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Supreme jackets. Nike Dunks. Stüssy tees. Kid Super sneakers. Bikini tops. Vetemants hoodies. Yankee Hats. Camo prints. Baggy pants. Gold Hoops. Endless layers. Through the art of dance, I met fashion.
“Vain trifles as they may seem clothes have more important offices than merely to keep us warm, they change our view of the world and the world’s view of us” – Virginia Woolf, Orlando .
On the brink of turning twenty, I’ve found myself reminiscing about my pre-teen and early teen years.
Garb Writing Team’s weekly blog!!! This stop… Fashion Houses Then & Now!!!
No disrespect to anyone who is playing sports in college, but thank god that s*** is over. A childhood of club sports, from soccer to lacrosse, shaped the person I am today - a college student with spunk and style and, sure, maybe a persisting love for male athletes.
Today, if you ask a girl where she got her pants, there's about a 50% chance she’ll tell you that she thrifted them. This seems an absolute cultural 180, as thrift shopping has historically been stigmatized as a sign of economic hardship–even seen as unhygienic or dirty–but is now probably the most on-trend way to add to your closet.
Vintage clothing. How do you see it? Understand it? Is it about art? Creativity? Is it about sustainability? What if the answer is all of the above? Tristan Thompson says, “Yes, it has to be all of the above.”
Imagine you’re at a museum with one of your friends, and you are just blankly staring at a canvas that has paint splattered on it. Your friend nudges you and says, “Wow, this guy’s a genius,” but you can’t help but think that this can’t possibly be art. How can someone think that something so mediocre is “art?”
I always used to say if you see me without my necklace, that’s not me. Either I’d been Avril Lavigne-d, and you’re talking to a bare-necked, Roman poser clone, or… no. There’s no other reason you’d catch me without it.
Clothes sprawl across the room, hanging off my closet doors and the couch. My rings and necklaces, scattered everywhere, glimmer. I roll out of bed, clump a couple of rings into my palm, and grab a knitted shirt off the couch. Holding it up to the sunlight and letting the rays shine through, I smile. Woven in the blue cami’s weaves are stories of nights and people nobody will know about as I strut around campus for the rest of the day.
Europe, grandpa’s closet, Marlboro Reds, and matcha lattes have all made their resurgence in the fashion community as of late. While at face value, they may seem to have nothing in common, they are united by a certain je ne sais quoi they exude. Responsible is a genre of fashion on the upturn: Formal Streetwear.
To live in the present is to emulate the past. We float through an obscure river of nostalgia every single day, is there any wonder we yearn to return? Do we wish to escape to a time we can never have back- a time we may not have known at all, or do we simply find comfort in wearing its garments as they were worn by our foremothers and fathers, and theirs before them?
Something that I’ve come to terms with since coming to college is realizing the importance of comfort over style, or even stylish comfort, instead of just style. In high school, I didn’t have to take into account long walks, or different weather because my walks between classrooms were probably 4 minutes long, and really just cared about how my outfit looked, to myself and to my friends.
Thom Browne’s latest collection was hosted again within The Shed in Hudson Yards. This marks a return to the site where Browne’s previous show, inspired by "The Little Prince," enraptured audiences with his usual whimsical charm. This year, Browne once again taps into the literary world to make his first foray into darker themes. Drawing inspiration from the haunting verses of Edgar Allen Poe’s "The Raven," this show is rooted in the macabre beauty of Poe’s world.
Loud music, stained makeup, bruised shoulders—this is what I recall from a recent hardcore show I went to. Beyond the destructive chaos of the mosh pit and the ringing in my ears between songs, what I recall the most is the smoke breaks I took in between sets, swimming in the seemingly endless sea of black shirts and white skirts that caught my eye.
In the past couple of months, Saltburn has taken the world by storm. Not only are we all swooning over Jacob Elordi and his mysterious eyebrow piercing, but Gen Z is obsessed with the overall aesthetic of the masterpiece as a whole.
It is a fashion statement, a social statement, and a visible means of protest against misconceptions. It’s never too late to say something, you and your experience matter regardless of whether you speak of it or not.
Remember the Coastal Grandmother? Somewhere in Nantucket, she lies, adjacent to a shingled summer home, in a muted tone tomb. May she rest in peace. The microtrend hungry grandchildren of today must not fear though, because a new grandparent is in town, the “Eclectic Grandpa,” as the fashion community has coined it.
You’re 7 years old, and your parents are about to drag you to the closest regional park for a good old family bonding hike. Look down at your clothes, what are you wearing?
It is 1991.
You’re sitting in the front row of the Versace Fall runway show.
You glance away for a second, inspecting the venue, but are pulled back by the booming waves of George Michael’s song “Freedom.”
“Of course I need Hairspray!” This was my honest reaction to the note at the end of our first Unit 3 meeting that by using extensive hairspray in the dorm room, the fire alarm would go off. I looked around at the other girls on my floor who seemed unphased about this insane regulation.
The elusive life of a fraternity boy has never been appetizing to me – an almost silly charade of smelly men, beer, and boat shoes with no socks. I understood the intrigue, yet the frivolity surrounding the actual reasons I would join deterred me, and I gladly resigned to a geed experience within my first few days here at Berkeley.
My first love… Oh how fondly I remember. I was sixteen—ugly, broke, and rocking Nike running shoes… out of the house. I had nowhere to go but up. Fate would guide me to the one place that would transform into my most committed and beneficial relationship—even if we have to persevere through long distance.
I remember Freshmen year when I was applying to Garb—which I got rejected from at the time—I was asked to describe my style in one sentence. To my best recollection, I put something like “a kindergartener that dresses themselves without any understanding of color theory and spends most of their time in the dirt.”
I’ve tried to stay away from watching online fashion content for as long as I could. I like to think that it keeps me grounded, and that because of my diligence, I’d never end up making an impulse purchase I’d regret. However, my streak broke this June.