The fashion industry has long advertised itself as a frontier of individualism, but is this really a valid presentation?
By GEETIKA MAHAJAN — giamahajan@ucdavis.edu
Our society is predisposed to buying much more than we actually need, which rings especially true when it comes to clothing. Practicality might be able to answer for some of our consumption, but over the past few decades, people have been investing in their style to an extent that far surpasses their basic needs or common sense.
Carrie Bradshaw’s complaining in “Sex and the City” that “I will literally be the old woman who lived in her shoes” wasn’t just funny because of its absurdity. Even in the early 2000s, before the era of relentless fast fashion, people could relate to a character who spent so much money on shoes that she could no longer afford her rent.
In a culture of mass-consumption, Shein hauls and TikTok shopping, it’s easy to click and collect outfits, accessories and personalities like groceries. If you like what someone on your social media feed is wearing, you can shop their entire closet because they’ve linked their Amazon storefront to their profile. Anyone can completely change their style to reflect whatever new aesthetic is trending that week. Consequently, brands must be focused on anticipating consumer wants rather than cultivating their own identity.
Fashion, and to a broader extent, beauty, has never existed within a bubble — it’s always been about signaling something to the outside world. In the past, this form of communication had been somewhat authentic; “copying” someone else’s style meant trying to imitate their makeup or find a leather jacket that looked like theirs. Today, it’s more about wanting to be a “Blair-Waldorf-coded-older-sister-academic-weapon” or an “Alexa-Chung-rockstar-girlfriend” and attempting to completely emulate such an archetype; the markets have also shifted to reflect this.
Fashion houses and their designers used to display their clothing as works of art. Alexander McQueen was so invested in the theatrics of his fashion shows that he originally planned to commit suicide on the catwalk after one of his last shows. Whether it was John Galliano’s reconstructed, grandiose rendition of the French Revolution or the sculptural coherence of Issey Miyake, the houses thought of their designs as more than just consumables: They were part of a visual language that was unique to the brand.
Consequently, brands became symbols that were as much reflections of subculture as creators of it. The most important part of maintaining authenticity within the branding was that it was based on individuality and integrity, not just on catering to as many people as possible. This is what allowed fashion to categorise itself as an art form, not just a productive industry.
To be interested in fashion — to be dedicated to it in a way that transcends just wearing what you saw someone online wear — you need to consider everything except what’s sellable. This is what allowed Vivienne Westwood and John Paul Gaultier to go beyond just being designers, but instead, being shapers of the art world. By incorporating aesthetics and designs from the fringes of the fashion arena, they were able to establish themselves as a unique brand.
Fashion has always been a consumer-based art form, but the focus on profit has novel effects. Brands no longer display this kind of interest in the world around them, and consequently, the conversation around fashion becomes much more limited. Instead of reflecting the art and politics of the current moment, our clothing choices simply reflect everything we want to buy.
Written by: Geetika Mahajan — giamahajan@ucdavis.edu
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