believe it or not, once upon a time, i was actually stylish. living in new york kind of forces it upon you – in a city chockablock with model/actresses-in-waiting waiting tables, artists looking to make their indelible mark, rich sophisticates, and teen rebels without a cause, you have to find your own way to stand out from the crowd. there’s a creative energy that seeps into your skin.

and so being a twenty-something gen-xer at the centre of (then) fashion universe, it was impossible not to feel inspired to try new things and different looks. mind you, i was often more concerned with looking unique than with looking *good*, but i was rocking early-alternative tattoos, piercings and multi-coloured hair long before they became de riguer for indie-wannabes. the fashions were atrocious, of course, but they were playful and, who cared if i looked silly, because at least i looked different. i wasn’t trying to be cutting edge, so much as avoid blending into the sea of millions around me. suddenly spending more money and time than you would have thought possible with a head full of bleach and a closet full of accessories seemed like a way to tell the world something about who i was. being twenty-something, it’s like some genetic switch gets flipped – not only is it expected that you will try to break the mold, it’s almost a biological imperative.

these days, though, it all seems so much harder. i see kids with their hideous puffy high top trainers, carefully sculpted hair, and ridiculous white plastic sunglasses, and they look so *tired*. like those throwback ray bans are covering dark circles under their eyes. i want to give them a hug and tell them, “hey, we lived through day glo precisely so you wouldn’t have to!”. i read about hipsters who reject labels like cool even as they desperately seek to *be cool*, yet find themselves always trying to stay one step ahead of that catch-22… of being too cool to yet be considered cool (and therefore immediately becoming uncool). trying to always be a trendsetter even as that same trend is blowing up into a phenomenon twenty seconds behind you.

the articles say things like:

An artificial appropriation of different styles from different eras, the hipster represents the end of Western civilization – a culture lost in the superficiality of its past and unable to create any new meaning. Not only is it unsustainable, it is suicidal.

it all looks and sounds like exhausting work. and when fashion becomes unfun, what’s the point?

yet, you *have* to be part of it when you’re young – rarely can one deliberately abstain from being caught up in the culture of their era, the treadmill of continually creating and discarding the norms which will come to define you and your cohorts long after you become boring fuddy-duddies like every generation before you. it’s a necessary part of the ritual of growing up.

and so i feel sorry for those kids i see, with the “members only” jackets, the skinny jeans, the long, weary faces. having to constantly remake yourself afresh takes a lot of energy, and i feel sorry that they have to put in so much more effort than i ever did.

mostly, though, i feel sorry that (if what i witnessed in gap the other day is anything to go by) they’re doomed to repeat the tragic error that was pleat-front jeans.

of montreal – suffer for fashion

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