Qualified: October 2010

by Stephanie Oula

WHAT I MISS MOST ABOUT NEW YORK

Irreverence is what I miss most about New York. Speaking in fashion terms, it’s what I feel all you lovely girls of LSE are, for the most part, lacking. There’s such a serious quality to what you wear—the floral sweet dolls, the masculine tailored girls, and the coke whore groupies alike—it’s not so much the clothes themselves but the attitude with which you wear them. Breaking down the attitudes by these broad categories of looks which seem to stand out at LSE, and in London in general, I’d say it seems to be sweet, but lifeless for the floral dolls (you’ll recognize her by the flower behind her ear, some floral print dress, boots, probably that ubiquitous Mulberry bag, boots), polished, but standoffish for the masculine tailored girls (blazer, high waisted pants with skinny belt, clean accessories), and ragingly cool, but way too cool for you in terms of the coke whore groupies (lace-up boots, cut-off shorts with black tights, wing-tipped eyeliner, red lips).

Why is everything so entrenched in…restraint? In good taste? In what is on-trend, be it rockabilly, utility chic, whatever silly term the magazines have coined to throw around as they push new, needless items to be consumed by the masses? Where is the irreverence in style here? The adventure? The individuality?

WATCHING THE ENGLISH

It’s a larger societal obstacle that I as an American in London have encountered: the issue of distance. Heads up, girls: it permeates your clothes too. There are an equal number of style-conscious girls here as in any large metropolitan city. What I note here, more so than anywhere else I’ve been, is that the style seems fixed, chosen, untouchable (as are the girls). Sure, trend fluctuates and you’ll see a creeping in of camel and the inevitable fade-out, but for the most part, I would call the style here, as put forth by style-conscious girls, as steady. Consistent. They seem to have found what works for them and I suspect that they have found it some time ago and are simply wearing the same foundational look, with adjustments to trend. And that’s amazing and results in a continually put-together population.

It’s also incredibly dull. I always envisaged England as being inherently more irreverent, stylistically-speaking, than the States. You have the likes of Kate Moss, Alexa Chung, the late Isabella Blow leading the way—style, in every sense of the word, but a very laid-back and thrown-together look and it’s inherently fascinating because it feels individual. There’s the overarching impression that they don’t take themselves very seriously and that is the absolute opposite of what I see here.

I just get the sense that amongst the people here (I am not speaking of English designers and the fashion elite, but the people who exist outside of that particular, rarefied world), there is no room for bad taste. Or risk. Or irreverence. And perhaps that is a symptom of a larger cultural attitude. It is a puzzle to me because the concept of Brit cool hinges exactly on what I think is missing: effortlessness, a playful sartorial sensibility. Perhaps it is not in the nature of followers of fashion, rather than the leaders of fashion, to put that much thought into what they actually wear.

And that’s the other issue—I expected so many more leaders of fashion here, rather than followers. Maybe I’ve been hanging out in the wrong places—I’ve yet to venture to Camden and haven’t checked out the Central St. Martins territory—but I’ve noted that everyone seems to have a look, rather than creating a look. The individuality of creation is lacking. You look good but there’s nothing compelling about you because the sartorial individuality is simply not there.

AN EXPLANATION OF MY ASSUMPTIONS AND ASSHOLERY

How can I describe it without sounding like someone who demands an entire culture and body of people cater to her intensely subjective whims? I can explain my massive generalizations as something that inevitably results in a blog post of this nature—about my terribly subjective and self-centered feelings, not based in rational thought. Perhaps an explanation of my background might serve as a jumping-off point for all the rest of my assholery, for my insistence on a compelling individuality to our wardrobes.

I’m from New York. The de facto dress code at my private liberal arts college on the Upper West Side consists of Tory Burch flats, a Longchamp bag, jeans, and surely, something from Ralph Lauren. These girls are classic, continually—but boring. Head downtown, towards NYU territory (I’m a Fordham girl myself) and you get the not-showered, probably pretentious hipster look. Generally more visually interesting than the classic uptown prep, but at some point, they also take on a clone look. There’s a certain acknowledgement, a self-awareness of sorts though, from the New York style-conscious girls that they are participating in a system—that fashion is fun and never fixed. But perhaps that is a cultural attitude which I never expected to notice—the day I thought I would ever call New Yorkers friendly was clearly not a day I had ever imagined until moving to London.

There’s more experimentation in New York, more room for fluidity, for dynamism in style—curiosity. More individuality, I think, as subjective as the word is. I have found more compelling girls in New York than I have in London in large part because they allow themselves to be compelling there. A London girl is not engaging because she simply doesn’t put herself out there to be considered engaging. She is restrained, remarkably cool, and ultimately untouchable. It’s part of her charm and her allure, but for us Americans, it’s incredibly frustrating. It’s impossible to get to know any of you and if I don’t know any of you, if you won’t allow me to know any of you, how am I to find you interesting or individual? I promise you, it is not for lack of trying on my part.

If anyone is willing to prove me wrong, please, please do so. You have no idea how badly I want to be inspired, to be compelled by you. Honestly.

THE LARGER ISSUE OF WHAT DEMOCRACY HAS DONE TO FASHION

Clearly, I have come to this magnificent city with high and specific expectations; clearly I set myself up for disappointment. My critique of English mass style, I think, can be extended to the concept of mass style entirely though.

Style clones are everywhere in this incredibly democratic fashion age. Thanks to fast fashion, high street knockoffs, and instant access to shows and editorials online, it’s really easy to co-opt a look, any look, nearly at any price range. For the style-conscious, it’s a godsend as well as a curse. Because suddenly “style” is everywhere. Individual style is everywhere. Everyone begins taking themselves incredibly seriously as an individual style ambassador and it’s simultaneously wonderful and mind-numbing.

It’s wonderful because fashion has been a set hierarchy for far too long. Over the last few years, with the advent of new media and the opportunity for people to share their style in the open forum of the internet, fashion has become more democratic. Perhaps it's just my age group, but more than ever I find myself looking to sites like lookbook.nu and bloggers like Garance Dore who shoot street style for what I want to wear. And naturally, these bloggers and the people they photograph are still looking to the runways and the editors for their inspiration, so in a sense, the old fashion hierarchy is still intact—but I find that there is a lot more individuality present in fashion than I can ever remember there being when I was still in high school, a lot more room for girls with smaller budgets and less connected friends. The daughter of so-and-so with this many designer pieces in her closet is still featured in Teen Vogue, but now alongside a girl who just likes thrifting and has a good eye. And this is something to be celebrated.

And yet, there is something about the democratization of fashion that numbs the mind. Something that is inevitably a product of the age of Facebook, of how self-conscious we are as a culture, of how important we now think ourselves to be—how terribly individual we are, when we are mimicking each other’s actions and attempts at being individuals. It’s a false consciousness, the extent to which the individual can exist in a society. It is true that it is also a matter of perception of individuality—but that is a debate for another sort of blog post. What does style even mean anymore, when everyone apparently has it? Personal style, sure. But actual style? I’m not so sure.

Yes, I’m quibbling on rhetoric, it’s true. There are logical flaws in my entire rambling argument, but I don’t know that it’s an argument of logic, but its polar opposite, subjective feeling. I feel the loss of style, even though its meaning is socially constructed and changes continually. I feel the aping of individuality in a world where the individual has rarely existed. It’s all such bullshit and we all take ourselves too seriously (I am not exempting myself from this) and all I want us to do is to step back and see the forest, for once, not the trees.

LAST WORDS OF WISDOM (MOSTLY MILLER’S, NOT MINE)

Herein lies the paradox: I want individuality in style and yet I don’t know that I believe in that possibility. But what I do believe in, with absolute certainty, are the possibilities that irreverence in fashion opens up. They are limitless, once you stop taking yourself so seriously, once you allow yourself to have fun and be risk-taking. Move away from the security of good taste, from the dictates of fashion and society, and go with your instinct, with what makes you happy, with what compels you—if that isn’t individuality in and of itself, then it’s definitely a start.

I am wrong, to conflate style with individuality; to think of individuality and style as things to be necessarily desired in their own rights—but I don’t think I’m wrong in desiring that we all attempt to be more individual in our actions, in our quotidian existence—to not live so safely. Henry Miller says it better:

“Why are we so full of restraint? Why do we not give in all directions? Is it fear of losing ourselves? Until we do lose ourselves there can be no hope of finding ourselves. We are of the world, and to enter fully into the world we must first lost ourselves in it. The path to heaven leads through hell, it is said. What path we take is of no importance, as long as we cease to tread cautiously.”