I
t was all skin at Rihanna’s Savage x Fenty show. Skin that curved, stretched, bunched and rolled into different shapes, in different tones. Two women cradled pregnant bellies, model Slick Woods so far along that she went into labor that night. There was lingerie abound on these bodies, by the way, but that felt beside the point.
Same effect at Chromat. Thirty-five different looks were taken for a runway walk by 35 different bodies, each of which represented their unique interpretation of beauty, from model Mama Cax, who wore a prosthetic leg and used crutches, to a breast cancer survivor who bore her chest scars, to transgender activist and actor Leyna Bloom, to a woman who wore a hijab underneath a floppy brimmed hat. The designer swimwear made the audience ache for a beachside summer, but that, too, felt beside the point.
The original purpose of fashion week, in addition to the opportunity it provided (and still provides) press and buyers to view entire collections in movement, is that it acted as a stage for the wardrobes that would, six months later, permeate throughout society and become what “everyone” who abided by fashion’s rules wore. But runway trends no longer trend in ubiquity. Now, some hemlines rise, some stay long. What is shown is seen as suggestion, not gospel. There’s a far higher premium on personal style today, which means that while patterns do indeed pop up across runways, they’re consumed a la carte, with different people applying their favorites to their own aesthetics — and on their own timelines.
On top of that, where ubiquity is concerned, I’d argue that outside the fashion industry bubble, influencer-related social media virility is what makes runway trends actually popular among the public. Take tiny sunglasses, ugly sneakers or the milkmaid thing: all had runway debuts, yes, but it was their proliferation by way of influential heads and feet that really got the streets talking. (Of course, before many so-called runway trends even hit the runway, they begin, first and foremost, on the streets.)
So if runways no longer serve as required reading for fashion diehards in search of what’s “out” or “in,” but instead as a helpful guide that one could, thanks to the internet, pick up anywhere and interpret, then what’s the value of an on-model fashion show, with the venue and the press and the fanfare?
I wonder if, in the right designer’s hands, the runway isn’t a symptom of an antiquated fashion system, but just the opposite: a potential catalyst for changing the industry itself.
Which brings us back to brands like Savage x Fenty and Chromat, which don’t just cast a diverse runway for the sake of box-checking optics, but because their designers ostensibly believe in a more inclusive fashion world, one where designs don’t just talk the talk, but walk the talk, and empower, welcome and actually fit the women who wear or perhaps just dream of them.
Rihanna told The New York Times that the concept behind her Savage x Fenty show was about “what we hope to see in the future. Women being celebrated in all forms and all body types and all races and cultures.”
Meanwhile, Becca McCharen-Tran of Chromat’s platform has long been one of inclusivity. “Chromat is focused on empowering women, femmes and non-binary #ChromatBABES of all shapes and sizes through perfectly fit garments for every body,” lists the brand’s About page. As for this season specifically, McCharen-Tran took back the oversized cover-up shirt from its former role as poolside insecurity blanket and made it something to be excited about. Her inclusive cast of models wore anti-chafe bands around their thighs like sexy poolside garter belts, and made the audience reconsider the words “Sample Size.”
The Pyer Moss runway was staged at the Weeksville Heritage Center, one of the first free black communities in the country. Accompanied by a full gospel choir, the collection was an imagining of what “the African-American experience would look like without the constant threat of racism” (via Vogue.com), and was expressed across the fabric of a stunning runway collection: “Stop calling 911 on the culture,” read a T-shirt pocket. “See us now?” asked a cummerbund. Paintings by artist Derrick Adams, commissioned by Pyer Moss designer Kerby Jean-Raymond to depict “black people doing normal things” were woven throughout — not just for design effect, but with purpose.
Of the show, Chioma Nnadi wrote for Vogue.com: “In a moment when even the most ordinary aspects of black life seem under constant threat—when a black man or woman innocently barbecuing in their own backyard has been known to elicit an armed police response—these clothes presented a radical counterpoint to a narrative of sensationalism and tragedy porn, speaking volumes more than a political slogan tee.”
Opening Ceremony’s Spring 2019 show was a drag performance that featured an entirely LGBTQIA+ cast, with a raffle to benefit the Transgender Law Center. The cast wore Opening Ceremony, of course, and while the collection is one that will no doubt please its customers, as Vogue.com’s Stef Yotka wrote, “this was a fashion show no one came to for the clothes.”
Depending on your priority as a designer, that kind of sentence could sting. In the case of Opening Ceremony’s Humberto Leon and Carol Lim, I’m going to go out on a limb and assume it did not. Their show suggested that they have faith in the shopping habits of their 16 year-old-label’s loyal following, and that they’d rather use it as a way to garner good press while giving back than for the sole sake of a critic’s clothing review.
For a newer brand to consistently thrive, however, some argue that there’s a level of talent and technical prowess that must speak just as loudly as its mission statement. And that’s a longer game than fans and critics may afford some young designers.
The Washington Post’s fashion critic Robin Givhan writes that it’s our industry’s responsibility to “consider designers and points-of-view that have ostensibly been overlooked for decades.” She mentions the gender-fluid designs of Eckhaus Latta, Telfar and Christopher John Rogers. “Whether it’s designers of color or those who are celebrating marginalized communities, these once-muffled voices speak to an audience the fashion industry can no longer afford to ignore. Seventh Avenue needs every ounce of creative juice it can get. Who will write the next chapter after streetwear? Who will make sure the fashion ecosystem has a healthy diversity?”
Yet she worries that our industry is so eager for these kinds of designers, their ideas aren’t always being given enough time to marinate: “Developing one’s voice in fashion is, except in rare cases, a process that takes time and patience. And transforming an impassioned message into well-fitting clothes is harder still. It can take a decade before a fashion business becomes viable, under the best of circumstances.”
Givhan’s take is, I imagine, one informed by how fashion has historically worked. One where fashion week is an event born out of necessity, a practical means to a manufacturing end. But I wonder, today, if quality — at least on the runway — is the most important point. I think some brands just really want to say something, and they know that, during fashion week, more people than usual are listening.
Fashion shows with intersectional, inclusive casting and socially-conscious messaging, and runways that make statements about race, sexuality, body type or gender, are not a solo fix for the historical exclusivity that runs deep through this industry, especially not when the designers doing so are still outliers in the grand scheme of things. In terms of the work ahead, the laundry list is long.
Isn’t it possible, though, that mission-driven fashion shows have the ability to spark change within the industry? Maybe it’s not clothing trends these shows are trying to inspire — but cultural ones. Or better put, cultural expansion in an industry that’s historically been constricted to a narrow few. Maybe these designers are laying the necessary stepping stones to creating a platform big enough for everyone to climb onto and have their say.
In 2018, could that be the point of a runway?
Feature photo by Presley Ann/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images.
