The Talent Embargo

For I saw this and had high hopes

   Over the weekend, I attended the presentation of a number of indigenous fashion lines as a guest of my cousin, a dressmaker and cutter of no small aptitude herself. Constantly in thrall to my own cultivated cynicism, I nevertheless recognised it as an opportunity to potentially overturn The Dearth that characterises the stylistic modes here. For you see, there is usually more than one way around the pernicious effects of limited resources – I find a large helping of imagination in a vigorous threesome with refinement and wit often carries the day

   I’d certainly venture that selecting the relatively lengthy poolside at an ostensibly five star hotel next to a more appealing beach and serving questionable sparkling alcohol and something I believe to be called “Vitamilk” was some wag’s idea of a gag. The mode parade for the evening consisted of collections from Ghanaian – and the odd passing Nigerian – designers looking to balance the worlds of Necessity and Interest – which is to say, the worlds of Commerce and Craft, which would account for the spectacle of garment-based identity crises I saw. Now, Ghana is mostly a conservative society but when its sons and daughters approach “Baller” status, aesthetic modesty and restraint don’t enter into the uninhibited dive into profligacy that follows. They like it bold, flamboyant and often as tacky as possible, like citizens of most other countries with higher social positions and gatherings that they don’t truly know how to appear for. The difference is that there is a filter missing here that prevents questionable ensembles from appearing as the only option (then again, an import copy of Vogue costs the equivalent of almost £20)

   This attention to decorum applies to organisational structures, for whilst we arrived over an hour late, expecting to miss the speeches and emerge straight into the catwalk, we discovered that there was still another 20 minutes of oratory to be seated for. Also unanticipated was the revelation that the sashaying we were about to witness came with auctioneering as the designers sought different ways to raise their orders (the "Chinese - or was it Indian? - Auction" we later witnessed, which was predicated on the bidders paying the difference between their bid and that of the previous bidder, only sprang to life when the MC raised the bid to a more favourable level, leaving him holding the purse strings for 77 cedis (around $60) in the process)

   There’s always an alarm bell that rings when one attends an invite-only event in Ghana that is non-payable and yet asks for money anyway – there is always a tendency to presume that everyone, no matter what function they are serving in their invited capacity, is Rich. And in a culture that encourages the hire of dancers who expect guests to pay them on the spot, such is anathema to good will, which does help to explain why High Society here is partially founded on peacocking, inverse snobbery and bitchiness

   Even the young fellows proffering distinct shirts, redolent as they were of the long cut, Mandarin collared confections of prime Pierre Cardin, responded to my innocent inquiries about their range, pricing and collection with requests for my phone number – “I’d really feel more comfortable if I had [it]” – and my measurements. The pricing and detailing certainly proved to me that I was on firmer ground with the likes of W.W. Chan and Turnbull & Asser

   Meanwhile, it seemed the intent was that the event be timestretched for as long as possible. Whilst the organisers may have been in thrall to the hotel to add publicity, this was still a mistake, for they were to show enough collections to fill around 3 hours at the least, interspersed with auctions and without recourse to respite. I’ve never been a captive audience member when I can help it, so suffice to say, I left once I’d seen enough. Even so, my critical eye had much to take in

   I don’t demand craft on the level of a Saint Laurent or a Mainbocher or a Watanabe but I’d be curious as to how many women desire to be draped in long, bright yellow gowns with a transparent ribbon panel across the thighs and ornamental bobbles that resemble the haute couture fantasies of a Cantonments prostitute (“ashawo”) with a curious fetish for 1970s British lampshades, nor overly long dresses that sweep the ground with the efficiency of a cleaning unit, the grace of an exuberant shaggy dog moving on its joints and the freedom to hit any and all snags between leaving the bedroom and descending the stairs. Similarly, what male tailoring was displayed delighted in unorthodox cuts but lacked a true intuition in the patterns to create pieces that complemented even the mostly athletic models parading them, whilst continuing to perpetuate the grotesque myth that high shirt collars are flattering to the physiques of African men – our “length cliché” does not at all apply to our necks

   Speaking of which, the choice of models ran the gamut from acceptable to bizarre. Whilst some wholeheartedly captured the android/gynoid inflections intrinsic to this line of work, others interpreted swaggering as shambling and I may never be able to scrub the image of the girl who was half gazelle, half freeloading, bellicose alcoholic from my memories. I remain uncertain as to whether the 5'5" male model was involved to fulfill a proportional representation of some sort, but clothing him in double pleated trousers was perhaps the least of his ensemble's inadequacies. Also to their detriment was the coordination that required one model to wait in full view of the audience for up to 30 seconds at one end of the pool for the other to complete a single walk before taking their turn

   I thought that the magazine sold at the show, “In-Thing Maglogue,” was more valuable than the event itself, primarily because appealing designs could be sought in it, provided I scrutinised closely enough. Priestar Creations, for one, has a certain potential. Nevertheless, this assessment became all the more galling once I’d acquainted myself with various Nigerian labels in 20 minutes of Google searching

   At least I knew where the exits were

Schmatta

   Viewing Mark Levin's peppy HBO docufilm, Schmatta: From Rags to Riches to Rags, last night, I saw the Made in America garment trade fall from 95% mainland production in 1965 to 5% in 2009 in an hour and 12 minutes. For many involved through this decades-long history of the New York Garment District, their reversal of fortunes may have seemed a mere eyeblink to them, also

   In between garrulous soundbites from former sportswear emperor and reformed quasi-dictatorial hothead Irving Rousso and an industry pride oratory masked as a bombastic anthem sung by the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union in a televised spot, the film encompasses deregulation, outsourcing, the rise of designer personalities as embodied by Halston and Calvin Klein, the Kathie Lee Gifford sweatshop scandal, Reagan Red and concludes as a visual threnody for a once advanced embodiment of American enterprise, undercut and eventually dispossessed by the Reagan and Clinton administrations in particular

   But it is no spoiler to point out that whether American, Indian or Chinese, over the decades and the shifts of landscape, it is always the little guy who is shafted hardest

Museum Piece

The Metropolitan Museum of Art's Flapper Room

   Another negative regarding my lack of a New York City residence is revealed to me:

... Two outstanding examples of high-fashion exhibitions, mounted collaboratively, can be seen at major New York museums in different boroughs. “American Woman: Fashioning a National Identity” is the annual, widely anticipated extravaganza of the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art... “American Woman,” which has been organized by Andrew Bolton, curator of the Costume Institute, benefits from, and celebrates, the exponential expansion of the institute’s holdings in one fell swoop in January 2009. That was when the Met took over the care and storage of a larger, older collection of fashion belonging to the Brooklyn Museum, which could not afford to maintain it.

On its side, the Brooklyn Museum has assembled “American High Style: Fashioning a National Collection” as a form of proud semi-farewell — semi because the transfer agreement allows the museum to borrow back works from its former collection. The show, composed entirely of pieces from the Brooklyn collection, is rife with what are justifiably being called “masterworks,” which have not been exhibited for decades, if ever. The collection includes deep holdings (even drawings) of genuine geniuses like the French shoe designer Steven Arpad and especially the inimitable Charles James, whose astounding “Diamond” evening dress is one of the show’s high points. But it is also rich in accessories, idiosyncrasies and objects steeped in history.

   A friend tells me that James - whose innovative sculptural couture would bestow upon him an iconic stature in any decade -  was believed to prefer teenage boys over women as fit models due to "too much 'hip'" - a practical consideration not unbelievable for a man who revolved each facet of a detail around in his psyche to the point of monomania and is noted for a large expenditure on a single sleeve

   Given that I've only ever viewed one or two garments at the V&A, I'm certain that the appearance of  his other works in the Brooklyn Museum's show would impel a gleeful edification on my part were I in the neighbourhood. James evidently understood that an Aesthetic is at its most attractive when there is artistry, care and thought on the parts of the creator and the wearer. Just look at the complex simplicity of his "Diamond" dress, included in the article's slideshow

   History to be swathed in

Re-framed

   Even in Accra, I can occasionally cast a look at the eyeframe wares of certain "status" designers whose security is shored up by the prepotency of luxury conglomerates. "I paid this much; I know I got the best!" is not a considered stance to take with one such as I, rarely capable as I am of holding back and able to gracelessly break all but the most well made of sunglasses. Every time I popped the left lens into my old Ray Ban aviators 3 years ago, I would ponder that Luxottica have much to answer for

   Good craftsmanship is that which I cannot irreparably ruin, these days. Give some of these much advertised pieces six months and the hinges of these desirable commodities will have an ease of movement comparable to that of a swing door; an unpopular analogy I'm always ready to deliver to their owners. No wonder they usually respond by attempting to pocket my own

   I like to seek out current eyeframes of quality; Colette normally has an interesting selection of brands to proffer its clientele. I've recently been recommended Thierry Lasry's offerings, which, like particular eyewear lines that promise an attention to quality, are said to be handmade; Lasry's native France is his fabrication ground. His output has not gone unnoticed beyond its consumption; indeed, the Institut Français de la Mode presided over by Pierre Bergé, Yves Saint Laurent's former partner, appointed Lasry as its industry consultant to its students when it branched into eyewear creation in 2008. Lasry's unusual vision of high-class, 1970s-derived frames has also made him a darling within Los Angeles' mode circles. In a nod to his surname, the name of each frame ends in 'y':

Battery

Attracty

Spready

Vulgary

   Ralph Vaessen also holds some interest - less for his designs and more for his atelier's handcrafting in buffalo horn, which, at the very least, allows him to command a luxury price point and offer lightweight, firm creations. The Dutchman favours relative simplicity and familiar styling: certainly, his is a line for those under the unfortunate categorisation of "stealth wealth":

Spyker

Katarina

   Rapp Limited, originating from Toronto, is also created and hand finished by an atelier operation. The product is rather clinical yet vivid in its presentation; a type to suit superficially detached gallerists and architects, perhaps. Like Cutler and Gross, I think they do very well to promote an expensive form of geek chic:

Burt

Both via Vintage Frames Company

3374

Rosalind

Franca

   With such detailing and assurances, I look forward to trying out these brands in person once I'm ready to resume my itinerancy

Psych Couture

More Gems of Ghana

   Orleans Designs A/W 2010:

Spicey earthy tones mixed with sharp layers embody the pieces in this  2010 Autumn/Winter JAHAN collection. Orleans Designs continues to contemporise African texutres by fusing it with delicate silks.

Hazel Aggrey-Orleans, the creative force behind the label draws her inspiration from her colourful memories growing up in the culturally dynamic city of Lagos, coupled with her Germanic roots.

West African prints and symbols form the basis of her luxurious silk patterns instead of restricting herself to the traditional cottons.

Of mixed heritage, Hazel has cleverly combined her two worlds into her work. This results in more contemporary garments.

With Hazel’s continued passion for colours, she seeks to create bold unique pieces that cannot be found anywhere else.

Fab Gear

   These are mostly his 'n' hers styles immortalised by Bill Ray in 1968, as published by LIFE in its august days. A mixture of luminaries and scenesters, these were mainly shot in London, as well as France and, one presumes, Italy

   What we have here is a diverse look at the culture crashes that flourished into the iconography of the late 1960s' fashion language, but an emphasis on an air of refinement and an existence predicated on leisure persists. Moroccan caftans juxtapose with matching Mr. Fish shirts, waisted velvet corduroy frock coats, idiosyncratic beachwear by Ken Scott and the earlier designs of Valentino; for the people wearing them, they seem no more than representations of their good fortune. Nonchalance counts

   There are various LIFE collections available. I've always wanted to see Ray's work stand alone, however, and this will suffice for now:

Jane Birkin and Gervase may be the most well known of Ray's various subjects here

   Bang the drum for the days of yore

Old Face

All photographs are copyright of Dean Chalkley via Creative Review

   I've never given much credit to those who treat their existences as an extended costume party, even if I'm fond of their references. In cloning the past, usually in a bid to protest against much of the cultural change since, the reenactors normally, and shamelessly, forego personal originality entirely

   If you've an eye for detail, a knowledge of useful resources, a love for vintage and hate the modern shopping experience, period dress is all too easy. And often too boring. To me, that seems like a rather celebratory admission of a poverty of thought, not unlike a wasted weekend

   This is why I champion costumes that actually personalise their historical exhumations. The various outfits worn by the BBC's premier alien, the Doctor, for example, all respond to archetypes such as "Edwardian," "Continental," "Dandy" and "Hoxton Professor" but usually bend those confines in a way that can be recognised as individual creativity (the artful dishevelment and idiosyncratic footwear of the Scots Doctors, Tennant and McCoy; the mastery over sartorial excess of Pertwee; the clownish yet slightly dignified inverse of Hartnell's attire sported by Troughton and, mandatory for such discussion, Tom Baker's scarf), nevermind that the costumes are ultimately decided and realised by a designer and the showrunner, alongside the actor, if their input is appreciated, that is (pity poor Colin Baker)

   Parallel to this, designers who will tweak conventions and rethink standards are my kind of creators - my Junya Watanabe (whose latest aesthetic nods to the subculture on display here) preference is emblematic of this stance. And what he does with the 20th century's traditional male silhouette, certain musical albums from his homeland dissected in this column have been doing to music once thought to be irrelevant in modern times with the prepotency of near or full genius

   Therefore, what most entices me about The New Faces photographs of eight retro-mods was not the garments of the gang but the eye of their beholder, Dean Chalkley. In a London that has never quite fallen out of love with Mod - one need only visit Topman to confirm this - it's simple to understand how this has come about, but Chalkley is talented enough to make this interesting and masterfully arranged. Forgetting the attire for the moment, there's something of the actual 1960s cultural snapper about his work, from the way that the subjects' goofing around transforms the traditionally sterile studio setting into a groovy, expansive playground through sheer energy (or, in the case of early Doctor Who, a clinically flat alien land) to the emphasis on capturing and advocating their self confidence and love of clothes

   The photographs exemplify Chalkley's fashion shoot stylings in their generally full length compositions, detail-framing closeups and undistracting settings, and so are unambiguously focused on the looks and attitudes of their subjects. They're also consummately professional and designed in a way that is redolent of the black and white music television that this group undoubtedly loves. It's unsurprising that Chalkley relates to them; having performed assignments for Ben Sherman and taking a suggestion from Paul Weller as the name of the show whilst photographing him, he first met them at the club night he runs in London's Highgate. They share a common affection for music, clothing, and the synergy thereof, and particularly that of a certain time and place. And he cannily suggests their hobbies by photographing their dancing, neatly underlining that synergy that has brought these people together

   Ultimately, I always preferred the Peacock Revolution, but I could never discourage an interest in dressing and dancing amongst the young

Dean Chalkley. His sense of style is not unappealing

   The New Faces exhibition is currently at The Book Club in London until April 29th. The Jukebox Jam record label has selected a run of limited edition seven-inch vinyl reissues of obscure 1950s and 60s US rhythm and blues to "soundtrack" the show; clips are available on Chalkley's website

Gems of Ghana

   Today, we celebrate our Independence Day - it's 53 years since we went from a colony to a former colony. To commemorate, I've stolen the most interesting fashion material I could discover from Time Out Accra in the name of edification. I got as far as one: Orleans Designs

   Hazel Aggrey-Orleans, who is in fact based in London, produces scarves of silk and dresses, tops and  trousers of vivid colouring and drape, proudly utilising the prints that form part of our native identity and heritage. Their product is playful, coquettish and perceptibly sure of itself; it takes a devil-may-care woman to adorn herself so brightly. Indeed, I look forward to meeting women who do patronise such a proudly homegrown label. The current S/S10 collection is quite the sort of thing that needs to be worn widely outside of Ghana itself; my parents' generation may find it does them proud

   Let's see who will be flying the flag for our artistic side next

Barima in Print

   I'm in the current issue of The Chap and had forgotten about it. The link is in the sidebar. It transpires that my full name is too long for publication

In Their Element

The In Group – 18th July 1967

Back Row: Susannah York, Peter S. Cook, Tom Courtenay, Twiggy

Centre: Joe Orton, Michael Fish

Front Row: Miranda Chiu, Lucy Fleming

   I’ve felt like sharing this Patrick Lichfield-shot image for a while; it’s been a favourite since a collection of Swinging London photographs passed through my field of browsing vision some time in the distant past. I certainly think this mixture of languor, exclusivity and energy ranks with his airily bohemian portrait of Yves Saint Laurent in Marrakesh two years later, even allowing for their compositional differences

   It also seems to be the only reference for what the man who devised the kipper tie and the wardrobes of Terence Stamp in Modesty Blaise, Jon Pertwee in Doctor Who and Peter Sellers in There’s a Girl in My Soup, Michael Fish, looked like, never mind anything more recent. Surrounded by other luminaries of his scene and taking centre stage in clothing of his own design, one can discern the flair and the garrulousness that made him and his work a desirable commodity; the latter still is, if I have anything to say about it

   The online provenance of this image lies with Shana Ting Lipton; her mother, Miranda Chiu, is seated by Fish’s right knee. Ms. Lipton, an international pop culture and travel writer/editor/journalist and cultural researcher/strategist with an incisive worldview and an exceedingly interesting website, is ostensibly who I want to be when I grow up. My world could certainly use more of her like

   In terms of appearances, there’s certainly a marked difference between this clan of memorable tastemakers and the brand name/High Street scruff of today’s Hot Young Things in an identikit photoshoot. It’s all in the elements

Frame Yourself

Via NY Press, Run DMC's Darryl McDaniels sports his Ultra Goliath sunglasses at the height of the band's fame, although he's commonly (mis)perceived as a Cazal man. Originating in the late 1970s or early 1980s, the Goliath is also favoured by famed horror filmmaker and Grandfather of the Zombie, George A. Romero and worn by Elliot Gould in the Ocean's 11 trilogy and Robert De Niro in Casino, as well as by the late flamboyant actor and game show host Charles Nelson Reilly. My online colleague Matthew of Tweed In The City owns a pair made by Cutler and Gross

   I feel sorry for those who don't know what they're missing in the eyeframe world. The folks sporting over-or-undersized, heavily logo'd plastic jobs of questionable quality certainly don't merit my envy

Cutler and Gross, via Sunglasses Shop

Francois Pinton; clients included Jackie Kennedy and Aristotle Onassis

Oliver Goldsmith 2008

   In today's world, for design, craftsmanship or both, I can think of around five names to count on; Oliver Peoples, Ben Sherman, Tom Ford, Alain Mikli and, of course, Cutler and Gross of London. Again, note that I'm not claiming each brand combines both design and craftsmanship, although most certainly do. If you think you've spotted an odd one out, you're correct; I just rather like the aesthetic that this mod institution continues to push, plus I'm sure we all know by now that I'm not consistently fussy about where I shop. I also admit a certain fondness for makers I'm not very familiar with such as Kata and Rochas

Via Hub Pages; well it would be remiss of me to leave her out, wouldn't it?

Ben Sherman, via Uncrate. They bring to mind a larger pair worn by Jim Hacker in Yes, Minister, although his were reading glasses

Serengeti sunglasses via Sunglasses Shop. The maker generally uses glass photochromatic lenses, making them highly valuable

   I've always liked the idea of signature sunglasses and yet I feel that such "One Sunglasses Only" people of style are limiting themselves a touch. Of course, those I am thinking of, such as Malcolm X, happen to be dead. Stevie Wonder is such a man with different styles, all pretty much iconic by virtue of his face and look(s), but tragically (crass as this may sound), he has never known how cool he appears

From Wikimedia, Malcolm X and his Ray Bans Clubmaster frames

See here for a heartfelt homage to Uncle Stevie's eyeframes tastes

Marianne Faithfull

The late Richard Merkin

   Typically, I like to go vintage; though not typically an aviators fan, I've owned two pairs in the past: one 1980s pair by Ferrari and a more recent pair from Ray-Ban. Speaking of which, bypass the current Ray-Ban range and seek out their classic older offerings, made with far more attention to detail and sturdiness by  founder company Bausch & Lomb. Like its fellow iconic eyewear brand, Persol, Ray-Ban is currently owned by the Luxottica company and really was better made around 30 years ago

   I'm also quite fond of oversized eyeframes; the nostalgic images evoked in my mind are of Jewish businessmen, British politicians, Mob members and old school rappers. Designer Antonio Azzuolo personally favours old Christian Dior frames and each of his presentations have featured his models in large deadstock sunglasses. To add some perspective, here's an informative archive post from the Beastie Boys' message board, mainly focusing on the infamous Cazal lines:

"Carl Zolinni starting making Cazal glasses in 1975. Hence the name "CAZAL." I have one of the first Cazal's ever from 1975. They sucked! Cazal started to get good around 1978. Then the "Cazzie Craze" hit in '82. People were dying for these glases much the way people were getting killed in Harlem for their Jordan 1's and 2's in the mid 80's. Optometrists in NYC kept them in the vault and it was real hush hush if you had them. Then the optometrists made so much in NYC in the 80's on these things they all retired in Florida in the late 80's, where many of these glasses can still be found to date

"A big misconception was people calling them "Cazzelle". People pronounced them like the Adidas shoe "Gazzelle." Not true. I met with the president of Cazal once and he said they are "CAZAL." Some people think Cazal started the big glasses craze of the late 70's but it was really Neostyle that hit it off with their "Nautic" line. Also, Ultra's Claudia Carlotti and Versace lines helped kick off their stardom. Ultra Palm is the US distributor for Cazal and made Versace big in the late '70s. Persols were more late '60s with their wraparound line, so I won't mention them much

"Peace out,

-JK"

   Latterly, Cazal has (of course) accredited cachet amongst today's day-glo scenesters, who are neither mugged nor killed for theirs unlike the aforementioned actual trendsetters. Whilst iconic for a certain era, they aren't generally for me. I am, on the other hand, a fan of the abovementioned Neostyle, as well as Alpina, Vuarnet, Playboy and Dunhill in its Optyl-manufactured era (the link necessarily directs to the history of another likeable maker, Carrera)

   The wild exuberance, brash sizing and ornate stylings of these frames was a consequence of sunglasses moving towards statement status in the 1960s; my overall favourites - Ultra's own name range, including the abovementioned Goliath and other appropriately-yet-whimsically named frames, such as "Sudan," "Zeus" and "Rangoon" - tended to let their size and shape do the speaking. Ironically, the frames that currently best fit my face are a pair of modern Dunhills, but sometimes, comfort wins out. Still, one has to love the classics:

 Via Vintage Frames Company

Vuarnet

   Want a New Year's Resolution? Frame yourself