‘Excuse me, I think you’ll find that’s my seat,’ the leggy blonde said. ‘Oh I’m sorry, I was told to sit here,’ I replied, trying not to dither as she glanced at me and whispered to her friend.
She was beautiful, thin and clad in black. Impossibly high heels and an even more impossibly chic blow-dry completed the look. I was wearing my Marge Simpson beads, a vintage dress and flat shoes. I thought I looked cool, but her pitying glances suggested otherwise. To top it all off and unbeknown to me, I’d been seated right in the middle of one of the glossies’ reserved seats (by the man responsible for seating all the guests, not just of my own volition) which is the equivalent of covering yourself in bbq sauce and leaping into a pit of ravenous lions.
I felt like I was bizarrely living out an episode of ‘The Hills.’ But I wasn’t- I was seated second row at Rosemount Australian Fashion Week (RAFW) on my first day and obviously had not yet worked out the near impossible hierarchy that is the seating arrangements.
Unlike its hipster sister L’Oreal Melbourne Fashion Festival (LMFF), RAFW takes itself seriously and, in a way, with good reason. You are privy to ready-to-wear collections in an industry-only forum, meaning the general public cannot attend or buy tickets. This is invite only, darling.
I’ve always thought that fashion week was a forum where everyone, no matter what you look like, flourished in a colourful utopia. RWAF certainly served up plenty to look at in terms of street style, but this year I felt very much as though utopia had given way to a blatant tribalism of the fashion variety.
Since when was the Australian fashion scene divided down tribal lines? Did I miss the day where you sign up and pledge allegiance to your tribe via designer handbag purchase instead of paying your rent?
The fashion industry wouldn’t survive if there wasn’t mainstream adherence to trends. Trends are the cogs that keep the retail machine going. But the conformist idea that if you don’t look a certain way or use certain accessory brands as an acknowledgement of being part of some sort of fashion inner sanctum is alienating and keeps us from leading the way in global trends.
Understanding that Sydney is not Melbourne and vice versa, I was still surprised to find that so many women (and a few men) slavishly followed a uniform look that went something like this: Sky high heels (platform or otherwise), skinny pants, fur gillet or jacket, balayage do with center part, topped of with a designer hand bag.
Every day I saw scores of women wearing a variation of this, give or take a sheer maxi skirt or body con mini. It was clear that if you wanted to fit in and be the darling of the front row and street style photographers, this was your uniform.
Sheer creativity is a hallmark of the most influential people that work in the global fashion industry today. Anna della Russo, Karl Lagerfeld, Bryan Boy and even Tavi with her giant bow seen at Christian Dior last year express a mad sense of beauty through their stylish creativity. Bold and courageous, they inspire scores of fashion followers because they are brave and individual, not slavish and conformist.
Perhaps my tribe was too busy hunting down bargains at Savers or fossicking for their next DIY project in Spotlight. Someone round them up will you? I need my tribe next time round.