CONTRIBUTORS
Society President Cate McGowan @catemcgowan
Head of GD Julia Podkolinski @juliapodkolinski
Editor-in-chief Sabrina Ciauri @brinajade
Co-Head of GD Jeanmarie Fisher @jeanmariefisher
Graphic Designer Shyla Robinson @shylarobinson
Graphic Designer Juju Greenig @jujugreenig
PRESIDENT’S NOTE
EDITOR’S NOTE
The still images presented in this edition are inspired by David Hockney’s 1980s cubist collage photography. In parallel with Hockney’s work, these images have sought to revisit the portrait frame through multiple aspects of the same subject. The primary focus here was on addressing the subject (our models, captured in material representations of what best defines them) through multiple lenses, angels, and perhaps most significantly, through sensational movement within the mise-en-scène. These collages create a mediated and shared experience of space between viewer and subject, and disrupt the conception of photography as freezing a moment in time (space here occupying both the temporal and spatial).
I am really excited to share the incredible work of the writers, graphic designers and models who poured their hearts, words and art into this March edition. From self-expression to sexuality to cultural identity this edition provides insight into how fashion embodies identity around the world. With each MODO Magazine edition, I have been striving to publish fashion journalism with an academic twist. I feel this edition definitely captures my objective with articles ranging from indigenous textiles and clothes in Latin America to colonialism in the fashion industry and Lithuania’s once forbidden identity. I also feel these articles and modelling shoots capture the diverse identities of our writers and models.
I’d like to thank everyone who collaborated with me and my team on this project, particularly the models, who breathed life into what would otherwise have been a very stiff portfolio. I am, as always, admirable of their versatility and creative potential. This edition is a testament to the beauty of diversity and a celebration of the individual.
MODO is not just about words, this edition also has a variety of videos and even a short film ‘The Hijab Revealed’ which I produced alongside my Palestinian friend Roaa. I am so proud of our team and what we have accomplished together!
Cate McGowan Stay tuned! Sabrina Ciauri
CONTENTS
Identity in Latin American Dress and Textiles
Confidence Cultivation: decoding the gateway to self-expression
Sarah Baily Advertisement Draping the Rohingya Crisis Sex (Is Back) in Fashion Encode vs Decode: Enclothed Cognition From the Streets to London Fashion Week Fashion and the Myth of Individualism A Short Film: The Hijab Revealed Lithuanian Fashion: Decoding what was once a forbidden identity
Colonialism & Fashion: the broken systems of sewing decoded
Please note that given the controversial contingencies of our theme, which inevitably draws on topics of religion, politics, and bias, MODO has chosen to categorize all articles in this edition as opinion pieces. We are an inclusive society that remains secular from all political and religious affiliations. We ground ourselves first and foremost on creativity and fashion from across the globe. If any content expressed in these pieces appears problematic, we encourage you to reach out to us via @uclmodo with your feedback. We are always open to revising and developing our views.
As a mixed, Latin American (Colombian) and British woman who grew up in the UK, I have always felt somewhat detached from my identity - feeling as though I don’t fit in, either in Britain or in Colombia. However, as I have gotten older I have begun embracing my Latinidad, and my cultural heritage. I have sought to bridge the gap in my knowledge about Latin American tradition through this article. As someone who is fascinated by the meanings we assign to dress, I became interested in exploring some broad cultural traditions of dress and textile work across different parts of Latin America. I wanted to explore a small sample of some textiles and garments that are part of Latin America’s rich cultural history and diversity.
IDENTITY IN LATIN AMERICAN DRESS AND TEXTILES by: Nia Griffiths
@_niagriffithsser
I did this by looking at items I have in my own home, as well as discussing with my mother her opinion of what garments she thought represented her Colombian identity. I wanted to explore garments that come from different parts and cultures of Latin America, and perhaps most importantly the rich cultural production of indigenous people. Of course, this article seeks only to explore a very small sliver of Latin American dress, but this exploration has helped me connect myself to the beauty and diversity of my heritage.
Original photos of textile workshop where authentic Ruanas are made
The first item I want to discuss are the Molas of Panama, as pictured here. Molas are made by the indigenous Guna Nation in Panama and Colombia and are clearly beautiful, intricate geometric pieces of art. Molas originated from the geometric body painting practices of the Guna (nb. previously Kuna) however, after the Spanish invaded Latin America the Guna began to transfer their designs to fabrics using the technique of reverse appliqué. The word ‘Mola’ originally meant bird plumage, and the embroidery is commonly very intricate and abstract. It has become more common to see figurative designs included in Molas, such as animals. The Molas pictured here, made in Panama, show the common characteristics of Molas, such as bright colours and space-filling, geometric designs. There is a rich cultural history behind the Molas, in 1919 Panama’s government restricted many Guna customs, banning women from wearing Molas. These were just some of the repressive attempts to force assimilation of the Guna people and led to the Guna Revolution of 1925. This led to the Mola becoming a symbol of political resistance, highlighting the meanings that were attributed to these textiles, and their strong connection to Guna identity.
Artwork Copyright of Guna Nation, Panama captured by Nia Griffiths, 2021
The next garment is the ruana, specifically the Colombian ruana. The ruana should not be confused with the poncho (often manufactured in the mainstream and westernized). It has often been hailed as a cultural symbol of Colombia and is a central piece of clothing to those who live in the cold areas (el altiplano). My mother recalls her first ruana, a right of passage, that she was given at two years old (see photo). She remembers wearing it proudly, and as she grew up styles of ruana changed according to age. Children’s ruanas commonly feature a hood, while styles for young women are often open down the front. The Ruana Cundiboyacense is traditionally crafted with 100% virgin wool, and woven on a loom. These ruanas are made by indigenous families in Nobsa, a small town North East of the capital, Bogota. The significance of the ruana throughout the life of those living in los altiplanos underlines its close link to Colombian cultural identity.
Ramón Torres Méndez, 1860
Polleras are a broad form of Latin American dress that have taken different forms and styles across different countries in Latin America. Generally taken to mean a full, one-piece skirt used in festivities, the Pollera has been identified as having originated in Spain and brought over during colonisation in the 16th and 17th centuries. The Pollera was then likely adapted by the indigenous and mestizo women who wore them, perhaps accounting for trans-national differences in its appearance. This garment is interesting, as it highlights the complex relationship between cultural dress and identity when a garment is linked to colonial tradition. However, polleras remain important to many Latin Americans.
The pollera is central to many special events and features intricate often floral designs across the blouse and skirt. The cultural significance of this garment can be seen in the fact that Panama celebrates ‘Pollera day’ every year on July 22nd. The pollera has been seen as the dress of the people and was eventually adopted by upper-class women. It comes in both costume form as well as everyday styles. Anelsalas, 2006
Bloopersstv, 2018
Finally, I want to talk about another textile called aguayos. Traditionally, aguayos are a woven, brightly coloured square piece of fabric used by women (formerly used by men) in Andean regions. The squares are used to carry children on their backs, to sit on and carry food and other products. These cloths are thus linked to practical functions of day to day life. Different regions have different characteristics in their aguayos. The weaving is used to tell stories about their community, and each region has different colours, techniques and drawings. In Bolivia alone, different weaves can be seen. The Jalq’a weave does not feature geometric shapes and includes representations of animals. Contrastingly, the Calcha weaves with black backgrounds, and green and red colours are emphasised. These cloths and their variations symbolize the cultural identity that can be expressed through the creation of textiles and their design.
Russlands345, 2015
This article has touched upon a small portion of Latin American cultural textiles and garments and has pointed to the ways in which different objects have deep cultural meanings closely linked to identity in different parts of Latin America. Learning about these cultural histories feels powerful in terms of connecting me to my own identity. Latinidad is extremely diverse, beautiful and complex, and all these beautiful garments and textiles have made me feel closer to this part of myself, and encouraged me to keep learning about my culture.
Iconic Old Rock n’ Roll Glamour
worn by
RITA ORA AMAL CLOONEY MILEY CYRUS
@sarahbaily
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The 1960s sexual revolution changed fashion forever. The culmination of second-wave feminism, the invention of the oral contraceptive, counterculture and explicit sex in mass media - all of this resulted in the desire to break free from the repressive culture and celebrate the erotic side of body and mind. And the fashion followed, simultaneously responding to and driving the change. 70s
@igafrac
Here comes the age of Mary Quant’s mini skirts, sleeveless colourful dresses and platform shoes - the 1960s - all designed to tease with stereotypes and express the newly gained freedom. Slowly, but steadily, sex was becoming more present in mass culture, with the 70s hippie and black communities wearing revealing halter tops, hip-hugging flared jeans and satin-finished dresses that resembled gowns once only worn on steamy honeymoon nights. The bedrooms came to the streets and weren’t going back. Soon, bellies were out in the open and leather was everywhere - from shiny mini skirts and trousers to even more shiny over-the-knee boots. Just in time for the 80s, when Jane Fonda and Grace Jones moved the world, but for slightly differing reasons. The actress, dressed in a spandex bodysuit, shook up the fitness industry, while the singer, dressed in a caged black look (you can’t really call it a dress, can you?), pushed the fashion industry on the edge, where fishnets, chains and studs were no longer reserved only for the punks. 80s, Getty Images
90s: Versaceʼs Miss S&M
On top of that, the Playboy culture and increasing accessibility of pornography were infiltrating the media and minds of the fashion designers for long enough to finally get a massive breakthrough - Gianni Versace’s Miss S&M and Jean Paul Gaultier’s designs for Madonna’s Blond Ambition World Tour - caused mass hysteria. And just like that, mainstream fashion high-fived kinks and embraced fetishes in the 1990s, shouting what was only a soft whisper decades before.
In the 2000s, the sex quietly drifted away from fashion, replaced by very pink, very tan and very “juicy” maximalism from Paris Hilton or appropriated for the sensitivity of the emo culture. The studs and leather were still there, but detached from its sexual origin, repossessed by sadness and popularised by Tokio Hotel and Avril Lavigne. Nowadays slip dresses, chokers, chains and corsets don’t shock like they used to - the edge has been pushed further out, and as someone who takes pride in my sexual expression, I’m thankful for it. One has to give credit where credit is due. This revolution would have ever happened without the rise of the LGBTQ+ rights movement, which advocated for all sexualities and free expression of preferences.
Now: Phil Poynter/ Trunk Archive
Franklin Delano Roosevelt, 1884 (Bettman, Corbis)
… and it has always been so. Or not? In fact, when pastels first started to be considered baby colours, blue was said to be more delicate and dainty, thus recommended for girls, and the more decided and stronger pink was suggested for boys. Alternatively, the colours were proposed to match certain hair or eye colours, not genders. And to make matters better (or worse for some), until the First World War all kids alike, up to the age of seven, were dressed in gender-neutral clothing. This included white skirts and dresses, for practicality reasons, as the same set of clothing could be worn by many offsprings and easily washed and bleached. Even Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the president of the US and one of the most powerful men of his times, wore a (what would now be considered “girly”) white dress, mary-janes and long hair at the age of two. The colour division we recognise today is a creation of the fashion industry that responded to consumer preferences and quickly realised that the more they individualized clothing, the more they could sell - and so the era of ultrafeminine and ultramasculine kids apparel began.
If you ever wondered if objectification can get worse - it can, and it’s called sexualization. According to the American Psychological Association, it occurs when “individuals are regarded as sex objects and evaluated in terms of their physical characteristics and sexiness”. People are portrayed in sexual poses with sexual facial expressions and dressed in form-fitting or revealing clothing, or used as decorative objects or body parts with heavily emphasized standards of physical beauty. It’s persistent in pornography, obviously, and advertising - because, in many cases, sex sells. The imagery of women it presents is often degrading and harmful, absolutely contradictory to the aim of sexual liberation, which fights for freedom of sexuality and sexual expression, rather than for the coercion of our bodies being forever downgraded to sex objects.
This phenomenon resulted in an opposition trend of modest clothing, spreading far outside of the religious circles it originated in. Covering up as a sign of protest against being continuously scrutinized, observed and judged is not just turtlenecks and legs hidden under maxi dresses, it’s also big tees and baggy jeans that help mask the shape underneath. Sound familiar? It is exactly what Billie Eilish wears to escape the constant objectification women face, amplified by her celebrity status. Androgynous clothing is another modern-day trend derived from a conversation about gender neutrality. The way I understand it, androgynous clothing is designed to avoid creating a distinction between masculine and feminine physical characteristics, hence often baggy and loose-fitting, yet simultaneously taking advantage of the delicate flows of fabrics like satin or velvet, to balance it out. Simply tailored to fit any form or curve, steering clear from restrictive sex labels to allow expression of neutral and non-binary gender identity. The absolute icon of androgynous clothing is Harry Styles, who does not shy away from fashion statements that cross gender barriers - like that one time he shocked half of the population and amazed the other half with his Vogue cover. Fashion embodies identity. Without the freedom of sexual expression, there is no freedom of any expression. Sex is out in the open today - and hopefully, it’s here to stay.
From Carnaby Street to fashion week, past to present, fashion has always been an integral part of London’s cultural identity. Some of London’s most famous streets are synonymous with fashion, as many of the world’s greatest designers hail from the capital. But today, the landscape of fashion in London is broader than ever; from designer brands to vintage fairs, the inclusivity of all styles is on the rise. Paris is often thought of as the world’s fashion capital, but London is a rival force to be reckoned with. The British fashion industry is currently worth £26 billion, with London at the heart of the action. London’s Fashion week plays a significant role in this, bringing thousands of visitors a year to see the incredible talent and shop at London’s famous stores. But fashion doesn’t just benefit the British economy; it also reflects the cultural identity of the capital. @erincroasdale
London fashion week is celebrated as a display of upcoming and multicultural talent, unlike the traditional and established brands found in New York, Paris and Milan. The catwalks represent London’s identity as a diverse and cosmopolitan city where everyone can find a common sense of belonging. Taking a look at the style of London’s streets reflects this too. London’s style may not be precisely defined, like the classic ‘Parisian chic’, but isn’t that part of its beauty? You will spot all sorts of styles and tastes while walking down a busy London street; a dazzling array of different colours and silhouettes will flash before your eyes. The different styles we see in London also reflect the many different areas that make up the city. From the trendy and experimental streets of Shoreditch, student-led Camden to the business-focused city, every borough of London offers something completely new. The places all represent a different style, a different way of life, all connected by belonging to the great city we all know and love. The array of opportunities and lifestyles in London is defined by the description of London style by the fashion director of Cosmopolitan, Amy Bannerman, as a case of ‘anything goes’.
There’s a true element of fun and spontaneity to fashion found in London. This seems like a new idea, inspired by the outburst of vintage thrift stores across the city, but the experimental nature of London’s fashion actually has historic roots. After the Second World War in the late 1940s, Paris took the fashion industry by the reins as Dior’s “New Look'' inspired a carefully considered, feminine look. But in the 1960s, the baton was handed over to London, when the creative designs by Mary Quant, such as the innovative mini skirt, encouraged experimentation with prints and colours. Her brand focused on lifestyle as well as aesthetic, cementing the idea that fashion is not just what we wear, but an expression of our identity. This notion is still central to style in London today; fashion in this city is a form of demonstrating the area to which we belong, the lifestyle we lead, the values we hold important. But at the heart of all this is what spending a day in London is all about; simply having fun.
@brinajade @roaa.bassam
THE HIJAB: REVEALED by Sabrina Ciauri & Roaa B.
The word ‘Hijab’ is a general term for a head covering worn by Muslim women around the world as a fashion statement and a cultural-religious symbol. I wanted to find out what the hijab, a clothing article, means to the women who wear it. So, I reached out to Roaa, my Palestinian friend to get an inside perspective. Together, we produced a short film revealing the inner thoughts of 6 women who wear the hijab. Each woman discussed how it relates to their identity. In order to include the opinions of non-hijabi Muslim women, I focused my interview questions on previous research and interviews I have done. These questions were based on non-hijabi women’s perspectives that the hijab can be associated with oppression, limiting freedom and fashion limitations.
Please note: These are the opinions of these women only. MODO is a secular society and therefore does not take positions on any one religion or political party. We are a magazine inclusive of all perspectives.
LITHUANIAN FASHION:
Decoding what was once a forbidden identity by Egle Daunoraite I moved to London a few months ago and was asked where I was from so many times. My answer “I am from Lithuania” revealed to me that a lot of people have little knowledge about my country. Some of them were weirdly smiling, sometimes I got “wow, that’s exotic” or “that is so cool” and it made me think.
I realised that because I know where other countries are or a bit about their history that doesn’t mean that they know about Lithuania. Therefore, I wanted to write this article to share Lithuanian culture, particularly, it’s fashion history that dates back a few hundred years and starts from the Baltic sea.
@eglucia_
Lithuanians evolved from ancient tribes called Balts which influenced their early clothing and jewellery. In the 13th century, King Mindaugas (our first and the only king) merged nomadic Balts and formed a country. From this period, the country started to prosper, people became wealthier, and the clothing adapted to this new way of living. Lithuania’s traditional dress and costumes were established over a few hundred years, influenced by historical events, economic conditions, customs, traditions and religion.
The country has a long history which is full of ups and downs that formed our identity. In the 15th century, Lithuania was one of the biggest countries in Europe and people from different cultures were living in the territory between the Baltic and the Black seas. However, across different periods the country was governed by Poles, Russians and Germans whose influence could also be seen in fashion. But there is no doubt that the biggest impact on our traditional clothing was from our ancestors, the Balts, and other cultures only added a few final touches.
Luke Balandis, 2014
Luke Balandis, 2014
Lithuanian traditional clothing was usually made from wool or linen and formed multiple layers. For example, women’s clothing consists of a skirt with an apron, a shirt, a vest, and headwear with colourful ribbons. Men’s costumes include similar items: a shirt, pants, a vest, belt, or a ribbon on the waist. Both female and male clothing is very colourful and full of traditional patterns, that have different meanings which vary among certain parts of the country. Lithuania is divided into 4 ethnographic regions that have distinctive lifestyles. The main difference is probably the fertility of the land which makes food, work or fashion diverse among regions. Lithuania’s traditional clothing is not worn in modern-day life but plays an important role during national events to represent our culture.
The National Culture Center of Lithuania, 2006
In the mid-20th century, Lithuania was occupied by the USSR, which attempted to erase the country’s cultural identity. Lithuanians were not only forced to blend into society following the instructions of the government but were also forbidden to use their language and cultural symbols. Fashion was one of the primary areas where people lost their Lithuanian identity. The clothing industry in the USSR was not a priority sector as the Soviet Union participated in WW2 and the Cold War. Because of these wars, the majority of people did not have spending money for clothes that were usually manufactured in huge identical batches.
Unknown, 1970
Rasa Kondratavičiūtė, 2017
The Soviets did not offer people a variety of styles or colours, their goal was to dress as many people as possible in the cheapest way. Shops which sold more beautiful or unique clothes were non-existent. Some better quality pieces were sometimes brought from abroad, but only wealthy people could afford to buy jeans, denim jackets, and better quality shoes from outside the USSR. However, the government did not forbid people from sewing and making their own clothes; and therefore, some people managed to do so which made them stand out from others.
L’Officiel Lithuania, 2020
D. Umbrasas, 2020
L’Officiel Lithuania, 2020
Fashion in modern Lithuania plays a more important role than it did in the USSR, however, it is not as unique as it was a few hundred years ago. As I mentioned above, our traditional clothing symbolizes our culture; therefore, people wear this traditional dress for special occasions. Some designers incorporate traditional patterns, symbols of Lithuania in their collections or uniforms for National teams in various sports that represent Lithuania in international competitions.
Some high-end fashion designers today are creating modern styles which escape from ancient traditions. For example, one of the most famous Lithuanian designers Agne Kuzmickaite is known because of her use of butterflies. All her collections involve these delicate creatures and the biggest Lithuanian fashion events would be unimaginable without Kuzmickaite and her butterflies. Street fashion in the country also has its charms. While wandering the streets of our capital city, Vilnius, you might pass a person that looks right off the runway of London fashion week and another person with a 90’s vintage style. Lithuania has suffered harsh times during which its identity was almost erased, but it has emerged even stronger today by remembering its traditions and seizing opportunities to create new ones.
When I was 15, I always bought clothes I never ended up wearing. This was a product of my constant dilemma of wanting to be bold and express myself, but feeling afraid to do so. Those patterned jackets and bright clothes I bought sat in my closet unworn as I continued wearing my comfort clothes including plain tees and dark skinny jeans. On the path to develop my self-confidence, I decoded the relationship between fashion and confidence. Here's the thing, we often hear about how fashion can increase wearers’ confidence, like if you wear pantsuits you will feel empowered, or that wearing red increases how attractive you feel. While this may be true, the interaction between fashion and confidence holds much more complexity than the one-way relationship that’s often described. You need to have enough confidence to wear these clothes in public before they can have their psychological effects.
@portiagreenig
This is not just a personal experience. I noticed a lot of young people struggle to express their personal identity in their style, attributable to body image and social pressure to conform with a wider group. This is a representation of the innate fear of rejection, because humans are social creatures who feel a need to belong to a group. While wanting to fit in may be natural, having the confidence to wear what you want is important because fashion is a medium for self-expression and can allow you to feel connected with who you are. If a person's identity is something they want to share, they should feel free to do so without inhibition. They should wear those bright clothes they were excited to buy, instead of leaving them in their closet unworn! The process of developing enough confidence to emulate my personal identity through fashion was a complicated one. Initially, I did not feel comfortable with jumping out of my comfort zone. Instead, I slowly expanded my comfort zone, which I began to do by getting the rook and conch of my cartilage pierced, and placing a focus on accessorizing my outfits. This really helped me develop my personal style and draw more attention to my otherwise plain comfort clothes. If anyone struggles with feeling comfortable expressing their style, I would recommend they do something similar, whether it be through accessories, or gradual incorporation of colours into their outfits; my piercings are now one of my favourite parts of my style expression!
However, the most important thing to realise in this process is that what’s going on psychologically does not necessarily describe what's happening around you. You might be reluctant to express yourself because of potential embarrassment, or looking bad, but the reality is, no one cares. In fact, it's likely people are actually worried about embarrassing themselves rather than critiquing you. This is a common occurrence known as the spotlight effect, which is the tendency we have to overestimate our insecurities and the attention we draw to ourselves. After expanding my comfort zone, I overcame this as I began to incorporate bold colours into my style, and that's when I realised it's all psychological. In the end, the only thing stopping you from dressing how you want is yourself, and the best way to address this is by taking that risk. The consequences of self-expression in fashion are never as bad as we make them out to be. Moreover, when you confidently dress how you want, it will likely inspire others and draw people to you because humans crave authenticity. The key takeaway from my personal experience is that expressing your identity in fashion is nothing to feel afraid of, so go, take that risk, and do it!
@SHYLAROBINSON
Labelled by the UN as “A textbook example of ethnic cleansing” in October 2016 armed military groups wiped out entire villages of Rohingya and burned their lives to the ground. Over 1 million Rohingya have been forcibly displaced, and have fled to neighbouring Bangladesh where they hope to return one day to the country they call home.
("The Rohingya Crisis - CNN")
The Rohingyas are a predominantly Muslim ethnic minority who have lived in Myanmar for centuries.
Draping the Rohingya Crisis_ By Mia Ciauri
They have been described by the UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres as “one of, if not the, most discriminated people in the world”. ("What Forces Are Fueling Myanmar’S Rohingya Crisis?")
Rohingya have been denied citizenship in Myanmar since 1982 which has effectively rendered them stateless.
After learning about this conflict I wanted to raise awareness through the art form of drapery. @mia_paris_
Suffering
The cultural identity including the suffering, stories and history of the Rohingya inspired my artwork and draping. The minority group fled their homes with nothing but the clothes on their backs and I chose to use fashion to express their culture and to visually display the crisis. I created a series of mixed media collage pieces and acrylic paintings to highlight the destruction the Myanmar military inflicted on the Rohingya villages in Rakhine state. The black shapes and brush marks within the acrylic paintings represent the burning ash of the structures which were destroyed. I have used broken brush strokes and splatter techniques to further emphasise this theme of suffering. The two paper collages of the huts and the red and yellow acrylic painting below were inspired by the story of Rajuma, a 20 year old Rohingya refugee. She explains how “she watched these soldiers throw her baby son into a fire, and he burned to death." I was so impacted by this story of Rajuma, I created this painting to the right showing the flames reaching upwards, and taking with it innocent lives, represented by the white brush strokes.
The vibrant tropical shirt reflects the natural environment surrounding the Rohingya in Rakhine state, and the land they had to flee. The grey trousers allude to the smoke emanating from the burning Rohingya houses and the darker grey scarf represents the darkness of the Rohingya suffering. I have draped the garments over the shoulders of the mannequin, to link the design to the ankle length cotton sarongs worn daily by the Rohingya. The women wear the ‘thain’ which wraps tightly around the waist, and here I have used the dark grey scarf to cinch in the fabric at the waist. In the image to the right, the black sharp edged cloth symbolises both the violence committed against the Rohingya villagers and the charred remains of what once was their homes.
There are thousands of appalling stories coming from the Coxs Bazar refugee camp in Bangladesh, which has acted as a safe haven for the Rohingya minority. I was haunted by a photograph from The Guardian of Ukhiya, a little Rohingya girl, at the camp who fled from Myanmar. Her eyes looked exhausted and were filled with sadness and pain. I recreated Ukhiya’s image using different mediums to communicate her anguish.
Stories
In an oil painting, I incorporated the colour blue in the underpainting of her face in the image above to symbolise her dark and desolate mental state. I further developed this idea by sketching the face with charcoal and placing a purple transparent tulle fabric over her eyes. The fabric covering the face is a symbol of their Islamic faith, and I have exaggerated the shadows around the eyes to fully communicate the suffering of this little Rohingya girl. (“Guardian. Ukhiya, Bangladesh. 2017”)
After creating the draping to the left, I printed and cut out photographs and placed them onto the mannequin in dress form as seen below. In my draping, I used yellow and purple, the most common colours on the headscarves of Rohingya women.
For this draping I took inspiration from the faces of the Rohingya victims and incorporated the side profile into the shape of the garment. The face is representative of the horrors the refugees experienced and their mental trauma.
History Muslims have lived in the area now known as Myanmar as early as the 12th century. During the 100 years of British rule, there was a significant amount of migration, with labourers travelling from India and Bangladesh to Myanmar. At the time the migration was considered internal as the British administered Myanmar as a province of India.
("Rohingya Islamic Coins Used In Ancient Arakan")
These coins to the left date back to 1500-1700 AD when the Moghul Empire ruled over the Arakan region, shown on the left side of Myanmar in the map. Arakan kings minted coins with Muslim names and declarations of Islamic faith. The government of Myanmar and many citizens consider the Rohingya as illegal immigrants from Bangladesh, however many trace their roots in Myanmar back centuries. Therefore, these coins commonly represent many Rohingyas historical identity as citizens of Myanmar.
These drapings are inspired by the Rohingya historic coins through the circular gold and black patterns, the gold sheen tube top and the round gathering of the fabric on the skirt.
“If Myanmar gives us citizenship and recognises our Rohingya identity we will return.” - A young Rohingya refugee in Bangladesh
@duazaidi3
Enclothed Cognition. A concept allowing us to understand how clothes can quite literally define our identity and actions. Adam Galinsky and Hajo Dam, founders of this idea, define it as, “the systematic influence that clothes have on the wearer's psychological processes.” They further separate their description into, “two independent factors - the symbolic meaning of the clothes and the physical experience of wearing them,” evidenced using their experiments with a white coat on scientists. The Nobel Prize winners separated students, to compare students wearing a white coat associated with a painter and another associated with a scientist using statistical analysis, a mixed-model ANOVA. The latter performed better and with greater attention, indicating the behavioural effect of clothing depends both on the symbolic meaning of the item of clothing as well as what exactly they are wearing.
Trying to logically understand why this may be, I began to relate the theory to ideas of confidence, wearing uniforms and daily behaviour linked with style. Why do people tend to dress ‘worse’ or rather more casually when suffering? This question suggests that fashion not only affects brain processes but is also a way to encode our behaviour, purposefully or not. Enclothed cognition explains by saying that wearing a “piece of clothing exerts an influence on the wearer’s psychological processes by” causing the person to embody the symbolic meaning of the clothing. This can be exemplified with daily life as one often may dress better, for example, choosing trousers, a waistcoat and cowboy boots rather than a tracksuit, to feel more confident. However, I wonder if this world is the other way around? - One may subconsciously dress more casually when in a hurry, working or dealing with a problem. Would this be explained by Enclothed Cognition? However, when considering this it is important to note this as a clear assumption and can be very dangerous in the context of sending the “wrong signals,” leading to issues of cat-calling, assault and victim-blaming. Returning to the original notion, we can seemingly use fashion as a way to build our confidence, which I found to be the case for me. As a 13-year-old, I could affirm myself to be quite the opposite of “drippy.” I mean, I could try to blame the Tumblrphase or my sheltered pre-puberty years or boarding school’s phone/social media restrictions but the skinny black jeans, weird cut white tee, unkempt bush on my head and thick-rimmed black glasses were most definitely not cute. I found, as embarrassing as it is to admit, myself to be a different person back then, both in terms of appearance and personality.
At the beginning of boarding school at age 11, I found myself to be very shy, not easily brought out of my shell, unless in the presence of my friends or as a result of my temper. My mother often called me a little angry caterpillar, while also promising me I would experience my own metamorphosis soon enough. I did - like I'm sure some of you did too. At first, I wasn’t sure why or how I went through the change: maybe it was puberty or maybe it was an increased exposure to social media encouraging me to actually establish some sort of skincare routine? Regardless, after learning more about Enclothed Cognition, I trust that the changes I experienced were due to an increasing interest in fashion - and not only what one found on social media. I found myself creating a brand for myself and so I started feeling good about what I wore. This feeling, the feeling of having taken the time to buy and style each item elevates one’s confidence to another level, no longer subconsciously regretting choosing that specific top but rather excited to walk out in it. Consequently, this left little room for crawling back into a shell and I began to embody the clothes I wore: more appealing, elegant and trendy.
FASHION AND THE MYTH OF INDIVIDUALISM by Umi Mononga
The notion of fashion as a means of self-expression is rarely questioned in capitalistic societies. It is, in part, a marketing technique. People can justify spending money on clothes if they believe that they are investing in themselves when doing so. As such, the Western conception of the body has become inextricable from the fabrics it is wrapped in and the way a certain garment hangs on it. Fashion is now an indicator of luxury, of confidence, even status. Compliments such as ‘Love your shirt!’ are loaded with other, subtler, meanings - ‘I’ve never seen a shirt like that before’, or ‘I wonder where that shirt is from,’ or ‘That shirt reminds me of something cool,’ or I love how you are wearing that shirt’ or ‘I would buy that shirt myself’. The receiver of said compliment then typically feels a warm glow at the idea that someone else approves of what they have chosen to wear. There is no denying, then, that fashion is implicitly personal and linked to our feelings, but not in the way that most would assume. @ooo.mee
Screenshot of @stealherstyle on Instagram
Getting dressed is not really a matter of taking some intrinsic aspect of our personality and displaying it externally. It is, instead, a matter of silently conversing with others, of projecting into the atmosphere an ideal of who we want to be, as well as who we are. There are whole Instagram pages dedicated to analysing and replicating the outfits of celebrities. The mere existence of fast fashion, an industry built on replicating such ‘celebrity’ trends at double speed, shows that mainstream fashion is a collective sport. Clothes are, on one level, just people being inspired by other people. Even high fashion designers are influenced by each other, always looking into the future or the past together. Similarly, the connection between belief and appearance has grown increasingly thin. Indie culture has all but collapsed, gone the way of flannel shirts, baby-doll dresses, and “corporate rock still sucks” t-shirts. Truly ‘alternative’ fashion brands are becoming thinner on the ground, with most of them appearing almost identical to mainstream fashion outlets in a way that is both hypocritical and alarming. DollsKill, a goth-ish online store that champions female empowerment, has been repeatedly called out for stealing ideas from independent creators and exploiting workers. Perhaps the most jarring embodiment of such hypocrisy is when alternative musician Grimes revealed herself to be in a relationship with billionaire Elon Musk. Many of her fans were outraged, citing her goth aesthetic as ground for believing that she was anti-establishment, and then being incensed when she married whom they consider to be an imperialist.
The lower class ‘chav’ stereotype, as seen in Little Britain. Photo by PA
Grimes and Elon Musk at the Met Gala. Photo by DIA DIPASUPIL/WIREIMAGE
Homogeneous dressing within social groups is a blatant example of this conversation. Class and clothing do not exist in separate vacuums. In upper-class areas, there appears to be a stigma attached to wearing tracksuits and hoodies, despite the fact that such clothing is normal, even celebrated, in lower class areas. If fashion was purely a means of self-expression, then it wouldn’t be so delineated by upbringing and the concept of ‘normality’. The way we dress is often not an accurate representation of character or creativity, but simply the product of what we have been exposed to.
The lower class ‘chav’ stereotype, as seen in Little Britain. Photo by PA
Maybe this outrage was misplaced. Perhaps nowadays, style is just ‘style’, and clothes are just empty symbols of the culture we live in, rather than anything else. The spike in sales of cross-chains is questionable given that we live in a more secular world than ever. Once predominantly a symbol of religious devotion, the cross is now, for many young people, considered an aesthetic. If someone wears a cross, it could feasibly be because they are Christian, but it could also mean that they are not Christian and trying to be ‘ironic’, or they could have simply seen someone else do it and wanted to copy.
Rapper Rico Nasty wearing a cross necklace. Photo by Getty Images
This disconnect is as prevalent in high fashion as it is in low fashion. The 2018 Met Gala saw many non-Christian celebrities don clothes inspired by Catholicism in the name of ‘fashion’. Ironically, in a generation more and more pressingly divided by what one chooses to wear, the outfit choices of any given person point more, in my opinion, to who they are trying to impress rather than anything else.
Cardi B at the Met Gala. Photo by Getty Images
The pressure to perform this femininity correctly has definitely stunted my ability to express myself the way I want to.
I feel I am subconsciously bound by ‘trends’ that are being force-fed by mass media. As someone that likes to experiment with hair and makeup, I have also noticed that my photos get more likes on Instagram (@ooo.mee) when I look the girliest. About a year ago, I ended up deleting one of my favourite makeup looks from my account because I had short hair and darker skin in it, which made many people unfollow me. There is a specific brand of hyper-femininity and ‘sexiness’ that is being pushed by influencers like the Kardashians, and females who fit this ideal are rewarded not only in likes, but in life opportunities.
On the left is the picture that I deleted and on the right are two of my posts that did very well by comparison. The two on the right are more aligned with European beauty standards. I have since stopped worrying about likes, but the message still stands.
Similarly, Mikai McDermott (a black influencer and writer) has complained about her Instagram posts getting more likes when she wears wigs as opposed to when she has box braids in, due to the fact that wigs make black women appear closer to the whitewashed standard of beauty. She has stopped posting photos where she isn’t wearing a wig as they get less likes and therefore don’t earn her as much money through brand deals.
A recent post from Mikai’s instagram @mikaimikai
It seems that in order to truly express ourselves through fashion, we must separate what we actually want to wear from the socially defined ‘ideal look’. This is easier said than done, especially when fully embracing one's individuality can lead to social punishment. Most of us are stuck somewhere in the middle, expressing ourselves through fashion a little bit, but still sadly bound by expectations of what we should wear.
Clothes cannot, on their own, be heralded as an expression of identity, especially as all of us are at different places on our fashion journey. Either way, what lies beneath the clothes remains relatively the same. The feelings we have are the same. It doesn’t matter if we all dress differently. The reasons we do it are, at a skeletal level, the same.
Judging others on how they choose to present themselves is not helpful or necessary. Instead, I urge you all to start dressing and grooming more mindfully, and asking yourselves- is this how I want to look, or is this how someone else wants me to look?
Colonialism & Fashion: The broken systems of sewing decoded by Shyla Robinson
The coronavirus pandemic caused a global economic slowdown. Naturally, retail businesses have been amongst the hardest hit with unemployment rates rising and disposable incomes falling. The fashion industry has been no stranger to this privation, and I daresay, hasn’t borne the outcomes gracefully. As of June 29, orders to Bangladeshi suppliers amounting to $3.7 billion were postponed or withdrawn by nearly 2000 brands. In August, there was an upsurge in unemployment in Kenya due to the closure of more than a hundred garment factories. And as of October, it has been estimated that $16 billion of revenue is being withheld from suppliers in developing countries by brands based in the West.
As it turns out, those working at the bottom of this exploitative model are barely scraping under normal circumstances with a minimum wage of $31.83 per month in Bangladesh; activists have estimated that one must at least earn $188 to comfortably make ends meet. Such low wages are characteristic of sweatshops across the Global South. Hence, with little to no savings to fall back on, garment workers, majority of whom are women and children, have been left especially vulnerable. What kind of inhumane systems allow (and thrive!) off such malpractice and desperation? @shylarobinson
Colonial ones, of course! We have seen this pattern before, right? As defined by the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: “Colonialism is a practice of domination, which involves the subjugation of one people to another.” It is unnerving how well this describes the aforementioned scenarios. While ‘discovering’ foreign lands, colonial powers always sought to exploit natural resources and the people who relied on them. A report by the Rainforest Action Network reveals our days of land expropriation are not behind us: biodiverse community-owned forests in Indonesia are being mowed down by plantation companies to plant eucalyptus trees for pulp extraction. This raw material is then processed into fabrics like rayon and viscose that are widely used in industrial fashion. The adverse effects of this encroachment include uprooting of indigenous communities’ livelihoods, lowering of the water table due to eucalyptus plantations (a thirsty non-native species), and destruction of precious carbon sinks. Scholars have aptly named the countries that suffer from this phenomenon of expropriating resource-rich land from minority populations as “sacrifice states.”
Let’s now examine how labour exploitation translates into the modern fashion industry. According to the Global Slavery Index (2018), the garments industry ranks second on the top 5 industries most likely to be incorporating modern slavery into their supply chains and importing into G20 countries. An estimated $127.7 billion worth of apparel products are at risk of such human rights violations. In a study of the South Indian textile industry that supplies knit-wear to major brands like Primark, researchers found that 60% of the workers at the mills were less than 18 years old when they were lured into the industry under the false pretences of “three nutritious meals a day and opportunities for training and schooling.”
All workers, a majority of whom are girls, have to stay in hostels on the factory premises and are refused contact with the outside world to the extent that they are not even allowed to keep a phone to contact their families - their only channel of communication is a hostel phone. Workers are expected to work overtime and overnight if necessary, are refused paid sick leave, have no contracts as a way of proof of what they are entitled to, and are paid lump sum amounts after three years. If this repressive system of bonded labour is not a direct descendent of colonial slavery, I don’t know what is.
The second major aspect to consider when examining how colonial structures seep into the fashion industry is the institutions that facilitate such trade. In the book Why Nations Fail, James Robinson and Daron Acemoglu argue that the key difference between prosperous and poor countries is how they are organized. Typically countries with extractive economic and political institutions are ridden with monopolies, poor judicial systems, low state capacity, and subsequent lack of innovation. Many former colonies suffer from ‘vicious cycles’ of extractive institutions that were introduced into their society by colonial powers. Despite the ‘independence’ of these countries the perpetrators are indeed of the same blood as those they abuse, the legacy of exploitation and domestic unrest continues to leave post-colonial societies susceptible to foreign influence and unfair bargains. This map of global supply chains is strikingly similar to colonial trade routes from 150 years ago.
During the Colonial Era, the Western savior mentality justified the occupation of foreign lands on the belief of ‘civilizing the savages’. Westernization was equated with progress and civilization while indigenous practices were considered uncultured and reduced to archaic, static traditions. As Sanda Niessen argues, such “racism is built into the definition of fashion”' with designs that the western fashion industry produces considered as “normal” and indigenous dressing styles considered to be “other,” and hence, not “real fashion”. Such a narrow and exclusionary definition of fashion rejects the Global South’s perception of fashion and has resulted in a decline of craftwork and generational skills. Returning to the concept of sacrifice states, researchers argue that the destruction of indigenous traditions because of industrial fashion is a cultural loss that ought to be acknowledged alongside the ecological and humanitarian abuses. The exclusionary ideologies that justified colonialism centuries ago have continued to haunt perceptions of normalcy and aestheticism.
Painting by M. V. Dhurandhar
The Global South will continue to lack human capital to facilitate large service sectors and technological advancement. The masses will continue to be treated as disposable and forests will continue to be replaced by plantations. No amount of investment can fix this mess of archaic colonial systems without large-scale institutional change.
So what can you do? The first step is to educate yourself. Spread awareness. Call for transparency in supply chains. Try to unlearn what you believe constitutes ‘fashion,’ remind yourself not to classify indigenous designs as out of the ‘norm.’ Last but not the least, work towards acknowledging the echoes of colonialism and hidden costs we have been desensitized to. Systems produce what they are designed to produce: refuse to tolerate senseless growth at the expense of people, forests, and cultures.”
For more info on sustainability in fashion go check out our sustainability manifesto, show, and resources!
We hope you enjoyed MODO Magazine’s March 2021 edition!