Last week was a turning point for South African fashion. Charl Blignaut on SA Fashion Week 1997 and Brenda Atkinson on the Smirnoff Awards. Photos: Danny Hoffman
`You can only make one mistake with fashion,” said a top style writer to me over a glass of suitably dry champagne before the opening of South Africa’s first Fashion Week in Sandton, Johannesburg, “and that’s to take it too seriously”.
Try telling that to the organisers, Lucilla Booysen and Estelle Cooper, who successfully pulled together 50-odd designers to showcase their summer collections. There was an aura of very serious social engagement going down and nerves were initially frayed. Hell, they didn’t even know where their funds were coming from until a few months before the event.
By the end of it all, though, there was unanimous agreement that the Audi South African Fashion Week 1997 was an unprecedented success. Never before has a platform been created that could so impressively showcase the depth of local design talent.
Glancing up at the gallery before the first show one could hardly miss the rows of photographers waiting for the action. On the ground, five TV crews jostled for position.
At last, a serious buzz around local fashion. Designers got to stay in the luxurious Michelangelo Hotel and finally got treated with a little respect.
The opening night crowd was an astounding assimilation of the new black hip, the most serious of socialites, the unmistakable blue rinse of old money and every conceivable form of showbiz celeb. There was the Malaysian royal entourage, headed by Datin Melleney Samsudin. She threw an elegant tantrum until special seats were arranged. Socialite Edith Venter had no such luck and was heard to mutter: “Are they honestly putting us in the gallery?” She was there to support her designer, Norman Callan. The Datin, on the other hand, was there for Cape Town’s Julian. “I buy abroad,” she confided later, “but if I do buy here I always shop with Julian.”
Then there was Alan and Elna Boesak – he looking uncomfortable; she wistful. There was the Swazi royal party and a gaggle of ambassadors. Adele Searll was there. So were Suzy Jordan and Wilma Lawson-Turnbull. There were several TV stars, including Felicia Mabuza-Suttle, Khanyi Dhlomo- Mkhize, Anand Naidoo, Gerry Williams, Sandy Ngema, Ashley Hayden. Plus a clutch of beauty queens, from Kerishnie to Peggy-Sue, Basetsana and Jacqui to Jessica Motaung. Actresses Sandra Prinsloo, Brumilda van Rensburg and the entire cast of Egoli. Even pop star PJ Powers, not known for displaying her feminine chic, put in an appearance.
The Sandton Square venue, with crisp sound, a sturdy hi-tech runway and a team of solid models, was packed for each show. Fashion Week was a raging success. Which is more than can be said for all of the collections on show. Then again, as my companion said: “Fashion’s not about your critical opinion. Everyone has their own taste; designers have the right to interpret the trends as they see fit.” Well, excuse me while I break several golden rules:
The first showing was the ultimate glamfest, featuring those over-the-top couturiers Norman Callan, Julian, Thomas Red and Errol Arendz.
Callan’s range for The Boys was lovely and, as always, well-finished, but when the hell do you wear those shimmery ballgowns in South Africa? As talk show diva Mabuza- Suttle said afterwards: “Look at the frock I bought for Miss SA. When will I be able to wear it again? We simply don’t have the functions. If I did, I’d look foolish. I had to do a special show on couture just to wear it again.”
She added that the shows were so slick it felt like Milan. And then gave some insight into a problem plaguing the first ranges: “African men still like love handles. There is a serious clash between African culture and couture culture …”
Elna clung to Alan as clutches of tulle passed before their eyes and the Datin’s bodyguard eyed each passing cameraman with suspicion. Amid the very naughty minis and evening frills, Callan’s coup was his deeply-cut black evening gowns.
Julian provided the best of the session, with divine little retro frocks paving the way for summer. Hemlines have reached fanny length and whites, pastels and flesh tones are in, said my friend the expert. The Datin and company were extremely excited by Julian’s black and white frocks. His men’s range, on the other hand, was a travesty, very homemade – as were most of the limited number of men’s ranges on show this year.
Then Thomas Red. As someone behind me muttered, “He should have stayed in Cape Town.” My companion thought this was nasty. I laughed loudly. “Public shows of opinion are not welcomed at these events,” said my companion, before launching into a speech about how she refuses to slate anyone on show because of how much goes into getting a collection together in South Africa. I told her to get over it.
Some of Thomas’s garments are shriekingly badly finished. Even so, every single designer at the event managed to surprise. They all pulled something special out of the bag.
Next up, Errol Arendz: “South Africa’s first glamour queen and a true international couturier.” While inconsistent, he did manage to produce several show-stoppers and displayed the most innovative eye of the session. Frivolous and summery; lots of floral chiffon, divine lace and a real sense of occasion. Floral’s also big this summer. Then again, when isn’t it. While we’re at it, so’s the Eastern influence; asymmetyrical hemlines and shoulders; sheer fabrics; mesh and the cut-on-the-bias (1930s) look.
Star of Thursday’s sessions was Catherine Moore. Exemplifying asymmetrical trends, her range was “Classic. Simple. Well-made. Interpreting trends in a quiet, feminine, wearable way.”She even managed to make florals seem unprissy.
Duvall, said another expert, is a “cross between the kama sutra and a domestic science sewing class”. When I ask who buys his elaborate creations I am told: “Rich West African beauty queens. Trust me, it’s a huge market”. Rajah was a surprise. Camp and inconsistent, but he opened with swimwear and pulled out some perfect frocks amidst the bulging crotches.
He was followed by Clive Rundle who, I believe, was past his prime five years back. “That was not catwalk, that was fleamarket stall,” I say, refusing to applaud. “Clapping is called for,” admonished my companion.
Friday’s only session was devoted to 18 emerging designers. A tip: look out for Welile, Ineeleng, James Mulder, Claire O’Keefe and Tracey Shuttleworth. Otherwise, a mixed bag.
Saturday saw the cream of the crop. Kicking off was Jenni Button with a well-considered interpretation of summer. Simple, understated and – for once – not over- accessorised. Her beige evening gowns were divine and her range affordable. A friend disagreed: “It could just as well have been Woolworths. Elegant and understated, but we’ve been seeing that for years with Calvin Klein. Great basics, but no development.”
All I have to say about Hilton Weiner is “nice white shirts”.
Then the undisputed star of the week: Marianne Fassler. Audacious, original and indigenous, maintaining a perfect tension between fun and wearability, working in a range of pleated chiffons, lycras, silks and quality lace. While everyone else played out thumpy house tunes, Fassler used a genius soundtrack of voice, Thirties ditties and an orgasmic Versace tribute. I could go on and on. To top it all, she wasn’t even there – she’d left town for the weekend.
Rivalling her for darling of the season was Cape Town’s Hip Hop, who turned in a truly exciting range in the second Saturday session. Streetwise yet feminine; punk yet classical; always perfectly finished.
Then Marc and Michael, ranging from the sublime to the hideous, but generally pulling off a pleasing show. Derek of D Patri was “very Shirley’s” – up-market Pretoria blazers. Coup, if you can call it that, of the show was the appearance of Kerishnie Naicker and Peggy-Sue Khumalo, the Miss SAs, in his garments. The crowd went wild. I turned pale. And then Andre Croucamp, torn between strangely inspiring Afrikaner designs, by his assistant Hannah Prinsloo, and kitsch.
Sunday was the “anti-fashion” fashion day, courtesy the new generation: Wylde Oscar, Blue Zoo and The Young Designers Emporium. Wylde Oscar went ape: trashy wigs, shoeless models, bad hairpieces, crazy-mad models jumping about to a soundtrack dominated by dogs barking. While it all got a bit much and obscured some genuinely delightful frocks, it was a relief to see someone use the catwalk for an unusual production. More of this next year please. Blue Zoo pulled out the first notable men’s suits and hit home with a dazzling full-length white PVC off-the-shoulder gown.
And, while the 10 young Emporium designers offered a summary of the modern tip of the event, my vote goes to the Gaultier- inspired silver-grey Buddha print by destroy.
What more can a novice fashion hack say but pass the sushi tray one more time and please invite me back next year.