This is one of many outstanding comic strips at xkcd.
These days I am thinking a lot about fashion illustration, entrepreneurship, information, personality, networks, entertainment, minimalism to the point of survivalism… and truth. What will become of us, indeed… well I have an idea of what I am going to do… actually many small ideas.
The Toronto Fashion Incubator has to move to make way for condos. By chance I spoke with Susan Langdon, who reassured me that the TFI is dealing well with the inconvenient situation – taking the opportunity to move up. Currently there are only 4 resident designers, and I notice all of them seem ready to move up to the next level in terms of getting their own spaces, so the TFI will have the chance to turn the situation to advantage. I look forward to seeing the TFI continue doing the good work they do for the next generation of fashion designers in Toronto, and I hope to help too, in some way…
Last time I looked at Threadless the cheque they gave their artists was a lot smaller than $1500. I am going to be doing this and I already have an idea, I mean it this time I am really going to do it!
See what families around the world eat every week. I am fascinated by visual representations of consumption. Look at images of real life in the past, I try not to forget how unprecedented our present is.
In the fashion industry, we are at the cusp of something. Luxury houses are going public, which strikes me as a strange stumble that will make fashion’s veteran players a lot less relevant. I am reading Joseph Abboud’s wonderful biography Threads right now. He talks about how buyers once relied on independent instinct, and now crunch the numbers of the past in a vain attempt to predict the future (or else they are fired). The culture of fear and greed and boards of investors kills fashion leadership. (Or does it?)
Designers like Gianni Versace made fashion alive, and interesting, even if the appeal was narrow. Now, Versace the corporation, without genuine human personality, hedges its bets. Compare the old pictures of Linda and Naomi laughing and leaping in exhuberant, loudly extravagant but enjoyable Versace clothing with modern images of a waxwork-worthy Madonna frozen in luxurious yet unwholesome Versace environments.
Why does it seem to me like even the the legacy of the superstars of fashion is on the verge of victimhood, and fashion’s history nothing but relics without relevance? 1994 might as well be 1904, but I still look back, trying to tease out patterns from the past, trying to answer the question what will become of us.
The possibilities are endless. Time to get back to cutting and sewing.