The ‘Six’ in the title refers to ‘The Six of Antwerp’ — Dirk Bikkembergs, Ann Demeulemeester, Walter Van Beirendonck, Dries Van Noten, Dirk Van Saene and Marina Yee — who have been renowned in the world of fashion since the beginning of the 1980s. The ‘plus’ refers to Martin Margiela on the one hand, because he is often bracketed together with ‘The Six’ and on the other hand, to the next generation of designers who have always added new aspects to the Antwerp identity. Finally, the ‘plus’ also refers to photographers, stylists, graphic designers and make-up artists, who have only strengthened the impact of the Antwerp fashion image. The Antwerp style is often described as a type of fashion with a strong feel for identity and tradition, as a conceptual type of fashion that can be interpreted as a reflection on the system of fashion that never gets lost in an abstract artistry or thought. Antwerp fashion is praised by many journalists and buyers because of its unique balance between realism and creativity, which also explains the huge commercial success. With works by Bernhard Willhelm, Raf Simons, Patrick Van Ommeslaeghe, Kris Van Assche, Haider Ackermann, Les Hommes, Lieve Van Gorp, Bruno Pieters, Peter Pilotto, Veronique Branquinho, Jurgi Persoons and A.F. Vandevorst.
Robbie wears jacket, waistcoat, shirt, tie and denim trousers all by Raf Simons Archive; vintage combat boots from Naughty I, Antwerp.
Chloe wears vintage waistcoat by Martin Margiela; jacket and trousers by Balenciaga; T-shirt by Raf Simons Archive.
Robbie wears jacket by Comme des Garçons Homme Plus; waistcoat by Martin Margiela; shirt and tie by Raf Simons Archive; trousers by Louis Vuitton.
Chloe wears sleeveless jacket by Raf Simons Archive; vintage dress by Helmut Lang; vintage leggings by Stephen Sprouse.
Robbie wears jacket, waistcoat, shirt, tie and trousers all by Raf Simons Archive; vintage combat boots, stylist’s own.
Chloe wears jacket, dress and leggings by Veronique Branquinho; T-shirt by Raf Simons Archive; vintage combat boots, stylist’s own.
Chloe wears suit by Comme des Garçons; vintage combat jacket from Waterlooplienmarket, Amsterdam; boot’s stylists own. Robbie wears jacket, shirt and tie all by Raf Simons Archive; vintage combat waistcoat from Waterlooplienmarket, Amsterdam; trousers from Naughty I, Antwerp; boots stylist’s own.
Robbie wears waistcoat by Martin Margiela; jacket by Louis Vuitton, shirt, tie and trousers all by Raf Simons Archive.
Chloe wears vintage waistcoat by Martin Margiela; T-shirt by Raf Simons Archive; skirt by Veronique Branquinho.
Chloe wears jacket by Raf Simons Archive; vintage dress by Stephen Sprouse.
Special thanks to Stephen Sprouse, Pia Versele, Gerrit Bruloot, Marian Eggers and Raf Simons.
Spring-Summer 2003. Consumed. Photographed by Mario Sorrenti. Syling by Panos Yiapanis. Arena Homme Plus no. 18, 2003.
Isolated heroes no.1: Robbie. Photographed by Raf Simons. Antwerp, 2000.
Autumn-Winter 1999-2000 (flag). Photographed by Raymond Jacquemyns. Antwerp 2005.
Robbie. Photographed by Willy Vanderperre. Styling: Oliver Rizzo. Grooming: Peter Philips. Antwerp, 1999.
Autumn-Winter 2003-2004. Collaboration with Peter Saville. Hand-painting on garments executed by Stef Driesen and Antonia Deluca. Cis, Johan, Peter. Photographed by Willy Vanderperre. Hair: Tom Malomgre. Make-up: Peter Philips. Paris, 2003.
Collier Schorr. Base Portraits/Barracks. New York, 2005.
Spring-Summer 2002. Alexander. Photographed by Kurt De Wit. Grooming: Peter Philips. Paris, 2001.
Raf and me – we are the Nicky brotherhood. Other people might look at out two members only-congregation as just another Nicky Wire (of Manic Street Preachers) fan club, but both of us know the word “Nicky” means so much more, so we don’t care. For the uninitiated, it would take a long, deep plunge into the complete history and output of the Manics to fully understand, so just take it from me that “Nicky” stands for conviction, fervor, pride, defiance and self-belief against ones own lucky or unlucky fate. When Nicky Wire falls to his knees onstage, bass guitar low, his eyes closed, lost in melody and noise, signing along to to the very words he himself wrote, it’s not your typical freeze-framed rock pose. It’s the very white-out of deliverance and intent and melancholia all true art has, or should have. Life the Nicky way is what all of us like to aspire to. Above all, “Nicky” stands for passion. There’s so, so much passion in Raf’s head and heart. He’s a believer – always. Take anyone working in his office or somehow associated with him as an example. He has this ability to see the spark in people, no matter what background or possible shortcomings. and then fan the flame until it becomes a glowing fire. Passion is what drives his work, too. If there’s one thing I wanted to get across with this book, it’s this; put aside, although never erase, the schoolboy, the robot, the goth drop-out, the protester, the nature kid, the space-age casual. They’re only symbols, indicators. What they really convey is pure emotion without any trickery. Raf has proved that, in one big natural swoop and before the commentators can make their seasonal shopping round-up, fashion can indeed say something all-encompassing and essential about masculinity, society, individuality and freedom. Whispering, wondering, hesitant, shouting, jubilant or unafraid, Raf’s voice has always been for real. And I’m glad that the world has been taking note.
In 1991, Nicky Wire changed my life when he and Richey wrote the lyrics to “Motown Junk”. Five years ago, Raf also radically, positively redirected my own route by inviting me wholeheartedly into his world. If it wasn’t for him, I probably would still hide my strange scribblings and paste-and-cuttings in a box under my bed.
Fine Weave Woollen Dress, Spring Summer 1988 / Loose Coat with Crushed Effect, Autumn Winter 1984 – 1985.
Yohji Yamamoto in Paris, making final revisions to the show for Spring Summer 1991.
New York Catalogue, Autumn Winter 1984 / 1985.
A fitting in progress in Yohji Yamamoto’s workroom in Tokyo.
Evening Gown in Black Gabardine, Spring Summer 1993 / Cutting to the millimetre, rather than the centimetre.
“People wear my clothes to make a statement,” explained Yohji Yamamoto, summing up, in the laconic style we have become familiar with over the last twenty or more years – a contribution to fashion that constitutes an exploration of fashion itself. For this was not the leisured opulence of haute couture, the flashy brilliance of prêt-à-porter, nor even the futuristic vision of the avant-garde. What became clear, gradually but inexorably, as we followed the Japanese designer’s repousal of the great archetypes of fashion, was that his choice of a neutral vocabulary, his adoption of a simplified palette and range, was the power and essential difference of the Yamamoto style. It was an approach which, while taking into account the contribution of Paris couture, and indeed traditional Japanese costume, nevertheless set out quite deliberately to tap new areas of creative potential in the domain of fashion in all its modes and manifestations – a world that had experienced more fresh starts in a single turbulent century than it had in the previous thousand years.
Although he would not go so far as to lay claim to the status of artist, in his approach to clothes Yohji Yamamoto shows himself to be exceptionally responsive to contemporary trends – in the same way that couturiers of preceding generations responded to Cubism, say, or the Ballets Russes or Pop Art. Caught up in the delirium of the seventies, Andy Warhol was heard to remark, “When you think about it, department stores are kind of like museums.” (indeed he went so far as to reserve the formula, explaining that he liked Rome because it was a sort of museum, “like Bloomingdale’s.”) Arte Povera went further still, with its refusal to be seduced by smooth surfaces, Pop colors and the consumer society, opting instead for basic elements that had not been transmuted: wood shavings, rags, mud, coal, and so on. In the “roaring eighties,” Yohji Yamamoto would attempt something comparable – one of a small number who tried to break away from a fossilized conception of what clothes were. He did this by disrupting the codes by which clothes made their appeal; by rethinking the glamorous signals sent out by their external appearance; by redefining their relationship with the male or female body; and, ultimately – to near universal incomprehension – by radically reinterpreting the respective contributions of beauty and ugliness, past and future, memory and modernity.
Miyashita is part of a relatively new wave of Japanese designers,including Junya Watanabe, Undercover’s Jun Takahashi and Daiki Suzuki of Engineered Garments and Woolrich Woolen Mills, who are obsessed with American style; in Miyashita’s case, his dark side yields clothes of paradoxical luminosity. His fall collection, My Own Private Portland, features updated Northwest classics like plaid shirts, fur-lined trapper hats and nubby, grungy cardigans. In the spring of 2009, his Lonesome Heroes dudes will be sporting a mishmash of brocades and Navajo patterns.
At 16, Miyashita came to the States and fell in love with Americana. While his contemporaries were struggling with algebra and first dates, he was assisting stylists for Japanese magazines like the defunct Check Mate. ‘‘I got expelled from school because I did so many things,’’ he says cryptically, before admitting to having smoked pot. Miyashita spent his days on the streets of Harajuku and Shibuya, the epicenters of Tokyo teenage street style; what little money he had he spent on clothes, which he’d tear apart in order to remake and customize them. Through this process he taught himself how to design and started working with Nepenthes, a label that specialized in American-inspired clothing. Eventually he began traveling regularly to the States for research, focusing on cities like Austin, Tex.; Butte, Mont.; and his favorite, Portland, Ore.
Miyashita wears his pop-culture infatuations on his sleeve — and everywhere else. On a recent afternoon in Paris, he sported old khakis with Birkenstocks, a lumberjack shirt, a Victorian-inspired vest, a dangling fur satchel, an assortment of necklaces and trinkets, a jeweled guitar pin, a large stone ring, a leather cuff, a big plastic watch, a rakish hat and a crumpled cigarette pack worn as a brooch. His shows are set to the tracks of idols like Nirvana and Johnny Cash. He constantly adds to the collection of vintage clothes, records and images that inform his work; ‘‘The Outsiders’’ and ‘‘Rumble Fish’’ are two of his favorite movies, and he’s crazy for Joseph Szabo’s pictures of American teenagers in the ’70s and Slater Bradley’s ‘‘Doppelgänger Trilogy’’ featuring Kurt Cobain.
It’s the quintessential designer sound bite, but in this case it feels painfully real.
Image courtesy of Interior Design.
Labels For More, Eugene Rabkin, 2008.
Karlo Steel, a New Orleans native, is serious, soft spoken, and contemplative. Only his dark eyes, set behind horn-rimmed glasses, and an occasional chuckle give away his emotions. And yet his passion shines through his impassive demeanor. He wears his fashion heart on his sleeve. As he unfolds a long gray coat by Austrian designer Carol Christian Poell, he talks about it in his quiet voice. Of course, the explanation must start from afar; Steel is not satisfied with merely describing the garment.
Your store has a particular aesthetic that can be described as dark or gothic. This aesthetic does not seem to come from merely a desire to satisfy a niche, but from something personal. Is this true?
Some designers you carry, Ann Demeulemeester, Number (N)ine, Rick Owens, are often accused of doing the same thing. However, it seems that what they do comes from the inside and that anything else would be inauthentic.
These designers represent two generations. One came in the late ’90s, and the other fairly recently. They appeal to younger clients. And then you have Yohji Yamamoto, an important designer, but from an older generation. Was the decision to carry him a gamble?
“Yes. We were offered to carry Yamamoto; an opportunity I could not pass up. It was an emotional decision on my part. Growing up in the late ’70s, I went searching for what I wanted to wear in my life. I knew I wasn’t getting it from GQ or Vogue. It wasn’t reflecting the kind of music I listened to, the kind of movies I watched. Then I came across new magazines like Face, Blitz, and I.D., English magazines. They were more about style rather than fashion; they were not about what you were wearing, but how you were wearing it, and how the clothes were connected with other cultural phenomena.
There is also the other side of the shop: Carpe Diem, Carol Christian Poell and Label Under Construction. These are not “designers” in the traditional sense; they consider themselves artisans. What attracted you to them?
What unites them is the handmade approach of a craftsman. Does that play a big part in this attraction?
Talking about $5,000 leather jackets and avoiding commercialism is problematic. People look at price tags, but not necessarily at the garments.