Good afternoonish Tuesday. I wanted to pop out a post this am first thing but morning got completely away from me. But as I reel myself back in, I must admit, though entertaining as all hell watching a deer in the headlights style Hillary Rhoda create compelling interviews and Billy Norwich try to be a human being, the Moda Operandi livestream from the red carpet was the furthest thing from punk that has ever existed.
Though I was not exactly a grown up when punk came around in the late 70s, I was as affected by it as anyone else who was of drinking or voting age. I have always been a tremendous music fan, particularly of the rock variety, and when I first heard the Clash and the Sex Pistols I immediately knew something very major was happening and I just had to be a part of it. For those of us whose adolescence resembled less prom queen and more "punk", you know what I mean. I would never be a cheerleader but I could rip up my sweaters, draw all over my Converse, and listen to college radio and get my hands on as many punk records as I could. From the Clash to the Exploited to the Dead Milkmen (hometown Philly boys), my love for the sounds of anarchy was growing. And though I clearly remember a picture book I had of famous punks like Ari Up and groups of disavowed youth like The Bromley Contingent (of which my heroine Siouxsie Sioux came from) scaring me ever so slightly, I loved the rebelliousness. I loved the screw authority epoch. I lovedthe style and the snarl and the attitude. This look was not necessarily about sex or glam- it was all about looking as disenfranchised as possible so as to denote your disgust and distrust for a very broken system- the clothes were merely there to add to the fire. After the "more more more" days of Studio 54, it's not surprising that punk took over- disco was vapid, shallow, and full of beautiful people. Punk was full of broken glass, broken dreams, and a deep discontent with the world in which we lived. I never stopped loving that rebelliousness and consider it a very formative part of who I am today. After all, not many kids in Washington High School in Northeast Philadelphia were wearing armfuls of spiked bracelets and listening to Black Flag. I promise you that.
So as I watched the live red carpet last night, I felt a little bit sick. Yea I realize it's idealistic to look back at a time and expect people to conquer the zeitgeist of that moment in 2013. I'm not exactly sporting bondage pants anymore, and most likely, neither are you. But the commercialization of the whole thing last night made me realize that once something is defined as a movement, particularly a fashion one, it immediately loses its cred. Sure there were stunning dresses and fabulous bodies and Gwyneth in pink Valentino couture (pink is the color of punk says Gwyneth, this from a girl married to one of the softest rockers around).
Look! There's Anne Hathaway with a shock of blonde hair (it looks great by the way) in vintage Valentino! There goes Rooney Mara in gorgeous white with deep red lips! Ooh why is Ashley Olsen dressed like a saffronic druid? Is that punk? Wait did Hailee Steinfeld really just say that Avril Lavigne was her favorite punk? And the list just goes on. Yea, SJP brought it hard with a Phillip Treacy headress, Giles Deacon gown, and Loboutin tartan boots. And you know times are tough when you (meaning me) admit that Madonna kinda nailed it by not wearing pants and showing a real screw you kind of attitude, what her being over 50 and looking this way in front of loads of people. OK, I'll give it to her. And Carine Roitfeld's ode to Bambi was inspired- The Sex Pistols "Who Killed Bambi" was indeed a punk classic.
But really at the heart of such an evening is the fact that the press had a real field day talking about how little people understood the theme, and how many people were stumped about what to wear. That's because this is a crowd of people who don't make a move without a stylist or a nod to the latest designer or a political play to sell magazines or movie tickets or more still, dresses. Not one person on that red carpet did something truly DIY, something truly anti-establishment or something that felt true to the theme. And if you can tell me what Beyonce has to do with punk (yea, I'm not buying the independent woman argument), I'll give you a million diamond safety pins. And sure, Sofia Coppola's MJ pajamas were a nice way to be comfy in one's own skin, but they could have been done to feel a bit more home made, anarchic, or otherwise. And if Nicole Richie's insanely awful hair color was meant to be cool, um...yikes.
I must say the only girls who got it right were the Brits- Cara's Burberry was hot, as was Sienna Miller's studded jacket. Carey Mulligan looked minimal but fabulously accented with a safety pin. Stella Tennant looked cool and alternative as expected, I just felt so nonplussed by it all, and you know it's bad if this here girl is admitting Miley Cyrus kind of had the whole thing on lock. Oy. Poor Debbie Harry and her crew looked a bit forlorn, dear wacked out Kristen McMenamy almost ripped off Hillary Rhoda's face, and Vivienne Westwood's political commentary was rudely cut short by a frantic Billy Norwich, anxious to chat with the next movie star on the red carpet. Not cool. Without Vivienne, there would really be no punk.
I guess what I'm saying is that sure I'm going to see that Met show, but punk should never have been cast this way- perhaps it could influence fashion and designers when crafting clothes for people that are looking for something a little more daring and electric, but I so wish punk was not something to be interpreted by the likes of Hollywood and fashion royalty. As evidenced by last night's Met Ball, nobody really gets it but those who do.
Cause that's what's up this A in a circle kind of Tuesday in the 212. Look, I'm not pretending I still go to hardcore shows, but surely I'm not the only one who found the whole event to be too manufactured and not true to what punk really was. I'm very sorry to say, but Stacey Keibler is not punk in any way, though her Rachel Roy dress was just lovely. Oh, where are those misfit toys? I miss 'em. XO
