i'm in a bit of a rut, dear reader.
i've recently read several pieces in which Nicolas Ghesquiere reveals his reasons for leaving Balenciaga, Rei Kawakubo expressing (very frankly) the problems of corporate control in fashion and a statement from Riccardo Tisci saying something similar. as a still-aspiring creator, i have been feeling immensely discouraged and "angry at the system", so to speak. mediocrity is thriving and it just seems like with each passing day, passion and truth in any form (at least within the fashion scope) dies a slow, painful death.
this leads me to some angry, extremely discontented thoughts on the latest Met exhibition - PUNK: Chaos to Couture.
ANARCHY IN THE UK: The Sex Pistols
i don't consider myself a punk by a long shot - i'm not nearly as brave or as angry or raw (although i rather wish i was).
but the thing about something as incredibly pure as Punk is its raw honesty in expression. it was a brief, bright cultural flash of youth and rage and rebellion that has become to heart-wrenchingly romanticized in a nostalgic haze. having said that, that is exactly what makes it so inspirational to begin with. so while appropriation runs rampant in fashion especially and will not stop anytime soon, this exhibition is shaping up to be far too sterilized, monetized and a shamelessly decadent bastardization of the movement.
i feel like this exhibition has stolen and censored everything that was beautiful and honest about Punk.
what was even more disheartening was when there was confirmation of such things. the curator himself, a self-professed prep (and looks it, too), proudly states something akin to "we are interested in punk as an aesthetic, not an ethic."
i wanted to hurl.
Punk died a whole new death as those words were uttered.
reading about these criticisms were about the same time election results in malaysia were announced and needless to say, what a black day indeed. i broke out a lot of the black that lived in my cupboard.
in spite of all the doom and gloom of anything with a soul dying and the false idols who replace them leaving an awful taste in my mouth, i have to believe that there will be a moment of rebirth, or at least that there would be at least a few who would carry on being true.
the perfect examples would be the people who supply most of the black and "punk" things in my cupboard.
long live the last of the true fashion punks!!
The Godmother of Punk: Dame Vivienne Westwood
The Original: Rei Kawakubo
when i choose to wear their brainchildren, i like to think i can at least feel and hopefully exude a bit of the rebellious spirit they try to keep alive.
i'm not a punk; i'm not brave or outrageous or full of anger at the world. but it makes me feel like i can be stronger if i feel like i can be.