Staff Photographer
There’s always a scoop on the models. At London Fashion Week size-0 models were banned from the catwalk. At New York Fashion Week designers were rapped for using waif-like male models with sunken chests.
The scoop on the models at the Sanlam SA Fashion Week spring/summer show, now on at the Sandton Convention Centre, is that some of them aren’t models.
Sitting in the front row on opening night my friend Lesley Mofokeng revealed this gasp-fact. Look: this one has too many tattoos, that one’s short and here comes one who, in model-speak, is almost, er, fat.
It seems that sometimes — possibly for budget reasons? — designers use their mates and other interesting-looking civilians on the catwalk. Lesley himself will model a chocolate-brown suit for designer Ephraim Molingoana at tonight’s Ephymol show. Lesley is adorable, but a model he ain’t. But this, to my fashion-primitive gaze, is one of the things that makes fashion week fabulous.
The message, as I hear it, is that fashion is not only for — or by — super-mod types who would probably fail a urine test. If the eclectic, friendly first night crowd was anything to go by, it’s more stylish than that.
Admittedly designer Amanda Laird Cherry’s models looked as if they’d been shipwrecked without provisions. They were dressed in raggedly Robinson Crusoe cottons, drained greys and wore suicidal expressions. But this could have said more about this popular and accomplished designer’s own mood — word has it that this was Laird Cherry’s last show on South African shores and that she is shipping out to the United States.
But the general mood of the evening was one of smooth efficiency (the shows started bang on time) and effervescence — not only thanks to the handy champagne bar.
This may have something to do with the 120 stands selling clothes and accessories hot off the catwalk. It was designer buzz meets speed shopping. It gives you that retail rush and you can hop from stand to stand without feeling guilty about the designer you left behind. It’s also a good way to see and feel the clothes at close range. And they’re not all size 0. The designers, many of whom are right there at the racks, seem pleased to have a chance to engage directly with their customers. One of them even gently pointed out that my cardigan was inside out: if there were any haughty-couture types there, I didn’t bump into them.
The men looked fantastic. Designer Irmgard Mkhabela proved that guys can look gladiator-sexy in skirts; the charming don of fashion media, Dion Chang, looked like an anime Tin Tin with his quiff and plimsolls, and Felipe Mazibuko showed that true style doesn’t go out of fashion. Anticipating the fashion hack’s favourite first question, he tells me what he’s wearing.
“It’s all local … This [sweater] is Hilton Weiner, these pants are Black Coffee from five years ago and these,” he says, yanking up his pants and flashing grey silk socks, “are Kurt Geiger.” As I start to protest that Geiger’s not local, he gets in his punchline “… made in Cape Town”.
Mazibuko, who calls himself a creative strategist, is a fashion-week fixture with a flair for the sound-bite and a big picture perspective on the industry.
“Fashion is not just about me looking fabulous. The clothing and textile union is the biggest in the country — this biz is all about economics and politics. It’s Prada buying their leather from us; it’s the buttons made by the mama in Mpumulanga.”
We break off the conversation to indulge in a fresh round of arm waving and air-kissing with new arrivals to the media room, which is serving complimentary champagne and Five Roses tea.
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