Civil Wars: The Ups & Downs of a Skin Deep Industry
Lately I’ve been in somewhat of a writer’s block- not that there’s a nothing to write but I’m just not sure how to transition from image heavy to essay heavy because I want to write more than I care to photograph lately. There are so many visual blogs out there, often times I just want to balance it off with some literary meat. In January 2012 I wrote that I wanted to get deeper in issues regarding clothing particularly how it exists in morality, religion and virtue but it started to get too personal and I too emotional so I’ve been stalling for over a year and a half now. When I started Sam is Home I gave myself the Don’t Get Too Personal rule but it’s difficult to be stand offish on something you’re passionate about. The issue of bloggers being genuine and honest is something I hope is portrayed here and hey, if you don’t like it, there are many blogs out there that are doing a far better job in orchestrating beautiful outfits. I’m in a season of writing because I enjoy it and this is something I’d like to read. I don’t have all the answers to everything so I thought I’d wade in with the topic of substance and meaning in fashion.
My regards to fashion and blogging aren’t far off from Disney’s Tangled where Rapunzel has just escaped the witch’s tower and is experiencing the world outside of her bedroom on her way to see the lights. Disney captured the emotional conflict beautifully where Rapunzel is prancing around the field screaming “YES I DID IT!” which quickly dissipates into the guilt of hurting someone close to her, which is her ‘mother’ in the story. Similarly, one day I’m feeling free and elated I was gifted such providence for a career in fashion and the next, feeling like that ‘despicable human being’ for not doing something worthwhile.
There are days when I’m riding high on the idea that “HECK YEAH I’m not your stereotypical Asian!!!”, flipping mental cartwheels when I’m featured in press and magazines, and musing over invites to fashion parties and events- things I’d only admire from a distance as a teenager living in the suburbs of Toronto. On the social side, about 70% of my new friends and network are thanks to blogging across Seoul to London to Beijing. A couple weeks ago I purchased the new Monocle magazine and could name a handful of people in the credits and photographs that I counted as friends. Influencers, creatives and designers alike I’ve been able to connect to thanks to a space where I chronicle mundane things like outfits and laugh at myself through well written prose (haha). In terms of navigating the tricky grey waters of monetizing the blog, my career is about 95% founded from Sam is Home acting as a portfolio of ongoing work and as a result meeting clients and collaborators alike. No not sponsorships as most people assume because I ain’t a heavyweight but Phillip Lim feel free to sponsor my entire closet and as a bonus you can have my soul (I’m kidding).
Yet on the flip side of this pride-driven sugar high, there are times when I’ve felt guilt and shame for pursuing such an appearance-driven career. Perhaps I was selling myself short and not fulfilling a calling in something better or greater? As with most people I add on Facebook, I weigh their potential response to seeing a blog such as this- an extension of myself which they could potentially judge my vanity and appearance. I worry about what people think about me particularly those in the religious community- one that has been pretty much the core influence of my adolescence. Though it was probably a lie I built in myself which I went to counseling for, I thought my family, friends and church could never accept such an interest that grew into a passion and a career. While pretty much all my friends went on to enroll into teacher’s college and schools for medicine and business, I decided to stay in la-la land and enrolled to Parsons in New York under the guise of studying Interior Design. I grew up hiding my Vogues under the bed and being a secret member of My Style Diary back in the early 2000′s blog days where I’d stand on the ledge of my bathtub (ohhh yes) awkwardly taking a self photo of my outfit. One of these eventually landed in the March issue of Elle magazine (a thrift outfit I put together with CDN $11) and I was so embarrassed of the attention I didn’t tell anyone until the following April landed on stands so no one could buy my feature; mind you, the photo was smaller than that of a passport photo.
But, Sam, why the Gollum-like schizophrenia? Is fashion that important to make such a big fuss out of it? And who cares? Out of all the arts, it’s probably one of the most debated in contributing to the greater good. While graphic design is about the art of communication and the relationship between text/visual, architecture about structure and habitation, fashion falls in the weird area of self-expression and sartorial cliques. No one really needs that new dress do they? On one hand, it’s pure expression of the inward out and the simple joy of communicating with the body. It forms communities, embraces change through symbolic dress and unifies people with non-verbal communication. I’ve made friends based on appearances alone and connected with people of different cultures based on our love for Peter Pan collars- there’s fellowship in shared taste. Taking on a wider perspective, the industry alone rakes in $20 billion a year and supports 4 million jobs. No one can deny that fashion is powerful in that sense for such a shallow industry has deep pockets. The seamstress is a high-skilled job that’s not easy to learn but requires much training. The fast fashion customer is getting pickier with stray threads that haven’t been cut or slight misalignment of the hem therefore the tailor’s shoes that aren’t easy to fill.
But I’ve been with enough philosophers and conservatives to know the counterarguments. Because it deals with surface aesthetic, it’s often seen as shallow and as a result, all those who wander into its territory must also be as well. Bodies are contorted and twisted into the ideal figure with one definition of beauty (though personally I find this debatable). The term ‘Fashion Victim’ is perceived as those who have fallen into the trappings of blindly following trends and haven’t a sense of curation- or self for that matter- though Anna Dello Russo seems to think differently. But the true victims of fashion aren’t the consumers but the makers and those it employs. Over the weekend (April 24) in Bangladesh, another building housing two garment factories crumbled killing 390 people. As my good friend Joy (Of Stranger Sensibilities) wrote so beautifully in her piece called ‘What’s the Big Idea?’ she says that yes the fashion industry is indeed a life and death issue; we’re just not paying the price. Those who love social justice, who love people, who want to see poverty eliminated shouldn’t be just looking at the shelters but also at their wardrobes. They should be looking at the environment and understand that poverty is linked to the stewardship of the earth; that their clothes aren’t that cheap because of a good deal, but because there are people three thousand miles away working under crumbling factories to pay the price of that $50 blazer.
I know, I’m not making a big difference in the world and I am certainly not curing people of diseases like my doctor friends or fighting for justice in the courts. The point of this post is not really to accuse its lovers, consumers, haters or its makers but to stop the self deprecating thoughts that I’ve struggled with since a child. Fashion is both simple and complex and I don’t say this to sound deep but growing up flipping back and forth between loving and rejecting myself for the vocation I chose is wearing me out. I love fashion because I’m attracted to its beauty and its ability to communicate volumes through folds and seams. There’s room for fashion to do good, to answer the issue of poverty, to create honest work if we’d only see both the ins and outs of the existing industry and to bring to light the areas that the industry need work on.
So here’s the pan and the ‘frog’ and forward march.
Photos by Agnes.
