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Things Josh Hates: Tavi

22 Sep

I hate Tavi.

For those of you who (fortunately) don’t know, Tavi is the fashion world’s Bieber. With an extra dash of Harold and Maude. She’s tight with Wintour, personal attaché to Lagerfeld*, and just finished a collaboration line with Rodarte. And I hate her. Why?

Because she’s just not that good.

Now, I’m willing to admit that the little green monster may be playing a little bit of a role in this. But it’s more than that.

I spoke in a previous post about how I hate plus-sized models. Tavi, in my mind, belongs to the same school. She’s judged with a different standard because she is different, and art should not allow that. We shouldn’t be subjected to collections from Rodarte that are, frankly, crap, but have to pretend to think that they’re amazing because they’re designer is different.

Did I mention she's terrifying?

Now don’t get me wrong. There are child chess prodigies that I think are amazing. I’ve played with 12 year olds who can blast out Rachmaninov’s 4th piano concerto with the best of them. And I respect them; perhaps even pay them more respect due to their youth.

But I will not respect someone who, due to a combination of pity and dumb luck, has risen to a position that many talented, hardworking people never will. Whilst the adage that the cream always rises to the top may be true, it appears that there’s a lot of other crap up there too.

*Yes, I am equally nauseated by the thought of Lagerfeld around children.

Equally terrifying.


Size Matters

10 Sep

Peter Paul van Rubens, detail from 'The Disembarkation at Marseille' (Marie de' Medici Cycle), c. 1622-25.

Following up on Josh’s last post, I’m going to look at how the representation of fatness has been handled in Western visual culture for the last few hundred years. Fittingly, I’m writing this whilst convalescing in bed from a knee injury, during which every morsel of caloric food is surely depositing itself to my gluts or artery walls from a lack of movement.

Now there was a time, back in European history not-so-long-ago, when grandiosity was the key to high society: frivolity, excess, not a single trimming spared.  If you’ve been watching the ABC recently it’s what “art historian” Waldemar Januszczak will have been annoyingly reminding you of: this was the age of the Baroque. From excessive augmentation in music, luxurious interior designs, to bold and captivating art slowly wresting itself from the Church yet still highly dependent on courtly patronage, the Baroque in own gargantuan reach across 16th-18th century Europe was an artistic “obesity” of sorts. Of course, the taste for the expansive started to impact on representations of the human body, and nowhere more evidently clear than in the work of Peter Paul van Rubens.

Rubens, 'Venus at the Mirror', 1612-1615.

Remember: this was the time before the flowing streamlined elegance of art nouveau, before tapeworm diets were in, before flappers, and before the Ramos sisters and Ana Carolina Reston all died from anorexia in the name of fashion in 2006.

Aubrey Beardsley's illustration for 'The Peacock Skirt', 1894.

Nothing like tapeworms to help you shed those extra pounds.

No curves for you: designs from a 1928 flappers catalogue

A bit of extra flab on the hips, large, full breasts and a round visage were all signs of prosperity, wealth, good fortune and health (I’m guessing it’s because the rich could afford to eat more..). It was still a few hundred years away before Darwin’s theory of natural selection – think “the survival of the fittest”, “fight or flight” – so exercise wasn’t really on the priority list of the everyday courtly lady. No royal gynasiums. In fact, the less one moved and the more one depended on the movement of others was (and still is) a sign of power and rank.

Rubens, 'The Three Graces', 1636-38. Rubens' fine brushwork can be seen in the attention to detail in the cellulite and skin folds.

Rubenesque women appear to me to have a certain ease about them, a grace and self-possession that elevates them beyond earthly limitations and standards of beauty. Partly it’s because Rubens’ robust women are by and large mythical, from Venuses, to Graces, nymphs to the daughters of Leucippus being raped. (Note that this was in the time when “rape” also meant “abduction” so it sort of explains why no one’s looking too concerned in the following painting…)

Rubens, 'Rape of the Daughters of Leucippus', c. 1617. Fun when everyone's involved(??)

Yet even in his treatment of more realistic subject matter, say of his second wife Hélène Fourment, Rubens retains a certain distance that preserves a sense of untouchable mystery, divinity, luxury and bold sexuality.

Rubens, 'Hélène Fourment in a Fur Coat', c. 1630s.

I’d be kidding myself if I believed that standards don’t change over time, and that the majority now believe that fat is no longer fashionable. It’s not just the extremes of haute couture which set the aesthetic standard (size 0) for society as a whole; the men and women of 2010 participate in and motivate the cult of the perfected, svelt body. Just like World Youth Day in Sydney, 2008,

Gaudy design for a gaudy god

subscribers to this Church of the Fit come decked out with Fitness First backpacks and Zumba bodies to boot. Under this new hegemony, individuals of the more generous proportions tend to become lumped at the fringes, the targets of national fitness campaigns, current affair show exposés and, in some cases as in Japan, the targets of new fat taxes. Space is a definitely a rarity in the land of the rising sun.

Hiding behind the art historical pretense that “Rubens loved fat women” (even though fat fetishes are real) in no way justifies the low-brow and kitsch attempts to make obesity normative. My guess is many of the magazines and ads that cater to a plus-sized category do so by feeding off the insecurities of men and women who fail to fit into the clothes the fashion world sets as the limit of acceptable size. Flying the banner of “Big is Beautiful”, the efforts behind the democratization of the standards of beauty seem quite half-arsed

Is this for real?

and only serve to reinforce the dominant stereotypes of acceptable body images as they awkwardly parody the fetishized objects of mainstream media and visual culture. Even Whitney Thompson, lauded as America’s Next Top Model‘s first plus-sized winner, appears somewhat to “fall below the benchmark”. Honey, you’ve won, you’re beautiful, but try losing 5 before the next shoot, OK? Slight variations from standards of taste tend to reveal those very standards which have, over time, become so internalized that they seem natural. Thompson didn’t so much set a new standard of beauty as much as proving there is a line, and that she wasn’t inside it. Larger-sized women continue to be superficially accepted yet tacitly pushed to the edges.

Whitney Thompson.

Perhaps there are some pragmatic considerations behind the taste for skinny women on magazine covers. I mean, seriously, with all the demands of contemporary magazine covers and spreads, how are fashion houses supposed to sell all their wares if the models are competing for valuable print space?

Agyness Deyn fits perfectly between the text.

…but then you look at the minimalism of an A4 magazine cover and realise that theory’s just shit.

A4's horticultural special: is your tree too fat?

The full-bodied, carnal and sexualized bodies of Western art – from the “Venus” of Willendorf, to Titian, Matisse, Man Ray, Henry Moore, to Fernando Botero – given way to mass media culture’s gross and perverted appetite for sensation, inclusion and commodification. Even though their figures weren’t normatively “beautiful” for their time, there’s still an evident celebration of the formal grandeur of bodies larger than life, a certain fluidity that’s pleasing to the eye in their curving sweeps of line and colour.

Fernando Botero, 'Woman Drinking with Cat', 2002.

Maybe it’s in process of commodifying this aesthetic that high-brow beauty was killed by her kitsch, lo-fi sister? Or perhaps its natural selection played out on the level of high-falutin media gambits?

I should add that even though most of what I’ve referred to concerns the representation of the female body, the male body hasn’t come through unscathed. From classical Greek perfection, to hirsute, brawny and muscular men, the first decade of the third millenium has spawned the rise of the “heroin-chic” man.

Sascha Kooienga and Artem Emelianov

Whilst some guys continue to beef up in the gym, it’s those smaller and weedier few with high metabolisms (or just coke??) that are now at the centre of the fashion world’s gravitational pull. On the plus side, this has led to a realization by media outlets that conditions such as anorexia just might not be so gendered after all


Things Josh Hates: Plus Sized Models

9 Sep

Ok, people are going to hate on me for this one.

I hate plus sized models. I’m sorry, but I do.

courtesy, and signed by someone with exactly the same name as my mother.

Exhibit A: Crap Art. When you go to, say, the Tate, or MoMA, or some other institution of artistic merit, you won’t see this crap art. Because it’s crap.

Gerhard Richter, Reading, Oil on Canvas, 1994

Exhibit B: Not crap art. This painting (yes, painting) is by a great master of photo-realism, Gerhard Richter. It is not crap art. You go to MoMA and you see stuff like this and everyone’s cool with it, BECAUSE IT’S NOT CRAP.

A plus-sized model who recently appeared in Cosmo

Exhibit C: A plus-sized model. I’m sure she’s lovely. And she’s cute. Good looking, even. But she’s no more a model than I am. Which is not at all.

Freja Beha Erichsen - Vogue Nippon March 2010

Exhibit D: This is Freja Beha Erichsen. She’s ranked in the top five models in the world. She weighs 6.3 kilos, is taller than the Empire State Building and hasn’t eaten since Christmas 1997. She’s a real model.

I would never attempt neurosurgery; I know very little about the human brain, I have unsteady hands, and I’ve not got the attention for it. I would never try out for the olympics; I’m not anywhere near good enough at anything that resembles a sport that has or ever will be an olympic event. Nor will I ever be a model.

Forcing plus-sized models upon the world is, in my opinion, another example of the ‘everyone-gets-a-star’ nature of modern culture. It’s wrong. It’s deluding. They are tearing apart the fabric upon which our society is based, and must be stopped. At any price.

Please don’t hate me. Josh.

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