On Fashion
Some of the best contemporary movies are not only that are critically acclaimed, but also widespread commercial success, and cultural impact, often evidenced by an eventual cult following. One example of that is 2006 film The Devil Wears Prada, with Meryl Streep playing Anna Wintour-inspired fashion editor Miranda Priestly and Anne Hathaway, playing neophyte Andrea Sachs, referred to as Andy. Within this movie, one of the best scenes is Priestly’s cerulean sweater monologue, following Andy’s derisive chuckles at a pair of belts, which are near-identical in her eyes. Priestly makes an astute observation about the source of Andy’s contempt of fashion, and then explains how fashion is important and inescapable.
Recently, I’ve begun to feel like I am Andy. Many people in my life are heavily influenced by fashion; I guess according to the monologue, we all are, and it’s a matter of degrees and understanding. But to have a dream bag, to browse SSENSE during downtime, and to follow ugly-looking influencers in ugly-looking clothes is something else altogether. Every time they exclaim that something is so sick and I scoff inwardly or outwardly, I am scared that I’m Andy. What if, in thinking that I am better than all this crass consumerism and reckless spending, I am just an ugly writer with a bad wardrobe and an even worse haircut? What if to them, I am too boorish to spend a minimum on my upkeep, have no taste, and they are embarrassed to be seen with me? Thankfully, my friends instead seem to be as embarrassed as I am with how much their clothes cost, how much of them they have, and how much they stop wearing after one trend dies and the next one starts. Maybe they’re just being nice.
Fundamentally, I see fashion as nothing more than an exercise in signalling within the capitalist ecosystem. Modern textile design and manufacturing has been able to create durable and comfortable clothes for dollars. Just look at the cheapest version of any article of clothing, specialised gear aside. Shirts? Five to ten dollars. Pants? Ten to twenty dollars. Shoes? Thirty to sixty dollars. Sure, there are differences in comfort and quality as one pushes the price upwards, but after four or five times the entry-level price, consumers are paying for more than the physical product. Within that cost are design and service, but the majority of the increase lies in the branding. The ownership of well-marketed clothes signals to others wealth and taste, both markers of value.
Wealth is the obvious one. Anything from loud flashy logos to wild obnoxious designs without logos, to what the annoying internet denizens like to call “quiet luxury” these days, is a signifier of wealth. A monogrammed Goyard duffel shows the wearer can afford to spend a couple thousand dollars on a canvas bag. A pair of Margielas or Rick Owens shows to the initiated that wearer can afford to spend a couple thousand dollars on shoes that look like that. Something from Loro Piana or The Row shows to peers that the wearer can afford to spend tens of thousands of dollars on a wardrobe to look like they shop at Banana Republic. Buying new, expensive clothes that are fashionable, signals at the very least that the wearer has money right now.
The more pernicious of the two is taste: flashy logos and design are often criticized to be in poor taste, ostentatious displays of wealth. Yet that is only a complaint by the jealous who are outside the sphere of taste they care to signal to. For their peers and those who they want to impress, their choice in fashion is generally appropriate; though there is a lot of debate on what is tasteful and what is not, most all people can successfully convey to their targets the message that they want, which is ultimately wealth as well. After all, to have taste, one has to have time to spend on a frivolous pursuit that doesn’t yield any tangible benefits, a sign of economic security.
I’m not denying the importance of the fashion industry, both economically and culturally, but rather questioning its value to the end-consumer: the industry manufactures not only clothes, but the demand for the clothes as well, the need for different colours, materials, and patterns. Unlike many other unnecessary things which have some superior physical qualities such as cars, food, video games, electronics, and appliances, fashion is purely an aesthetic play. Its appeal lies solely in its looks, which is ultimately its value as well. This isn’t to reject it: as previously discussed, aesthetic significance is unique because of its uselessness. The message is pure and unadulterated by material improvements in the things themselves. The wearers also know that the value of the good comes from its appearances alone, and chooses to indulge not only because of its signal of value, but also because frivolity is immensely satisfying. But as a starving writer with a floundering blog, I can chose to minimize my participation in the industry.
Though Priestly’s speech seems to reject the idea that it’s possible exist in a capitalist society without participating in consumerism; there is a difference between intentional and incidental consumption. Following blogs, shows, and trends to purchase the latest it bag is much more intentional than Andy picking out a cerulean sweater from a bargain bin. Existing under a capitalist economy and having to work a job to get food to eat is also immensely different from becoming a business owner who refuses to pay their employees a living wage and forces them to pee in bottles. However, just like it’s hard to resist the temptation to get ahead in society and start investing in residential real estate, it’s tough to not give into the temptation to buy some nice clothes and bags. Even as a struggling writer.
There are some who do, but most people can’t simply opt out of the fashion industry. To a large extent, it’s human nature to want to express oneself and to fit in. For as long as there has been recorded history, humans have played dress-up. Though I spoke of signaling with tone of disdain, it is as much part of what makes us human: creative expression and herd mentality. And so, I partake as well: I buy branded clothes, funky designs, and trendy shoes. In a way, that makes me feel even more so like Andy, but hypocritical. There are things I like, but I simply think are unreasonable to buy. I quite like a few designer brands. It’s one thing to completely reject fashion, but it feels almost like jealously to claim that everyone who likes it more than I do is frivolous.
And so I feel like Andy in front of Miranda. I pick my outfits every morning with the intention of complimenting my appearance, outfits that are the byproduct of the fashion industry. To then turn around and say that fashion is dumb seems ironic. Of course, nuance exists, and it’s entirely possible that excessive consumption of fashion is bad, but I can’t shake the feeling that I am Andy, and all my ridiculous friends are a character based off Anna Wintour. I hate fashion.
