Page 1




Attilio Brancaccio Monyart CONTRIBUTORS ILLUSTRATION Gabriel Hunter Mariah Gallas THANKS TO:

Sound made when transitioning from a sitting to a standing position. 4







P56 • HOOP DOOP MEETS Martijn Nekoui





P30 • NAKED CITY • by Julian Lynn






carlo wijnands

photo: attilio brancaccio


hoop doop meets

marga weimans

interview: agnese roda photography: attilio brancaccio 8

When did you realize you wanted to do fashion? Is there an old memory, a moment you remember you thought about it and you decided to go that way? From a young age on, I realized I wanted to do fashion. I remembered dreaming of a big company with several lines. The idea of starting a small and gradually growing company always intrigued me. With my creative company I can mix architecture and art with fashion. I first started with management studies and then switched to fashion.I had a moment of blocking out fashion when I was studying management. But I am happy the fashion kept ‘calling’ me. The moment I really got ‘called’, I was 26. All my experiences came together and I tought, ok I really need to study fashion, make a career out of it and go down that route. When you hear about it right now, it all sounds like a plan, but I didn’t had a plan. Through intuition and play, I did what I found urgent and interesting. And it worked. In the end it all added up to ‘fashion designer’. In your work you use different kinds of material and inspirations, architecture and design for instance. How did you start incorporating them in your work? I use different kinds of materials and as an inspiration she looks for example at architecture and design. I incorporated these elements in my work through experimenting. What kind of material would you like to include in your work you didn’t use yet? Or which new material would you like to create for your fashion work? Sometimes one material followes logically from a concept and story. But do I still whishes to use other materials I hasn’t used before! Time will tell. I don’t know yet but the element of virtuality versus reality will remain a consisting factor.

What or who are your main artistic inspirations? Could you name some? But my main inspirations are not architecture and design. My main inspirations are my own life experiences, the society and dreams. And there are some contemporary and historic creators I really admire. If your fashion work was a song/music, what would it be? If the fashion work of Marga was music, it would be cinematic music. If you couldn’t be a fashion designer, what would you be? What if I didn’t had the fashion call? I would probably be an artist or an architect. What is it like to be part of the Fashion Week? How would you describe it? How did I experience fashion week? Fashion week for me means showing of my work as a multi media experience. I find the intensity and contact with the public amazing, everything comes together. I also likesworking with a team, and the team making the show. From the people of Amsterdam Fashion week to het own team, the makeup and hair people, the music and film. Everybody is focussed and passionate. What do you wish to pass on to people with your creations? Is there a message you would like to share about your work? With my creations I wishes to pass borders of creativity, statements and making people think and feel. The message I want to share about my work is the pleasure of complexity.








winde rienstra photography: attilio brancaccio and monyart







photo: monyart


dennis diem Dennis Diem presented his collection AW13 that is inspired by Florence Nightingale, a British hero and the founder of modern nursing - her most famous contribution took place during the Crimean War where she took care of the wounded. The collection, which is mostly in skin-tone colors, is silky and romantic. Needless to say that the terrific rubin red long dress is one of my favorite of all collections presented during this Amsterdam Fashion Week Winter Edition 2013. Congratulations to Dennis Diem and his team who put together an excellent set up for the show - the dramatic music and the wounded soldiers lying on the background certainly added to the overall “war� atmosphere.

BY: monyart







more photos, more news, mo



more stories ore about you!

to our blog|


naked city a fashion week tale words: julian lynn illustrations: GABRIEL HUNTER PHOTOS: MONYART


It had all started the day before, which in fashion terms could mean ten thousand years. I was connected to a lovely little italian lady. Who, when you called her, would speak in a song, letting out a version of her name that you would order on the menu, even if you did not know what it was. She had explained to me, that I was to be to the Westergasfabriek by 10, and that the first shows would start around 11. Not being a morning person, I double and triple checked if she meant 10am or 10pm, having made this mistake before. She explained that I was expected at 10am, and with a expert use of the language barrier, got off the phone with me before she had to answer anymore stupid questions. It was too late to second guess the choice of bringing me along on this parade. At the very least, I thought, there would be rides and cotton candy. I soon found myself court-side at the Michelangelo Winklaar show, trying to look attentive though my still sleepy eyes, as the energy hit the speakers and the pretty creatures started to do their thing. I was unfamiliar with his work, but I found that the programmers of the day had done a excellent job of choosing what to set things off- a group of pieces which were both sexy and somewhat realistic. I found myself enjoying the show, as it was simple proof that things had begun. As well as evidence that I could enjoy woman’s wear, even without seeing the models face’s (they were obstructed by a lace mouth guard, which was both sexy and terrifying). I clumsily played with the Ipad I had been given to take notes, and decided that I did not like it for this kind of work. But still enjoyed having it as a prop, to look like I was doing something when someone spoke to me, for instance, a person who I would rather avoid. As the precision march unfolded, I took note of faces in the crowd, the different levels of excitement and understanding each had to offer. Few people I saw could pull off any of the clothing on display, not in public at least. But the spectacle of it all seemed to be the real value. We were all experiencing the same dance, the same moment, something more than can be bought or sold. Michelangelo’s show wound down, and the models came out in the way you would expect for the usual recap, people seemed happy to have seen it all. As the lights came on between shows, I took the time to shuffle through the goodie bag at my feet, I found a pair of fake nails, a coupon for hair extensions. There was more, but I was interrupted by the sound of the next offering. As the next show unfolded, I sat thinking about the fact, I had chosen the wrong glasses from the table on my way out of the house that snowy morning, they did not match my outfit the way I had hoped. A wave of inadequacy hitting me hard. I thought about a version of myself who would ride through the blizzard to get the right ones, and I laughed cruelly at him. But still, I had to admit that part of me wanted to go get them. Sooner than later, I got a call, and was asked to come back to the press tent. I did my best to keep quiet and not mess things up with my new peers. I did not know if my particular brand of life would play well with this determined and professional group of people, whom I was now briefly acquainted. I sat and got a good cup of coffee, which took the edge off things while wondering where the wine was. 31


One of the problems with me, of which there are many, is that when people tell me to get someplace at a certain time, I end up getting there early, as if I have something to prove. This usually ends up with me getting mad at people or events for being on time, as if they were late. I got to the next show twenty minutes early, which I can tell you, is not what those in the know would call “fashionably late”. Watching the last stages of rehearsal, I wondered if I was in the way, even if I was, everyone was too nice to say anything about it. The upside of this situation was that I had chosen a good seat, and was privy to the masses coming in and nudging their way to take the best free spots. Two drag queens, dressed in full regalia popped on the scene, loud and partially naked they asked a valet where they should sit, once directed to the fifth row the excitement in their faces went null. As they made the slow much to the nose bleeds, it was impossible to not feel their pain. Sitting there alone in the first row, I could feel each moment pass, a fear in my belly that I was using up some of my valuable fifteen minutes of fame, I wondered how much time I had left. Standing around in the wrong glasses, after a show which finally started. I ran into another of the press folk. We instantly began comparing notes on what we had seen, perhaps to size each other up, perhaps to waste time before we could get backstage. I had paid attention to the game for long enough to make moments like this count, I had just done my best to stay out of the race. I figured that now I was running a lap, I might as well redline it. I played the insightful card, commenting that the line had taken cues from such brands as Maharishi, Stone Island and early 90’s Paul Harvey Sabotage. Disarmed, he nodded to me with a sense of approval and understanding. The music cues in the show had been a joke of satanic proportions, going from angelic chorus to booming house, with a hint of Gary Glitter for good measure. As far away from right that it could be-it had been. We laughed about the “force drift” between commercial and creative, wondering how you can tame both personal needs and market value- while not losing your soul along the way. We are still at war, and still going off a military inspiration, it is inevitable perhaps. The conversations somber tone bummed us both out, and we parted ways to find someone with less to say about things. He mentioned something about finding the “champagne room”, which sounded like a challenge I was up to but had to decline. I wanted to stay in gear and see if I could stir the pot to find some meat, before I found such a sweet reward, which was bound to waste more time than I had left. I ended up backstage, hoping to find naked models, booze and drugs, as well as a story worth telling. To tap into the whole “scene” we hear so much about. All I found was some makeup people, scantily clad ladies and cold sandwiches. In retrospect, I should have had something to eat. A tall German man standing next to me started to ask questions which I did not have answers for. He was using a small fifty euro digicam, and dressed like he kept his socks, pants and shirts in three different drawers. Needless to say, he should not have been back there, taking the pictures of the young things no longer on display. His camera let out a large “click” sound, with each violation of their rights. Despite my fear that someone would lump us together, I enjoyed watching him sleaze it up. He turned to me, perhaps to seem more legitimate to those who might be watching for his kind, or perhaps, because he felt like he had something to say, I will never know the truth, but remember our conversation in brief slices, deep in the cellar of my memory. 33

“I will never understand these things!” he told me, out of the blue, as if it were a secret. “Are you speaking to me?” I asked, shocked at his accent (which I will not try to spell out for you, in hopes of keeping this piece somewhat legitimate). “These girls are all so young, none of them can afford any of this!” He said in a way as if he were speaking for himself. He looked old and tired, the German backstage pervert game must take a lot of energy. “Well, who can afford anything in this crisis?” I asked, grounding the conversation with a bit of sad truth. “I believe the Winde Rienstra show was a marvel!” He said as only a German could. Despite his odd nature, I had to agree with him, I had liked that show too. “I was sitting next to her mother. She yelled at me”. I said calmly. “Winde is a angel, her message is like script on paper from heaven!” He said without a hint of sarcasm. Even if he was dressed like a worker at Aldi, I was starting to like this guy. “It reminded me of that dragon movie, the Fincher one”. I said, responding to him out of habit more than any real desire to keep things going. “It had many cues, many inspirations, it’s models were a thing of beauty, and the heels, the heels!” His enthusiasm was bigger than his camera or budget for clothing. His voice went from a whisper to a yell, causing the attention of the room to glare at him, which was ultimately his downfall. As he went on, I noticed the show’s manager getting security guards from the door. I saw what was going down but the poor bastards passion had blinded him. “The live drummers, they were a heartbeat of the show! A pace for the models, a rhythm deep in our hearts! Connecting with each of us!” He had given up being subtle, his hands were waving all over the place, his German roots were taking hold. He was no longer talking just to me. He was talking to himself, the room, perhaps the entire fashion world itself. It was working, everyone was looking at him as his English turned to his native tongue, he kept up with the rant, yelling even louder, words I would never understand, his arms flailing wildly. I took another step to the side, to get out of the way of his arms, as well as get a better view of what was going down, the security guards had surrounded him and started to usher him out against his will. He was indignant about it, as if he did not deserve this treatment, but he did not have the right papers to be there, irony at it’s best. Perhaps he was with a “German magazine!”, but that was all side story now, his time had come to an abrupt end- part of me already missed him. Standing around after what had transpired, I was reminded we are all just one second from being the joke of the moment. One of the security guards who hung back after the confrontation set his sites on me, and after a moment of bad conversation it looked like I would not be the one left laughing. He grumbled something in Dutch and turned away, lifting his walkie talkie to call in the calvary, I had to think fast, my credentials had not helped me so far, it was time to try something new. “David Paulus, to me, was a lot of fun! No?” I quickly blurted out. A puzzled look taking hold, stopping his hand in its’ tracks. “In what turned out to be one of the more stylized sets of the smaller room, who would have expected so much”? His training was out the window, I had him. “I mean, there is a clear budget distinction between the larger and smaller venue. As one would expect, of course”. His face went from an expression of confusion to one of interest. “It was a real head turner. From the sultry clothing, the ballerina, the barefoot marching band. Could it have been better”? I would have stopped, but sensed that he was interested in Paulus, so I decided to continue. 34



“It all rang though with a fun vibe, which is, perhaps, too often missing from shows like this. Everyone is taking themselves too seriously, or wanting a taste of someone else’s pie. David’s show came on its’ own tone, relating to me on a level that he is making something fun, for people who want to look good while doing so”. It was, as if, for a moment, he could understand what I was saying. “Is there anything I could wear?” He asked me in a hushed voice, stepping close. “No, no, it’s all women’s clothing, not your style at all”. I said laughing, assuming it had been a mix up. “But do you think.. any of it it would fit me?” He asked, clearly letting out years of repression. The simple truth was, that very little of David’s clothing would look good on this monument of a man, he was over two meters tall and at least one hundred kilo’s. But given the circumstances, I did not feel able to tell him that. “I think if you had a good tailor, well, it could be just the thing for you. Reds and blacks, perfect for at home or on the town”. Somehow, I kept a straight face. “Thank for this, really... thanks a lot, I will look into it, Paulus, you said?” And with that we were done. With a nod, he left me all alone, perhaps to reconsider previous choices in his life, or future ones. He had been hit as hard by fashion week as anyone I had seen, the reason perhaps it all happens to begin with. Confidence, growth, change- all at once. It was then I was hit with a diamond bullet, “a moment of clarity”, that nothing that happened before or after in those three days, that would have been possible in any other time or place. I felt things would only go downhill from there, adjusting my glasses I turned to leave, but was stopped by a lovely member of the show. One of the walking people I had noticed above all the others in the group, matted black hair, still wearing a piece she had modeled, makeup smeared like the morning after. Her thick Dutch accent made me smile, it was not from Amsterdam (she said she was from Enschede), and I liked the idea of her coming all the way to the big city to live her dream. I tried to match her enthusiasm and energy (which was draining), perhaps to even get a phone number and meet up later, it’s fashion week, why not see where it goes. Things were going well enough, until she told me her age, at which point I felt like a complete pervert and had no choice but to leave her alone. After a clumsy excuse or two, I found my way out and hit eject, fumbling with my choice even as I was making it. Her face was astonished that any man could say no to her, at least one as odd as myself. My moral center was still pure, having not had any booze that day, she was lucky. My time with the model had left a bad taste in my mouth. Somewhere in the space time continuum, a younger version of myself was ready to kill whatever he had become. Not taking the chance to defile the young girl made me think I was growing up. As if by divine intervention, on my way back to the press stable, I found a red room, which had been on my hit list, but had not crossed my path till then. Passing through the red curtain, I was treated to the mythic “champagne room”. It did exist, a place where drinks were free and all the designers would go to blow off steam. I had found it, despite a few misadventures in trying to do so (which we will not go into here, for the sake of good taste). Standing there, with a cheap glass of free white wine, I felt calm again, the model and German felt like years ago. One day I thought, I might write them a letter and see what they were up to. I wondered where I had 37

put their addresses, or if I had taken them at all, I was OK with either scenario. Taking clumsy notes on the Ipad, which at this point I decided to reverse my opinion on, I felt like I had hit my stride. The room was full of people who either knew each other or were pretending to know each other. I loved the petty nature of it all, everyone was happy and loose, even if I could critique the situation I would be the asshole for doing so. I did my best to overhear everything being thrown out around me, to absorb this most comfortable and drunk pocket of hyper reality I had found so far, a constantly rotating group around me to collect sound bites, far too many to keep up with. “Sjaak Hullekes was fucking amazing”. A young american said to his friend, scratching his nose wildly and holding two beers. “I would steal the fuck out of those clothes”. He announced in a way which suggested he had never stolen anything in his life. His friend joined in the act, obviously a fan of Sjaak as well. “I would go back there, grab some of those clothes, take a couple of those models in one of those Volvo’s he was using and ghost to Italy”. Despite his faulty delivery of this sentence, I had to admit I would be along for that ride. I had enjoyed Sjaak’s clean lines, polished construction and hints of the good years of APC. All in all it had been my favorite show of my days there, my love of old Volvo’s and his use of them only served as confirmation bias. Another sip, another note, another conversation to overhear, the red room was giving me all of her secrets, I was trying to balance it my mind, to keep a thread going, there were too many voices to hear it all properly, like a pentecostal church or demonic possession, it was all in tongues. “The only ovation so far was for Edwin Oudshoorn”. A older woman casually mentioned, as if every show 38



should inspire such a break in form. Her friend was drunk, chiming in as one would expect from a superficial examination of them both. “I was not clapping, I had nothing to clap for. It’s been years since I could wear anything like that”. Her rage at the progression of life had defeated her objective criticism, her friend snapped loudly at her. “How could you not clap?! It was a fantastic show, the music was perfect, the clothing exquisite, the only thing keeping you from wearing any of it is your new husband!” The scene had gone ugly fast, it was almost too much to take in, her friend looked shocked, her face a deep red, eyes on the glass in front of her. Saying nothing, her berating continued. “Here we are, having a great time, and you go on and on like you always do, negative, you are being negative like always! This is why Tanya kicked you out of the book club. Why Louis left you. This is why you complain about your kids not calling! The problem is not the clothing, the problem is you!” Years of frustration had been let out, the room had gone silent at the exchange, tears welling in her eyes, she turned to walk out, hysteria hitting her hard on the other side of the red wall, the muted sound of crying drifting off. Everyone went back to things as they were, her friend taking the unfinished drink left behind with a smile. The scene had got ugly in a hurry and I felt uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the red lights of the room or my expectations of civility between old friends. I went to the counter, got another glass of wine, and walked out of there as fast as I could. On to the main floor, bouncing between faces old and new, everyone waiting for the next show to be set up, they were running late, but no one seemed to mind as they stood around. It is the end of day three and everyone looks tired. At this point the faces in the crowd seemed to have lost the distinction between the shows and life as we lived it. I had fallen victim to this as well, the feeling that we were on display in the human museum that was the Westergasfabriek. We mulled around, some drunk, others high, it was clear that it was all coming to an end. I found myself being yelled at by a young girl who said she knew me, I had no memory of her. She went from nice to angry faster than my ex girlfriend, and I had to laugh at her, which only made the situation worse. She had gotten it in her head that I was interested in interviewing her, and thought it was in the process of happening as we stood talking. She kept speaking soundbites to herself, smiling at her wit, I stood in awe of her disassociation from reality as I was living it, as well as her temper at my not going along with her ego trip. A guy about my age in a black coat was standing near us as her fire was lit, laughing to himself at what she was saying. I took the opportunity to talk to him, happily surrendering to her. “What’s your name?” I asked half hearted, tired of the question. “At this point, does it matter?” He said with a smile, a cigarette hanging from his lips which looked as if it had been there for a while. “You got another one of those?” Wanting a prop of my own. “Nah, I bummed this one, I quit anyway, I tell myself I quit”. He said wanting to smoke it. “How long’s it been?” I asked genuinely interested. “I quit something everyday, a few days ago it was these bad boys”. He took the smoke out of his mouth and pretended to exhale. I imagined a deep cloud of smoke filling the space between us. “What brings you here?” I asked between imaginary drags. “My girl was in the Sophie show, here with some friends, you?” He said standing alone. 41

“I am supposed to write something, about this, what’s happening”. I was being as honest as I could. The entire experience had left me wondering how to be faithful to what transpired. “Want some advice?” He asked in a non confrontational way. “Sure, hit me with some stranger advice”. Smiling big as I said it, he did not think it was so funny. “We are all living in the shadow of the 80’s. Wanting to be a part of something that changed a long time ago. No one here remembers those days and if they do, they mostly don’t want to admit it”. He took another puff of invisible smoke, the room going silent as the crowd walked in to be seated for the last show. I imagined a deep exhale as he continued to speak to me. “If you look at footage online of what Chanel show’s were like in the 80’s; it was the queen mother and a bunch of billionaires wives waiting to go back to their yachts. Now it’s movie stars and rock gods. They have bottled what was once scarce, given it to the masses, so they can feel special too. You know what’s special now man?” Looking in my eyes, I felt it was my turn to speak, in a rare turn, it took me a moment. “People are special, sure things have gone mersh, that’s easy to say, but people will always be special, people with dreams. I have seen some of that here, people who care about what they are doing, trying to do it at all costs”. There was an undeniable truth and naivety to my point. “Exactly man. It is people who matter. A lot of folks have forgotten that. When the internet first hit, you could be miles from another soul and order the entire Gucci line, that’s what mattered. Now, it’s about the people in the big city’s ordering the deerskin bag made by a person miles from anyone. It’s flipped itself, and we are here at Amsterdam fashion week, in the middle of it, watching it happen”. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about. With that said, he produced a lighter and blazed the well worn smoke in his hand, looking at it as if he had let some part of himself down. Patting me on the shoulder as I coughed, he yelled out to someone I did not see, disappearing though the drift of smoke he left behind, I had to admit, he looked good holding that ciggy.



.c k o o aceb



g a m oop


d p o o m/h





Charlie Le Mindu is a French hairstylist AND FASHION designer based in London. Forget your last extravagant haircut, your are far cry from that flamboyant hair sculpture art that Monsieur Charlie has showed at the international fashion catwalks of London and Paris. His extraordinary talent to mix impressive and theatrical pieces with a fashion sensibility and craftsman wig creations has established him as the most progressive artist towards hair design and technology. His clients are celebrities such as Lady Gaga and Lana del Rey, and we had the privilege to see his creations at the last Amsterdam Fashion Week where he presented his new collection Charlie Le Mindu Couture Spring/Summer 2013. The dresses are manufactured with organic fabrics and real hair.








LOTTAROX AGENCY is a professional booking, event and promotion company based in London (UK), Florence (Italy) and Stockholm (Sweden) whose first aim is to introduce the best emergent and unsigned UK artists to the Italian Indie Market by booking the best Club Nights, In-Store shows and Exhibitions of the various countries it works in, soon in Amsterdam as well.

check out the roster and the info here :


moam &foam hoop doop meets

Martijn Nekoui

founder and art director at MOAM. BY: monyart



I run into you several times these past months in Amsterdam, either you were organizing an event or attending it as a guest, you must have a very busy schedule... can you describe your typical day routine? It’s a lot of calling, mailing, meeting and creating. But that’s exactly what keeps me busy and happy. Every day is different, I meet with different people, I come at different places and come up with new ideas. I would die at an office, working 9 to 5. Being my own boss gives my a lot of freedom, but a lot of obligations as well. Your project Moam has received positive reviews everywhere and has been covered by international magazines, can you tell us how did you come up with the idea? I have a big love and interest for the past, the Dutch history and it’s hidden treasures. Everytime I found new Dutch brands, magazines or designers that were really big and happening a few decades ago and now forgotten by 99% of the people. In MOAM, I wanted to combine those hidden treasures with today’s biggest talents, as that’s something really interesting and unique to me. Are you working in a new project at the moment? Now I’m working on a new project for EYE, the Dutch filmmuseum. It’s an exhibition with collaboration of Dutch photographers and actors, who work in duo’s and give in image an interpretation on scenes of a Dutch movie. So once again I work with the big names and new talents in photography, but this time I let them collaborate with Dutch film- and theater actors.


Amsterdam art scenario has changed a lot in the past few years, and the city hall/government cut funds for art. What is your opinion about this subject? You see in all forms of art that people are losing there faith and the trust in art and also in fashion. But I believe that even in these times it can make art stronger and make people more inventive with new projects and new concepts. With MOAM I have a big audience and a lot of followers, but there is always a really small budget. I think with enthusiasm, a strong will and the right people you can reach more than with big money. I saw you attending different catwalks at the Amsterdam Fashion Week, can you tell us what was your favorite show/designer? Of course I have to say Winde Rienstra, she’s unique and something different, always exploring herself and always trying to find new ways in design. But next to that I have to say that the show of Claes Iversen was really good as well, he’s really one of the best designers in The Netherlands. The biggest surprise was without a doubt GSUS, the new head designer Hyun Yeu did a really good job on the men collection. Can you tell our readers where they can find more info about your work and upcoming projects? You can always find the latest news and updates at MOAM Amsterdam Facebook, so stay tuned!



MOAM is an initiative of curator and event creative Martijn Nekoui. For this exhibition he selected three worldwide famous Dutch photographers Anton Corbijn, Erwin Olaf and the photography duo Inez van Lamsweerde & Vinoodh Matadin as iconic image. Fifteen talented Dutch fashion photographers were linked to a fashion designer and responded to this iconic image with new work: five pairs react Corbijn, five Olaf and five Van Lamsweerde & Matadin. The following photographers and fashion designers worked together for the project: Alique & SPR +, Blommers / Schumm & Mattijs Bergen, Carmen Kemmink & Borre Akkersdijk, Dennis Swiatkowski & Frans Molenaar, Jasper Abels & Avelon, Jolijn Cutters & Claes Iversen, Martin Alexander & Sjaak Hullekes, Marc de Groot & Yvonne Kwok, Martien Mulder & Peet Dullaert, Paul Bellaart & Jan Taminiau, Philippe Vogelenzang & Winde Rienstra, Robin de Puy & Francisco Benthum, Sanja Marusic & Hellen van Rees, Sophie van der Perre & G-Star, Valentina Vos & Nisha Rabiee Moam &Foam will run until the 17th of March 2013.



gsus sindustries

photo: attilio brancaccio



photography: ATTILIO BRANCACCIO 64






JAKOB KOK The Paradise for Jacob Kok is a video game! The talented dutch designer Jacob Kok presented his new collection Paradise, inspired by the famous videogame The Sims, at the Amsterdam Fashion Week. No real models for the show but a video installation with the model Ayannah Griffith in 3D. The inusual catwalk was filled by parrots, flamingos and black mannequins wearing the pieces of the collection (kept in the dark till the end of the video). This show, in my opinion, represented the true novelty at the fashion week, Jacob Kok brought us into his vision of the future in fashion. Well done!! BY: monyart









photo: MONYART


hoop doop meets

DORHOUT MEES interview: AgNESE RODA photography: monyart



Conversion is Dorhout Mees second collection presented at Amsterdam Fashion Week. In her new work she describes how oxydation is a metaphor for observing the beauty of impermanence and how “the material transformation is similar to a spiritual one”. What is inspiration for you? I feel inspiration is in everything. Litteraly, it just depends on which way you’re looking. So it can be a feeling you notice in yourself and your surroundings, like the search of Origin in my Summer collection ‘Become’, or something more concrete like architecture. But if I would have to narrow it down, I would say Nature and Architecture are always great sources of beauty and contrasts. Is there a memory, a moment you remember you thought about doing fashion? To begin with a project I was always drawing. My very first memories are of me drawing everything and all the time. I wanted to make my own clothes when I was around eight years old. They were very simple tops and skirts made with the help of my grandmother. Later on I started making prints on them by drawing and painting it on. So the love for prints was already there as well! When did you start using music and video in your work? Using film and music to tell my story is something I have always done. I like to invite people into a different world, and really make them feel, taste and see it the way I do. Take them on that journey I went on, involve them as much as I can. What about other material use? I start from different types of silk, soft chiffon’s and stiff organza’s, wool, cashmere that I often work with. Then if inspiration takes me somewhere I choose a material, like in this collection I did with copper and copper oxydation process. I used this material for shoes, belts, necklaces, bracelets and even knitted it from copper thread from a machine. What is it like to be part of the Fashion Week? How would you describe it? First of all is a big honour. It’s such a great platform, to show your work. It’s very hectic the last week leading up to it, accually it is so untill the last model walks onto the catwalk.. But it is a beautifull feeling. Magical even, everything that you’ve worked


on thought of, falls into place at that very moment. In your last show presented at the Fashion Week you used a music loop from the Pixies. Why did you choose for that song? Could you list the top five of your favourite songs at the moment? Great question! I feel that music is life, and it is very important to me. The reason I choose for parts of the song ‘ Where is my mind ‘ by Pixies, is first of all I felt the titel was fitting me. It’s about transformation, spiritual transformation, in wich you have to start a journey inwards trying to leave that hardworking mind behind simply go on feeling and intuition. Then I just love the song, but I wanted to reflect the contrast of the diffrence in oxydation. The organic one , organic shapes and coulours, and the microscopic one where everything is geometric and grey and white. So I looked for a classical interpretation of the song, even mixed a piano version Vs. a string quartet version. I like contrasts. Then used the Original during the final moment on the catwalk only. My loves at the moment, ;-) : Damien Rice, everything he has ever written ‘Little bird’ By Lisa Hannigan ‘Josephine’ by Teitur ‘Hollow Talk’ by Choir of Young Believers ‘What’s a girl to do’ Bat for Lashes And just one more; ‘C’mon Talk’ by Bernhoft What do you like to share with your work in fashion? With my collections I like to tell stories. But I also want to give power to women. I love the power of women who go after whatever it is they want to get out of life. I admire women like that and I would like to add something to that passion for life. I constantly search for the delicate balance between telling a story and the fact that it has to look great on a woman’s body. For me those aspects are equally important.

“Using film and music to tell my story is something I’ve always done. I like to invite people into a different world, and really make them feel, taste and see it the way I do.”








.c k o o aceb



g a m oop


d p o o m/h



fredfarrowbrittavelontan photo: attilio brancaccio


ariah BY: M



Mariah Gallas is a 13 years old illustrator. She makes pocket money with art, portraying people and their dreams from her unique point of view. Hoop Doop Magazine invited her to come to see some of the shows at the Fashion week this year. She stayed also with us in the Press Room catching feelings and vibes, getting inspired by blogger, journalists as well as designer and models. Her Fashion Week project is dedicated to people and their unique ways to use fashion to express themselves.