bit, and the Orthodox Church would have a little less political prominence. So Sasha is religious but not terribly devout, and she isn't the type of person to question her religious upbringing much. I mean, cross-dressing and university seemed unconventional enough; making her an apostate on top of it would've been a bit much.

On the other hand, I could not abandon religion entirely, since the Taiping rebellion features prominently, and it was based on Christian heterodoxy: Hong Xiquan believed himself to be Jesus' younger brother. In the bibliography section, there's a link to Hong's biography, God's Chinese Son -- a fascinating book of a fascinating life. And as far as I was concerned while writing Heart of Iron, the fact that the Taiping were Christians created as much of a barrier as a facilitation in making their (fictional) alliance with Russia. After all, shared religions can be quite helpful in finding common ground; and yet common religion differing in some details (as in pretty much any Christian branch) can be profoundly dividing.

Additionally, I feel that the fact that Hong claimed to be God's son (and thus the younger brother of Jesus) was especially tainted by no small amount of racism: while self-proclaimed prophets and messiahs are not uncommon, those who are critiqued the harshest are the ones who are perceived as having the least right to such claims. With doctrines of racial superiority quite dominant in Europe at the time, I suspect that the idea of God having a non-white son was particularly scandalous.

Of course, I couldn't be satisfied with a mere conflict between Anglicans, Russian Orthodox and Taiping Christianity. I enjoy diverse religious landscapes, and so in the book you will hear from a variety of viewpoints - from traditional Chinese religions, to some Norse beliefs, to downright heresies. Cornet Volzhenko, for one, is the follower of the charismatic Rotmistr Ivankov. Not to give too much away, but there is one Hussar regiment in the book which does as much (or more) philosophizing as fighting, and they are as liberal with their religious influences as I am with history.

So here's a teaser:

“Valhalla,” the rotmistr said and sobered up visibly. “Not because of what you think, Menshov—not just weapons or the flying wenches . . . whatever they are called.”
“Valkyrie,” Petrovsky offered in a reverential tone, his eyes glistening. I guessed that he harbored some ideas of his own as well.
“Right,” the Rotmistr said, nodding. He pulled a wine bottle from under the bench where it fit for easy storage, and topped off the mugs of both cornets. He handed the bottle with the leftovers to me, and I guessed that I was to drink directly from it. “But flying wenches or no, this is not why. You know that in the great hall, in Odin’s hall—and Odin is the one who takes the warriors fallen in battle—they drink and then they fight, and whoever falls in that battle wakes up whole again, so he can drink and fight and die again. In Valhalla, it’s not like heaven, where you get to stay alive forever and play some lute or harp . . . there, the world is destroyed every day, and then rebuilt anew, so nothing is ever old, ever stale.”
I took a cautious sip of the wine. “But everyone gets resurrected and they’re still the same.”
The rotmistr wagged his thick, calloused finger at me, dirt around his fingernail black as gunpowder, and I suspected that it had become incorporated into his skin and could never be washed out. “No one is the same after resurrection. Read the classics, Menshov. Cannot step twice in the same river, and everything changes even if you go away from home for a week. What do you think happens to everything, to the world, if you daily destroy and rebuild it? It changes, because nothing can ever be recreated perfectly.”
“So what do you want with it?” I asked, wine making me bolder. “You want to be killed and resurrected too?”
He shook his head, sly. “No no. I’d sit in the corner and watch and take notes, on how everything becomes different from day to day to day. I would keep track of all the small alterations, of all the tiny fault lines and cracks that appear from one resurrection to the next. And I will be there when everything finally crumbles to dust.”

And here you have it. This book is by no means a study in religion, but I hope that I sketched in enough of it to give depth and verisimilitude to people and their beliefs.

Historical Nerdery, Part 1.

Heart of Iron, my next book, is an alternative history. History in question is Russian and Chinese, and it was suggested to me that it might be a good idea to talk about some of the events that happen in the book, and how they relate to actual history. I will also link to these blog posts from Heart of Iron's novel page, for easy reference. I'm linking to English-language sources, mostly Wikipedia, since most of my research was done in Russian and thus the sources are a lot less accessible. There are also some pictures of historical parks and museums in Moscow, because why not?

First up: The Decembrists. Even though the book starts in 1852, the central conceit is that the Decembrists' revolt was successful, and Constantine never abdicated the throne. He became the Tsar-Emperor, serfs were freed in 1826 rather than 1861, and Russia became fairly industrialized by 1850's because hey, surplus labor to build railroads. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

(The Decembrist Revolt, by Vasily Timm)

The Decembrists are as iconic as any historical figure may get. The painting above depicts their stand on the Senate Square of St. Petersburg. The rebellion was led by several officers, most of who were veterans of Napoleonic war of 1812. The Decembrists were members of two secret societies: The Southern Society (led by the fairly radical Colonel Pestel) and the moderate Northern Society, led by officer Muraviev, and Princes Obolensky and Trubetskoy. The Southern society was invested in abolition of serfdom, and in getting rid of monarchy altogether and installing a republic, plus redistribution of land (half to the state, half to the peasants.) Northern society wanted a British-style constitutional monarchy, with abolition of serfdom; they were also the ones who organized the rebellion.

Much has been written about the Masonic roots of these societies. What seemed more relevant, however, is that these military men, instead of upholding the order they were meant to protect, became disillusioned with it -- many as the result of Napoleonic Wars, when they had witnessed the cruel treatment soldiers (peasants) were subjected to. Many of the future Decembrists were initially heartened by Tsar Alexander's tendency toward reformism, but he quickly retreated into repressions -- a sad tendency of Russian tsars when faced with any difficulty.

After his death in November 1825, The Decembrists swore loyalty to Alexander's brother Constantine, then governor of Poland, who was supposed to inherit his throne. Constantine, however, abdicated, and Nicholas took the throne. The Northern Society called on its members to not swear loyalty to Nicholas (the youngest of the three brothers), and the Decembrists revolt was the culmination of this decision. They were not very fond of Nicholas, and Constantine, known for his tendency to stand against the wishes of his family, seemed like a better candidate for a reformed government. They took their stand on The Senate Square.

Needless to say, the revolt was suppressed and many of the leaders were executed (Pestel, and three others) and the rest were exiled to Siberia, Kazakhstan, and Far East.

Heart of Iron is an alternate history -- so that the historical personages are not quite themselves. Constantine, for example, is a lot less of a tyrant than he was in real life, according to his governing of Poland. (I kept Nicholas unpleasant.) The protagonist, Alexandra Trubetskaya, is the daughter of one of the original Decembrists. Her family's relationship with Tsar Constantine is however fraught, not least because her aunt, Countess Menshova, thinks that the reforms didn't go far enough, and did little to improve the lot of women. Next up: inheritance laws and Anglomania. (No, not Vivienne Westwood's one.)

(Note: Tsar Nicholas I had a difficult relationship with railroads.)