In defense of high fashion

And low fashion, too

There have been so many comparisons between the Met Ball and Hunger Games this year, and for many years since they have both existed, especially given the myriad of world problems that have always made celebrating fashion and art feel like a decadent luxury.

I am torn because, while I understand the frustration of people who make this comparison, it brings up so many questions. For one, I’m curious if those opposed to the Met Gala are also be opposed to museums or art fairs or attending the theater? I also wonder, given the complexity of capitalism and the sources of money in this world, is it ok to use ‘bad’ money for good things? And finally where else should designers, whose job is to spark the public’s imagination, showcase their wares in a dramatic way so as to create a tsunami of memes for generations to come? There’s only so much you can do on a catwalk - although one of my favorite avant garde designers, Hussein Chalayan, has made a lot of that space as a site for interactivity and performance.

Hussein Chalayan’s coffee table dress

Fashion for me from an early age was an escape and a playground. My heroes were Clarissa of Clarissa Explains It All and Claudia of The Babysitter’s Club who was described as being the cool, artsy one with funky clothes. I would pair bright colors together with chunky jewelry, wear a favorite dress for weeks on end, don a giant Blossom hat, and in general experiment with what might be fun to wear.

For many years, one of my favorite outlets for expression were big, dangly earrings. The longer and weirder the better. Pink Christmas ornament baubles with bows on them. Large wire frame shapes. Glass globes hanging from the end of a two-inch metal wire.

One of my favorite pairs was made to look like a small Paula Abdul album sleeve with a record coming out of it. I almost thought I made them up until I just found them on eBay:

I owned and wore these proudly in my pre-teen years, along with stretch pants, scrunchies and baggy shirts

This was a phase that I sadly grew out of, but for years afterwards I would get giant earrings as gifts from well-meaning aunts.

When I hit puberty and it was like a switch inside me clicked off. Instead of fashion and clothes being a space for play, it became a way to connect with the social circles I wanted to align myself with. I was starting to get teased for some of my weirder choices so I started to become adept at hiding in plain sight, rather than stand my ground.

As an aside: there is a theory that all taste is socially constructed. A great read on the subject is the 33 1/3 book Celine Dion's Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste, in which the author argues that highly educated, liberal Americans are the only people in the world who didn’t become obsessed with Celine Dion and her blockbuster song My Heart Will Go On because we are too snobby.

Looking back with the wisdom of my years, I imagine my little closeted queer self trying to see a clear path through middle school and decided to choose the path of least resistance when it came to my wardrobe, because the rest of it felt so hard.

I held onto some of my individuality by shopping at second hand stores, but I’m not proud to say that I would pour through the J Crew catalogue like it offered a key to some kind of secret paradise. I couldn’t look like the models in the catalogue, but my life could be close to perfect if only I could afford the clothes.

My way back to loving weird fashion was partly thanks to Sex and The City, and Patricia Field’s expert styling of Carrie Bradshaw. Seeing Carrie strut around Manhattan in all kinds of wild outfits showed me that it was ok to be flashy or overdressed for no reason other than it was fun. While Carrie’s brand of fashion idiosyncracy is very specific to the era - so many stilettos - it made it ok to experiment and play with clothes, even as a grown adult. Even despite all the haters (ahem, Aidan).

everyoutfitonsatc

A post shared by @everyoutfitonsatc

This sartorial celebration was later elevated and upacked by the brilliant Instagram account and subsequent podcast Every Outfit on Sex and the City, that examines the social and historical relevance of all the clothing on the show through a hilarious, queer lens.

My desire for fun, silly clothing and the social norms that inhibit it are in constant dialogue, along with some stern chats from my budget. What I really want to wear, Parisian cosplay, sequins and red velvet Tom Ford suits from the 1990s, are not always appropriate or accessible in my everyday life, nor many people’s. (I’m still hoping for that suit though.)

That is where events like the Oscar’s red carpet or the Met Gala come in handy. While the Met Gala is over-the-top in its decadence, in part because of the celebrity centered circus surrounding it, it does give designers a chance to showcase their talents in a novel way and show us what is possible when you execute on a wild, creative vision. Just like a Richard Serra sculpture is not necessary for life, it show artists that you too can create a monument to your own vision.

Now as I look to a new, mid-40s, queer expression of myself, I consider what my future might hold. What are the ways I can play with gender expression and queer up my clothes, hair and makeup while factoring in the changes to my face and body, and still look like myself. Also, is what I consider to be “myself” really something that needs holding on to? What would a massive makeover look like? (This is some real mid-life crisis thought spiraling going on.)

With those questions in mind, I’m leaving you with an iconic image of David Bowie wearing a Kensai Yamamoto bodysuit who gives zero f*cks and looks fabulous.