Fashion is fascim

Judging fashion choices has become a sport and we can all join the bitch-fest workout by reading Grazia, Glamour (the famous do’s and don’ts of public outfits can be particularly vicious, though they at least have the courtesy of obscuring the identities of offending style criminals) and any other magazine dictating exactly how to present ourselves month-by-month.

It’s easy to buy a newspaper now and not actually have to read anything important at all – almost every paper has a celebrity gossip section, and what they are wearing is of crucial importance.

I confess I love fashion magazines. I think it’s healthy to take an interest in ways to improve ones appearance. It’s a courtesy to other people to be well presented (not to mention hygienically maintained). But I object to the style tyranny that’s become so rampant. Fashion should be fun, not panic-sweat inducing while planning what to wear to a party!

In days gone by ordinary women wanted to look wealthy, but now fashion is easily followed at high street prices so the zeitgeist has shifted to trend-dressing, which means following the rules laid out by style bibles Vogue, Harpers Bazaar, Elle, etc. Social fear is created with threats of whispered taunts for wearing something not approved by whoever it is that makes the decisions about what the nation should be wearing – ie. the cynical entities that make a killing off the insecurities of desperate women. Let’s not be fooled into thinking something is on-trend because of a public consensus; trends come and go when brands recycle old ideas to con women into spending money on ‘new’ products.

The fashion industry is laughing all the way to the bank, while continuing to dictate the terms of the consumer agreement. We agree to develop a body complex about fitting into the designs, we agree to spend money on magazines that each month promise brand new methods to slim down in order to fit into the featured designs, and they agree to provide status when we wear their designs.

It starts early, of course. As children we played with our Barbie dolls, dressing up the impossibly-figured toy in an array of outfits to win over Ken and live in happy, plastic bliss. Each week in magazines we obsess over Britain’s very own Barbie and Ken couple.,– fashion is serious business, don’t you know). Careers and independence are cast aside in favour of life as an uber-Barbie; Katie Holmes has been called both the ultimate feminist style icon who ‘has it all’ – a successful career, a baby and, importantly, an enviable wardrobe – or the ultimate mannequin who has swapped her own identity to become a coat hanger for the latest designs while hanging off the arm of husband Tom Cruise.

Fashion is aspiration. It’s about having people believe certain things about you because of the way you dress: that you know what’s in, that you can afford to keep up, and that you are every bit as stylish as any celebrity. Though, it’s less about style and more about an agreed conformity. Even current maverick Agyness Deyn is only judged fashionable because she follows an agreed androgyny – a reaction by an industry keen to move on from popular feminine style by dictating a changing trend towards masculine style in order to make more money.

Fashion magazines can be great fun, and Harper’s Bazaar particularly features some very good writing. Likewise, I admire some print advertisements as works of art; current favourites are the Eva Green Dior Poison perfume ad, and the Diesel ‘Live Fast’ ad of a woman running while throwing talc powder over the baby she is holding in the crook of one arm.

But seriously, fashion is a business not a lifestyle, and shouldn’t be taken too, well, seriously.