Ready 2 Drown
At the after party for the Balenciaga SS23 show, I stumbled around the old carpeted venue in gold and silver Miu Miu stilettos, a black sequin micro-mini skirt, and a graphic Anna Bolina tube top that everyone I know in New York owns, but no one wears anymore. "I just want to rock Dickies and mesh tops from Amazon.com like all the other girls," I blabbed to whoever would listen. "I don't care about fashion anymore."
Of course, there's no such thing as looking like all the other girls when every trend you've ever conceived of is hitting the feed at once, but I do notice that the other basics at Equinox like to slide on their matching cargo pants and pop adderall together after morning yoga class, and that groups of white 20-somethings in Nolita dress in muted rainbow outfits that look like they're fresh out of the package.
But none of this means anything to anyone but me. Like the algorithm, what we notice on the streets is selective and subjective. Just the other day I was at Fort Tilden beach with a friend who, after eyeing up a group of cute, queer hipsters, remarked that it was cool that everyone has unique style these days. "But they're wearing vintage Prada sneakers and Praying hats," I groaned. "Only you know that," she retorted, before reminding me of the ubiquity of past trends like "health goth" or "normcore."
I guess all this is to say that I just don't know what to think about fashion anymore. Maybe it has something to do with my own insecurities, or the changing seasons, or the pervasiveness of post-modernism at a time when we're all desperate for stability. Just today I saw a tweet complaining about people being outraged because they thought Lotta Volkova's Gaultier collaboration, or reissue, or whatever, was ripping off some designer that I've never heard of whose own collections are derivative of Gaultier. Does that sentence make sense to you? It's really that absurd.
Now that I have a job as an editor I have a better understanding of the pay-for-play structure of the fashion world, though none of it is that surprising. If anything, it's made me less wide-eyed for unattainable items, and more appreciative of people who dress well on a budget. Yet crowd favorite critics seem to be doubling down on elitism, pooh-poohing fast fashion consumerism and discourse, as if style only exists in an expensive, PR-mediated bubble filled with old money elites and their well-read wannabes. I don't buy it, but I understand the appeal. Everyone is holding on tight to their taste and self-proclaimed expertise, lest they drift off into the algorithmic current. But I'm ready to drown.