FOR A WHILE NOW, I’ve been pretty much boring. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve turned into such a homebody ever since- drum roll please- I STARTED MY LAST SEMESTER OF UNIVERSITY! (Yes the capitals are necessary- I am shouting that!). Approaching the final stages of acquiring my degree in journalism and that shit feels good. The wildest night I’ve had in a while revolved around critiquing and weighing the impact of the Atomic Bombing of Japan using the Utilitarian Calcus, followed by binge watching Stranger Things. Sigh. I was never really a big party guy, but now I’ve basically become socially inept. So when my friends proposed dragging me out to a few parties last week I had to comply. This is when a rude awakening took place on the fashion front. I was horrified to realize that pretty much every single girl and guy at these parties looked the same.
We’re talking Dolly the sheep levels of clone here; that fuck-boy haircut, with the dreads hanging over their eyes (man-bangs) , ripped skinny jeans teamed with a camouflage t-shirt or olive bomber jacket and never forgetting those God awful Nike Roshe runs. The ladies; grey braids, a high waist pair of skinnies grazed at the knees and that crop top. You know which one I’m talking about.
I had entered a sartorial Groundhog Day, and the worst part was realizing that my outfit was far too familiar to everyone else’s. It was like something from the Matrix- Id taken the blue pill and woken up to the sad truth of modern fashion; everyone plays it far too safe. What happened to the days of Cam showing up in a head-to-toe pink ensemble? Courtney Love turning up to the Oscars in a rumpled vintage silk slip? Or Liz Hurley attending a premier sporting nothing more than a strategically placed square of black material held together with over-sized safety pins? What about teenagers terrifying their parents with rising hemlines, and Goths terrifying… well everyone? Many of us seem unwilling to take fashion risks to assert our own individuality, preferring to keep “on trend” (whatever that means). We’d rather stick to a tried-and-tested fashion equation of cool haircut+ cool shirt + statement shoe= acceptable. That’s whack.
I suppose if we all look the same, no one is going to get singled out for being too weird, or too slutty, or too eager. But then we’ll just turn into slightly different versions of each other (as seems to be happening) and all the fun of dressing up will be gone. The week after the party everywhere I looked I saw an attack of the clones. Feeling rebellious, I spent my last night out that weekend dressed in head –to-toe vintage denim: skinny jeans, denim shirt, denim jacket and red, Nike Cortez. My ensemble made sure I was the talk of that night’s shindig, and on the receiving end of some decidedly withering looks. But I am delighted to report that my outfit received more compliments and coveting stroke-s than bitchy glances, and it made me realize that while many may dress the same, inside we all want to let our freak flag fly.
Photography: Giancarlo Calameo LaGuerta
Wearing: Caterpillar Apparel, Dickies, Vans