Schmagazine

P A R T S U M M E R

1 2 0 2 0

Magazin Schmaga

ne gazine ... right?

A huge thanks to my tutors …

Judith Watt, James Anderson, Philip Clarke, Claire Robertson, Fred Burlage, Hywel Davies, Cath Caldwell and Steve Hill … my helpers …

Oliver McCabe and George Elliot … image makers …

Corey Mullaney, Matthew Tortolano … interview subjects …

Eddy Parnell, Gareth Wrighton, Sue Tilley, Nicola Clarke, Lexi, Emma … and people who have stopped me from pulling my hair out …

Hannah Connolly, Izzy Van Dyke, Phoebe Shardlow, Matilda Nixon, Alex Loveless, John McCoy, Mum and Dad

Editor’s letter

“Ah. Another fashion publication. Do we need one more?”

I know what you are thinking.

The answer is, probably not. I made almost this entire magazine indoors avoiding coronavirus, and concluded it with news of police brutality stewing on my mind. A flouncy fashion magazine had never felt less relevant. The title Schmagazine arrived when I cynically denounced the need for another, but here we are, Schmagazine, Part 1. This baby took four years of studying to birth, and I couldn’t be happier.

I am someone who eagerly consumed magazines as a teenager. What they showed me was a world outside my hometown bubble, appeasing my mind when I felt disconnected from the community I yearned to be part of.

It’s interesting to think of the fashion magazine sphere as some abstract religious body, with different publications as separate churches; each reader worshipping their ‘god’ within each. But

fashion editors don’t have some divine papal infallibility, stating style and lifestyle principles without any margin of error. Its rules are time has taught me

about as rigid as my wrists, and as it goes, followers of fashion are increasingly reluctant to authority.

Anything goes — so why take it seriously?

Only recently did I come to realise magazines didn’t tell me what I needed to hear. Too wrapped up in their own self-assured importance, my gaze into fashion was filtered with rules and regulations under the guise of celebration; always prescribing what their views of ‘fashion’ is, but never

In fashion’s purest form, I fucking adore it, and as a journalist I sit on its explaining why.

peripheries, which offers ample distance to survey its blemishes.

There are so many stories and perspectives from fabulous people who simply must be given a voice. Fashion may be a fantasy, but it’s darker than meets the eye. When I interviewed image maker Gareth Wrighton, his words “the jester

is the only one that can tell the king the truth” resonated with me. They poetically define the sentiment of this issue. Because in the face of hostility, queer people have responded with strength, and a sardonic sense of humour.

Think cabaret and camp. Remember Marsha P. Johnson, the proud black transgender woman who galvanised the rebellion against police at Stonewall?

Strength and joy are what the people featured in this issue represent. We have interviews with the charismatic Sue Tilley, Gareth Wrighton and his fearlessly prophetic designs, iconic hair colourist Nicola Clarke, fabulous puppeteer Eddy Parnell and adult babies Emma and Lexi.

Schmagazine welcomes you to my viewpoint of fashion, sitting at the crossroads between artifice and sincerity, the bourgeoisie and the rebel (thank you, Madonna), exoticism and eroticism, Disney and Dionysus. Schmagazine is the slick, sharp man in a gay bar, who will spill half his mojito on you because of his flamboyant gesticulations, but you keep around because of the ridiculous anecdotes he tells in the process. It’s queer, it’s wry, it’s

Schmagazine.

E D I TO R -I N - C H I E F

George Pistachio

Densely packed into this delightful first issue, you will find ...

8 34

18 26

ONE NAPPY

DYE ANOTHER DAY

40

SUE TILLEY INVADES HASTINGS

GARETH WRIGHTON HATES TO SAY HE TOLD YOU SO

52

GRIM UNDER

THE PUPPET MAFIA

60

IT’S DOWN

BIG FAMILY

“WHO REMEMBERS THAT TIME...?”

It’s grim down under ...

Beware the crocodiles, snakes, kangaroos, spiders, Uggs, Speedos and flip flops For a nation that brought us Kath and Kim, Neighbours, and Kylie Minogue, some of Australia’s contributions to the world of fashion have been polarising to say the least.

We know that “one should wear whatever they feel confident in.” And it’s a lovely sentiment, though often when looking back at old photographs we see our ghastly outfits from years prior, and with mouth agape, we question why we were even allowed to leave the house.

Ugliness is in the eye of the beholder, and there are few items of clothing that the public agree are truly terrible. But there’s a chicness to the nerve it takes to wear clothing everyone detests. If fashion is about confidence, it takes some gigantic, pendulous balls to wear the following.

N e x t 7, 6 1 7, 9 3 0 k m

2

9

UGG AS SIN

10

How a vulgar Australian boot defied fashion’s laws of gravity

U

GG would like to professionally distance itself from the word ‘ugly’. You likely know UGG from its squishy sheepskin booties, all the rage following the paparazzi’s fascination with capturing celebrities in their leisurewear. Media outlets presenting the rich and famous at their ‘most relatable’ is a reasonably new phenomenon, exposing the dividing line between public glamour and private style. We’re insatiable for them, engorging on images of our stars not only fluffed up on red carpets, but now on their daily stroll to Starbucks. Bare face, beanie, sunglasses, puffer jacket, tracksuit bottoms, a cigarette and Uggs.

Oh-so thrilling it is to learn celebrities relish comfort, too. Kate Upton, Kate Moss and Kate Hudson were regular wearers of the cosy brown bootie — the list of esteemed endorsers is endless (especially by those named Kate). A sweet spot on the yearly ‘Favourite Things’ list from none other than Oprah Winfrey means the boot receives an annual boost of appreciation. According to Winfrey in 2015, “I never need any convincing to wear comfy, warm Ugg boots.

And this new model has a subtle wedge that makes you walk a little taller—so you get an extra dose of style without sacrificing the cozy factor.” Shoo Jimmy Choo, leave behind Louboutin; Ugg à la mode.

They quickly became a staple for girls young and old in the noughties. Now it appears but a wrinkle in time, a lamentable sartorial memory, with over 7,000 scuffed Ugg boots listed on eBay. A cause for celebration? Perhaps. Fashion favours the bold, and the Ugg boot’s ubiquity and practicality are threats to their credentials as a style staple. But more than this, finding the beauty in the bulbous boot is bleeding difficult. Far from a technological breakthrough, the me-

chanics are remedial. Shapeless and unstructured, Uggs are hastily slipped on and plumb new depths of nonchalant banality. A little lighter than plain brown, but darker than beige: Ugg affectionately named the colour “chestnut”. Effortless had never looked so… tepid. While to say they’re ugly might sound harsh, common consensus can rule they certainly lack grace.

But their polarising nature is perhaps their greatest fashion USP. The pursuit of the perfectly hideous shoe has been an obsession of the recent fashion follower, with Balenciaga’s sickly sweet Crocs, Christopher Kane’s orthopaedic Z-coil shoes, the cloven-hooved Margiela tabi (the Bible will protect thee), and after a collaboration with French fashion label Y/Project for Autumn Winter 2018, the thigh-high Ugg boot. These specimens all set to prove there must be a strangely appealing rightness to the wrongness, and the ugly shoe market is alive and well.

The average price for a ‘classic’ Ugg boot is around £170, occupying a cosy gap between casual and luxe, meaning big bucks in Ugg and its parent company Decker’s pockets. If the boots had a middle-class-commodity equal, one might liken them to the back garden jacuzzi. As an advertiser for fashion magazines like Vogue (both American and British) and i-D, their shoes are placed in high fashion editorials quite innocuously; not only as boots, but fuzzy slippers, Dior-esque trainers, even strappy leather wedges. It’s one giant leap for boot-kind when considering their humble beginnings.

The term ‘ugg’ had existed in Australia and New Zealand for decades — the name was given to the unisex sheepskin boots surfers wore to keep their feet warm in cold weather and cool in the heat. They

offered a genius homeostasis of the tootsies; what looks like a meagre rendition of a boot brings to its wearer body temperature optimisation, a previously unrecognised quality of sheepskin. Their functionality projected them into the Australian mainstream in the ‘60s, and movie theatres in Australia’s capital, Sydney, decided to ban the footwear style, leading to uggs becoming a sign of rebellion for the country’s youth according to Reader’s Digest.

Two Aussie men, surfer Brian Smith and friend Doug Jensen, realised the lucrative business opportunities of uggs and transported the shoe to California in 1978, where slowly they garnered attention not only as a beach shoe but as utilitarian footwear. It wasn’t until Smith started giving the boots to stylists and celebrities at the turn of the millennium when profits turned exponential. Deckers offered hundreds of free Uggs to Oprah Winfrey, which she gave out to members of her audience (“You get an Ugg boot! You get an Ugg boot!”). Celebrity endorsers followed, with pastel pink and baby blue boots released to match the noughties babes’ Juicy Couture tracksuits. What greater credence than a “that’s hot” from Paris Hilton could a brand ask for? Sales for 2003 were projected to be $25m – instead they were nearly $40m.

Though Ugg’s marketing team has been pushing the alternatives to the omnipresent chestnut boot, it will forever be their cash cow. And what’s the shame in that? André Leon Talley, the legendary former editor-at-large of American Vogue, has been pictured (with Anna Wintour) in his own monogrammed Uggs; he owns 14 pairs. Ugg won’t be locked out of fashion no matter how hard its haters try push it. Its fuzzy foot is firmly in the door. Think of them as fashion’s ugg-ly duckling: hideous, and that’s why they’re special.

11

‘DICK SLINGS’ 12

There’s a reason David Hasselhoff isn’t sporting a pair of Speedos in Baywatch

S

ummer didn’t come as expected this year. It’s not that the sun refused to come out (quite the opposite, actually). We’re locked indoors, brooding over last year’s holiday photos with our skimpy swimsuits gathering dust. A blessing in disguise perhaps, as a survey from YouGov in 2018 proved Speedos as Britain’s most reviled item of clothing, with only 13% of people having a favourable opinion. Is the knowledge we’re avoiding the visual assault of a man in speedos enough to make light of this dark situation? Absolutely not — but it’s the little things. And what little things they are.

On a surface level, there’s not much to talk about with Speedos. A surprisingly complex composition of textiles; nylons, Lycra, Spandex, polyesters are packed into the fabric of the itty bitty men’s swim brief to perfect their streamlining qualities. One’s wobbly and otherwise protruding pecker is compressed into an elegant aerodynamic mound, inspiring a cacophony of nicknames including ‘budgie smugglers’ (or ‘parrot smugglers’ for wearers who are pleased with themselves), ‘banana hammocks’, ‘marble bags’, ‘sluggos’ (in Australia), ‘sungas’ (in Brazil) and my favourite, ‘dick sling’.

Clearly beneficial for athletes, many young gay men had their sexual awakenings watching diver Tom Daley vacuum packed into Speedos, but they’re also worn regularly by those less likely to perform at the Olympics. The very word evokes bronzed, tortilla-skinned dads at the beach on their proud belly-first march to the beachside bar. He’s the same man that strips fully nude in the middle of the gym

changing rooms to floss his crack. Confidence is key, as they say to the world: “just be thankful I’m not completely nude.”

If loving your physique is wrong, the Speedo wearers don’t want to be right. Generation X onwards have generally rejected the Speedo in favour of their conservative cousin, the board short. With no audacious exposure, they withhold the air of mystery about what exactly is going on between one’s legs. In Speedos the enigma comes ready solved. When Tom Daley’s salacious selfies surfaced, no one clutched their pearls in shock. It’s for this reason that the Speedo was banned in the Alton Towers swim park as a form of censorship for the youth.

Meanwhile in many French pools, anything longer than a Speedo is banned for the greater good of the public. Any prudish male in hopes of hiding his natural contours will sadly have his dream shattered under the rule of law enforcing pool attendants. Why must the Frenchmen parade in this micro uniform?

Hygiene. Board shorts can be worn anywhere after all, bringing dust, sand and all other matters of unwelcome contamination. Where else is it acceptable to wear a Speedo but to swim?

Similar rules are in place in Belgium and other parts of Europe. An atlas can be graffitied with a pen to define which parts of the world are pro or anti-Speedo. Or to put it bluntly: the liberals and the prudes.

According to the ‘Flip Flop Report’ by Expedia, the Speedo is most popular amongst the Brazilians, where it has a 92% approval rating. It’s not entirely alien to perceive of a nation that doesn’t hate their

bodies. Under the sweltering sun, the closest thing to naked is, of course, the most practical.

The stigma surrounding Speedos has been prescribed by the symbol of what they represent: liberalism and hedonism, of gay men, sporty men, fashionable men, exhibitionists and dads; of both not giving a damn about how you look and giving lots of damns.

The Speedo brand itself has done a fantastic job remaining polarising from the outset.

Every brand’s dream, the Speedo has become a noun that describes all Y-front men’s underwear, ubiquitous beyond the company’s reach. The first model by Speedo, founded by Sydney-based Scotsman Alexander MacRae, looks positively demure by today’s standards. Designed in the late 1920s, it’s a racerback swimsuit that extends halfway down the thigh, but revealing the back and shoulders in this time was radical.

As if sipping on one of Alice in Wonderland’s ‘Drink Me’ potions, the costumes got smaller and smaller, and the Speedo as we endearingly know it as now was unveiled in 1961. The first man to be spotted in a pair was arrested on Bondi Beach, Australia, for public indecency — but fortunately was released after it was ruled there was “no pubic hair” seen.

Yes, Speedos evoke a gut wrenching-reaction in many of us, but they’re not a prosecutable offence.

I happen to enjoy the Speedo, best in a tasteful navy to compliment a tan, but most importantly I enjoy the confidence they bring to people. Fellas, loosen up a little and swim against the current, you might enjoy it.

13

THE FLIGHT OF

THE FLIP FLOP 14

The world’s highest selling footwear has ruled since 4,000BC. Let’s hope change is afoot...

F

lip flops are simple as the etymology of their name, christened after the onomatopoeic slap-slap of sole on sole. Slightly erotic sounding in a sense, like watching tennis with your eyes closed, but the physical reality is perverse in a very different way. I hesitate to call them a ‘shoe’ as this implies a covering for the foot. Instead, a flat sole is tethered loosely to the foot with a Y-shaped strap known as a toe thong, which slots between the big toe and second toe. The result is a flimsy, minimalist sandal, leaving only the sole of the foot protected from the elements.

All new meaning is brought to the phrase ‘keeping you on your toes’, — beware, any gait more vigorous than a relaxed stroll could result in bare feet.

Their impracticality writes their destiny for casual wear; for slow saunters through town, domestic use, beachside and poolside. A summer essential, they’re the enemies of foot odour and all other matters of demonic funguses that confined footwear can bring.

It’s either braveness or indifference that brings the flip flop to the feet of those of us cursed with hideous trotters. For Frodo I would prescribe a simple pair of lace up Stan Smiths over the liberated flip flop (or better yet, amputation).

The crucial selling point is their cost. Though markup prices vary, their prices remain low with thanks to their unremarkable technology and cheap textiles. The leading label in flip flops, Havaianas, distinguishable by a tiny Brazil flag on the moulded plastic, sells their most popular pair for just £16. Alternatively, GAP and Accessorize price theirs at around £6, the same cost as a Pret lunch. Without any bells and whistles they can be mass manufactured with ease.

One billion people globally still walk barefoot, but the flip flop provides a small step into the world of foot-

wear. For some perspective, Havaianas produce 150 million sandals every year, but the global manufacturing rates are expected to be in the billions.

Once the toe thong snaps or the sole erodes, they spend their lives as garbage. Made of un-recyclable plastics, flip flops take more than 100 years to decompose, making them difficult for the world to escape. Yet the primitive flip flop was far more sustainable. They’ve existed in some form since at least 4,000 B.C., as Egyptians constructed their flip flop style sandals using papyrus and palm leaves, while wood was the material of choice in India. Rice straw was used in China and Japan, and the Masai of Africa opted for rawhide flip flops.

The flip flop as we know it is a descendant of the Japanese zōri, which is traditionally worn in more formal settings with tabis — the sock, not the shoe — and a kimono, whereas the the geta (much like a zōri, but with an elevated wooden base and a fabric thong) is worn with the less formal yukata. Following the return from World War II, soldiers from Australia, America and New Zealand brought home zōris from Japan as souvenirs.

In classic Western tradition, we pretend they were our idea all along, and upon their arrival in Australia and New Zealand, they were lovingly renamed ‘thongs’, while the rest of the English speaking world prefer ‘flip flop’. The Japanese rubber industry was in full swing during the 50s and the Hiroshima Rubber Company exported supersize zōris to cater for the new big-footed Western demand. As expected, these were most popular amongst residents under the sun, such as Aussies and Californians.

Post-WWII America and Australia witnessed the fetishisation of Japanese women after soldiers brought home culture shocked war brides. “I do not

know how you feel about the Japanese,” wrote journalist Elliott Chaze in 1952 for The New York Times who was stationed in Japan in the early days of the American occupation, “but I do like their feet.” He went onto declare that Japanese women revealed themselves in their toes, and feared American many women would, too. The internet has allowed the foot-fetishist, from the casual appreciator to the hardcore worshiper, to thrive, with sites like wikiFeet garnering around four million views per month. The visual encyclopaedia of celebrity feet pictures on wikiFeet is so extensive it’s absurd, and the most popular fashion trend on this site? The flip flop.

Part of this sexual proclivity is rooted in the knowledge that feet are not inherently sexual. Think about feet for longer than a few minutes and you’ll begin to grasp just how unusual they are, yet there’s perhaps no other sexual fixation more quintessentially ‘fetish’ than an interest in feet. Just watch any Quentin Tarantino movie, with slender women bathing their feet in sinks or swinging out the window of a sports car. But, I digress.

Flip flops upon pedicured feet matched with a summer outfit and Frappuccino may scream nonchalant glamour to some, but as a statement it marks your look past its sell by date. Don’t be fooled by the catwalks: high fashion brands such as Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci and Chanel produce flip flops year on year not as proclamations of their beauty, rather as affordable entry level footwear. Tom Ford declared war on flip flops in 2011 in an interview with AnOther magazine: “Flip-flops and shorts in the city are never appropriate.” The world is polluted with the plastic sandals, proving the global favourite is a remarkable success. But as it goes, fashion is getting cold feet.

15

The pen than

n is mightier n the sword.

Sue Tilley invades Hastings

Photography by Matthew Tortolano

Sue Tilley has found sanctuary in Hastings amidst its recent artistic renaissance. Three years after her move from London, she speaks of her life as a muse, friend, and becoming a Hastings local

H

astings and its surrounding areas are still peppered with relics from its eponymous 1066 battle. While the event truly took place in a sleepy town nearby (aptly named ‘Battle’), flocks of tourists visit the seaside town to confidently say that they too were a part of this history. Illuminated by the Bayeux Tapestry, rich in patriotic conflict and strife; the geography evokes heavy chainmail, clashing swords, castles, monasteries and abbeys. Exciting, is it not?

The setting may be more fascinating to others than it is to me. My family have lived in the Hastings area since I was born, and a scholarship allowed me to attend Battle Abbey, a small partially ruined Benedictine abbey turned independent school next to the old battlefield. It’s a pretty town, but terribly static. The Grade I listed buildings have remained untouched for years, aside from the conveyor belt of schoolchildren on history trips eroding the stone. The wealth divide is astounding. While Battle is riddled with middle class fogeys with acres of land, the impression I’d always received of the neighbouring towns were always much less favourable.

Hastings was ranked as the 13th most deprived

council area in England in The Indices of Deprivation 2019. Homelessness is high, streets are grimy, education is inadequate. It never claimed to be LA; occupied by bottle blonde haired, plastic faced people decked with ceramic teeth. The Hastings dweller lives at a slower tempo, values the community and frequents their local.

I boarded the one-hour-30-minute train from London to Hastings to find Sue Tilley, who on a rainy evening was hosting a night as part of a yearly cabaret event at The Printworks bar. Charismatic, candid, alluring are all words that would describe her demeanour. They also go some lengths to explain why she’s led the life of a muse and companion to so many. Her crossing of paths with some of the decades most culturally influential people may be serendipitous (Leigh Bowery, Boy George, Lucian Freud, Rachel Auburn; the list goes on), but their endurance as friends is intentional.

The Printworks is jarringly gentrified: a bar with industrial grungy brick walls, seemingly rejuvenated by funky decor, metal furniture and dimly lit behind opaque, comically large lampshades. It’s a small case study in how Hastings is accommodating for its

new, creative, fashionable residents. Equipped with booze, a gaggle of around 30 audience members sat watching beneath her, as she entertained them with fragments of her illustrious life through found footage. “I could’ve done this in my front room,” Sue remarked.

She spoke about topics from The Olympics to Boy George, television soaps to John Waters, and at length her idol, Harry Styles. Technical issues and forgotten notes meant the presentation by no means went swimmingly, but Sue renounced any responsibility. “Blame it on Hastings.”

Tilley evokes an inimitable sense of magnetism, seemingly without trying at all. Her black dress soaks in light similar to how her onlookers lap up the unvarnished persona before them. Without pretences or illusion she presents herself truthfully, because who she is just works — and she’s had 63 years of practise.

Above all things, she’s terribly lazy. She combines the excitement of smiling with the thrill of just sitting there — but it’s what makes her so charming. Outside in the smoking area, friend and New York club legend Erich Conrad affirms: “she’s the new queen of Hastings.”

19

Sue’s home is a 20 minute walk west in St Leonards-on-Sea. It’s been three years since she upped sticks from her small flat in Bethnal Green in London.

“You’d slam the door and the whole place shook. It was about a quarter the size of this. I sold that for £300,000 and bought this for £165,000.” For a self proclaimed “ordinary kind of girl”, she centres a vast web of misfits and eccentrics, namely gay men, who through their success offered a helping hand into public acclaim. Sue’s life is indebted to the network of decidedly extraordinary people she’s met along the way; closest friend to nightlife icon Leigh Bowery and muse to artist Lucian Freud. She followed them unwittingly, but by no means reluctantly.

Born in Wimbledon, Sue moved to Paddington aged 6 where she shared a room with her cousins.

ish costumes and performances that’d could make you squirm in your seat (enemas and vomiting and wanking, oh my), but very few appreciated the man beneath. Bowery was pure unadulterated camp, and camp is armour.

Taboo is now revered as one of the greatest club nights to come from London, setting a blueprint for those to come. It was Leigh Bowery’s baby, birthed from his meaty loins in 1985 with the help of club entrepreneur, Tony Gordon. Queues spanned the block, and those lucky enough to get in took ecstasy and danced even when the DJ was too inebriated to queue the next track. He told LAM Magazine in September 1985, “Taboo is a reflection of my clothes and attitudes. The name Taboo is a joke really, because there’s nothing you can’t do there.”

Laughing, she adds, “I was quite upset he died as well - but that was one of my main worries.” Bowery passed away on New Years Eve 1994, aged 33, after falling ill with Aids. “When I was young, I thought that if I knew someone that died it would just be the worst thing in the world — I didn’t know how someone’s brain could cope, how they’d carry on in life.” The Aids epidemic of 80s offered no choice but to thicken ones skin. “I kind of got used to it.” It was a story told in the 2002 stage musical, Taboo, with lyrics by Boy George.

As tragically portrayed in the musical, Sue was the first person Bowery told about the diagnosis. His influence still overflows from the club scene into fashion, music and mainstream culture. Proudly embracing the Louis Vuitton bag next to her, she explains that

“Leigh [Bowery] would tell me, ‘put fake names on the list so the bouncers would think they’re coming’. So we put Joan Collins on, Sue Pollard, Erin O’Connor. Though some big celebrities did

come. Paul Weller came once. He didn’t like it”

“[The area] was all prostitutes and drunks. Even when I was really young I used to look out the window and think ‘oh that looks exciting’. I guess it stuck with me.

But it’s why I always wanted to live in a house like this, because when I was young it’s the sort of house we lived in.” Lacking the nerve and ambition to apply for art schools to hone her own skill, Sue instead trained to be an art teacher, but wound up working at a job centre; an occupation she sustained from age 21 to 58. Long hours weren’t necessary, time off was plentiful, and she received the pension she now enjoys.

In 1982 she met Australian born Leigh Bowery in a nightclub and they quickly forged a close friendship.

Everyone knew of his flamboyant makeup, outland20

By unplugging the printing machine at the job centre, Sue would type the guest list for the nights on a lengthy roll of paper. “Leigh would tell me, ‘put fake names on so the bouncers would think they’re coming’. So we put Joan Collins on, Sue Pollard, Erin O’Connor. Some big celebrities did come, but we just made them up.” Paul Young, George Michael, Bananarama and Falco were all drawn to the circus. “Paul Weller came once, too. He didn’t like it.”

Attendees would be greeted by Sue working at the cash desk. Here she scoped the fashion whilst wearing some of Leigh Bowery’s creations. “When Leigh died I was very worried I wouldn’t have anything to wear, because he used to make all my clothes.”

much of Bowery’s designs have been given to Kim Jones, ex-style director for Louis Vuitton and current creative director of Dior Homme. Fortunately he is respectful of his collection: “If he does copy, he gives credit. He always credits them.”

Sue wrote of his history and legacy in the biography, Leigh Bowery: The Life and Times of an Icon.

Bowery’s life plans are listed like his strategy for global domination. Undoubtedly he was well on his way, but the body he was so well known for betrayed him, as did numerous friends. Taboo only existed just over a year until it was allegedly forced to close by photographer, Peter-Paul Hartnett. “He was a proper nasty person who thought about doing horrible things,

21

THREE LADIES SITTING SUE IN HER BEDROOM ALONGSIDE A PRINT OF ‘SEATED WOMAN IN A CHEMISE’ BY PABLO PICASSO, NEXT TO HER OWN SELF PORTRAIT BY SUE

“There was once this i-D party at the ICA. The whole ICA was open, every room, and it was massive. Everyone was there. We found this room upstairs with a free vodka bar, full of Smirnoff vodka, but the people had who were running it just left, so we took a bottle of vodka each and were drinking it, and Leigh got up on the stage, stripped off naked, got his cock out and started wanking. Unfortunately he had quite a weak bladder and he started pissing, so he got escorted out and banned for life. I got so drunk I got off with this boy called Dave Baby who was best friends with Judy Blame. He was straight but had long hair and covered in tattoos. I took him back to my flat in Camden, but at this point I’d lost my keys, didn’t know what to do, but there was a glass panel in my front door, so I smashed the front door in, and I was decorating at the time. Got straight into bed, didn’t really do anything, just passed out. Next thing I heard banging, saw people walking around my room. Looked up and saw two policemen in my bedroom because the neighbours had rung the police and thought we’d been broken into because they’d heard the door smashing. Because I’d been decorating and I was so drunk it took me so long to explain to the policemen that I really lived there. It’s not like robbers would just go to bed, is it?

In the morning I got up and there was all this sick in the bathroom. Dave Baby got up and said, ‘oh it was the police they must have done it’, but then when I put my blouse on there was sick in the pocket. It was me.”

which I can’t abide. It was jealousy and nastiness.” A teetotal cleanomaniac, he took a “voyeuristic pleasure” in attending the night. He contacted the Mail on Sunday’s free supplement magazine, You, condemning Leigh as the ringleader of a den of drugs and debauchery. Upon the article’s release, management demanded that Taboo would close its doors the following day.

Nevertheless, Taboo’s short life certainly established valuable connections. Bowery would earn money sitting for artist, Lucian Freud, who was fascinated by imperfections and larger bodies. Following this, Bowery introduced Freud to Sue at Taboo and she became a muse for his work to come. The 1995

made me sing over that song on the radio, and played it every day for a week. I was quite thrilled to be slightly part of pop culture. But I loathe Chris Moyles so much.”

Aside from her scarred breast after a short battle with breast cancer, her physique remains quite fixed, but Sue’s statement 50s cat-eye glasses and dark up-do accented with a headscarf have been left behind in London. Inspired by the nonchalant local style, here in Hastings she’s growing out her grey hair. “I love the way the people here dress. They make an effort. They spend all their times in charity shops and just get really lovely clothes, and I was fascinated. I lived [in Bethnal Green] for 5 years and

should have everything, not just expensive things.”

Derek Jarman would have testified the creative inspiration that the seaside can bring. It’s a place of calm away from stormy London, which is expensive, unfriendly and far too fast. The great London exodus has boosted the creative credentials of the town, which has been nicknamed Shoreditch-on-Sea, or even more aptly, Taboo-on-Sea. Ex fashion designer Rachel Auburn was a Taboo regular, and is one of few big designers who refuses to capitalise on her former fashion triumphs (Kim Jones is also an avid collector of her rare pieces). Auburn lives close by and frequents Sue’s art classes. It’s plain to see how humble the community Hastings homes is. They

“All my friends, we have the HBM, which is the ‘Hastings Business Model’. If there’s a way of them not making money, they’ll find it. Even if you want to go into a shop or restaurant to spend a bit of money, it’s - oh, we’re shutting”

painting of her, ‘Benefits Supervisor Sleeping’, was sold in May 2008 by Christie’s in New York for $33.6 million, setting a world record auction price for a living artist. The painting depicts Sue nude on a scruffy sofa. Pinks, beiges and browns capture the depths and curves of her voluptuous body. Despite wearing nothing and appearing to be in a deep slumber, the transmogrification of Sue’s body into thick layers of oil paint on canvas exert an extraordinary power of silent authority, and one that evokes the stoic strength of the sitter herself.

But awake, of course, Sue is enticing in ways beyond what can be seen by the eye. Loose Women, This Morning and The One Show all wanted the chance to interview the woman in the painting following its auction. The sudden explosion of attention proved difficult to cope with, and in a live interview with Katie Derham of ITV News, Sue was referred to as ‘fat Sue’ over the earpiece. She was mortified. “I told her, ‘that’s not my name please don’t call me that’. The next day it was on the front page of the papers. And that song, ‘That’s Not My Name’ by The Ting Tings… horrible Chris Moyles, who I loathe,

I never really made one new friend. Here, every day I make new friends.”

Unlike Leigh Bowery, Sue never made much of a life plan — her move to Hastings was made allegedly on a “mere whim”. In fact she barely brought any possessions when she moved from London. “I’m not one for living in the past. I like moving on.” Yet decking the walls are a bricolage of artworks, most of which are given by friends, which prove the sentiment outweighs their material value.

As the world becomes ever more interconnected the need to be in the big cities lessens, and Sue like many others has mastered the knack of working away from the hustle and bustle of the city in favour of the quieter life. In 2017 she was commissioned by stylist for Fendi, Julian Ganio, to produce illustrations for their t-shirts, but the business of high fashion doesn’t sit easy with her. “At one point I had 3 fashion jobs lined up, but I managed to get myself out of them all. I don’t know why, but I just thought I don’t really want to do this.” But she adds, “what I would love is if Marks & Spencer’s asked to design a line for big people. I’d be so thrilled. I think everyone

reject being part of the urban machine, who would otherwise churn out work without passion and love.

“All my friends, we have the HBM, which is the ‘Hastings Business Model’. If there’s a way of them not making money, they’ll find it. Even if you want to go into a shop or restaurant to spend a bit of money, it’s ‘oh, we’re shutting.’”

Sue’s new community isn’t too dissimilar to her 80s circle. Many local friends have been sustained from her London clubbing days; stylists, fashion designers, artists, even actors and singers. Fashion giants, photography duo Mert & Marcus met on Hastings Pier in 1994. With infrastructure protected

by English Heritage, the bones of the town remain quite fixed, but the blood of Hastings, the people that reside here, is being ignited by the creativity of those who prefer the glacial pace of their newfound setting. Sanctuary is essential in the climate of COVID-19, and as they say, home is where the heart is. Sue Tilley’s big heart is now anchored in Hastings.

“Every time I meet these new people they kind of become my friends. But I can’t make any more new friends, I’m just exhausted.”

23

One big nappy family

F

The adult babies are playing hide-and-seek in online forums. I spent a few days babysitting two ‘littles’ to learn what makes them goo-goo-gaga

ew sensations compare to the feeling of being cared for. Protected. Perhaps it’s falling asleep in the comfortable embrace of a lover, or simply being presented with a home-cooked meal. It’s in our DNA. Religious bodies and philosophers have puzzled over humanity’s purpose, their sometimes misplaced theories ranging from endearing to outlandish. But people often agree on a simple hypothesis: we’re here to love and be loved. We’ve looked to monkeys to clarify more about us humans, and experiments have proven time and time again that young monkeys prefer tender sensation over survival. Youth is a blissful ignorance; innocent and unencumbered, only seeking the building blocks of our human nature. To be cared for. But these desires don’t always stop after puberty. Enter the adult baby.

An adult baby is an adult who enjoys dressing and acting like a baby — it’s pretty much what it says on the tin. They can role-play as young as six-monthsold to three-years-old, depending on the preferences of the individual. My mission is to dip my toes into the lesser known subculture of adult babies, or ‘littles’ as they prefer to be called. Like many others, my nappy wearing stopped when I was potty trained. I stopped wearing a dummy when I was no longer teething. I slept a bed when I no longer needed to sleep in a cot. Memories from these formative periods diminish with time, yet I recall playground teasing amongst primary schoolers. When they said “stop being such a baby”; they really meant “grow up and start being self dependent” — because acting younger than your age was embarrassing. Our inspirational figures were autonomous adults or fictional characters who had their own adventures, and we yearned to be like them.

Yet this sentiment is not shared with the adult baby community. Members of the subculture are complex and varied; it is difficult to make sweeping statements about its members without neglecting certain groups of them. My journey into this world starts on Reddit. While known as a source for advice and memes, Reddit is also the acknowledged online

capital of fetish. The jury is still out on whether this age regression is a fetish for all indulged in the fantasy, but most admit they find the process sexually gratifying.

Reddit’s ABDL (Adult Baby/Diaper Lovers) forum as of May 2020 has just shy of 30,000 members, and never less than 300 of these members toddling around the page at any given moment. Like other forum websites, the anonymity Reddit offers its users is key to its success in harbouring underground communities, who can express shared interests amongst likeminded people without the dreaded fear of ‘real life’ acquaintances catching on. There’s forum for anything imaginable. My first mistake was generating a Reddit username using my real name — evident-

on an undersized tricycle, gurgling and suckling on a dummy —and then becoming aroused? Quite odd.

Meanwhile, ageplay (when an adult role-plays as someone of a different age, usually younger) is commonplace. Think ‘slutty schoolgirl’ Halloween costumes, and arguably the cutesy Japanese Lolita style derives from the styles of Victorian children, too.

The fashions of British womenswear designer Molly Goddard, known for her comically puffy tulle dresses, remember the clothing she wore as a child.

“The little girl is me!” declared Goddard backstage at her Autumn/Winter 2020 collection, and how could someone wearing one of her dresses not feel infantilised? Swallowed whole by layers upon layers of tulle, you’re not a person in a big dress, you’re a

Reddit’s Adult Baby/Diaper Lovers forum has just shy of 30,000 members, and never less than 300 of these members toddling around the page at any given moment

ly a rare phenomenon amongst users (if any readers Google search my name and see my posts in the ABDL forums, mind your business).

Not long after publishing my first post on the forum asking for interview subjects, and making clear that our conversations would be “devoid of judgement”, I received an outpour of interest. Much was positive.

People wanted to be listened to, understood, to know that their lifestyle was valid to someone who didn’t walk in their Velcro shoes. But there was also hostility. I was infringing on their safe space, after all. Forum moderators threw their toys out the pram and removed my posts. As someone not of the lifestyle, I represented the people that gave many members grief. People who would humiliate the dummies out of their adult-teeth-filled mouths, and lock away their nappies.

But the shame isn’t unfounded. Finding something erotic about age regression is, at least at first glance, paedophilic. Wheeling oneself around a room

big dress with a person inside. Fashion press went berserk for her looks that were innocent and unsexy; looks that radiated purity against the stormy weather of #metoo. In contexts like these, age regressive fashion seems to make sense. The clouds of #metoo still brew, thus the babygirl is ubiquitous — but making it sexy? No, baby, no.

But back to our regularly scheduled programming.

On Reddit’s ABDL forum, members flaunt their soiled nappies and cuddly toys, seeking ‘mummies’ and ‘daddies’ to join them in their fantasies. They’re wonderfully encouraging towards one another, but their play areas are lonely. While the ‘littles’ are grounded under a stay-at-home order, I speak to two members of the community during playtime: Lexi and Emma.

Both of whom wear nappies when they can, derive erotic pleasure from the act, and believe the fetish should be more accepted, but only Emma is open to the public about her lifestyle. Let’s enter the play area.

27

How old are you and how young do you regress to?

I don’t really use the term regression, to me being little is more a digression than a regression.

I consider myself to be age-fluent. I just have a bunch of characteristics from a variety of ages. For example, like a toddler I like pacifiers and diapers, and I wear them together with school uniforms that are more suited for a teen. I also love super-cute frilly pink dresses. I may behave like a teenage girl, but sometimes when you treat me like a lil’ girl, I may feel and behave that way.

How did you discover the ABDL lifestyle?

There are two sides to that: the age play side (AB) and the diaper fetish side (DL). I think the two combined is fantastic, but you don’t have to combine it always. I have always been into age play, I remember when I wanted toddler’s toys for Christmas and my mom sighed: ‘you are way too old for those, Emma!’ I’ve always liked toys, music and clothes that did not fit my age per se.

The diaper thing… it may have started very young as I was put back into diapers because of persistent bed wetting, and I recall I did not mind at all to wear diapers. I know I stopped needing them in a flash when plans were made for a camping trip with school. No way I was going to wear diapers at night around my peers.

Years later I scoured the internet for age play related content (we’re talking early noughties) – and whenever I came across diapers there were very unattractive pictures on the net. So I didn’t want to be ‘one of those’. Until I came across a picture of a cute boy and girl (in their early twenties like me, and she looked a bit like me) wearing diapers and it opened up this huge fetish and I’ve never gone back since.

What happened after you found this picture?

I decided to go and buy pull-ups from the local drugstore. Somehow I knew very well they sold them. I tried them on and thought, ‘meh, cute,’ and didn’t think too much of it. Until I decided to open the side to take it off, just like you would open a diaper. I did not have sex on my mind, but as I opened my pull-up like that, I nearly reached orgasm. It was unreal and fantastic at the same time, and I knew there was no way back for me. It was so powerful and it made me feel so… whole. Also, I thought about the internet diaper people, and thought ‘oh fuck, I’m one of those!’ but at the same time I knew 28

that this was going to bring me more happiness than shame. And fuck shame, anyways.

You are more public with the lifestyle, but I’ve seen most people are very private. Why do you think people want to keep it secret?

Because there is a huge stigma. First, when you are different in any way, people are going to give you shit about that. Second, when you are different in a way that people don’t understand, they are going to give you even more shit. They don’t understand, and they are fearful, so they think it must be a negative thing and they make up stories and allegations to instil fear in others.

This causes a circle of ABDL people being secretive because “they don’t understand us”, and non-ABDL people filled with misconceptions and fear because they’re really not exposed to our story in a way that creates understanding. There are a lot of people who are willing to understand, and they are the friendly folk, but the negative fear-mongers can be real bullies out there.

Talk to me about Club Luier, the party you host.

How did that happen? What’s your role at this party?

That happened by surprise, actually. The new name is ‘Club ABDL’. I’m one of the volunteers. I met the organiser, Chris, over a photoshoot I did for his shop, and we became friends. He talked me into coming to his party. I was shy and didn’t really want to come.

I only wanted to come if I could help him out (so I’d have something to do). Turned out that this was an adorable little party, but not something you can run on your own. So I talked him into getting a crew of volunteers, and I took on the role of hostess. I make sure everyone has a good time, has someone to talk to, that everyone feels how welcome they are. The party now has 60-90 visitors from all over Europe and it’s wonderful to see how wholesome and sweet a community we are.

You have your website which generates an income for you, with personalised photos and you allow visits to your nursery. Do you have another job as well?

Yes I do. I run my nursery as a charity, meaning all the parties are free of charge and that includes drinks and snacks. My website and the private visits to my nursery generate the money needed to pay

Emma

Amsterdam

the rent, groceries and awesomeness of the nursery.

My normal job pays for the rent of my home and all the other stuff grown-ups needs to pay.

Do you face much criticism from people on the internet, or in public?

No, not really. But you know, I choose my battles.

I live in Amsterdam, which is one of the most open-minded and safe cities in the world. I am generally a very friendly person so when I do get comments about the way I dress, they are always really sweet.

And online, you have to remember that haters gonna hate and I just ignore it when a photo leaks to a hate profile. I don’t get hassle from people on the internet. I do get hassle from the people behind the internet. Like, my Tumblr profile got disabled twice, Instagram taken down, got my first Paysite taken down… I don’t want to start about FOSTA and SESTA but these actions were a direct effect of that, and it’s really worrisome.

I do get love from people on the internet. A lot of love. I have gotten to know the ABDL community as a very friendly heart-warming community and it makes me smile a lot every time to see how sweet people are to each other.

image

How old are you?

28, but 29 tomorrow actually. I regress to a twoyear-old girl called Lexi.

Happy birthday to you. How are you spending your birthday?

In isolation. It’s supposed to rain here, and the only way I feel comfortable around people at the moment is outside with plenty of space. I do live with my fiancé, so at least there’s that.

Is your fiancé also an adult baby?

No, she’s pretty vanilla, but very very accommodating. She’s kind enough to indulge me from time to time.

What does she do to accommodate you?

She will enforce rules. At the moment beverages must be consumed in a sippy cup, all meals have to be eaten in a highchair without utensils if possible.

Mommy [my fiancé] will cut up the food if necessary. I wear baby clothes and diapers 24/7 at the moment.

And would you call it a fetish?

Well, I use a pacifier every night to help me fall asleep and I always have a stuffed animal. I wear a bib at every home meal and most of the time of I’m at home I wear a diaper… but not all of that has to do with sexual gratification, though I can derive sexual gratification from those things.

Do you still feel like a little if you’re not wearing certain attire? Can you switch it on?

I can switch it on and off. At times it’s something that I can’t help, like if I’m very stressed or tired — then I will regress.

What have you been doing in isolation?

I’m working from home at the moment. I work from my laptop and have been working in my playpen quite a bit lately. For this week my fiancé has been working in the same room as my playpen so she can look after me. Several times today I found myself thinking about going to another room, only to realise I’m not supposed to. It is a bit of a head trip. I asked permission a few times to get something important and that too elicited immediate ‘little’ feels. I’m finding myself doing little dances, acting extra silly for no reason. It’s been a really cool week.

Tell me about your day today.

I woke up today and my fiancé (aka, mommy) was 30

kind enough to put me in the first diaper of the week. Once I was in a fresh diaper, I put on my pink unicorn and princess onesie and clipped my orange and white pacifier to it, then gathered my stuffed animals, phone, and sippy cup. I headed to the kitchen and grabbed my bottle and filled it with Soylent powder and warm water for my breakfast.

I then waddled to my playpen where I spend most of my day and set down my things. About 9:00 am I felt my tummy rumble and knelt to make a stinky in my diaper. It was more voluminous than expected, which was a bit embarrassing. I don’t like staying in stinky diapers long and my fiancé does not change messy diapers, so I headed off to clean myself up.

After dinner mommy had more work to do, so I went back to playing in my playpen. We went to our bedroom not long after and I suggested that I needed a spanking for breaking the rules earlier in the day.

Mommy agreed and told me to take off my diaper and wait while she finished a chapter in her book. I did as I was told.

What rule did you break?

At lunch I asked permission to leave the room because I was feeling wet and I needed to change before nap time. All my diapers are cloth and I them to the garage to wash them before getting in the crib.

How many people know about your lifestyle?

Just my fiancé and people online.

What’s stopping you from telling more people?

The shame. I know it’s weird, but it makes me happy. It’s a huge part of my lifestyle now but people refuse to understand. I’m not harming anyone.

Why do you think so many people are against the idea?

Because it’s a fetish to do with age. But it’s my age. People don’t realise it’s who I feel I am on the inside. When I keep repressing it I feel suffocated, I just need to let it free. I’m fortunate with my fiancé because she lets me fulfil my dreams at home, even though she doesn’t like it. Other people aren’t as fortunate as me.

How would you feel if you couldn’t be an adult baby anymore?

Sad.

Lexi

Texas, USA

Emma on YouTube

32

Lexi

348 months 196lbs

Dye another day

ISOBEL VAN DYKE’S ROOTS SCANNED AFTER TWO MONTHS OF ISOLATING

Colourist to Madonna and Dua Lipa, Nicola Clarke is heralded ‘The Queen of the Blondes’. In her royal address to the blonde-rexics, she declares a root touch-up is not to dye for

I

n mid-April, residents of Lansing, Michigan, took to the streets to protest the stay-at-home order, implemented in an effort to curb the spread of the coronavirus. Donning flags and MAGA hats, pea-brained rally-goers with the collective IQ of a can of Heinz beans blocked roads and harassed police to campaign for their autonomy, paralysing the work of many essential workers. Local news interviewed one irate protestor — a plump, white woman holding an American flag with the words ‘Land of the Free’ scrawled across its fabric. She declared, “it’s time for our state to be opened up. We’re tired of not being able to buy the things that we need.” She tipped forth her head to flaunt three inches of grey roots sprouting from her once brunette bob and adds, “we need to go to the hairdressers and get our hair done.”

I sit here at home with the same issue. My hair, usually salon dyed red with an eyebrow grazing fringe, is now hidden under a baseball cap, concealing dull-brunette roots and preventing my fringe from drooping into my eyeballs. “I like your hair at this length,” my housemates say. They are lesbians, and now more than ever I look like one of them. Less Harry Styles, more Frankie from the Saturdays. Needless to say, it’s not my desired look — but it’s fine. Along with giving up my time to applaud NHS workers on a Thursday evening, I’m resigning my luscious locks to

their hair-raising fate. This mop of hair is a disaster, and as the days pass without the loving touch of my hairdresser Maurizio, it’s only due to grow worse. But as I said. I’m fine with it. Promise.

I spoke to celebrity hairdresser and colourist Nicola Clarke over the phone. If anyone can attest to the growing dependence on coloured hair, it’s Nicola.

Journalists have dubbed her ‘The Queen of Blondes’; her client list boasts prestigious names like Madonna, Cate Blanchett and Gwyneth Paltrow. As if touched by an angel, lighter blondes flawlessly transition into darker blondes adding natural depth, warmth and contrast to what in reality is chemical concoction absorbed by hair — Nicola has truly perfected the art of blonde, and once you’ve had a taste for the good stuff, you won’t go back. “In the beginning when someone gets colour put in their hair, I say to them, ‘you’re going to get addicted to this’. They call them blonde-rexics. Your eye becomes used to something that you’re seeing. You want more and more.”

Nicola speaks in a punchy Essex accent. She effortlessly spits every word like it’s taken from gospel, which suits her well because she knows what she’s talking about. There’s few other careers people enter from a young age and stay into their much later lives, and Nicola’s story isn’t dissimilar. At school, Nicola knew she wouldn’t suit a nine-to-five office job, but

loved hair and colouring. Realising she was ‘born to dye’, she hounded a local hair salon in Essex for a Saturday job from the age of 12, and she finally entered the field of hairdressing a year later, but her creativity was bigger than her hometown and aspirations were set in London. Once 16, she travelled to The Berkeley hotel salon in Knightsbridge and won over the interviewer. “[The Berkeley] was quite old fashioned and the clientele was high brow. A lot of Americans used to go there. I was doing people like Kirk Douglas, Faye Dunaway, and Elaine Stritch.” Bottom up, Nicola worked her way through the industry, and now in her late forties she owns the ‘Nicola Clarke at John Freida’ hair salon in Fitzrovia.

Despite society’s reliance on hair salons, there are certain derogatory stereotypes about hairdressers they can’t seem to snip off: they can talk until your ears bleed, and they’re not particularly bright. The former may be true of Nicola, but from an early age her clients trusted her creative intelligence to revamp their hairdos; intelligence extending far beyond the salon customer medium. “There’s such a great big spectrum in hairdressing: you’ve got the fashion and film aspect, editorial aspect, there’s so many different avenues. It’s not just for those that didn’t succeed in school. When you’re passionate, it doesn’t matter if you’re 15 or 20 or 30, people sense that passion.”

35

To the aesthete, finding a new hairdresser is a leap of faith. One clip too short is irreversible — your head is quite literally in their hands, so trust in their craft is essential, and conversation is a great icebreaker.

“There’s that element of therapy, where people bitch about their husbands and boyfriends and girlfriends and all that, and because you’re giving a service you have to be diplomatic. When you build up conversations, you’re building up confidence in these people doing their hair. It’s a big thing, cutting peoples hair, colouring people’s hair, touching people’s heads.

It’s just inevitable that you’re talking about private things.”

Nicola has offered life advice to many of her clients, including top psychotherapists, which is perhaps another reason people can’t stay away. There’s a unique bond between hairdresser and client, regardless of their public scale. Madonna has an unwavering vision for how she wants to look. She’s an artist who built her career on sex, and now her advancing age has made the upkeep of this early premise evidently polarising. Masking the pesky grey hairs of an icon who’s attacked for being old is essential for turning back the cruel hands of time, but it demands balls of steel. “[Madonna] knows what she wants. It’s really her vision and the buck lands with her. She’ll be impatient about time. She’s very open minded and she says exactly what she thinks, which a lot of people can’t handle, but as long as you’re confident about yourself, and you’ve got a good reason, she’s completely reasonable.”

Nicola’s reputation as Queen of Blondes affords her clients who trust her to dramatically reinvent their looks. For the latest inductee to the pop hall of fame, 24 year old Dua Lipa, her new critically acclaimed album ‘Future Nostalgia’ came with a fresh style. She shook off the explosive disorderly style preferred by stars in their infancy (see for reference: Little Mix in 2012) in favour of a sleek, refined look. Ready-made with legs to her neck and an offensively gorgeous face, she christened her transformation with two36

toned blonde and dark brunette hair. The marriage of colours was achieved by a marriage of hairstylists, Dua Lipa’s usual hair stylist Anna Cofone and Nicola Clarke. “[Doing Dua Lipa’s hair] took us 8 hours, and we did it together. It might have taken me longer if I did it on my own.”

We’re adjusting to our new world of COVID-19, and it’s one pitifully devoid of salons. Nicola decided

rials to assist with their application, though she adds, “that’s only the people who are covering grey or dark hair going blonde. No one that’s doing highlights. I don’t really trust anyone with a pot of bleach, if I’m honest. That’s just a minefield.”

Yet for some blonde-rexics, this isn’t a sufficient fix. “There are the odd people that call and say, ‘if I rock up to your house and we wear masks and I sit in

“It’s hair at the end of the day. We’re not saving lives”

to close her hair salon’s doors before Boris Johnson enforced the closure of non-essential businesses. A good salon owner knows they have a duty of care to their customers and staff, and the risk was evident in the early days of the crisis. “I had 70 year old women coming in having their hair done, and they’re lying to their families and saying they’re going for a walk in Regents Park. In the end we made our own decision, and that weekend everyone closed. It was a big decision to make, and when we made the decision, it made complete sense. But it was because of the responsibility of people’s livelihoods.”

Clients lucky enough to get on Nicola’s busy schedule pay a dear price for her services. Full head highlights are priced at £500 (that’s 42 packs of Marlboro Golds, for those of you familiar with cigarette currency). It’s therefore not surprising that her clients aren’t reaching for the box dye in these trying times; to quote another blonde, Vanilla Ice, ‘anything less than the best is a felony’. Instead, Nicola has been posting formulas of hair dye via mail and offering Zoom tuto-

your driveway…’ and I say, ‘no!’” It’s fascinating, albeit terrifying, to see people pulling their hair out over the growth of their natural roots. For some who are willing to risk it all, it’s a necessary cause. ‘Gentlemen prefer blondes’ might be true to an extent. Science has proven that when entering a room the eye is drawn to the lightest colours, favouring the platinum blondes over the brunettes and redheads, but who are we trying to impress at home? “Even though it lifts people’s spirits and helps with depression, it’s hair at the end of the day. We’re not saving lives.”

Navigating everyday life is balancing risks. Danger is now imbued with the mere act of leaving the house and meeting people. Wave goodbye to your chance of seeing your hairdresser anytime soon. When we leave these four walls, we’ll all be paler, hairier, and probably a little rounder. Sure, I will be throwing my money at my hairdresser at the nearest opportunity, but I’m at peace with my roots. And since we’ve no place to go, let them grow, let them grow, let them grow.

THE LONGEST RIVER IN EAST LONDON TOP AND BOTTOM: GEORGE PISTACHIO’S (YOUR EDITOR’S) ROOTS. MIDDLE: PHOEBE SHARDLOW’S ROOTS. BOTH SCANNED AFTER TWO MONTHS IN ISOLATION

This expired condom says everything you need to know about dating men in London.

Gareth Wrighton hates to say

he told you so

The British designer’s last runway collection prophesied a hopeless future that has unfortunately come true. It’s time we revisit his crystal ball

“I

made clothes that talk about a cultural genocide, and then a cultural genocide happened. For the first week I was smug, like, I was right all along. But after that, it was kind of miserable being right.” In February this year, Gareth Wrighton presented the final of three shows under the custody of incubator Fashion East, and bid farewell to his career as a designer on the fashion week schedule. His shows consistently oozed a provocative, dry humour, which rocked the boat of a navel-gazing fashion industry which has spent so much time looking in the mirror and not enough time looking around. A few days after his 27th birthday in late-May (yes, unsurprisingly he is a Gemini), I reconnected Gareth over FaceTime while he isolates in his family home in Watford, the lone prophet in the midst of a fashion industry on the brink.

I first met Gareth in February 2019 while assisting his close friend and collaborator, Ib Kamara. At

6am on the day of his first runway show, I walked into his Fashion East studio at The Old Truman Brewery to find him alone, silently knitting on the floor. His bloodshot eyes turned to me, and he told me he’d just finished watching the RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars 4 finale — the infamous double crowning. Gareth is proof of the Central Saint Martins formula; he works excruciatingly hard, not only in his distinctly original art but as a cultural sponge, too. The three shows with Fashion East had a linearity that combed through fragments of our past, present and future; a three-act-stretch that threads his needle scarily close to our current reality.

His hunger for originality was evident from the beginning. At his all-boys school in Watford, instead of becoming the accountant or doctor that the school had been accustomed to churning out, he honed his craft in art and fashion with his sights set on the Foundation course at Central Saint Martins. With the

help of supportive art tutors he succeeded in his admission. “We had to wear suits in sixth form, and then you go to Saint Martins and suddenly there’s girls in your class, and you can wear whatever you want. I felt I had arrested development, where I thought: ‘I have to make up for this’.” One of Gareth’s first formative realisations was an awareness of the world beyond fashion design. “There’s the myth they tell you where you don’t actually know fashion communication exists — you think the designers take all their own pictures. On the foundation I found fashion communication and I realised I was never thinking about the garment, I was thinking about the image of the garment.”

This postmodernist method has been upheld with Gareth’s work since. For his final major project on the Fashion Communication and Promotion BA course in 2016, he deviated from the norms of a publication or photoshoot by instead submitting a knitwear collec41

tion, which he then self-coded into a fashion video game called ‘The Maul’. “I remember when I was doing my final project, thinking the future of magazines will be video games, and thinking that it was the next step on from fashion film. It’s such a great untapped medium. It breaks down the fourth wall and brings an element of chaos and non-linearity to the way we consume fashion.” The video game medium parallels with so many of Gareth’s beliefs, because the fashion industry in itself is a game, with checkpoints and sequential conquests to complete within the bounds of its pre-coded missions. Beyond fashion’s abstract

made entirely of makeup wipes, which were shred, spun into yarn and knitted. Against the bleach-white wipes on the front is an imitation of Jesus’ image from the Shroud of Turin, illuminating bronze using varying shades of foundation, bronzer and contour.

“That garment was about Jeffree Star and Kylie Jenner. How could you make work that doesn’t reference this incredible movement? It’s a beauty movement that’s happening online.” The exponential rise of the beauty community online is staggering, generating ‘self-made’ billionaires who film themselves rubbing skin-tinted plastic onto plastic filled skin. It’s

“I’ve got the most conservative, accessible garment here, but

let’s put a forest fire on it. Like, how wrong can you make it?” philosophies of escapism and empowerment, he boils down cultural figures and moments into characters though dazzling visual motifs; characters who tell a sophisticated story of our time.

The clothing didn’t strive for quantum leaps in cut and silhouette, because “a knitted crewneck sweater looks good on everyone”. Front, back, sleeve, sleeve is plenty of surface to communicate a story. “You can say, ‘well I’ve got the most conservative accessible garment here’, but let’s put a forest fire on it. Like, how wrong can you make it?” One of Gareth’s most treasured pieces of his three collections is a sweater 42

high camp, and surely ‘beauty’, as a sister to fashion, shouldn’t be estranged from the narrative. Yet fashion hasn’t taken to YouTube in the way beauty has.

Its heritage is too long, and its regard for itself is too high. “I would be a vlogger if I had an ounce of charisma, if I could talk in front of a camera. But I can’t.

I’m too pent up and British.”

His first collection for Autumn 2019, ‘In the Pines: The Ballad of Meredith Hunter’, explored humanity’s disastrous impact on our world and Mother Nature’s revenge. The looks were polluted with references to Americana, not as an idolisation of the ‘Land of the

Free’ (which as an anthem rings painfully untrue), but more-so a commentary on the americanised media drowning Western society. “It’s just all we see.

There’s such an americanisation of the media that we consume, and how could it not be? There’s just such a swagger to American media, we’re just so ripe for it.” A standout look saw a redneck-looking model wearing a jacket embroidered with guitar plectrums, mosaicking to illustrate alt-right meme Pepe the Frog on her back, holding her head high while donning a red baseball cap embroidered with the slogan ‘My Period’s Late Again’, a perversion of Trump’s infamous MAGA hat.

Over a year on, the collection is still alarmingly relevant. Just five days prior to interviewing Gareth, George Floyd had been murdered by a policeman in Minnesota, triggering a chain of peaceful protests that were met with racially charged police brutality across America. Few designers comment on the rottenness of global governance like Gareth does, and even fewer comment with his sometimes sobering realism.

It’s almost as if there’s an unwritten rule in fashion scripture that state clothes and their significance must emit a light at the end of the tunnel. Vogue critic Sarah Mower wrote in her review for Gareth’s Autumn 2020 show, “where is the hope in the aspirations of young fashion designers?” She could have written “why aren’t young designers hopeful?”, or better yet, “young designers aren’t hopeful enough.” Yet, all the above merely begs the question, why should they be hopeful at all?

I ask Gareth about the lack of hope in his last collection. “The industry was crippled a couple of weeks later by a pandemic. How could you think there was

THE MAUL GARETH WRIGHTON’S FINAL MAJOR PROJECT AT CENTRAL SAINT MARTINS, 2016.

GRAPHIC BY GEORGE PISTACHIO

THE MAKEUP WIPE SWEATER RENDERING THE ALLEGED IMAGE OF CHRIST FROM THE SHROUD OF TURIN, FOR AUTUMN WINTER 2020

hope for change? I look back at those last shows that everyone showed in February, and you just see how out of touch people — the industry — was. These were the clothes they thought people were going to wear. It’s impossible. It’s shocking.” For Gareth, hope

bow. “After that last one I was like — I’m out. I was very aware that this is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. Because it was never about being a brand, it was just about making these little works. Honestly, to tell you the truth, I haven’t fully unpacked the last

“I would be a vlogger if I had an ounce of charisma, if I could talk in front of a camera. But I can’t. I’m too pent up and British” was a blissful ignorance; a delusion to ease the industry’s self-absorbed mind. But this is why humour is essential for the communication of his prophecy. “I like the motif that the jester is the only one that can tell the king the truth by making him laugh at himself. I think it was Chandler from Friends who said that ‘the clown is always the most depressed one’.

The one who’s laughing the most is crying the most behind the scenes. I think that’s beautiful and there’s an element of truth in that.”

Gareth Wrighton’s shows were cabaret, for which he was the master of ceremonies; self-aware he existed on the fashion week schedule not as a leader for change, but as a satirical commentator who allows for an accepting respite from the grey realities, rather than refusing to believe they exist. Like fairytales, or Hollywood blockbusters, Gareth, too, demonstrates that all good things come in threes, and after his third and final on-schedule show, he took his last

year.” But he adds, “was it this season on Drag Race, Rachel Bloom had a great critique saying ‘you have to separate yourself from your art’? I remember hearing that and thinking, ‘oh that’s real’. You think your work defines you, and you think that’s the only thing that can speak for you. In so many cases that’s the truth, but you don’t have to let that thing be the truth.”

Gareth has said on several occasions that Central Saint Martins has taught him to speak convincingly on a subject when he’s skating around the matter at hand (or in other words, to bullshit, to talk out his arse) — but his candidness in regards to his mentality radiates pure and modest, because he has an unabashed sense of self and an acceptance of his differences from others on the fashion calendar. Yet in his ideal world, the fashion calendar would be scrapped altogether. “Imagine if these houses were releasing clothes like albums of music — it would be wonderful.

Drops every now and then. It would be such a chance

to relish it and absorb it. It’s such a genius idea when you think about it. You have to travel around the world to watch the stars perform for 20 minutes.” I tell him that’s the Eurovision, and he retorts, “that’s why the Eurovision looks like the Eurovision.” Maybe that’s why fashion loves the Eurovision — it’s relatable. I digress.

Now unable to leave the house and with no collections to design, Gareth has turned his attention to an expansion of his video game. “The first time I [made a game] was for my final major project, which was just a walk around installation. It was incredibly limited, but like, it was what it was. It was fab. For this one I’d love dialogue, a narrative, characters talking to each other. A story.” Thanks to his previous collections, the characters exist materially and the narratives live through their meaning. These will be the thread that ties the reality to unreality. “You realise why there’s 100 people working on a video game at one time. I’m trying to be sensible about it, and looking at indie games and why they work. I stripped it back and looked at Super Mario Bros, when it’s on the profile and there’s a linearity to it, and there’s a route.”

Fashion games don’t exist beyond the mundanity of Stardoll and Kim Kardashian: Hollywood. Many us don’t believe we have anything to do with fashion, then we look down and realise we’re wearing clothes.

We’re all unwitting contributors to the industry, and gaming belongs to a similar ilk. “There’s been such a gamification of society in the last ten years if you think of the rise of Tinder. Gameified dating. So many people in fashion would say ‘I’m not a gamer’ but they play Candy Crush on the toilet. There’s that stereotype of that kid in his mum’s basement unwashed.

45

That, I think, is the gamer stigma. And there’s the uppity Vogue bitch that is the fashion stereotype, and it’s trying to understand that those two can be more similar than we think they are.” Gareth laughs, adding, “I think I’m what it looks like when those two cross.” I ask if there exists much crossover between the two communities. “I almost think they look down on each other, but that might be the most incredible generalisation.”

Animated clothing is a topic of increasing public interest. It’s not commonly considered that the Shrek movies will have had a costume designer, as did clothes worn by the Sim’s games titular protagonists. “More than in cinema, I like [in video games] the way they dress their characters. In video games costumes really signify a characters narrative more; if a character is a warrior, they have a sword. If they’re a healer, they’ll have potions. I like that bluntness.”

It’s a bluntness that translates to his own work, too, like when he attacks garments with bullet holes or styles looks with shells of ammunition. The motifs are attainable to generations inarticulate in the fashion language.

“There’s a line you can draw with realism and computer generated fashion, or non-realism. Both are equally beautiful, but if you want to achieve realism you’re playing around with real physics. What a beautiful medium where you’re not constrained by physics. You can make anything. It doesn’t have to be limited to the human body. It can be beyond.

Completely transcend anything, and how beautiful is that?”

Gareth’s existence off the schedule isn’t his departure from fashion on the whole. United Colors of Benetton still sell knock-off versions of his knitted landscape sweaters. If we should trust anyone in fashion to make the next guiding move towards a new idea, it’s Gareth Wrighton. “The more I talk about games, the more I’m like ‘fuck fashion’. It really is such a con.”

46

Play the game With characters borne from Gareth Wrighton’s runways, who will you defeat?

LOOKS GARETH WRIGHTON FOR FASHION EAST ALL GRAPHICS GEORGE PISTACHIO

Level 1

Strengths: Nice vibe Weaknesses: Rather bad for the planet AUTUMN WINTER 2020

Level 2

Strengths: Will call the manager Weaknesses: Thinks she's the victim AUTUMN WINTER 2019

Level 3

Strengths: Gorgeous Weaknesses: Stupid AUTUMN WINTER 2020

Level 4

Strengths: Has it all Weaknesses: Wants so much more AUTUMN WINTER 2020

Level 5

Strengths: 30,000 followers on Instagram Weaknesses: Thinks she's fat AUTUMN WINTER 2020

The Puppet Mafia Who’s really pulling the strings?

Puppets are thought to be cutesy. Twee. Charming. Puppeteer Eddy Parnell reveals the sordid truths lurking just out of frame

T

winky has a story like many others. An 18-year-old gay man from up North, he moved to liberal London to live dependently of his conservative parents. Here he tans his skin, bleaches his hair, enjoys his sexual freedom, and is even thinking of dabbling in drag. To stay financially afloat he works as a flyer-boy outside Soho’s notorious G-A-Y Bar. Twinky swings his hips as he paces Old Compton Street with hands filled with flyers and wristbands. In due manner, he heckles unassuming passersby with offers of free entry to Heaven, like an overzealous town crier with a piercingly fruity falsetto. But he stands just 2’2” tall, with a body operated by strings. Twinky is a puppet — a marionette to be specific — and a character created by London based puppeteer, Eddy Parnell.

At 30 years old, Eddy is younger than most other professional puppeteers. He frequents UNIMA meetings (Union Internationale de la Marionnette), a Czechoslovakian puppetry association, where he’s at least 10 years younger than anyone else in the room, but members of the guild share a crucial commonality: they believe the heart of puppetry must be

kept beating. Yet puppeteering jobs are hard to come by, and fresh talent in the industry is in short supply.

Allegedly pulling the strings behind the seemingly charming art of puppeteering is a mafia — ‘the puppet mafia’ — who operate like a deviant masonic brotherhood, dominating the opportunities in the already dense job market.

Eddy worked as an artist some years before turning to the world of puppets. His sardonic humour and very apparently ambitious nature led him to exhibit numerous artworks in high profile exhibitions. He’s handsome, tall, with dark hair and piercing eyes; it’s perhaps no surprise he’s confident, too. Blagging his way into a talk with Sir Paul Smith in 2011, he approached the fashion designer and presented him with an artwork from his project ‘Happy Birthday Lamppost’, leading to his debut solo show at Paul Smith Globe. Later in a group show at the Saatchi Gallery, ‘Cash is King 2’, Eddy was asked to deface a banknote, which is still a punishable act by law. Following Rolf Harris being outed as a pedophile and his portrait of the Queen for her 80th birthday going into hiding, Eddy’s banknote depicted Rolf Harris paint-

ing the Queen’s image. Bordering this was his catchphrase, ‘Can you tell what it is yet?’, extracted and collaged from the press releases of Oxfam, Childline and other children’s charities. “A few people saw it and went ‘eurgh!’ You need to get a reaction, though.”

Provoking a reaction is important to Eddy, and it’s part of the reason he found puppetry. “At a sitdown meal people go around saying who they are. I say I’m a puppeteer and suddenly everybody wants to talk to me.” Puppeteering, to say the least, is an odd career path to follow. We envisage elderly gentlemen straining their knees as they kneel beneath a miniature theatre, with one arm up as they wiggle their fingers inside a puppet’s rear end. It’s the inanimate object that audiences fall in love with and the puppet’s names that are remembered, leaving its operator an unsung hero. It’s jolly good fun for children, but their audience of youngsters are a threat to its credentials as a ‘serious’ job. A terrifically awkward episode of ‘When Louis Theroux met…’ in 2002 aired conversations with ventriloquist Keith Harris (of ‘Keith Harris and Orville’), who struggles to hide his bitterness about his reputation as a puerile entertain53

‘CAN YOU TELL WHAT IT IS YET?’ A PROVOCATIVE ARTWORK BY EDDY PARNELL. ROLF HARRIS, WITH HIS SIGNATURE SAUCY SMILE, DEPICTED PAINTING THE QUEEN’S PORTRAIT. DISPLAYED IN SAATCHI GALLERY FOR ‘CASH IS KING 2’ FROM 21 AUGUST - 8 SEPTEMBER 2019 er and the limelight Orville hogs — despite the flashy car, tall busty wife and comfortable home the fluffy puppet has afforded him. To Harris, he’d created a monster, as he floundered to confront his existence in a bird shaped shadow, knowing he’d only endure as a public figure if they co-exist.

Eddy avoids these issues by solely creating puppets he relates to, and producing shows that someone like him would enjoy. His first expedition into the world of puppetry was with his character, Redundo. Eddy made being redundant into a script and emailed everyone relevant in the credits for Fraggle Rock (1983-1987) with fingers crossed they were still alive. He was invited to Elmtree Studios where Yonderland was being filmed, and after schmoozing on set with a puppet maker he wrangled a free puppet in the maker’s Thunderbirdesque style, delivered to his home in Greenwich. Since the script and character were semi-autobiographical, the puppet was a 54

self portrait in a sense. “All the puppets I have were made for me. I own the characters, so they all have a connection to me. Even if you watch Wallace and Gromit, Wallace looks like [its creator] Nick Park: massive mouth, huge expressions. With the Redundo character, I tried to make him so people can relate. There’s a lot of people that got made redundant with a biggish nose and dark hair, and people say, ‘oh I know someone that got made redundant that looks like him.’”

Eddy put his life savings into the production of Twinky. By today’s standard, he discovered his own sexuality late at 21, and describes his first experience in a gay bar as a formative “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory scenario”. He knows that impressionable youths view gay bars through rose-tinted spectacles: a mythical lawless land, draped in cheap tinsel which hides voyeuristic predators lurking in the dark corners. By entering the scene later, Eddy admits he viewed the spaces with a more cynical perspective.

“With the Twinky puppet, I wouldn’t have got the material I did get if I came out at a younger age. I think I’d mostly become immune to it.” The name, Twinky, is of course a derivative of ‘twink’, and they, as a species of gay man, are the easiest and most delightful to poke fun at. White, youthful and slim; they are privileged in the social hierarchy, but in the same breath, decidedly naive. As Saint Martin’s own BA Fashion Journalism course leader Judith Watt concisely affirms, “the top of the gay food chain are the star prostitutes – not the twinks, they are just plankton.” Eddy’s puppet is a commentary on the new era of twink-dom. Their aspirations aren’t just to live free, they’re to live splendidly, and sucking off the owner of Heaven is an effective shortcut.

Before Twinky, Eddy cut his teeth in puppetry with Ronnie Le Drew, known notably as the man behind Zippy in Rainbow. His first two lessons were paid, but with thanks to Eddy’s personable character, this de-

aren’t just to live free, they’re to live splendidly, and sucking off the owner of Heaven is an effective shortcut”

TWINKY, 18, LOOKING POSITIVELY ANGELIC IN HIS PURE WHITE T-SHIRT, DORA THE EXPLORER BACKPACK, BLUE EYES AND BLONDE HAIR. CUTE AS A BUTTON

“Eddy’s puppet is a commentary on the new era of twink-dom — their aspirations

veloped into a mentor-mentee relationship and the following meetings were of course free of charge.

Busking provided a great chance to hone his craft, as he frequented Southbank with his marionette to earn money and gage the public’s perception of his acts.

After Twinky’s inception, they performed together as part of a cabaret at The Glory, a gay pub in Haggerston, East London. “I don’t think many people are doing puppets in cabaret — they’re definitely not doing marionettes as far as I’m aware. Years ago, cabaret would be a magician, a ventriloquist, a juggler, a puppeteer, maybe a drag artist. Now cabaret is 90%

has led to some performers amending the show with a reduced use of slapstick and the exclusion of the hanging routine. Did political correctness kill Punch and Judy? Apparently not, as it appears the storyline is about as malleable as Biblical scripture, and the show goes on. Puppeteers perform the spectacle in an array of forms that’s confusing even to puppeteering experts. It goes to prove that puppets, at least in their premise, were not just for children. But generations today weren’t brought up on cabaret puppetry and storylines of abuse. Instead it was Thunderbirds, Fraggle Rock, Sooty, Bill and Ben, Rainbow and Basil

“Years ago, cabaret would be a magician, a ventriloquist, a juggler, a puppeteer, maybe a drag artist. Now cabaret is 90% drag”

drag.” It’s true that the scope of cabaret has changed.

The earliest recorded puppet cabaret was in Lyon in 1850s, where puppeteers who played the character Guignol performed political commentaries to the artisan class. The name ‘Guignol’ borrows inspiration of the weavers’ expression ‘c’est guignolant!’, meaning ‘it’s funny!’ Satire was embedded in the performances. The draw of cabaret, after all, is the art of entertainment and escape; the sense of unity gained from knowing there are politically likeminded individuals out there. Despite strife and struggle, there’s a space to alleviate one’s social anxieties by simply laughing at them.

The spirit of cabaret has always inspired puppetry; making light out of the dark. Take one of the most recognisable examples of puppet shows, Punch and Judy — an act imbued with insidious undertones.

Originating in Italy, the show was first introduced to English audiences in 1662, with its titular character both a wife beater and child murderer. There was death by hanging, and the finale involved Punch being dragged away by the devil. It was morbid, yet the disturbing extremes of the storyline that kept audiences coming back. The advent of “political correctness” 56

Brush. Essentially; puppet shows are now for children of all ages, but children all the same.

Yet today’s puppeteers can still be as twisted as the storylines of puppet shows past. Beyond guilds like UNIMA, there exists a tight knit community of puppeteers who group together to ensure they’re stable in the tumultuous industry, such as in the case of ‘mafia’ member, American puppeteer Kevin Clash. Clash was the performer and voice of Sesame Street’s Elmo since 1985, but was forced to resign in 2012 after being accused of sexual relations with an underage boy, despite having a wife and child. “[Sesame Street] needed to distance themselves from him. But then [the] Dark Crystal [remake] happened on Netflix, and he was on that. Even though there was that big slanderous thing, [the ‘mafia’] managed to get him on that instead of getting new talent.” The Dark Crystal remake borrowed the original characters from the man that revolutionised the puppeteering industry, Jim Henson, who’s also, a close friend of Clash.

Then in 2018, Kevin Clash featured in The Happytime Murders directed by Brian Henson, the son Jim Henson. The Jim Henson Company is hugely

influential in the field of television puppetry, producing the world’s leading puppet-centric television, like Sesame Street, The Muppet Show, Labyrinth, Fraggle Rock and more. The Henson puppeteers are the best paid in the industry; but puppeteers outside of their small and trusted circle don’t usually get a leg to stand on. It’s clear the alleged ‘mafia’ and the Jim Henson Company are synonymous in some sense.

This is not to say their company executives are acting out some Pablo Escobar-esque hustle, trading puppeteering jobs like kilos of cocaine. That would be outrageous. But it’s not just strings of luck that keep these puppeteers in proximity.

Frank Oz retired after an illustrious career performing various characters in The Muppet Show, Sesame Street and as Yoda in Star Wars, but rather than hiring fresh talent for the new Star Wars film, he returned to his role as Yoda in 2017. Meanwhile in the same year, news broke of Brian Henson firing Steve Whitmire who performed Kermit the Frog for 27 years, after behind the scenes allegedly “being outspoken on character issues”, and onstage making Kermit “bitter”, “angry” and “depressed”. The role of Kermit was passed to Whitmire after Jim Henson’s death in 1990, and after his termination he refused to go quietly. He was replaced by another performer from within the Henson company, Matt Vogel, who was employed by Brian Henson in 1996. The boot from the Jim Henson Company is truly a nail in the coffin of a puppeteer’s career, as Steve Whitmire has been unable to find employment as a puppeteer since.

“There’s no money in this. Don’t do it. Don’t do it to yourself,” Eddy titters. Puppeteering takes talent, and talent takes practise — but practise will likely be at home or doing small gigs. “There’s still beauty in puppetry. The way in which it’s live, the way in which it can react to anything. But it’s a hustle.” Eddy still practises for an hour a day, with Twinky lip-syncing Diana Ross tracks for his upcoming drag persona, ‘Twinkle’. He’s mastered the visual nuances that are so essential for storytelling — minuscule slips of the fingers can transform a puppet’s mood entirely and give the inanimate object new life, but he has little hope for Twinky becoming the new Elmo or Kermit.

The alleged ‘mafia’ are dominating the mainstream space, which Eddy so rightfully resents, but that’s show business for you.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it to yourself.”

PUPPETEER, EDDY PARNELL AMONGST PUPPETS (BOTTOM TO TOP): SOOTY, ZIPPY, MISS PIGGY, ELMO, LADY PENELOPE, KERMIT, BASIL BRUSH AND COOKIE MONSTER

“There’s no money in this.

A (now defunct) G-A-Y card, acquired in my first month of moving to London.

Who remembers that “ time...?”

“How did the trip to Specsavers go? Do you remember that time Dominic Cummings drove to see his parents and told everyone else they shouldn’t? Send my love to Denise and the kids.

Andrew x”

60

Feeling nostalgic? Here are some postcards to commemorate the good ol’ days. Send them to your family, your friends, someone you love, someone you hate. Memories bring us together.

Postcards by Kuntoontime for Schmagazine Captions by George Pistachio

61

“So pleased the parks have reopened! Who remembers that time Boris Johnson tackled that kid playing rugby?

Love, Rebecca�

62

“I’ve sent you some bits-and-bobs from ASOS... I hope you enjoy. I know you said you liked capes.

Do you remember when Madonna wore a cape to the Brit Awards?

All my love, Nana xxx”

63

“Thinking about the wonderful wine we had at a restaurant in winter.

I miss our little dates! Do you remember that time Prince Andrew said he took this daughter to Pizza Express in Woking instead of having an illicit liaison with that teenager?

Yours, always, Jamal�

64

“I’ve heard you’ve been furloughed. If you need someone to give you a reference, give me a call.

Do you remember that time when The Jim Henson Company turned their back on Steve Whitmire after they kept him alive for 27 years?

Let me know, Cath x”

65

“I’m on the mend after my hip replacement. Do you remember that time Theresa May tried to convince the public she was a human being by dancing?

I hope all is well. Peter”

66

“How are you doing, mate? I hope the single life isn’t treating you too badly.

Who remembers that time David Cameron enjoyed his steamy meeting with Porky?

Stay safe, Marcus x”

67

It’s never a dull day here at the Schmagazine head office, which just so happens to be my kitchen.

Schmagazine is a quarterly publication for queer readers who are so-very thirsty (parched, one might say) for quality journalism on the interesting, bizarre and sensational facets of fashion and queer living.

This first issue will be distributed through an online store. Head over to my personal website, www.georgepistachio. com/schmagazine for more information on purchasing, or stay updated through Instagram, @schmagazine.

It’s been an absolute joy, and rest assured Issue 2 will be coming.

Thank you,

George Pistachio

T “

” ! s k l o F l l a s ’ t ha

U N T I L

W E

M E E T

A G A I N

. . .