You know those sights, sounds and scents that take you back to your childhood holidays, like the smell of Hawaiian Tropic suncream, or the taste of an ice-cold Orangina? Our jewellery box is starting to do the same. A plethora of brands are creating pieces that could have been lifted straight from the souvenir markets we dragged our parents to in Majorca '02.
Think shell-embellished earrings, chunky rainbow bracelets (of which we always bought two – one for us, one for our BFF), and kitsch plastic rings. These treasures would turn our skin green and fall apart before lunchtime on the first day back at school; now, a slew of new brands are providing serious accessories kudos.
Not convinced? Just look to Instagram for proof: with everyone from Leandra Medine to Blanca Miró donning throwback holiday jewellery, there's something to be said for these tongue-in-cheek sartorial choices. Click through to see the micro trends we're coveting, and the pieces we're wearing right now – whether we're on holiday or not.
Shells
Sure, you're not Kate Bosworth in Blue Crush, but the beauty of this trend is that you need not own a surfboard or live near Hawaii's North Shore to pull off a couple of conch shells. With brands like Wald Berlin providing a contemporary (and totally wearable) update on the shell, it's time to stack and layer them with your everyday get-up.
This Me, Myself and I bracelet is the epitome of summertime cool and avoids surfer girl territory with a single gold-dipped shell in the centre and an irregular chain. Team with signet rings and other gold jewellery and voilà – it's the holiday shell all grown up. We bet you'll be reaching for it all season.
Sarah & Sebastian Shell 9-Karat Gold Hoop Earrings, £185, available at Net-A-Porter
Rebecca De Ravenel Ophelia Clip-On Earrings, £250, Matches Fashion
Isabel Marant Shell Bracelet, £39, available at 24 Sèvres
Rainbow brights
From interiors to fashion, we've fallen out of love with black and embraced all the colours of the rainbow once again. From statement-making tomato reds to joyful Gen Z yellows, we're being bolder with our sartorial hues. It was only a matter of time before this made its way to our jewellery stand.
Leading the charge is Roxanne Assoulin, the 63-year-old with decades of experience designing for Marc Jacobs and Oscar de la Renta. Her own brand of playful, technicoloured jewellery is enough to brighten up your Insta feed (and day). Don't be afraid to wear every colour under the sun all at once.
Roxanne Assoulin Picnic Blanket Bracelet, £60.92-£300.78, available at Roxanne Assoulin
Coeur De Lion Multi Colour Swarovski Crystal Necklace, £119, available at Bradburys
TAI Rainbow Crystal Marquis Bracelet in Gold, £86, available at ModeSens
Otiumberg Rainbow Huggie Hoop 9-Karat Yellow Gold, £160, available at Otiumberg
Kitsch
There's a slew of acrylic and resin jewellery available right now, but we're backing away from the grown-up tortoiseshell hoops and instead opting for the most kitsch, cutesy and silly pieces going.
Case in point: Tuza jewellery. These Never Tear Us Apart drop earrings look good enough to eat, as does the rest of the brand's handmade heart collection. We're pairing with everything from froufrou dresses (to amp up the hyper-femininity) to slogan tees and denim.
Tuza Rain – Perpetua Bangle, £60.90, available at Tuza Jewelry
J.W.Anderson Perspex Earrings, £140, available at Net-A-Porter
Yippy Whippy Triple Star Earrings, £19.74, available at Yippy Whippy
Anklets
When was the last time you wore an anklet? Sometime in the '00s, the decade that refuses to die? Us too. But the maximalism of the past few seasons combined with a heatwave that's seen us bare our pins more than usual has us thinking that maybe – just maybe – our ankles deserve a little adornment.
Here, Leandra Medine wraps her Aurélie Bidermann necklace around her ankle, proving that it needn't be an actual anklet to jazz up your lower limbs.
Rosantica Dakota Gold-Tone Beaded Anklet, £80, available at Net-A-Porter
Reclaimed Vintage Inspired Anklet in Black, £12, available at ASOS
Ruifier Friends Super Happy Anklet, £75, available at Ruifier
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
Unless you’re Mother Teresa, at one point in your life, you’ve been motivated by the prospect of gaining access, affluence, and actual money. But what’s the difference between being wealthy and being greedy? Why do we love and worship some Oprah, but cast aspersions (sometimes vicious ones) on the Kardashians?
For celebrities, the public perception of wealth is complicated by a host of factors not least of which are questions about whether that money and fame was earned and deserved. But how much do we actually know about the bank accounts of the most famous women in the world, and how does their wealth relate to the public’s perception of them?
To best visualise the relationship between perceived wealth and likability, we created a grid. We paired net worth on the vertical axes so you can see just how rich these household names are with public perception (likability) on the horizontal axes. These two things aren’t always one to one, but the bank accounts of these women are all in the millions.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
There are more than 300,000 people officially recorded as homeless in Britain. They are either sleeping rough or living in inadequate housing, while many more are thought to be trapped in "hidden homelessness" or temporary accommodation according to figures from Shelter in 2017, and the problem is growing each year. Rough sleeping in England rose by 15% in the year to 2017 and of that number, 14% were women.
There are a number of reasons why young women find themselves without a home and sleeping rough, but the majority have experienced violence or abuse from a partner or family member, and they are more likely than male rough sleepers to experience problems with their mental health (this report by the Greater London Authority sheds light on the issue). Research by homelessness charity St Mungo's in 2014 found that almost half (47%) of the women it spoke to had experienced domestic violence or abuse from a partner or family member, with nearly three in 10 (28%) citing this as a contributing factor to their homelessness, while 41% had suffered violence or abuse as a child.
Four in 10 of the people staying in St Mungo's accommodation services are women, the charity told Refinery29 UK. Of these, nearly half (42%) have slept rough, while a staggering 78% of the women the charity works with have mental health needs. Motherhood also plays a part in how many women find themselves without a home – almost half (46%) of the women the charity helps are mothers and the 2014 research found that many of them (53%) were grieving for children who had been taken into care or adopted.
Cat Glew, the charity's women’s strategy manager, said that, with the causes of homelessness being so different between men and women, it follows that the solutions should be different, too. "St Mungo’s runs women-only projects in London and Bristol, including emergency shelters, hostels and a women’s psychotherapy service. We are also working hard to develop and improve our work with women in our mixed services. It is really important that women feel safe when they access support to end their homelessness, and that they can work with someone that understands their experience."
Homeless women are among the most marginalised in society and many feel unsafe in the temporary housing provided by most charities, the charity says. "Our recent peer-led research, ‘On My Own Two Feet’ highlighted that many homeless women do not want to stay in the only (mixed-sex) accommodation offered to them, so instead choose to sleep rough," Glew added. They are also more vulnerable to exploitation and tend to be more hidden when homeless. The charity is now calling on the government to deliver a new rough sleeping strategy that "understands and invests in women".
One woman who knows firsthand the danger that comes with rough sleeping is Harriet*, 31, who became homeless in London five years ago, aged 26. She spent almost five months hidden homeless, sofa surfing at friends' flats, before she was forced to spend a week sleeping rough. She told Refinery29 UK her story.
Before I became homeless, I was living my ex-partner and working as a nurse. I started having trouble with my mental health. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and because of that I couldn't work and then my relationship with my ex broke down, so I had to leave his flat. I found myself sofa surfing between two friends' houses because I hadn't been at work and had no money for a deposit on a place of my own. I was struggling and after about five months I had to leave and had nowhere else to go. I couldn't stay with my family at the time because my parents had drug abuse problems.
When I eventually left my friend's house I spent the whole day asking the council for help but there were no hostel spaces available. By the evening I was completely exhausted and someone had told me that the safest place to sleep would be in St Pancras International station, so that's where I went. I was terrified and I remember standing in the quiet station and just lying down on the floor. I hardly slept, I was terrified, and every time someone walked past I was embarrassed. I had a backpack with me but nothing to sleep with – no sleeping bag or anything. Just paperwork and the clothes I was wearing. I'd left stuff at friends' houses because I couldn't walk around carrying everything with me.
I was woken up after that first night by a member of station staff telling me to move on. In the days that followed I went to the council every morning to ask for help and eventually I was seen by an outreach worker who told me about a place called No Second Night Out, which helps first-time rough sleepers. I was put on the waiting list and had to wait for a space to become available in one of their hostels. They told me to go to a day centre called Women at the Well, which is brilliant. I ate a cooked meal, had a shower and put my clothes in the washing machine. I even got a free massage.
I'd think back to when I was working as a nurse and things were great and think: how the hell did I end up in this situation?
When the centre closed at 5pm I had nowhere to go, so I spent a while just riding around on buses. That became boring and exhausting so I went back to the train station because I knew it was open and went to sleep, but I got kicked out at 3am and ended up next to the British Library. I barely slept at all. I went to the day centre again and did the same thing at night until I got the call that a space had become available at the hostel. I didn't cry while I was sleeping rough because my adrenaline was pumping and I just had to survive, but when I finally got into the hostel and shut the door I burst into tears.
The worst thing about sleeping rough was not being able to sleep properly and not feeling completely safe. Luckily it wasn't too cold. When you're lying down and people are walking past, you feel vulnerable. My mind kept going to worst case scenarios like, 'What if I'm asleep and someone steals my stuff or attacks me?' I felt vulnerable. I saw a woman who was sleeping rough in the same area as me with a black and blue face. Someone had beaten her up during the night and no one helped her.
Homelessness is something you never think will happen to you, until it happens to you. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be sleeping rough.
One of the worst things about lying on the floor is that it's demeaning. You see people going out, having a nice evening or looking like they're going to work, they've got something to do, and you're just lying there. You become invisible. I'd think back to when I was working as a nurse and things were great and ask: 'How the hell did I end up in this situation?' The impact on my mental health was huge. I was on a lot of medication for my bipolar condition and had to take higher doses because of the stress. I must've slept for about three hours over five days and my anxiety levels were up the whole time. I was having panic attacks.
Homelessness is something you never think will happen to you, until it happens to you. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be sleeping rough and the experience made me realise that it could happen to anyone who doesn't have great financial means. It opened up a world that I'd been oblivious to. One of the biggest misconceptions is that all homeless people are junkies. Or that they're homeless because of a character flaw in the person and that they're dangerous and shouldn't be trusted. Vulnerable people are not dangerous.
I now live in my own flat in Elephant and Castle and have been here for over three years. I volunteer with StreetLink and at a homeless drop-in centre in Camden once a week. I worked with St Mungo's on their recent research into why people return to rough sleeping when they've had time off the street, 'On My Own Two Feet', and I'm hoping to find a job within the homeless charity sector.
*Name has been changed. This interview has been edited for clarity and length.
If you or someone you know is facing or experiencing homelessness, please contact Crisis, Shelter or St Mungo's. If you are concerned about someone you have seen sleeping rough in England or Wales, you can send an alert toStreetLink.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
When it comes to hair trends, it's fair to say that 2018 is the year that just keeps on giving.
This summer alone, we've spotted shadow hair (strategically placing darker dye in the mid-lengths to create a natural-looking shadow effect) and strandlighting (dyeing just a pinch of hair strands for a subtle but seriously pretty sun-kissed look), to name but a few Instagram-worthy trends taking the hair industry by storm. This week? It's all about oil slick hair, and it's probably the most picture perfect of them all.
The 'oil slick' technique, which is making its way into hair salons all over the globe, involves colouring multiple locks of hair with all manner of different shades, from pink to blue and green, in order to lend hair an oil slick effect. You know the multicoloured rainbow pattern that spilled petrol creates on the pavement? That.
The good news? Unlike a handful of hair colour trends doing the rounds at the moment, this one isn't just for blondes, and if scrolling through Instagram is anything to go by, the 'oil slick' look undeniably pops on darker hair, giving it a little more dimension than usual.
You don't have to commit wholeheartedly to the trend, either, because hair colourists are championing 'peekaboo' oil slick hair, too. It involves dyeing just the bottom layer of hair, so that the top layer falls over it ever so slightly, exposing the colour as you move.
The technique can be pretty intricate, so we'd suggest getting a professional in (if you're in London, Not Another Salon is arguably one of the best for bold colours), but if you're not willing to commit, give L'Oreal's Colorista Hair Makeup, £6.99, a go at home.
And remember, if you're opting for permanent colour, adding on an Olaplex or INNOluxe treatment will not only rebuild and strengthen the bonds in your hair post-dye, but is pretty much guaranteed to give it a glossy look that'll only enhance the oil slick effect.
Now if you'll excuse us, we're off to book a salon appointment.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
Newsflash: black women’s hair is political, but there’s way more to it than that. It’s a defining aspect of day-to-day life for women of colour everywhere. Its emotional ties are just as significant as the statement on inflexible beauty standards that the #teamnatural movement has grown to become. And yet (surprise, surprise) black hair is barely referenced in the few big budget films that care to document the lives of this huge community of people. Until now. There’s a new Netflix film on the way that’s positioned itself to do something about that, and if the trailer is anything to go by, it hits pretty high on the relatability scale.
In Nappily Ever After we meet Violet, the high-flying protagonist and young woman who's set to carry the weight of black women's hair anxieties for the duration of the film. Played by actress Sanaa Lathan, our first impressions of her are of the quintessential grown-up businesswoman – the successful, confident one with hot boyfriend, fruitful career and her shit together.
Photo: Courtesy Of Netflix
She's nailing life and has consciously spent years striving for insanely high standards – and her hair is a big part of that journey. "Ever since I was a kid my hair was everything. It had to be fixed, only then I was perfect", she says in the trailer. But of course, that all dramatically changes in this otherwise typical rom-com story arc when Violet ditches her expensive weaves, shaves off her natural hair and is forced to adjust to life in her new look. "My hair is like a second job, now I’m forced to focus on myself", she adds.
Photo: Courtesy Of Netflix
Her use of the word 'fixed' is jolting. Black women are all too familiar with the toxic, unflattering language used to describe our hair (kinky, wild, nappy, stubborn) and the plight to achieve what society tells us is 'perfect' (straight, silky and typically Caucasian). It's a stressful endeavour that many of us have battled and now there's a film that places this specific and influential part of our lives in the centre of a storyline. Natural hair is presented as normal without being trivialised or conflated as a political statement Violet didn't mean to make. Nappily Ever After is long overdue, and trust us, the anticipation for this one is high.
Nappily Ever After is available on Netflix on 21st September 2018.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
Maniac: It's like Superbad, only a little bit more Shyamalanish. That's what should be the tagline for Maniac, Cary Fukunaga's upcoming Netflix show. The trailer for the show dropped Monday, and in it, Jonah Hill and Emma Stone play lovers who are in the middle of a futuristic drug trial. The drugs are meant to "fix" their brain chemistry. In every simulation, though, Stone and Hill find their way back to one another. So, maybe not like Superbad at all! The plot, as of now, isn't that dissimilar from the Black Mirror episode "Hang the DJ" — some food for thought for those who are still confused by the trailer.
Since its announcement, Maniac has been shrouded in equal parts secrecy and fascination. The bill for the show was impressive — Fukunaga is a wunderkind director with just a few blazingly exciting credits to his resumé ( Beasts of No Nation, True Detective). Stone is fresh off her Oscar win, and Hill is busy moulting into Hollywood's next top baby director, thanks to his feature directorial debut Mid '90s, which will also arrive this fall.
Maniac also stars Justin Theroux, Sally Field, Billy Magnussen, and Sonoya Mizuno (the dancing robot from Ex Machina, just FYI). It will arrive on Netflix 21st September. Watch the first full trailer, below.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
For Andy Warhol, the prolific creator who coined the cultural observation we know today as one's '15 minutes of fame,' stardom was ephemeral.
And while his saying "In the future, everybody in the world will be famous for 15 minutes" may be true for some, nowadays, stars seem to be born just as frequently as they're made. But there was once a group of kids who ran in Warhol's circle who didn't need outside validation (see: social media, nepotism) because they had the ultimate arbiter of cool's seal of approval. Their fame may have been local, save for at least one muse, but popularity was an afterthought. Being cool wasn't just their brand (of which they were blissfully unaware of), but a state of mind: They were Warhol's superstars.
During the '60s and early '70s, Warhol's clique appeared in his work — throughout films and photographs — and accompanied his social life, suffusing any candid shots of the crew with downtown glamour, nudity, and killer style. Beyond the aforementioned Edie Sedgwick, there was Baby Jane Holzer, Ultra Violet, Richard Bernstein (who drew his magazine Interview 's covers for 15 years), Ingrid Superstar, Candy Darling, Joe Dallesandro, and over a dozen more. It's these vagabond types that added to Warhol's status, serving as loyal muses whom he could use to experiment with his art; they also helped him cultivate the concept of celebrity that we know today. In many ways, they were the original cast of the reality show that is pop culture.
And that's why, during an era in which the concept of being famous has never seemed less appealing (at least to someone who's, for lack of better words, a nobody), we're revisiting the figures who epitomised the art of being relevant. Beyond the makeup, the hair, and the attitude, they were more than just cool kids — they were superstars.
International Velvet Susan Bottomly, or International Velvet, met Warhol when she was 16. She'd then begin her modelling career with a Mademoiselle cover. Her father, a successful lawyer who prosecuted the Boston Strangler, paid her rent at the Chelsea Hotel and peaked the eye of Warhol as someone who could potentially finance some of his projects. It's said that, because of this (and her drug use and alliance with Bob Dylan's circle), Edie Sedgwick was replaced by Bottomly as one of Warhol's closest confidants.
Photo: Santi Visalli Inc./Getty Images.
Jayne County Jayne County is lauded as music's first transgender rock star. She's said to have inspired legends like Iggy Pop and The Ramones, but she's also legendary in her own right. County partook in the historic Stonewall Riots, starred in Les Girls by Warhol, and she's a galleried painter (her last exhibition, 'Paranoia Paradise,' featured 80 of her paintings).
But the best part about County — which also rendered her practically invisible in terms of the early days of the punk movement — was that she was unapologetic about her gender; songs like "Fuck You" and "Are You Man Enough To Be A Woman" are especially relevant today.
Photo: Ian Dickson/Redferns/Getty Images.
Ingrid Superstar Before she mysteriously disappeared, Ingrid Superstar lived quite a funny life. Warhol considered her poems to be "half poetry, half comedy," and her affinity for mod prints helped her standout amidst Warhol's cohorts. But later, she struggled with a drug problem and eventually ending up settled in Kingston, New York, where she allegedly worked in a sweater factory. In December 1986, after leaving her apartment to buy cigarettes, she disappeared; local police announced there was a "clear possibility of foul play," but she was never found. She was 42 years old.
Photo: Ron Galella/Getty Images.
Mary Woronov You may remember Mary Woronov as Hanoi Hannah in Chelsea Girls. But Wornov remembers herself as the young student who took a Cornell University field trip to The Factory and, essentially, never looked back. When Warhol asked her to sit on a stool and stare into a camera for Screen Tests, his collection of 15-minute clips in which randoms were asked to stare into the lens and say/do nothing, Wornov became one of Warhol's stars. She'd go on to star in dozens of films and become an accomplished author.
"Like a medieval inquisition, we proclaimed them tests of the soul and we rated everybody," she told The Guardian in 2001. "A lot of people failed. We could all see they didn't have any soul. But what appealed most of all to us — The Factory devotees, a group I quickly became a part of — was the game, the cruelty of trapping the ego in a little 15-minute cage for scrutiny. I saw Salvador Dali take too flamboyant a pose for his test, and when the arm holding his cane collapsed, the upper lip holding his moustache twitched and drooped. I liked him better that way."
Photo: Santi Visalli/Getty Images.
Jackie Curtis Singer, poet, star of Warhol flicks Women In Revolt and Flesh, the nomadic Jackie Curtis had a signature style that couldn't be tamed. Of that look, which was believed to inspire David Bowie, Warhol once said, "Jackie Curtis is not a drag queen. Jackie is an artist. A pioneer without a frontier."
Photo: Jack Mitchell/Getty Images.
Holly Woodlawn Ever heard the Lou Reed tune "Walk On The Wild Side "? Yeah, she was the Holly (her name taken from Holly Golightly of Breakfast at Tiffany's). After hitchhiking from Miami to New York at 16, the transgender Puerto Rican actress became one of Warhol's biggest stars.
The best way to sum up her time with Warhol is via a quote given to The Guardian in 2007: "I was very happy when I gradually became a Warhol superstar. I felt like Elizabeth Taylor! Little did I realise that not only would there be no money, but that your star would flicker for two seconds and that was it. But it was worth it, the drugs, the parties, it was fabulous. You live in a hovel, walk up five flights, scraping the rent. And then at night you go to Max’s Kansas City where Mick Jagger and Fellini and everyone’s there in the back room. And when you walked in that room, you were a star!"
Photo: Jack Mitchell/Getty Images.
Sylvia Miles Apart from her acting credits, which span from Warhol's drama-comedy Heat to Sex and the City, perhaps the coolest thing about Sylvia Miles is, well, Sylvia Miles. Of her more 'bizartful ' moments: the fact that she keeps an Andy Warhol doll in her bathroom opposite her toilet and that one time she allegedly dumped a plate of food on a critic at a New York restaurant for writing a negative review about her.
Photo: Jack Mitchell/Getty Images.
Ultra Violet Née Isabelle Collin Dufresne, Ultra Violet met Warhol when she was having tea at the St. Regis hotel with Salvador Dalí. Her French- ish look — she was born in La Tronche, France — was replete with frizzy, purple hair, and purple eyeshadow, lipstick, and blush. And though she was her own artist, and a Factory regular, Violet went on to denounce her old self as an "unleashed exhibitionist chasing headlines ". Before her death in 2014, she turned to religion and was a devout member of Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Photo: Jack Mitchell/Getty Images.
Jane Forth The equivalent of Jane Forth today would be someone like Chloë Sevigny. If her face looks familiar, it's because you may have seen Dallas Buyers Club, in which the film's makeup artist drew from her signature look for Jared Leto's portrayal as a trans woman. Included in her legacy as one of New York's most notable renaissance women, Forth modelled Diane von Furstenberg's first line of wrap dresses in 1970 (the designer said some attributed her signature look to that of an "exotic bug") and featured regularly in Vogue and Harper's Bazaar.
Fun fact: Before starring in Warhol's films like Trash and L'amour, Forth worked as a receptionist at The Factory when she was a teenager.
Photo: Jack Mitchell/Getty Images.
Cyrinda Foxe Most of Cyrinda Foxe's life is overshadowed by her relationships with rockstars. Her marriage to David Johansen of the New York Dolls was followed by a romance with Steven Tyler of Aerosmith, and she's the mother of Mia Tyler. Before becoming an actress and frequenting famous nightclubs in New York, she was an assistant to Greta Garbo. Warhol took a liking to Foxe when he met her in a nightclub; he admired her "farm girl clothes."
Photo: Waring Abbott/Getty Images.
Benadetta Barzini If you recognise this It-girl, it's because she's been covering Vogue Italia and walking in runway shows for over 50 years. After being discovered by editor Consuelo Crespi, model Benadetta Barzini signed a contract with Ford models and moved to New York. After becoming a wallflower in The Factory and experiencing a lull in her modelling career (at age 25), Barzini contemplated moving back to Italy when Eileen Ford told her start attending her parties and to marry a wealthy American instead. "You can divorce him after a couple of years if it all goes to hell." But she didn't.
She moved back to Milan and became a Marxist and a radical feminist organiser within the Italian Communist Party. Barzini is now a mother of four and a professor of fashion anthropology at the Polytechnic Institute of Milan and the University of Urbino.
Photo: Louis Faurer/Condé Nast/Getty Images.
Candy Darling Another icon mentioned in Lou Reed's hit (Candy came from out on the island/In the backroom she was everybody's darling), Candy Darling left an impression on Warhol as she performed in a play she'd written, directed, and co-starred in alongside a young Robert de Niro. The transgender actress was also a muse of The Velvet Underground.
Photo: Ron Bull/Toronto Star/Getty Images.
Viva A frequent face at The Factory, Viva appeared in tons of his films. Her most controversial role, in Blue Movie, saw her become one of the faces of the 'porno chic' movement. When Warhol was shot by Valerie Solanas in 1968 while he was on the phone, it was Viva who was on the other line.
Photo: Ullstein Bild/Getty Images.
Pat Ast After making her acting debut in Warhol's iconic Lonesome Cowboy(for which she got $112), model and actress Pat Ast went on to become the unlikely muse for Halston. She was one of the first (and only) plus-size models of her time.
Photo: Patrick McMullan/Getty Images.
Baby Jane Holzer It's impossible to round up Warhol's Superstars without mentioning Baby Jane Holzer. "Do you want to be in the movies?" Warhol asked Holzer. "Well, it beats the shit out of shopping at Bloomingdales every day'," she replied. Holzer, a product of high-society London embraced the New York edge. She was the embodiment of Warhol's artistic sensibility, the product of turning high art upside down and roughing it up a little, which was wildly popular at the time.
In Holzer's screen test for Warhol, she brushed her teeth for three-and-a-half minutes; Warhol didn't want her to blink. She's now a real estate mogul and an avid art collector, namely of Warhol's early works.
Photo: Harry Benson/Express/Getty Images.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
As far as fashion goes, participating in the Council of Fashion Designers of America/Vogue Fashion Fund can be a pivotal moment in an emerging designer’s career. Winning the £300,000 prize and a year of mentorship from some of the industry’s biggest names has the power to change the trajectory of a brand, or even create one. It’s what brought us Alexander Wang, Proenza Schouler, and Public School. It isn’t often that outsiders are privy to the making of a fashion label, and the awards, which are live-streamed each November, offer an inside look into how winners were selected. Which is why a photo on Eva Chen’s Instagram last week showing this year’s panel of CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund judges was particularly telling.
Seated at a long table were 10 judges with the future of the fashion industry in their hands: five women and five men; three were of Asian-descent, and all extremely fair-skin. From Anna Wintour to Diane von Furstenberg, the group is comprised of fashion veterans who are very much a part of Vogue ’s insular world. But given the fact that streetwear is actively helping to reshape the fashion industry (see: Supreme’s James Jebbia, who was named menswear designer of the year at the 2018 CFDA Awards, Louis Vuitton appointing Virgil Abloh as men’s artistic director, and Gucci collaborating with Dapper Dan after being accused of copying one of his most famous designs), wouldn’t it make sense to compile a judging committee that is better connected to today's most relevant trends, most of which were created and/or popularised by black people?
That’s not to say real diversity only counts when it includes black people, but it does speak to a level of mindful inclusion that continues to elude us. Trends stemming from black culture are everywhere, and yet there remain so few black designers on the Fashion Week calendar. Even fewer are members of the Council of Fashion Designers of America; there are just 15 black designers on the CFDA’s membership roster of more than 500 people.
In an Instagram exchange, commenters pointed out the lack of diversity in Chen’s Instagram post. User @fennellalikewhoa pointed to these facts in a comment on the photo, asking: “Where are the black people that this industry continuously appropriates?” Another user, Rhian Jeong, wrote: “I’m curious which other potential judges were considered...anyone to represent other hues?”
In response, Chen said: “When you look at the lineup of finalists that the judges choose, I think there’s a beautiful rainbow of hues and backgrounds.” Perhaps Chen misunderstood, as she focused on the finalists — which includes Pyer Moss’ Kerby Jean-Raymond, a Haitian man, and Luar’s Raul Lopez, who is Dominican — instead of the selection committee.
When we reached out to the CFDA and Vogue about the conversation on Chen’s Instagram post regarding the lack of diversity among the panelists, and how the group of judges is selected, Steven Kolb, the CFDA’s president and CEO, provided us with the following statement:
“The members of the Selection Committee are chosen for their leadership roles in fashion and the invaluable insights and resources they can provide to designers who are looking to make their mark in the industry,” he said. “The current Selection Committee is equally divided between men and women; three are of Asian descent.” Kolb added that “over the past three years, three out of the nine winners were designers of colour,” and that “the CFDA continues to do outreach across the country engaging regional fashion hubs and fashion weeks, and we are constantly striving for diversity and inclusion in all our programs.”
The winners of colour Kolb is referring to are Telfar Clemens of Telfar (2017), and Brother Vellies’ Aurora James and Gypsy Sport’s Rio Uribe, who won with a three-way tie in 2015. When pressed to clarify whether the CFDA recognises diversity beyond racial and gender identities (see: ability, size, socioeconomic background) — and if there has ever been a latinx or black judge involved with the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund — a representative for the organisation declined to comment further. The next morning, however, they followed up to note that black designer Patrick Robinson was a judge in 2007 when he was executive vice president of design for Gap and Gapbody. That was 11 years ago.
Chen told Refinery29 she knows there is still serious work to be done in terms of representation across all industries, including fashion. “When we have wins and steps toward representation like we do with the immensely talented group of designers we have in this year’s Fashion Fund, those wins should be celebrated,” she explains. “Every step towards inclusion and representation is another voice heard and, hopefully, another young person inspired.”
While Chen makes a good point, the standards for non-white candidates selected to compete in the Vogue/CFDA Fashion Fund seem to be much higher.
Last year’s winner, Telfar Clemens, has been designing his namesake unisex label since 2005, earning exhibitions at the New Museum and putting on extremely innovative fashion shows. It took him 12 years to gain the attention of the CFDA and, even then, he still was considered an emerging designer, competing against brands Dyne (established in 2015), Sandy Liang (2015), and RTA (2013).
Similarly, Kirby Jean-Raymond, a finalist this year, took full ownership of his company, Pyer Moss, in 2017. During New York Fashion Week in February, Pyer Moss debuted its first collaboration with Reebok. He kicked off his career in 2013 when Rihanna wore one of his designs. When Jean-Raymond was 16 years old, he was working with Georgina Chapman and Keren Craig to start Marchesa. Like Clemens, his experience far exceeds that of an emerging designer.
It’s unclear what goes into the admission process beyond reviewing work experience, but Recho Omondi of New York-based label Omondi, who applied to this year’s fund, says it was hard for her to feel invested. “It’s difficult to feel disappointed because I have no idea what they based the candidates on,” she tells Refinery29. “There was no rubric or outline, so it feels somewhat arbitrary. It’s hard to feel invested because I didn’t meet my competitors or anyone for that matter.” All communication with the fund was done via email, she says. “I don’t even know how thoroughly they knew my brand or who I was; I’m not sure if they’ve ever read the press,” she continues. “I’m not sure if they’ve listened to my podcast. I don’t know if they’ve ever looked into my Instagram.”
Omondi says she relies on the community she’s built to support her and champion her work as a designer. Had the powers that be selected her to participate in the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund, it would have shown the industry is ready to take some real risks. Omondi, a black woman, could have been a candidate that could have really pivoted the future of American fashion. She has a fresh perspective, the skill, and has already built a community and steady revenue. Perhaps like Clemens and Jean-Raymond, Vogue and the CFDA are waiting until Omondi is less of a gamble. But when both companies have the influence to shape what the fashion industry can look like (and ultimately decides who is even able to participate in fashion), maybe it’s time to stop playing it so safe.
It’s worth noting that Vogue has missed the mark, too, in terms of inclusivity. The news that Beyoncé was photographed for the September issue was also met with accolades that the magazine had (finally!) hired a black photographer to shoot its cover — a first in its 126-year history. That’s not including the cultural missteps the magazine often makes, including recently referring to Beyoncé’s hair as a “hip-length afro,” or suddenly naming Timberland boots a “fresh idea” because a supermodel wore them. When we reached out to Vogue for comment, a representative told Refinery29 that the magazine stood behind the CFDA’s statement on the issue.
But the statement was a missed opportunity for both Vogue and the CFDA. It’s 2018. It’s no secret fashion has a serious diversity issue. It would have been reassuring and commendable for the organisations to take ownership over their role in the lack of inclusivity in the fashion industry. Where are the plus designers? Where are the differently-abled designers? If the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund is really going to shape what’s next in fashion, it needs judges that have a variety of design backgrounds, professional experiences, and ethnicities — who, at the very least, would know not to insult brands like Telfar and Pyer Moss by calling them ‘emerging.’ Now that’s a mission that will strengthen the impact of American fashion in the global economy — and a mission that could actually make some real change. But if they can’t even add one black judge to their panel, then we’ve still got a long way to go.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
When 23-year-old southeast Londoner Makedah Simpson suffered a racially motivated attack on a bus in March, she assumed she'd be able to rely on the bus operator's CCTV footage in her fight for justice.
But her attacker, whom she describes as a white male in his late 40s, is still on the loose because the footage she needed couldn't be recovered. Currently, transport companies set their own timeframes for authorities and individuals to collect their CCTV footage, and because of a police error in taking down the relevant details of her assault, it couldn't be recovered and was destroyed.
This left Simpson with no evidence and no case. Frustrated, she started a Change.org petition calling on transport companies to keep all CCTV footage for 30 days, and has racked up more than 125k signatures at the time of writing. This one simple change, she says, would benefit all victims of assault on public transport around the country, not just in the capital.
"I was punched severely on the right side of my body and had abuse shouted at me for being an African-Caribbean woman," she writes on the petition page. "No witnesses stepped in to my aid or checked if I was okay. The driver simply closed the doors as my attacker fled.
"Since it happened I have tried to get justice. But because of a bus company policy the CCTV footage has been destroyed and I have been left with no evidence and no way for the police to find my attacker."
When she realised the footage had been lost, she describes feeling distraught because she worked close to where the attack took place and was forced to relive it, knowing it could happen again to another woman, she told Refinery29 UK. As time went on, she became angry. "I used this to fuel my petition, which is why I feel so pleased that others have started to take note of it. Through my own sadness, I don’t want another victim to [feel] the same pain."
Simpson was surprised to learn that there is no centralised procedure for how long transport companies retain CCTV footage, considering how often we're told we live in a "Big Brother state" in which someone is always watching. "When [the attack] occurred, I didn’t question a time limit on the CCTV being available. But once I realised that this was a problem, not only in London but nationwide, I knew something had to change."
The benefits of transport companies storing CCTV data for 30 days are threefold, Simpson says. First, it would provide victims with more time to gain the courage and strength required to report their crime. Secondly, it would reassure the public "that there is a better scope of protection available to them should they ever be in the position." And thirdly, it allows police to put less pressure on victims for information in the immediate aftermath of an attack, and gives them more relevant evidence.
Simpson has been overwhelmed by the support she's received so far. She describes feeling "grateful and happy" and is pleased that she has informed the public about the current CCTV procedures on public transport. "Now, we’re on 125k signatures to date and the support, especially in the comments section, has really made me feel positive about the possibility of change in this area," she continued.
"The comments of support continue to strengthen me and push me to continue on in my quest for a unified change nationwide."
It’s 9.28 on a Monday morning, and I’m wearing full makeup (foundation, primer, blusher, bronzer, highlight, four eyeshadows), five-inch stilettos, and absent-mindedly humming along to the blasting Tinashe. I’m surrounded by other equally well-turned out women, all in black from head to toe. Three years ago, this might have meant I hadn’t quite made it home the night before; today it means I’m gearing up for my first shift in the Selfridges beauty hall on Oxford Street.
Full disclosure: this isn’t my first rodeo. I worked in a cosmetics store for three years as a student, which pretty much set me on this career path, but it also opened my eyes to just how advanced some of the talent in beauty retail is. My colleagues (not me, I was mainly there to ring up £40 lip balms and fold tissue paper) did magazine covers, celebrity clients, international film and TV work on their days off – and then came in to do free 'party-ready' makeovers on mere mortals.
"I think there’s this perception that we’re all trying to make you spend loads, or we’re going to give you all of this crazy makeup or something," said Vera, Bobbi Brown ’s counter manager. "And maybe that used to be true, but for me, I don’t want to just hire retail artists, you know? I want makeup artists." She’s not wrong about that impression. I conducted an informal poll among my female friends, the results of which amounted to a wrinkling of the nose. In defiance, I decide to sit for Sally, a new artist on the counter. She told me she has no formal makeup training; in fact she studied animation and loves to paint. Sure, I’m wearing more products than I would usually (I lost count after 12), but I’m pretty sure I’ve never looked quite so good so early in the day.
By 11am, the counter is filling up. Vera tells me Saturdays are still busiest for them, and she needs 17 staffers on deck to keep up with the demands, which seems bonkers considering the counter is the size of a corner shop. I tell them that lots of women find the space too intimidating or overwhelming to approach, thanks to the blinding lights, pounding music and army of glamorous women. Nene, a student who works part-time on the counter, nods knowingly. "I used to have really bad acne, in fact I still have the scarring now. I can remember feeling so ashamed if I came in somewhere like this." What changed, I ask her. "I guess I did it a little bit at a time. I would come in and maybe just look, and the next time smile at someone who works there, you know, work up gradually."
Andrea, who’s worked in Selfridges for 11 years, chimes in: "We just treat everybody the same here. You can come in with your jogging bottoms on, or very glam, I don’t care. I’ll look you in the eye and get to know you." A former makeup artist for Strictly Come Dancing, Andrea’s queue of customers is perhaps the longest. She looks barely 40, but I later find out she’s in her 60s. She has an unflappable demeanour and a ready smile, affectionately calling the rest of the staff her 'daughters', hugging them close to her chest. "I invite everyone to sit down properly and have some undivided attention."
One thing that sadly hasn’t changed at all since my days behind the till? Some customers just don’t want to play nice. A few times, I saw people literally click their fingers at staff to get their attention. Many even waved products in their face in lieu of, you know, saying, "Please may I have some help?" It’s a truth universally acknowledged that in any front-facing role, you’ll have to deal with some tough customers, but it’s still incredibly sad to see it happen so vividly.
I move over to Trish McEvoy, where manager Holly tells me exactly what she looks for when hiring new starters. "I want diversity," she says. "We’ve got some older women here, younger girls, some of us wear natural makeup, some of us wear a lot more – and it goes without saying that in a store in central London, we always have staff of different races. I want everyone to see someone who looks like them here."
I then watch Becca, a makeup artist, give one of their signature 'half-face' lessons, where she applies one side of makeup and the customer applies the other, so they learn as they go. She spends an hour doing so, and the customer simply walks away without buying anything. I ask her if she minds, and she shrugs. "Not at all – she said she wants to think about it all. I get that. It’s a new look for her – I’d want time to decide, too."
Holly and Becca tell me they’ve tried to alleviate customer anxiety about being aggressively up-sold or not knowing if they can even ask for a makeover by adding clear, online booking via Selfridges – a great service that not very many shoppers actually know about. "Customers can see exactly how long a service will take, and how much it costs, but they are all redeemable against products," adds Becca. We’re interrupted by the arrival of Yoni, a new hire and an established celebrity MUA in his homeland of Israel. He’s ebullient, chatty and seemingly indefatigable as he tells me about working on Israeli X Factor, while blending three highlighting sticks on the back of my hand. Customers clearly adore him – the laughter coming from his corner of the counter is uproarious.
My final stop of the day is Estée Lauder, where manager Denisa greets me. She’s such a patient listener, and has such a gracious manner, I’m sure she must have trained as a therapist. I later find out she has not; retail just does that to you. She proudly shows me all the brand new toys they have on the counter: while-you-wait lipstick and perfume engraving, a lipstick 'trying-on' mirror, a special foundation matching device – tools that would have seemed space-age in my time as a shop girl. As we talk, a woman plops down in front of a mirror, refuses help and begins to redo her makeup. I ask Denisa if she minds. "Not at all," she says. "This is an open space. You can come in your pyjamas, I don’t care!" she laughs. "We’re here to build relationships."
We’re falling out of love with bricks and mortar as the convenience of one-click checkouts rises. At the risk of sounding like a Luddite, I just don’t think the two can compare. I discovered that if you go in-store, you could have a London Fashion Week-level makeup artist apply your makeup for the (redeemable) price of a lipstick and and a lipliner, have a facial massage, get your new lipstick engraved for free, pick up free foundation samples, learn what colours actually do suit you and potentially make an enduring bond with your artist. Human connection is dwindling in this modern world, but the beauty hall feels remarkably personal given its cavernous size (2,767 square metres, to be exact).
The convenience of e-tail certainly has its place, but I’d urge anyone who’s written off the IRL beauty hall to reconsider. I can think of a few people who’d love to see you.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
I moved to London four years ago and in that time, I went on approximately 830 dates, drank more cocktails than my insides care to admit, attended over 1,000 champagne-fuelled industry parties and brunched with my girlfriends religiously every single Saturday. It was fast and fun, for a while, until the flicker faded. That’s the problem with glossy lifestyles: it’s just a sheen slathered on top of a product.
I would romanticise the way I burned the candle relentlessly at both ends. It was glorification of being busy at its finest. Working as a showbiz journalist, I was getting home from celebrity parties at 3am and getting up at 6am for a day in the newsroom. Despite being in a permanent haze of delirium, drunk or hungover, I got good at working through my default state of exhaustion. I used alcohol at shiny work events as a coping mechanism in a competitive, dog-eat-dog industry. I was chasing stories and exclusive scoops from celebrities each night and the pressure was on to deliver to my editor.
I’d also romanticise when men I dated told me they couldn’t commit. I’d naively tell myself maybe they were my Mr Big. For me, relationships in the city were pain, not love. Much like the SATC girls, my dating life was fast. I went from one man to the next in some warped real life version of Tinder. I dated doctors, lawyers, CEOs, scientists, bankers and of course, your everyday city wankers.
In a rare moment of authenticity and clarity in the showbiz cloud, I remember interviewing an A-list actress at a swish restaurant launch party full of posers and background noise. After the interview, I embarrassingly spilled my guts to her about my latest heartbreak and she gave me some of the best relationship advice I’ve ever had:
"Be with someone who makes you feel safe, not sick. The butterflies aren’t actually a good thing. Don’t look for them. The butterflies are often just a worry and anxiety about whether the other person feels the same. They aren’t making you feel sure. They’re making you feel panicked."
She was spot on. I didn’t want the whirlwind romances and the hold-on-to-your-hat type of love that goes out as quickly as it ignites.
life in the slow lane without all the frills is a beautiful way to live. The drinks taste better, the dates are more substantial and the parties actually mean more than a throwaway Tuesday.
Friends of mine seeing my posts on social media would continually tell me how lucky I was, and even though I was always grateful for the opportunities, I didn’t feel #blessed like they said I should. I felt wrung out.
I found myself in a diluted Devil Wears Prada and living on little sleep, too much drink, often working for bullying news editors and always mending some kind of heartbreak from the insane culture of millennial dating. My anxiety was getting worse and no amount of champagne on tap or fancy award shows could make that go away. The truth was, with every day that passed, these things seemed painfully superficial and I didn’t find much joy in them. I didn’t want to rub shoulders with influencers taking hundreds of photos of themselves in different lights and angles. I couldn’t and didn’t want to keep up with any of that. My life was on-paper glamour but really filled with exhaustion, heartache and angst.
As much as I’m a fan of SATC, enjoying the programme and living it out were two very different things. Could I always be on top of work, have a thriving social life and be investing in romantic relationships? As it turned out, no.
Now that I’ve quit that lifestyle and moved back to my home city, Liverpool, I truly couldn’t be happier. I’m a freelance journalist writing stories and articles that I feel passionate about and for me, it's the most fulfilling way to work. I spend more quality time with family and friends, as opposed to cramming as many catch-ups as humanly possible into one weekend in London. My weekends used to be so segmented and scheduled: a quick morning coffee with one friend, lunch with another, the afternoon with a different gang and out that night celebrating someone else's birthday. This style of socialising is encouraged by the fast, busy, fomo-driven culture of London, but in Liverpool, when I hang out with a friend, we’re not on the clock. We’re not frantically trying to debrief our lives over the past month to each other in the time it takes to drink two flat whites. We aren’t striving, we’re simply enjoying the present. It doesn’t feel like a mental tick off the friends-to-catch-up-with list; it feels like we’re doing life together.
I wanted more out of life than just what appears to be 'successful' on Instagram. I wanted to live a life like no one was watching.
The quality of life in Liverpool is sweet, too, without the pressure of high prices, super long restaurant queues and stressful, overpopulated public transport. I’m even saving up to buy my first house, which I never thought possible in London.
I also find that people are less superficial here, less money-driven, and there’s less ego thrown around. People take themselves less seriously. The first question someone asks you in London, after your name, is "What do you do?" This question doesn’t get asked until much further down the line in a conversation in Liverpool. It’s not that people don’t care, it’s just that their priorities are different.
My mental health has massively improved and life in the slow lane without all the frills is a beautiful way to live. I’m not forever chasing my tail. The SATC lifestyle was so busy, distracting and time-consuming, I realised I was missing out on the things I really wanted, like spending time with the people who mean the most to me. Now I’ve made space to allow relationships to blossom and my capacity isn’t overfilling with fickle things that I don’t really care about. I wanted more out of life than just what appears to be 'successful' on Instagram. I wanted to live a life like no one was watching.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
There was a time when seeing what someone else wore and how they wore it was interesting. Stylish people, going about their day, captured by an eagle-eyed photographer who appreciated their standout look. It was unique, and it was inspirational. But then 'street style' came along. That is, not the style of a person who happens to be on the street, but the orchestrated influencer images we are Insta-inundated with today. And it all became a little bit the same. Girl crossing road in gazelle-like fashion, directional shoes on her feet and sloppy sleeves spilling from her wrists.
"There’s a huge gap between emulating [street style photography pioneer] Bill Cunningham and what’s happening now," says Gio Staiano, a seasoned photographer of the shows, who works with The New York Times and Nowfashion.com, among others. "Bill was chasing people down the street who had style and somehow they mixed things up. Sometimes he did a piece based on colour or the similarities of what people wore; that was interesting."
Photographed by JOANNA TOTOLICI.
It was, essentially, authentic: that woman would actually be crossing the road; that man was waiting outside a restaurant for a friend, or was on the phone to someone; that person was going to the supermarket. Instead of the many pre-posed images we see now. Come fashion week, it’s not unfamiliar to see someone be asked to walk down the street again and again to create the shot. Capturing candid moments of real-life dressing was originally what it was all about. The Japanese street style book, Fruits, for example, which at the turn of the millennium captured a decade of Tokyo’s style.
But now that’s all changed. "Social media has had a huge impact. Globalisation leaves for less individualism," observes street style photographer Dvora, who has shot regularly for Vogue.co.uk in the past. It’s an astute observation. How many street style images do you see on your social media feed that depict not only the same genre of outfit (either polished, put-together and pristine, or loud and overly layered) but the same stance, the same everything?
So much so that you can now go on the likes of ASOS to find its favourite 'stealable' outfits from "The Best Street-Style Looks of 2018". You can visit a fashion website and see any number of articles showing you how to copy a particular genre of 'street style' look. Even fashion editorials and brands, for a time, repeatedly used this supposed 'real-life' lens as a template for their own shoots and campaigns. When designer Riccardo Tisci was at Givenchy, he often shot on the streets of New York, and there was a recent trend in catwalk casting for using 'real' people. Full looks (a whole outfit direct from a catwalk collection), once reserved for the pages of fashion editorial, became a mode of 'street style'.
Photographed by Cris Fragkou.
When did street style – supposedly underpinned and defined by a celebration of personal and individual style cultivation – become generic enough that it fit into so many trend boxes, its participants rounded up like sartorial sheep?
"As print circulations have gone down, that is when the change has come in," says Phillip Bodenham, director of the PR agency Spring London. It was circa 2013 that there seemed to be a boom in the phenomenon. In a piece for The New York Times entitled "The Circus of Fashion", fashion critic Suzy Menkes described the peacockery in which fashion experienced a role reversal from catwalk to sidewalk. What was once a closed-off fashion arena for insiders, members of the press and buyers, suddenly opened up. It was in the wake of a digital media revolution and the cult of self. Street style, thanks to the likes of The Sartorialist and Tommy Ton, had taken off and the idea of 'real-life clothes', whether they were or not, reached peak dressing. Everyone knew who Anna Dello Russo was, not necessarily because of what she did but because of what she wore – feathers and ballgowns, out anywhere, at any time of the day.
"It’s hard to differentiate between personal style and style to impress. I get that the [fashion] crowd is dressing for an occasion – and often in fascinating and admirable combinations – but it’s simply not the source of inspiration for my day-to-day style anymore," says Ema Janackova, 25, a freelance events project manager. Meanwhile, Kalisha Quinlan, 20, a PR and communications assistant, prefers to take her inspiration from music, subcultures, film and TV. "A lot of street style is played safe and just reinforces existing trends," she says.
There comes the irony that what started out as great and original outfits, daring or aspirational, has begun to dwindle because it became a profitable opportunity: for self-promotion, for shopping the look, for over-saturation and homogenisation.
Photographed by JOANNA TOTOLICI.
"There is a genuine difference between the stylish and the showoffs," wrote Menkes in her piece, noting this to be the issue at the time. The issue now is: are we tired of it?
"I think it’s unavoidable to take some inspiration from Instagram these days," says Quinlan, "but it's so clear what's genuine and what's 'influencer marketing'. I’m always put off if people seem overly sponsored." And it’s not hard to identify which brands or designs are going to be a hit with the street-style set: usually bright and colourful, statement-y with a bell or a whistle that lends itself to transient novelty. All of which seems to go against the landscape in fashion right now, which is one of personality, diversity, individuality, creativity and all the things that 'real' means, or used to mean.
From Gucci’s all-inclusive eclectic dress-up philosophy under the helm of Alessandro Michele to London wunderkind Charles Jeffrey Loverboy and his filter-free collections celebrating his crew of club kids; Christopher Bailey’s final Burberry collection last season which put a spotlight on LGBTQ+ communities; and even, oddly, Balenciaga (whose puffer jackets and ugly trainers have become ubiquitous on the street style scene).
In her review of the latest Balenciaga collection, pre-fall 2018, Vogue Runway fashion critic Sarah Mower made this point: "Well, just a thought, but are the boring tweed pantsuits the most interesting thing in this Balenciaga collection?" She didn’t mean it as a slight, but because "there’s a distinct emotional gravitational pull towards non-messy design going on. Uncomplicated, well-cut stuff that looks good again." It’s true – and Clare Waight Keller at Givenchy has been (successfully) at it too.
Why does it feel right? Because it feels real! It is real! You do wear a pantsuit/trousersuit to work, not a boudoir slip and towering platforms, or sleeves that get stuck in doors and a shirt that ties too many ways.
And in ending her review by saying, "Perhaps it’s time for boring to be interesting again," one can’t help but feel perhaps she just answered this question too: Do we really want to dress like street style stars anymore? Fashion week is but a month away.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
The sale of whitening creams containing certain ingredients is illegal in the UK but they are still being sold on the high street – even in shops that have been previously prosecuted for selling them, an investigation has found.
Products that contain mercury, hydroquinone and corticosteroids – which can cause kidney, liver and nerve damage and foetal abnormalities – are banned from being sold over-the-counter, although they are available on prescription from a doctor.
Despite the ban, these creams are being sold in UK shops, largely due to a lack of resources in policing them, according to an investigation by the BBC. The corporation sent undercover journalists to 17 shops (six of which had previously been prosecuted for doing so) across London, Leeds, Birmingham and Manchester to see how many illegal creams they could buy. Thirteen were found to be selling banned products, with the dangerous products still available in four of the six shops that had already been prosecuted.
YouTubers Arlene Dihoulou and Mariam Omotunde, who used skin-lightening products in their teens, front an accompanying short documentary on the topic for BBC Stories. In How I learned to love my skin colour, the pair reveal they had been following in family members' footsteps by using the creams and that they had not realised the products were illegal.
Many women of colour report feeling pressure to be lighter skinned, the pair explain. Mariam, 22, says she first began using bleaching creams during secondary school after her peers told her she would look "so much prettier if [her] chest was the same colour as [her] face", while 22-year-old Arlene says she had wanted to "fit in" and be considered "desirable".
In the film, they are shocked to be told that of the 20 random samples of lightening products put in front of them, purchased from shop shelves, under the counter and online, 50% contained banned substances.
One woman found to be selling the illegal creams when the film was made, in June 2018, was Meg Chucks – even though she was prosecuted and received a fine of £1,400 (plus £1,040 in legal costs) for doing so in October 2017. BBC footage shows Chucks, whose store TM Cosmetics is in Moston, Greater Manchester, selling a cream containing hydroquinone, despite her assurances that it only featured "just normal, natural, very nice" ingredients.
For people who use skin-lightening creams, it can be difficult to stop, as the film explores. "It's like taking drugs. It's not easy to tell someone to stop smoking, stop drinking, stop taking drugs," former user Safi George tells Mariam and Arlene, adding that she "would have lost [her] life" if she hadn't sought help from medical professionals.
Sujata Jolly, a skincare research scientist interviewed in the film, explains that common side-effects of these creams include a burned-looking appearance to the skin and foetal damage in pregnant women, as well as kidney, nerve and liver damage, scarring, skin thinning and a potentially enhanced risk of skin cancer.
Trading Standards, the body responsible for seizing the illegal creams and prosecuting retailers who break the law, admitted "it's a really big problem" and that more could be done to halt the issue. On-the-spot fines and clearer sentencing guidelines could improve the rate of prosecution and the number of product seizures and accusations across the UK, said Trading Standards officer Cenred Elworthy.
He revealed that, at present, "no-one has actually served jail time for selling them", and cited a 40% cut in resources over the last decade as having left the body struggling to get a handle on the issue.
As much progress as there is still to be made in the name of body diversity within American fashion (and there's plenty), the runways of New York Fashion Week are no longer off-limits to plus-size models. Retailers are beginning to listen to their customers and expand their size offerings, and more brands entering the market for the first time, seizing an opportunity they'd ignored for far too long. Starting in earnest back in 2004 with Dove's Campaign for Real Beauty, mainstream fashion magazines began casting plus-size models like Ashley Graham in their pages to much fanfare, setting the stage for consumers to harness the power of social media to amplify conversations around brand campaigns that celebrate diverse bodies — and, conversely, to tear those that don't to shreds. At the very least, inclusivity is not being ignored.
Which makes it all the more puzzling to watch Fashion Week after Fashion Week go by in London, Milan, and Paris and see barely any change in the range of bodies sent down the runway, or shown within the social media accounts of most luxury brands. Establishment European fashion has not acknowledged that women who wear above a size four even exist. According to The Fashion Spot's annual diversity report, of the 30 curve models cast in the fall 2018 shows, only three walked in Paris (two for H&M and one for Alexander McQueen), while none walked in either London or Milan. Compare that to New York, where curve models were appeared on 10 runways, with two labels — Christian Siriano and Chromat — casting a combined 19 in their shows.
"We always get very excited after New York that London's going to follow suit," says Anna Shillinglaw, founder of U.K. modelling agency Milk Management, which reps big name plus-size models Robyn Lawley and Denise Bidot along with a host of rising stars. "As an agency, we're extremely disappointed in London."
Models at Chromat's fall/winter 2018 presentation.
Seeing newcomer model Betsy Teske book London-based Alexander McQueen during Paris Fashion Week for both the spring 2018 and fall 2018 seasons was a high point, Shillinglaw says, but back home, it felt like too little, too late: "We were really devastated. We'd done all that work, and it was the same shit, basically."
Shillinglaw grants that it's mostly high-fashion designers that have failed to move with the times. On the commercial and editorial fronts, work is more diverse than ever. A former model herself, Shillinglaw set out to build a curve board with as much diversity and editorial potential as its straight-size counterpart. Where models over a size two were once relegated almost entirely to commercial work, she now books girls on jobs ranging from Vogue Italia spreads to the Savage X Fenty campaign.
The U.K. is also home to many brands that have been leaders in bringing younger, cooler clothes to the plus-size market; brands like ASOS Curve, Elvi, and Simply Be, which Shillinglaw calls some of her best clients and "well ahead of the game." This makes sense considering the average British woman wears a U.K. size 16 (the equivalent of a U.S. 12, and the largest size produced by most fashion brands).
Some critics claim that size diversity isn't as necessary outside of the United State because American women are bigger than Europeans. This is somewhat true — the obesity rate in the U.S. is 38.2 percent, higher than any other country, versus 26.9 percent in the U.K., 15.3 percent in France, and 9.8 percent in Italy — but it still doesn't account for the number of size-zeroes on the runway, particularly since every brand needs to serve a global clientele to succeed in 2018.
Ashley Graham, Precious Lee, and a model at Addition Elle's September 2017 presentation.Photo: Gonzalo Marroquin/Getty Images.
"Europe is old, conservative, and very stuck in their ways," says French model Clémentine Desseaux, who says there still isn't enough of a market in her home country to build a viable career as a plus-size model. "They know what works and what’s safe and do not even try to change things up for fear of losing what they have." Frustrated by the lack of work in France, Desseaux moved to the U.S. in 2011 where she signed with Muse Model Management, landed campaigns for brands like American Apparel and Eloquii, launched her blog, Bonjour Clem, and her creative agency, Les Mijotés, and earned the recognition of publications like Vogue and New York magazine.
In 2016, she co-founded the All Woman Project, a nonprofit initiative dedicated to promoting positive, diverse, and unretouched representations of women in the media. Now, she says she gets daily messages from French women who ask her to bring the project back home.
"Growing up, I always had this feeling that we were ten years behind on everything, and that’s certainly the case with size diversity," she says. "France has a lot to learn and to catch up on."
One sign that designers are, at the very least, wising up to the dollars at stake? Karl Lagerfeld, whose disparaging comments about fat women have been well documented over the years, recently teamed up with subscription retailer Stitch Fix on a plus-size collection, which launched in May 2018. While some plus-size bloggers cheered the collaboration, others weren't happy to see a designer with such a poor track record with the plus-size community profit off its spending power. One European plus-size online retailer, Navabi, has also secured more than $34 million in venture capital funding since it launched in 2010, putting it ahead of many of its American competitors.
Models at Christian Siriano's Ashfall/winter 2018 presentation.
According to Don Howard, executive director of apparel industry consultancy Alvanon Inc., which works with brands like Adidas, Levi's, and Burberry, the progress (or lack thereof) on the runway doesn't necessarily convey what's going on behind the scenes.
"There's not one client around the world that doesn't ask us about plus-size," he says. "So I think there's a difference between what might be happening that's not on the runway and what's definitely happening because they know there's a market need." Non-Western cities, which are often left out of discussions around size inclusivity because they aren't considered fashion capitals, are also lagging behind the U.S. in many cases (in South Korea, for instance, it can be challenging to find women's clothing larger than a size 6610 — equivalent to a U.S. size 6 — in stores), but there is movement in the right direction, usually in response to outspoken local women who want to see themselves represented in the media and see their sizes carried in stores.
Perhaps designers around the globe would do well to take a cue from Christian Siriano, who recently revealed that adding plus sizes to his line tripled his business. Starting that movement on the runway was important because fashion is so visual, he said in an interview at the 92Y: "You have to put it in people’s faces… We’re all stubborn, even me. So when it’s on the runway, it’s there." And once it was there, retailers were able to see the potential in the full range of sizes, place orders, and help make sure the pieces actually got produced.
Candice Huffine at Christian Siriano's spring/summer 2018 presentation.Photo: Peter White/Getty Images.
However, the groundswell behind a cultural shift like this is most likely going to come from one place: social media. "It's all opportunity. And the more plus-size people who become vocal and spend money on clothes, they're going to gain more and more attention from brands," says Howard, adding that wherever he goes, be it Australia, Germany, or China, there is some movement, for an obvious reason: "People who are creating great, fresh clothes for inclusive sizing are gaining a lot of traction because there's a market for it."
On the runway, says Shillinglaw, it's up to designers to make a conscious choice to embrace inclusivity, since it's impossible to even consider diverse bodies — even an "in-between" size eight or 10 — if every sample garment made for a show is a size two. Still, she remains hopeful that the change she's seeing on the commercial and editorial fronts will carry over throughout the industry.
"I do feel that, especially in the last couple of months, there's been a big shift in a positive direction," she says. "If a casting director is casting a campaign, and we email from the curve board and say, 'Do you mind if we sent you a curve package?' A year ago, people would get really angry with us, and be like, 'No, we didn't request that. Send us what we want.' And now they're like, 'Yeah, we'd love to see some of your curve girls.' And then they get requested and then they book the job… the briefs we're getting from casting directors and brands are more inclusive, and I definitely don't think it's a fad. I think it's something that's here to stay."
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
Marawa Ibrahim is an internationally known gymnast and hula-hooper. She's also a woman, and was once a girl who went through puberty. Like many of us who dealt with first periods, growing boobs, acne, smelly armpits, and all the other joys of puberty, she has some pretty awkward and sometimes cringe-inducing stories. And she's written them all down in a book.
But this isn't just a fun trip down memory lane. Ibrahim's The Girl Guide is a treasure map for getting through puberty unscathed. Or, at least, to help girls understand why all these awkward and embarrassing things keep happening to them. It's Ibrahim's way of paying it forward and making life a little easier for the next generation (who she thinks are already pretty awesome).
Below, Ibrahim speaks to us about why a puberty guide is so essential, the hilarious reactions she's gotten from kids (and parents) who've read the book, and why even grown women might get something out of The Girl Guide.
This interview has been edited for clarity and length.
Can you tell me why you wanted to write a book about puberty?
"Because I wanted one when I was a kid. You know when you’re a kid and you’re like, ‘I wish things were like this’? Now I’m enabled as an adult to make it. I always felt like there was a huge gap in knowledge. I know it’s changed a lot — the internet has changed a lot of things — but I don’t think it’s improved necessarily. I think it’s in some ways dragged things even further out of proportion. I think girls are getting a lot of misinformation. They’re getting fed a lot of images that don’t make anything clearer. And I think in terms of women understanding their bodies, there’s still no information there. You can see porn in 0.5 seconds, but you can’t access information about what a period is, really."
Unless you really know what you’re looking for.
"In which case, if you know what you’re looking for then you don’t need it. That’s why I was really interested when we were doing the research for the chapters. For each of the chapters, I would pretend I’m a 10 year old girl and I wanted to search something on the internet. So I’d type in something like, ‘sore boobs.’ And it was just crazy. I would go down these rabbit holes and think, Oh my god. If I was 10 and this is what I saw, every single time I would end up thinking I’m dying. The misinformation is crazy."
One of the girls was definitely finding out about tampons for the first time, and you could just see the horror in her face. She said, ‘What do you mean it goes up there? How big is it?'
So your target audience is a 10-year-old girl?
When I pitched the book, I said 10 to 14. And the publishers were like no, it’s 8 to 12. And then I was doing all this research on the average age girls are getting their periods now and in the UK there’s a huge percentage of girls who are 8 or 9. I mean, I couldn’t even tie my shoes up properly [when I was that age]. I can’t imagine what it would be like. I was 12 and most of my friends were around that age. But it’s definitely getting younger, which is a lot of responsibility. So that’s why it was important to me that the information was easy to digest.
My sister is 9 and she just started having to wear bras and deodorant because her body is changing. My mum and I have had a few puberty conversations with her, and she was so mortified. So I can see the appeal of having a book like this that you can just hand to your kid and they can go flip through it in their room.
"Yeah! I’ve gotten feedback from mums and dads that’s like, ‘You saved my life.’ Most of them say that their daughter sat down, read the whole thing, and then asked them three questions that they’d never expect she’d ask, and that was it. It was chill. The book kind of breaks the ice. It's saying: Here's the information, it’s all there."
Photo: Courtesy of Sinem Erkas.
"I’ve done a few readings at schools, and there was one school where the teacher said the girls were never going to ask their questions if the boys were around. But I said the boys should come too, because everyone needs to hear this. I just started talking. I read one of the embarrassing stories out of it. And then it went wild. They asked questions I’d never expect.
"One of the girls was definitely finding out about tampons for the first time, and you could just see the horror in her face. She said, ‘What do you mean it goes up there? How big is it?’ And the teacher was floored. But as soon as you tell someone a horror story, like a period story, then everyone wants to tell you their story right away."
That’s so cute.
"Yeah, it’s super cute. Especially when it’s a group, whether it’s a mother-daughter thing or girls who are in school together, you can see that the embarrassment is gone, and they can actually just laugh about it or bond over it and support each other. And I think that’s what’s missing [in conversations about puberty].
"One person told me a story that was so awful. I’d written a piece about the breaking your hymen, virginity thing. And I wrote about how I broke mine doing this crazy split in gymnastics and it took me two years to work out what that sharp pain and little bit of blood was. A woman in the comments wrote about how she got her period and her mum marched her to the bathroom, handed her a tampon, opened the door, and said, ‘It hurt a lot for me the first time, too.’ And then shut the door. She just sat there on the bathroom floor, jabbing herself with the tampon, and broke her hymen in the process. I feel we can break that silence in this next generation, with these insanely woke eight year olds."
It’s true. I feel like these conversations weren’t typical when I was going through puberty.
"Even mums have been reading the book and coming up to me to say, ‘The chapter on thrush [yeast infections] makes so much sense. I didn’t realise. Of course I kept getting it because I was doing X, Y, Z.’ Even though the book is for girls 8 to 12, I find that it's pretty ageless. A lot of my friends have bought it and they said they were buying it for their niece and then the next day they'd text me and say, 'Oh, my, god. I started reading it and I learned all this stuff. I had no idea.'"
Were there any chapters that were hard for you to write?
"Two chapters that were hard to write were about the kid-to-little-lady moment, where you might start to be more independent and you go off for a bit and there's a group of guys who look at you and you’re like, ‘What was that about?’ Or comments that people say to you. For me it was when I was at the supermarket and this guy touched my bum and my mum was there and I didn’t say anything. So I say in the book that I didn’t say anything, but at the same time I say that you should if you can, but I didn’t. I really struggled with whether I should lie and say that I did say something. I thought what was most important was that it’s a true story. And again, people don’t talk about it."
Hopefully, in the next generation, having something like this to look to will help break those taboos.
"Oh absolutely, I’m excited. I think the kids coming up are going to kill it. They’re super cool."
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
In her upcoming book, Captive: A Mother’s Crusade to Save Her Daughter from a Terrifying Cult,Dynasty actress Catherine Oxenberg gets candid about the emotional experience of losing her daughter to the cult NXIVM. In 2011, Oxenberg introduced daughter India to the organisation when she took her to a workshop in an effort to bond. However, the then 19-year-old was slowly consumed by the organisation, finding her way into the inner circle that treated the women as "slaves," restricting their eating and branding them with leader Kieth Raniere’s initials. The seven-year ordeal has been emotional and tortuous, but Oxenberg revealed to People that she finally has her daughter back.
“India is spending time with her friends and family,” she explained, revealing that the two reunited after the organisation suspended operations in June. “She is moving forward with her life and will share her story when she is ready. At this time, she has asked for privacy.”
In an interview with Dateline Monday night, Oxenberg admitted that she was filled with guilt since she's the one who brought her daughter to NXIVM in the first place. She echoed the same sentiment in an interview with Megyn Kelly Tuesday morning.
"I brought her in. And that’s why I feel responsible for getting her out," Oxenberg explained on Dateline. "At first I felt horrendous guilt that I had participated in bringing my daughter into an organisation that was this deviant and dangerous. And then I started to educate myself. And I spoke to numerous experts. And they said, ‘Would you stop blaming yourself? These cults are well-oiled machines. And India never stood a chance.’"
Tuesday, over 45 different agencies associated with the entertainment industry signed an open letter that outlined a plan to advance trans representation in Hollywood. Per Variety, which printed the letter in full, the organisations GLAAD and 5050by2020, a company that hopes to get gender representation to 50/50 by the year 2020, wrote the letter. The letter was signed by agencies ICM, WME, UTA, and CAA as well as a number of production companies. SAG-AFTRA, the actor's union, also signed, as did the Casting Society of America.
"Women, people of colour, people with disabilities, and diverse faith groups have made it clear they want more authentic stories about their lives in films and on TV. Trans people feel the same way," the letter reads.
Regarding the letter, Transparent creator Jill Soloway told Variety that they hope the letter will lay out an official code — with this letter in place, filmmakers can look to something to guide them in their inclusive casting.
"We’re creating a moment where a producer or a studio might think to cast a cis person in a role as a trans person and say, ‘I read that letter and it’s actually not okay anymore … the moral code has changed around this,'" they explained.
Speaking with Variety for their Transgender Actors Roundtable, Nashville actress Jen Richards illustrated why every casting choice has implications and consequences: "Every time a casting director chooses a cis person to play a trans part, they’re reinforcing one of two notions. If they cast a cis woman, they’re ultimately saying a trans man is a kind of woman. If they cast a cis man, they are saying a trans woman is a kind of man. And those are dangerous consequences that we’re talking about. It reinforces the notion that we’re duplicitous, that we’re a threat."
The documents did not clarify what "meaningful" is referring to, but it does note that Pitt has allegedly not made these "meaningful" payments in months. "Given the informal arrangements around the payment of the children's expenses have not been regularly sustained by [Pitt] for over a year and a half, [Jolie] intends to file an RFO for the establishment of a retroactive child support order," it states. However, a source close to Pitt tells Refinery29 that "Brad fulfils his commitments."
Since announcing their divorce in September of 2016, the couple has had a shockingly hostile separation. The two are in a custody battle, only revealing how intense the battle has become through court filings like this, or in vague interviews like Jolie to Vanity Fair in September of 2017 when she said, "We’re all just healing from the events that led to the filing. [The children are] not healing from divorce. They’re healing from some...from life, from things in life."
This story has been updated with additional reporting.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
So you're going on holiday, and that means it's time to close out of Tinder, Bumble, OkCupid, Hinge, and all your other dating apps, right? Not necessarily. While using dating apps on holiday might seem silly, since you'll only be wherever you're traveling for a short time, it can actually be an amazing way to meet new friends. Or, to have some really hot casual sex, if that's what you're into.
Online dating coach Julie Spira has one client who often gets free tickets to concerts through work. So, when she's traveling, she'll update her dating apps to say that she's going to see so-and-so play and has an extra ticket, if anyone wants to claim it. "Every single time she meets an incredible person and has an incredible time," Spira says. They'll go out for coffee or go out for dinner before the show. Sometimes, it turns romantic, but even when it doesn't she meets a new friend.
So don't assume that you need to quit your dating apps while you're away. They might actually be the one thing that makes your time away an adventure. Ahead, Spira and Robyn Exton, co-founder of queer dating app HER, give their tips for making the most of your apps while you're traveling.
Plan ahead.
On the free versions of most dating apps, you can't change your location without physically being in a different place. But some apps offer premium services, like Tinder Passport, that allow you to change your location before you leave. And if you're really serious about meeting people while you're away, paying for a month of those premium services might be worth it. "You want to be able to get some matches before you get there because otherwise you run out time, you're too busy, you miss connections, and it just doesn't work," Exton says. Investing in a feature that will allow you to swipe on matches beforehand is the one thing that will make the biggest difference when you go on holiday, she says. If you're not into paying for an app that's usually free, you can also check if that feature has a free trial around the time you'll be traveling.
illustrated by Paola Delucca.
Be clear (with yourself and your matches).
If you're planning to use dating apps on holiday, make sure you know what you want before you get started, Exton says. And make sure your matches know what you want as well.
Are you looking for a casual hookup? Are you traveling alone and just want someone to show you around? Are you on holiday with friends and trying to meet some cool people who can join your group? Or are you running out of options in your hometown and seriously looking for a relationship? "Decide whatever it is and then put it in your bio on your profile," Exton says. "Be really, explicitly clear."
You can type something like, "I'm in town for five days and looking for someone to show me around." Or, "I'm traveling to Boston in two weeks, and looking for a casual hookup. Want to show me a good time?"
illustrated by Paola Delucca.
Be thoughtful.
If you're travelling somewhere where the culture is much different from your own, recognise and be respectful of that, Exton says. If you're on a queer dating app and traveling internationally, for example, understand that in some countries it's still dangerous to be openly gay. So while you may be very out on social media, the people you're meeting might not be out at all and probably wouldn't want photos that tie them to queer events floating around. If that's not an issue, it's still important to be read up on local culture and customs, whenever you're traveling. That way, you'll avoid offending anyone.
illustrated by Paola Delucca.
Be safe.
Just like you'd make sure a friend knew that you were out on a date and you'd set up dates in public places when you're home, you'll want to make sure you're following safety tips while dating abroad. That means, don't tell any potential matches where you're staying. "I wouldn't give anyone my home address, so why would I say what hotel I'm staying in?" Spira says. When you're traveling, the rules might feel a little more lax because you're all about having a good time. But safety is still important, Spira says. So make sure someone knows where you are, meet people in public places before going anywhere private, and try not to get too drunk around someone you just met. "And if you're uncomfortable for any reason, then say 'It was really nice meeting you. I'm not sure this is a fit,' and graciously exit," she says.
illustrated by Paola Delucca.
Have good and safe sex (if you want to).
Exton's most important rule? Have all the hot, adventurous (but still safe and consensual!) sex that you want.
illustrated by Paola Delucca.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
Beyoncé’s VogueSeptember 2018 cover was unprecedented and historic — perhaps not journalistically or visually, but certainly for what it represented for fashion publishing as a whole. “When I first started, 21 years ago, I was told that it was hard for me to get onto covers of magazines because black people did not sell,” Beyonce told writer Clover Hope. “Clearly that has been proven a myth. Not only is an African-American on the cover of the most important month for Vogue, this is the first ever Vogue cover shot by an African-American photographer.”
The myth that black women don’t sell magazines is one the fashion industry has maintained for decades. Last November, former British Vogue editor-in-chief Alexandra Shulman told The Guardian the reason only eight black women covered the magazine during her 25-year tenure was “people have to recognise the person who you're putting on the cover." According to The Guardian, “if she put a black face on the cover who was not instantly recognisable,” Shulman says the magazine “would sell fewer copies. It’s as simple as that.” But is that actually the case?
It’d seem British Vogue’ s newly-minted editor-in-chief, Edward Enninful, would disagree with Shulman's sentiment. Since taking over the 102-year magazine in November, he’s proven to be a champion for diversity, having featured Oprah Winfrey and Gugu Mbatha-Raw, as well as models Adwoa Aboah, Adut Akech, and Selena Forrest on covers. He solidified his mission when he cast Rihanna as his first September cover star. Like Beyoncé’s shoot, Rihanna’s is also historic, as it’s the first time a black woman has covered the magazine’s September issue.
Brandwatch, a social-media monitoring company, found that Rihanna’s Vogue June 2018 cover generated more attention the Internet than the magazine's September 2017 cover shoot with Jennifer Lawrence (and that was with all the conspiracy theories floating around). That could be the result of a number of factors, or it could speak to media companies’ realisation that “black women are voracious consumers of video and other digital content, and are leaders even in more traditional media categories,” Cheryl Grace, senior vice president, US strategic community alliances and consumer engagement for Nielsen told Fortune in 2017. According to Grace, “black women have strong life-affirming values that spill over into everything they do. The celebration of their power and beauty is reflected in what they buy, watch and listen to, and people outside their communities find it inspiring.” Earlier this year, Nielson reported black women in the US spend $54 million (£43 million) for ‘ethnic’ hair and beauty aids and feminine hygiene products, as well $152 million (£122 million) on women’s fragrances — products often advertised in women’s mainstream magazines. In short: #BlackGirlMagic is real, and when championed, it translates to money spent.
Like Beyoncé wrote in her Vogue cover story: “If people in powerful positions continue to hire and cast only people who look like them, sound like them, come from the same neighborhoods they grew up in, they will never have a greater understanding of experiences different from their own. They will hire the same models, curate the same art, cast the same actors over and over again, and we will all lose.” And while there is still much to be said about creating true inclusion in the fashion industry, these magazine covers off a promising start.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
