Living in an Immaterial world, what materials matter?

Thirty-odd years ago Madonna sang about living in a material world while
wrapped in hot pink satin, nuzzling fur, dripping in jewels, and being
hoisted into the air by a posse of suited men. She was mimicking her idol
Marilyn Monroe, who thirty-odd years before that, dressed similarly, had
sung about diamonds being a girl’s best friend in the movie “Gentlemen
Prefer Blonds.” Flash back another thirty and an equally vampish, blond,
Mae West, responded to the exclamation of “Goodness!” from an admirer, with
the statement “Goodness had nothing to do with it.”

Goodness nothing to do with glamour?

West was right. Throughout history female glamour has been a ruthless
death match in which the major players were dressed to the nines in a
patchwork of scalps, skins, and token body parts from the planet’s most
vulnerable creatures. The glamour we aspired to was a trophy to
destruction. But at least we knew where we stood.

Today’s uncharted territory can be confusing for glamour queens. Luxury
houses like Gucci and Giorgio Armani have lined up to reject fur, the
pursuit of glamour no longer justifying the killing and exploitation of
animals. Going a stride further, ASOS have pledged that by January 2019,
not only products containing “fur, including Mongolian lamb’s fur to rabbit
hair” but additionally “bone, horn, shell (including mother of pearl),
teeth, mohair, cashmere or silk” will no longer be sold by them. H&M, Zara,
and Gap have recently gone mohair-free. Ad campaigns use the term
silky-smooth to describe the feeling of a body wash on our skin but
we shouldn’t put the real thing on our bodies. The average customer who
purchases a silk blouse probably doesn’t know that, according to PETA,
approximately
3000 silk worms are boiled alive in their cocoons to produce every pound of
silk. They may however know that it is one of the oldest and the
strongest natural fiber known to man, and for generations has been
synonymous with quality and glamour. Modifying terminology such as taffeta,
damask, shantung only served over time to imbue silk with its exotic
allure.

Polyester and nylon have been offered as silk alternatives since the
early twentieth century and during the second world war, nylon stockings
were considered the height of decadence with women who could no longer get
their hands on a pair, not even on the black market, forced to paint the
seam up the back of their leg. But after the initial boom, “synthetic” or
manmade fibers, were viewed as budget-friendly options, and natural fibers
were still coveted as superior. Deriving from petroleum, these synthetic
fibers are PETA––but not planet––friendly and finish up in landfills and
oceans. Even basic cotton is not without shame, whether organic or not.

In an increasingly immaterial world in which all the traditional symbols
of glamour and luxury have fallen into disrepute, nearly all of the status
materials once considered a girl’s best friends are former BFFs at best,
and some we are ashamed to admit we ever hung out with. The subject of
materials is a modern minefield as it is no longer a question of what feels
good but what makes us not feel bad. One consolation might be that as
digital experiences and virtual reality swallow us up, and property
ownership is no longer a priority, physical materials might cease to matter
entirely.

The look of luxury

After a status quo that endured for centuries, luxury now looks
radically different. Responsible aspiration has replaced reckless excess in
all that money can buy. Biodegradable polyester is the thinking girl or
boy’s fur stole. Our lingerie will be compostable and our bioleather biker
jacket made in a lab from collagen protein, our handbag from apples, and
our sandals from mushrooms. Multi-purpose food produce becomes the ultimate
fashion prize.

The epitome of the new glamour is Iris Van Herpen’s shape-shifting,
show-stopping sci-fi creations which seem to suspend and ripple around the
body like energy fields. With steel threads that mimic silk and silicon
that mimics skin, her dresses which appear to be dripping in crystals or
embellished in feathers are instead 3D printed in her studio and
painstakingly assembled. One-of-a-kind pieces they are born from
collaborations with scientists, architects, the military, and seem to have
materialized in response to the need for a new bespoke for the zero-waste
generation. She regularly collaborates with CERN (The European Organization
for Nuclear Research) and MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology) and
operates at the intersection of sculpture and couture, having set fire to
the bridge that might have led her to fast fashion acceptance early in her
career. Ephemeral and fragile her dresses resemble the exoskeletons of the
Madonna/Marilyn/Mae glamour that is now tottering, once infallible,
considered too big to fail.

Today’s material girl can’t be bought. Compassion is in fashion, and the
consumer demands reassurance beyond what her reflection in the mirror
reveals. The compliments she seeks appeal not just to her ego but to
mankind and mother earth. The external “feel” of fabric touching skin holds
no comparison to how certain fabrics make her feel on the inside.

Fashion editor Jackie Mallon is also an educator and author of Silk
for the Feed Dogs, a novel set in the international fashion
industry.

Images: Pexels, pixabay, Youtube, Wikicommons, Catwalk pictures, Iris van Herpen, Couture AW17