Issue 1 - SS /14
The City Will Expand
Oi! Issue 1 SS/14 A Bi Annual Journal For The Young Creative
Editor / Creative Director Obui Amaechi Creative Consultant Virginia Wilson PR & Marketing Bridget Stewart Creative Content Contributors: MARK OHDEAR, HADIRU MAHDI, JAKE COLMANIVICH, MICHTEE, BELINDA ZHAWI, ANDREA PHILLIPS, TEX ROYALE, , TOM GRANT, PHIEBEE CROMPTON, LEE WALTZ, THE VD BUNCH.
Oi! is distributed by OaCommunicate UK, Copyright © Oi!, February 2014, Issue No1. www.oimag.tumblr.com firstname.lastname@example.org
It’s good to do what you like, when you like and how you like... Its getting harder and harder for us creatives to express ourselves . It getting harder and harder for creatives to find ‘work’ in the areas they actually want to, without having to work two jobs and then get back to their actual creative work at home?! Work is what you make it really, who says you need a boss to start working, who says you need to be told when to work to start working, or how to work even, or where?! We can only help each other when we help ourselves. We’re always on the internet forever browsing, researching , stealing ideas as they says artists do, but why don’t we just use it for our benefit? Instead of stalking the Facebook timeline why don’t you get a LinkedIn Profile, get to ‘professional’ lobbying and add them connections, add those who inspire you, show your appreciation, connect, communicate, collaborate! You’ll save yourself. All those ideas running through your head, you know its hard to brainstorm alone, a team of bloody brilliant creatives will remind you where you come from. No need to conform to get to someone else’s idea of success, you should create your idea of success, then there’s no pressure because it’s up to you to reach it and or alter it.. If there is any creative content you see and love here, why not get in contact. This is an interactive cybernated journal, click or double tap on a name or credit and let the internet do the rest. Learn to trust your instincts, don’t be paranoid, your ideas can’t really be duplicated. No one can really steal them because they’re yours and they’ll never be able to manifest the idea in the exact same way you would. Remember that. Stay alive fellow creatives. We need each other. The world needs colour, form and function, whether combined or separate, whether abstract or figurative, whether Art or Design.
Sight x Sound % Discernment =____? ;)
Obui Amaechi - Editor / Creative Director
George Lois Says... Creative Belly – Royal Mug Can the Real Basquiat Please Stand up?! Jay v Ye. Conversations @ Bill’s Saving the Queen’s Nose (NHS)
Excerpt from - ‘Barbaric Thoughts – On a Revolutionary Critique of Civilization’
Oi! Whats in your kit bag? The City Will Expand - EDITORIAL
Cycling are we?
M&CSaatchi Wisdom Let’s Talk Privilege then... Individuality - Christian Dior Learn a Language MichTee Selects
Marlborough Male Mayfair Mistress... Cinematheque Excerpt - ‘Against the logic of Submission MdmFlow’s Cosmetics Who can afford to Eat FRESH?! Wintour v Vreeland The Editors Guide
Literature On Educating and Education
42. “To create great work, here’s how you must spend your time; 1% Inspiration 9% Perspiration 90% Justifcation I don’t care how talented you are. If you’re the kind of creative person who gets your best work produced - justifying and selling your work (to those around you, to your boss, to your client, to lawyers, to TV copy clearance, etc.) is what separates the sometimes good creative thinker from the consistently great one.”
The Creative Belly ’
Cupboard’s empty? Got deadlines? Hungry & barely have time to cook? You’re about to cook the tastiest make shift Spag Bol... lol!
"The Royal Mug" Ingredients 1 Large Red Onion 1 Chicken Stock Cube - Jumbo 2 Small Salad Tomatoes 1 Quarter pack of Spaghetti 1tsp Crushed Chilli Peppers 1tsp Tomato Puree 1/2 tbsp Bun Rieu Crab Paste 4 tbsp Sainsbury’s Tomato & Basil Soup 1/2 handful of Raisins 4 large leaves of torn Spinach
METHOD TO THE MADNESS: Step1: Pour boiling water into a medium sized pot, Gas Mark 4. Step2: Slice a whole red onion and pour into water. Step3: Sprinkle half a chicken jumbo stock cube in and sliced salad tomatoes. Step 4: After 15mins break spaghetti into thirds and halves and throw in to boil. Sprinkle crushed chilli peppers – ( optional ) and qqueeze tomato puree into the mix. Allow to boil till water consistency thickens and capacity lessens . Step 5: Add half a spoonful of Bun Rieu Cua crab paste Add 4 table spoons of Sainsburys Tomato & Basil soup, stir , allow to cook, Step 6: Sprinkle half a handful of raisins and torn spinach leaves in and turn the mixture. When cooked choose a mug of your choice, fill it up and get back to work!? Your MacBook’s waiting…
Can the real please stand up? Dear Oi, Forgive me, this letter’s long overdue I know, but man was going through some things...I had to leave the city for a piece. For Sierra Leone, find peace with my people. There I thought long on family, community and solidarity; blackness, self worth and consciousness; hip-hop. The usual. Before I went away you asked me about Basquiat, I was honest then and although my relative ignorance has dissipated a little, I wouldn’t go so far as claiming myself to be an authority on the man and his art. I know what I know of his work, seen what I can see but know much will remain out of reach sitting as is does in banks, in the bedrooms or above the mantelpieces of the wealthy. Those who might pride themselves on owning it, perhaps mentioning the price, to the nearest half million, in passing. But with all due respect, the above antagonisms shall not belittle the life, work and legacy of Basquiat. Just that I won’t spend my time today on art history, there are plenty books and people out there more able than I to summarise them. What caught my ear were his thoughts on the underrepresentation and mis-representation of Black people and the Black experience in art. Although the references are clear in paintings such as The History of Black People I wanted to hear it said in his own voice and at last I did when a late night trawl through Youtube gave me a valuable sound bite or two. In the side bar, “recommended for you” was Jay Z’s Picasso Baby. What’s he talking about – the new Jean Michel? Oi, I know, this is rap. Although he may say it like he means it, I’m not gonna take the simile too seriously. Like, I know Action Bronson doesn’t look like a young Zinaldine Zidane and that Soulja Boy aint nothing like Superman, but still... What bothers me more is that he may see himself as the man (and Warhol, and Picasso) simply because he has a piece of him. It’s not about the content of the art or the ideas of the artist, just who he owns. The value of that being in the price. Anyways, you’ve heard me rant on Jay, I know you say it’s not about hip-hop, but sill, I just can’t relate. That could be what’s got me, business taking precedence over the artistry. From the jump it felt to me like the Samsung lick was pure marketing, a headline grabbing [pre]sales drive that could guarantee custom for both. It wasn’t really doing anything to challenge how music is distributed or listened to because the same hands are holding the work, turning the tap. What’s more, by narrowing the means of distribution they’re plugging the leaks.
Jay won but still, I didn’t see it as particularly inspirational or aspirational as he’s functioning on a plain far out of reach. No next kid is sat there thinking “Son, I’m gonna drop my shit via Nokia”. It wasn’t radical, it was protective – he says it himself: The homie said “Hov, there ain’t many of us”/I told him less is more, nigga it’s plenty of us. I had some hope since he sounded his freshest for a minute on Watch the Throne. That had me uneasy too but I found myself speaking up for it. For me, the album worked as a perverse-megalomaniacal-hyper-materialistic exploration of Black Power...Hear me out. Like, we’re rich enough to sit at the table with all you folks whose forefathers had us as slaves...like, we own businesses or are on the boards of white business..like, Tommy Hilfiger and Crystal are racist so I’m gonna get people buying my clothes and champagne. All with exclamation marks and mad rage and/or cockiness. That’s what I thought it was doing but I’m not saying the outcome was positive. There’s no victory in reproducing the world of the oppressor if it’s predicated on keeping people unequal and poor. They may see themselves as success stories RE the American Dream but that dream needs new slaves to maintain the growing wealth and power of the few. That ain’t for the people. Remember the Runaway video for MBDF though?? I thought ‘Ye was about to take it somewhere. I love the kid, really, but lately the ego is killing him. That or he may be too far gone a sufferer of micro-aggressions. Problem is they only notice the rages and rants, the whole – you ain’t got the answers Sway – flip was but a minute of an otherwise interesting interview where he laid down his exasperations at the upper echelon of prejudice. We could say more the fool him for thinking that wealth and fame are keys that open those doors regardless of race and class. I imagine he thought he’d scaled a wall, only to see there was a whole obstacle course on the other side. The issue for me is that whilst I feel this should push him towards a systemic critique; his megalomania has upped the ante on Me vs The World. ‘Ye though, had those radical roots (he came up around Common, Dead Prez and Kweli remember?) so I think he may have just lost the sense of scale and solidarity. Mostly though, I just can’t get past those horrible lyrics... I don’t think Jay cares a jot about all that, he comes across as much more conservative. But ok, Basquiat died young and when Jay was his age he was making songs like You must love me and Song Cry whilst popping bottles and wearing Gucci bucket hats. Same ways Basquiat was producing raw hung canvases dwelling on race and death then turning up to Mudd Club in paint splattered Armani suits. They both were wrestling with those internal conflicts, but whilst Jay’s still here, grown ass man and father, they were Jean’s demise, we can only speculate on where he would’ve ended up...
SAMO over alladat shit. .. ... Later love, Portrait
“Yeah, haha, pretty nice in here.” She said with a humbled discreet sense of approval, she’d been invited by the red headed cyclist sat opposite her. “OMG”, she said excitedly, rushing to give a dramatic illustration of her last meal there. “I just love it here!? ” Her guest glanced back waiting for a verbal explanation for her theatric response; a character who at times proved hard to please but remained willing to be pleased. She’d heard the brief gasps of promo before, she was here now, she just wanted details. Especially before she ordered. “Do you know what you’re gonna order?” “ Yeah, To be honest I think I’m gonna get exactly what I ordered last time… Mmmm, yes, OMG you should taste the house wine!” Nervous laughter briefly erupted from her mouth,
A Fictional story based on a factual review @ Bill’s. by Phiebee Crompton & Lee Waltz
“You know… I don’t really… like, white wine, but...” “REALLY ?!, URGH !I LOVE WHITE WINE! “ she butted in innocently, deluded by the thoughts of the alcoholic liquid. ”Dry, crispy white wine with a citral palette…” “…yeah, uh, I guess I’ll try it?” she concluded quickly. “No promo but wait till I get my dessert, the ….Lemon Meringue Cheesecake.” “Yuh, I think I’m gonna get the Mezze platter, you wanna share?” “What does Mezze mean again? Is it Mexican?” “Ha! I think it’s Turkish, I’m not sure… typically you see it in Turkish restaurants... comes with a mix of tastes from other dishes for the indecisive...” Hungry and unprepared for language classes, she scanned through the Menu dismissively blocking out the little she was unwilling to comprehend, a British aspect of her nature.
“Mmnyuh, I guess I’ll try some and you can taste my Butternut Squash soup!” The food arrived; they half lusted over each others dishes content with what they’d ordered. Impressed, unimpressed, confused, they continued tasting touching, sharing, feeding, laughing, wondering… “Taste that…”
“Mmm, it’s nice but, erm, hmm I think I hate the fact that it looks like Weetabix? It’s nice though, we should find out what it is.” ”Let me ask the waiter. Excuse me, Excuse me, sir, what is this dip? What’s in it?” ”Babaganouche, it’s, it’s basically…” their two-way conversation became muted. “What’d he say?” She leaned over the candle lit table, whispering, yearning for a new food noun to remember. “I think it’s like err, like an Aubergine mash, much like how hummus is made. Hmmm, I prefer if this other tomato dip had a touch of salt or maybe balsamic vinegar, even cumin...” She noted before expressing her acute taste for Mexican food, her mother was a Mexican. She was part Mexican. She liked Mexican seasoning. She preferred it for the tomato dips and seasonings. “Hmmmm?” Unsure of the opposing taste buds, and unwilling to carry on the debate she diverted her attention and conversation to the wine which her tongue had become extremely familiar yet respectful of. She sipped it slowly and observed her surroundings. A bit like a cat. “This wine is soo good! ...but yeah what happened with thingy? Hahaa! I can’t believe it, character complex or what?” “Haha… Oh gard!” she choked, in her international accent. “I dunno man, I mean I hate being dragged into it but... “ She was reluctant to speak of the situation and attempted to change the topic. Fiery red ombre kinks and mixed curl patterns where being elevated like the rays of a burning equatorial Sun. A rascally grin swept across her face like a quiet lighting bolt before a storm. She respected the unspoken loyalties expected from her, subtly reminded by familiar body language, more human than international, that she’d been picking up from her pirate like musketeer. She blushed; as usual she tried to hide her rosy cheeks that seemed to always catch her off guard, but she blushed because she recognized the drama queen seem to care… “I dunno, last time my soup tasted a bit different I can’t even lie, I tried it though, coz you know I been bragging for a bit! Haha!” She chuckled embarrassed by her previously extensive promo, whilst making a parallelogram of the conversation. “it was thicker? This one’s more watery, you know like vegetables and stock in water. It might just be missing butter.?” Her companion was satisfied with her one spoonful taster and wasn’t eager to have more. “you know what I’m gonna make you my special soup, the one that nobody forgets and everyone requests! No promo! “ “what’s it made of?” “ … you’ll see when I make it. And you can cook your special Mezze for me one day…” she asserted. “Who taught you how to cook?” “Well… I kinda learned to cook from my dad, he was the chef of the house…!”
“Ow muy gord? Yaw dad cahn cook?!” the unanticipated Cockney accent queried, slightly confused but intrigued. “haha, yeah, uh he’s the cook in the house…” She continued, describing how her father had constructed the perfect kitchen in his newly renovated house in Bermuda. “shut up ? no way? Wait what’s the stove like? And is there an island? What color are the pots and pans? Rose steel?” she impatiently demanded, the spoilt felt deprived of answers that could fill her unlimited imagination with concepts for future kitchen interiors.
What seemed like a stereotypically female discussion on kitchenware and interior design had commenced. They had vanished into infinite dimensions of surrealism but were abruptly resuscitated when the Igbo British skinhead dining with the Mexican Bermudan pirate described constant trauma with regards to the kitchen in her shared accommodation. She was suffering from Clinical depression. She diagnosed herself with OCD but she had her reasons. ‘An independent who was getting used to sharing and trusting others.’ Germs reminded her of people and the kitchen was shared, she had no right to disinfect it the way she wanted to, but her taste was gourmet and this needed special kitchen arrangements. “ Yeah, uh maybe we could go out there one day, roam the beach naked!?” she mentioned titillatingly. “ really? Oh my God… that would be sick… I’m in, let’s do it…” she chortled, without a smile, shifting her eyes away and around at the room and back down at her soup, shy at the over exposure of her darkest fantasies. Something about learning to cook from her dad and living in Bermuda recalled the question of her father’s occupation. “…He’s a doctor. My dad, he’s a doctor…” the modestly proud daughter went on to explain how her father had taught her to cook at the time she was suffering from anorexia. In an attempt to tempt her into eating more, he solicitously, cunningly taught her how to cook. With an attempt to dismiss the emotional attachment the traveler passionately but briefly gave an exhortation about how she had taken herself out of a depression that lasted 4 years, into a state where she was sane and able to cope with living on her own in London. It was empathically understood that she overcame anorexia through painstaking willfulness, despite her father insisting she go to a psychologist; she didn’t believe in psychologists or psychotic drugs… The multicultural chameleon crunched on a spoonful of melting ice. “Oooowh! Its eeyah!” the south Londoner exclaimed rubbing her palms together with glee. Her precious citrus, biscuit, meringue and ice-cream concoction had arrived, she’d been waiting, was aroused, and remained loyal, ordering the same concept of edible libido. This was her paramour, but she was willing to share it with the androgynous buccaneer. “You want some? Go on then?! Pehlease?! Get a spoon coz you’ll regret it. Its too good!?” As they sucked and licked, cold silverware sent whacking sensations shooting through their pulsating fibrous food palettes. Nodding, grinning, and exchanging glances of approving eye contact they nonchalantly, ironically discussed the power of willpower.
“ you know I wanted to invite what’s his face here…” she inserted aloofly, praying her playmate would catch on and take heed to her silent pine for advice. “…but I dunno yet, you know?...” She knew. “too many good associations…?!” “hahaaaa..?! Basically…” she giggled indignantly at the thought of he who had caught her off guard, he who must have somehow gotten hold of her tick list in secret and began a sedatingly, obscure performance featuring her favorite, specifically selected and unspoken scenes. She was as whipped as the glazed cream that topped her dessert. “hmmm , yeah, but whatev’s init, no big deal…” she lied. Casually. After abrading the tumbler dwelling creamy biscuity canyon, they laughed at their bill in unison, with no pun intended. It was a private joke. One person paid. The other would do so the next time, at the next location maybe? Unwilling to leave but with schedules calling, they filled their photographic memories, standing aimlessly at the doorway. Beneath halos of hanging garlic and chilly peppers, hiding any signs of heartbreak, considering it was time for departure and the fact that Bill’s was tangible but equally intangible, they exited the draft excluding entrance. There was something about Bill’s that let them know subconsciously that they’d be back, sooner rather than later… TO BE CONTINUED…
Breakfast - Lunch - Dinner 36- 44 Brewer Street W1F 9TB 0207 287 8712 bills-website.co.uk
Sa vi ng e
th Qu ee n's
CYCLIN ARE WE
Photography by Virginia Wilson
Excerpt from ;
‘ Barbaric Thoughts – On a Revolutionary Critique of Civilization’ Wolfi Landstreicher Page 8-11
“What is civilization? “Civilization” is a confusing word. Early European explorers often strongly associated what was “good” with civilization. Thus, when they encountered honest generous non-civilized people, they would sometimes describe them as “more civilized” than Europeans. Today, the idea of civilization is frequently associated with good wine, beautiful human creations and refined tastes, but in reality the characteristics shared by all civilizations are far less pleasant; domination, genocide and environmental devastation to name a few. Another point of confusion is that many people conceive of “civilization” as a single entity developing through time. This conception has it’s source in the myth of Progress through which modern western civilization, which now dominates the world, is justified and idealized. This myth assumes that humanity has developed along a single, fairly straight path that leads to where we are. In fact, civilizations have arisen in several different places without connections and without following a single path.
Western civilization is traced back to the “Fertile Crescent” , which is referred to as the “cradle of civilization”. But Chinese, Japanese, Incan, Mayan and Aztec civilizations, to name a few, have no connection to this “cradle”. This rise of western civilization itself has not been a smooth path. Rather it is the crossing, converging and separating of several paths, sometimes through trade; far more often through conflict. Thus, there have been several civilizations throughout history. A convergence of a number of historical factors allowed European civilization to carry out a conquest that has now spread across the globe. But the idea of a single civilization that has developed along a single path is part of the ideology of Progress, and a revolutionary critique of civilization must be careful to avoid this trap, because it can easily lead to a perspective that is simply a reversal of the concept of Progress, rather than a rejection of this myth. Such a reversal can only lead to call to return to an imagined beginning which is itself a myth.
A revolutionary critique of civilization needs to reject the mystification inherent in the idea of Progress, not create a counter-myth based on a moral judgment of Progress. Although the idea of a single civilization is false, there are so many basic traits that all civilizations have shared. There can be considered as defining qualities of civilization. They can provide basic understandings that are useful in clarifying what a revolutionary critique of civilization might mean. Civilization comes form the Latin word civis, which means city-dweller. Thus, civilization is a way of life based upon city dwelling â€“ upon dwelling within areas of concentrated human population separated from the areas where this population gets is sustenance. A revolutionary critique of civilization would thus want to examine the social relationships that create and are created by cities. But the existence of what appears to be a city is not enough, in itself, to define civilization. So letâ€™s consider what happened when the first civilizations arose. It is generally agreed that the first civilizations began to develop about eight to ten thousand. I am thinking here specifically of the definitive separation between Europeans and Middle Eastern civilizations that occurred with the breakdown of the Roman Empire though I am certain other examples can be found years ago. But what actually began to develop? The evidence we have indicates that certain specializations began to crystallize into a number of intertwined social institutions: the state, property, the family, religion, law, work (as an activity separated from life), etc.
This process took place through the alienation of peopleâ€™s capacity to create their own lives individually and collectively on their own terms. This alienated creativity crystallized as concentrated power and wealth centered in the institutions of society. Based on dispossession of the great majority, the institutions are the representation of class relationships. With the rise of this institutional framework, society ceases to be a network of relationships between individuals for meeting their needs and desires, and instead becomes a network of predetermined, institutionalized relationships that stands above people and into which they must fit. Thus, they no longer consciously develop techniques together for meeting their needs and desires. Instead technological systems are developed with the aim of reproducing the institutional social order, which is itself a bureaucratic technology for mediating social relationships. The needs and desires of individuals are subordinated to this framework, and individuals themselves become cogs in the social machine. Their survival is made dependent upon this social machine locking them into an ongoing servitude that can only be broken through a radical rupture with the social order, a destructive overturning of existing social relationships, that opens the possibility for creating a new life together.
The City Wil Expand
Homogenization = Gentrification Indigenous Culture...
EMBELLISHED HAT by HAUS OF SEQUANA
The City Will Expand last half before half of book
YELLOW WATERPROOF JACKET by NORTH FACE
SUPERLICIOUS JACKET by BENCH GALAXY SPACE SKIRT by VOLCOM BLACK AND WHITE FORGE JACKET also by BENCH BUCKET HAT
BRONZE MONOCLE SPEAKERS by NATIVE UNION
LIME GREEN PUFFER JACKET by CHAMPION DENIM HEADPHONES by BEATSBYDRE NAVY HOUDINI JACKET by PATAGONIA BLACK HOODY by PUMA LIME GREEN NANO PUFF VEST by PATAGONIA
Creative Direction & Photograpghy Obui Amaechi Models Andrea Phillips & Tex Royale
www.hat’s the quickest way to find anything? You know you’ve made it when your name becomes a verb.
To Hoover is to clean. To Xerox is to copy. To Google is to find.
I hate having to explain to random strangers why it is wrong for them to just
dip their hands in my hair just because it is afro and natural. Especially random White men and women who proceed to smile and say things like,
“But my fiancée is Nigerian.” I’m not Nigerian. I hate reading online comments made on newspaper articles (esp. Guardian)
disparaging the intersectional issues of race and gender in the lives of Black women.
Poem by Belinda Zhawi
I hate that a boy who used to sit next to me in Year 11 English used to police me about mostly reading books by Black authors with a majority of Black characters. I hate that my irate responses, at the time, were not articulate enough to explain to him that these
were the struggles I could somewhat relate to. I wasn’t witty enough to reply to his comments by asking him why he only read books by White authors with mostly (if not only) White characters.
I hate it when I meet people who have already judged me based on my skin colour before I open my mouth. Instead of internalizing that shit, it comes out in their “Wagwaan
I am not your blud and never have I been.
I hate that I cringe when I hear the N word come out of a White person’s mouth but not the
same when I listen to Wu Tang or Danny Brown.
I hate that I haven’t made up my mind about my stance on that word and that I like to say it to
friends and that I sometimes
feel guilty for saying it, which might possibly make me a hypocrite. I hate it when people say,
“We should forget about it and move on.”
When all the wealth that Europe stands on, was drawn from the
plenty rich wells of African blood.
I hate calls of Africa Must Rise... as if it chopped itself at the knees causing its own fall into debt and Western oppression. How can I move on
and forget when everyday saves to be a reminder of how fucked up the world can be when people are
blind to their privilege.
I hate that some women I know feel justified in rinsing men for their money because men get paid more than women. I hate that in this day and age, in a lot of professions, men
earn more than women. I hate that I was raised to think of marriage as some sort of
instead of self awareness and self love.
I hate that Mark
Duggan, Smiley Culture, the Somali boy from my area whose name I cannot remember, Sean Rigg, Jean Charles de Menez, Joy Garner, Rodney King and many others were lawfully executed based on
assumptions made about them due to their appearance.
I hate that most times people of colour that are on television or any other major media
assist with furthering prescribed narratives that are not true to the lives of the people being represented. platforms are made to
I hate that when I get accused of pulling the race card I easily get angry and
vindictive instead of knowing who I am; my worth as a human
being and walking away with my head held high.
I hate that I am not yet at a point in my life where I can embrace my blackness not as symbol of defiance and angry pride but more as though the blackness of my skin werenâ€™t more symbolic than the whiteness of my teethâ€Ś so,
...Letâ€™s Talk Priviledge then?
Until the time we are converted to robots â€“ and I hope this time will never come - individuality will always be one of the conditions of real elegance. Even if you cannot always have your clothes made to measure, try t0 find the ready- mades that exactly fit your personality. In this period of mass production you may always find in the great variety of what is offered to you, something which is really your type. Try to understand well what is your personality and never forget that individuality does not mean eccentricity. No elegant woman (or man) follows fashion slavishly. If a particular new line does not suit you, then ignore it. There is no one line each season, there are many lines- and it is up to you to exercise your own good taste in choosing the ones that are best for you.
Mandarin “Remember to vote!”
Jì dé yào tóupiào Igbo “I like to paint and watch documentaries” Uma massim esee osise, na enchekwa Norwegian “Have you read any of George Orwell’s books?” Har du lest noen av George Orwells bøker French “What are you doing over the weekend, want to come to my friends event?” Que faites-vous le week-end, envie de venir à mes amis événement? Spanish “I think I may travel this month” Creo que puedo viajar este mes
Kojey Radical, 20. Spoken word poet, singer & contemporary artist. Sound: A poetic rawness on any beat he touches. Vicktor Taiwo, 21. Singer & Songwriter Sound: The smoothest R&B to grace the â€˜netâ€™.
Conrad Kira, 23. Rapper & beatmaker. Sound: hip-hop, grime & Japan Little Simz, 19. Rapper, Singer & Musician. Sound: Space-y hip-hop, grime with R&B influences Ego Ella May, 21. Singer, Songwriter, Guitarist & Beatmaker Sound: Like chocolate melting in your mouth Tinyman, 24. Rapper (Occasional singer) Sound: Soulful hip-hop + clever lines + harmonious vibes
A creative, visually inticing manual on propaganda, an extremely witty novel literating the closing months of World War II, and a terrifyingly magnificent use of imagination creating magical fictional literature depicting the journey of a spirit child born, dying and returning to the living world. Facts will always be sacred and when accompanied by visuals, its never to late to store some more important inforgraphic knowledge. Continuously active in her fight for social democracy, Davis digs deep into the dark system of crime, punishment and human imprisonment. RZA steady ontop of his WUTANG game, used this biographic, spiritual, philosophical and very enlightening chronicle of events to create a window to the trials and tribulations of the WUTANG journey.
I come from a family of teachers; both my parents, my brother, my father’s mother. I always swore that I would be the one to break the cycle, to steer clear of the headaches and stress. I suppose some things are in the blood, as inevitable as grey hairs and laughter lines. I started working as a TA in 2009, two years later training as a secondary music teacher. Since then I have worked in several long term posts as well doing a number of extended stints as a primary and secondary supply teacher. I’ve taught them from three years old up to eighteen in all shapes and sizes and the things which has struck me has been the consistent elements of a successful approach. Explain, model and support. Avoid too many specific expectations whilst still having plenty of suggestions at the ready. Ask more questions than you pose answers. Give learners enough ownership to actually feel some intrigue, maybe even lose themselves in the task. The appropriate translation may vary but the basic method remains the same. I currently teach in a mixed secondary comprehensive in Walthamstow. The day goes by very quickly. At present we don’t have much equipment aside a small set of hand drums and some generic Yamaha keyboards. We make do with what we have. I am new to the school and up to this point my students have mostly spent their time writing the date, being given sheet music they couldn’t read, sitting at the keyboard in pairs, headphones on, tinkering with sound effects till fifty minutes is up. The first thing I did on arrival was clear all the desks out of the classroom. The second thing was to take all the headphones out of the keyboards. Now they’re learning to play a basic dub step style tune together, thirty strong. It’s incredible how much more full those keyboards sound when there’s 18 people playing at once. It may momentarily jar a few ears but the immersive quality of so much synchronised noise works a treat in grabbing their attention.
They’re all playing together, each one a part of something much bigger than themselves, something greater than the sum of its parts. For the first time in a music lesson a lot of them are having to concentrate and apply their mind. Much of what results is excellent and the sound is bangin!!! I am in a privileged position as a music teacher, issues of pen being put to paper are minimal. At the same time in order to facilitate the divers needs of 30 individuals, tasks require enough differentiation to accommodate the most rudimentary level participation whilst providing a gifted few with the opportunity to shine. Preferring aural, visual and kinesthetic learning techniques I try to avoid theory as much as possible. This is not to say that I can’t communicate the key concepts specified by the curriculum. Rather it’s the case that instead of telling students what tempo, arrangement and structure mean I allow them to experience them, to learn their significance by going through musical processes step by step. Behaviour is always an issue. Music has a historical place as the doss subject, compounded by being one of the most under subscribed subjects after year 9. More kids than ever make their own music but very few have any interest in doing music at school, apart from maybe at lunch time. Excitable and disruptive behaviour is rife and made all the worse when people have instruments in their hands. Having worn down my larynx to the nub projecting over the cacophony I’m still developing enough routine and established signals for quiet to hold things together. Beyond that it is mostly down to keeping them busy and interested. If they believe they are able to participate and that they have some understanding of what is going on over all they will for the most part want to get involved. I try to get across the idea that the playing of music is social activity and once they’ve caught a hint of the reality of that it’s quite infectious Obviously it helps having a background in hip hop and other music the students themselves enjoy. But beyond that I ask them what they want to do, what they can play, who they like listening to. Of course at the same time it is important to take the students outside of their own experience, to show and expose them to ideas and creations they haven’t seen before and inspire and challenge their understanding. However it will always come back to an issue of ownership. Are these young minds being given the opportunity to be active in the creative process and have that aspect of their intelligence stimulated? At a time when pupil disengagement is such an issue I think this is a question relevant not just in my classroom or in a secondary music department but in any school looking to grab a young person’s attention, to make them listen before they start to really take time to think on their response.
Words by Tom Grant
Marlborough Male Mayfair Mistress... The Role of Cigarettes in our Imagined Worlds Marlborough? Camel? Silk cuts? Mayfair? Richmond Menthols? Roll-ups? Golden Virginia? American Spirit? Straights? Pure Tobacco? Intriguing cowboys riding through the plains? Or a sexy seductress, waiting to captivate you? No matter your preference we’ve all been there, the social smoker. What picture are we trying to paint? What do we actually feel that the inhalation of tobacco smoke gives us? Is it really just the lightheaded spin of nicotine mixed with booze, or is it something more? A boost of confidence? Or a shield against those piercing eyes that have been watching you all night? What is smoking really saying about you? We all know that the media has a huge influence on what we associate ourselves with. Smoking, in this context, has built up a persona that we can see ourselves in; the Marlborough male or the Liberated woman. So what do we mean by this? We all know that the idea of having something we “can’t have” is intriguing and captivating. It could be argued that smoking gives us this sense of power over the social constraints that have been imposed upon us. Grow up, get a job, get your shit together, maybe that’s not enough? The cigarette, although it enslaves us to the product, frees us from something else more engrained in our social fabric that we can’t escape so easily. Maybe every time we light up a cigarette it becomes our own personal revolution. The associations around smoking was constructed by Edward Bernays, an American Pioneer in Public Relations and Propaganda. He constructed smoking to be a symbol of power in the early 19th century; a time in which the desire for liberation inundated the masses. Edward Bernays sought a method of manipulating the unconscious because he believed that humans have hidden irrational forces, a theory his uncle Sigmond Freud expressed.
Connecting the idea of male sexual power to cigarettes created an avenue through which women could contest this power. Thus winning the name of “Torches of Freedom” amongst early 19th century women, who sought to smoke cigarettes as a symbol of their own independence and power… and this idea still persists today. But not just amongst women, but also amongst the youth, and any people looking to “stick it to the man”. In this current 20th century global society, where every problem is at our doorstep, where the social pressures infiltrate us like never before, cigarette branding has kept its hold on our desires for a moment to be free from it all. We are pressured to be independent, strong, forward thinking, emotionally detached; smoking has come to represent these qualities in our modern world. And although advertisements for cigarettes are far and few between, thanks to the recent laws against it, we still see these representations fed to us through our TV shows, public figures, celebrities & pop culture. Maybe it will make us sexier, maybe taking a pull on that cigarette can make that somebody across the room draw into the idea of you as a risk-taker, adventurous, free-loving type. Talking to smokers about why they began smoking, why they will not quit and the few positive aspects, we begin to build a similar picture time and time again. I mean, just imagine. Starry night, crisp cold air, silence, sirens, racing heart, and a group of people you know you can connect with; even if it is just for a few seconds over the mutual lighting of these little “torches of freedom”… “I have met so many people in the smoking area?!”… I’m sure those words are far from foreign to us. Is that what we are really looking for? Peace and a little company to go along with it? Vulnerability. We all have it and if you’re anything like me, you are also quite afraid of it. If we show that we are too tough to care about that silly “Smoking Kills” label, we can convince ourselves and others that we are too tough to let this fast paced global society run us down. We just want control. No matter the case, cigarettes are just as popular today as they have ever been, and are just as dangerous. And although marketing laws have changed, the associations that have been engrained into our society are as powerful as ever. Maybe we should not only rethink what we are doing to our bodies when we smoke, but whether if it’s just a ‘quick fix’ to a deeper, more inherent insatiability with the current state that our society is in. But of course, this is just one theory.
Words by The VD Bunch
1. Film Fanatic? 2. Her
Excerpt from ;
‘Against the logic of Submission’ - Beyond Feminism Beyond Gender Wolfi Landstreicher Page 33-38 Sexuality is an essential expression of individual desire and passion, of the flame that can ignite both love and revolt. Thus, it can be an important force of the individual’s will that can raise her beyond the mass as a unique and indomitable being. Gender, on the other hand, is a conduit built by the social order to constrain this sexual energy, to confine and limit it, directing toward the reproduction of this order of domination and submission. Thus, it is an obstruction to an attempt to freely determine how one will live and relate. Nonetheless, up to now, men have been granted more leeway in asserting their will within these roles than women, a reasonable explanation for why more anarchists, revolutionaries and outlaws have been men than women. Women who have been strong, rebellious individuals have been so precisely because they have moved beyond their femininity. It is unfortunate that the women’s liberation movement that re-emerged in the 1960’s did not succeed in developing a deep analysis of the nature of domination in its totality and of the role played by gender in its reproduction. A movement that had started from a desire to be free of gender roles in order to be full, selfdetermined individuals was transformed into a specialization just like most partial struggles of the time. This guaranteed that a total analysis would not be possible within this context.
This specialization is the feminism of the present era that began developing out of the women’s liberation movement in the late 60’s. It does not aim so much at the liberation of individual women from the limits of their gender roles as at the liberation of “woman” as a social category. Within mainstream politics, this project consists of gaining rights, recognition and protection for woman as a recognized social category under the law. In theory, radical feminism moves beyond mere legalities with the aim of liberating woman as a social category from male domination. Since male domination is not adequately explored as an aspect of total domination, even by anarcha-feminists, the rhetoric of radical feminism frequently takes on a style similar to that of national liberation struggles. But in spite of the differences in style and rhetoric, the practice of mainstream and radical feminism often coincide. This is not by chance. The specialization of radical feminism actually lies in the cataloguing of wrongs suffered by woman at the hands of man. If this catalogue was ever completed, the specialization would no longer be necessary and it would be time to move beyond this listing of wrongs suffered to an actual attempt to analyze the nature of women’s oppression in this society and take real, thought-out action to end it. So the maintenance of this specialization requires that feminists expand this catalogue to infinity, even to the point of explaining the oppressive actions of women in positions of power as expressions of patriarchal power, Thus freeing these women from responsibility for their actions. Any serious analysis of the complex relations of domination as it actually exists is laid aside in favor of an ideology in which man dominates and woman is the victim of this domination.
But the creation of one’s identity on the basis of one’s oppression, on the victimization one has suffered, does not provide strength of independence. Instead it creates a need for protection and security that eclipses the desire for freedom and self-determination. In the theoretical and psychological realm, an abstract, universal “sisterhood” may meet this need, but in order to provide a basis for this sisterhood, the “feminine mystique“, which was exposed in the 1960’s as a cultural construct supporting male domination, is revived in the form of women’s spirituality, goddess religion and a variety of other feminist ideologies. The attempt to liberate woman as a social category reaches its apotheosis in the re-creation of the feminine gender role in the name of an elusive gender solidarity. The fact that many radical feminists have turned to cops, courts and other state programs for protection on the practical level (thus imitating mainstream feminism) only serves to underline the illusory nature of the “sisterhood” they proclaim. Though there have been attempts to move beyond these limits within the context of feminism, this specialization has been its defining quality for three decades. In the forms in which it has been practiced, it has failed to present a revolutionary challenge to either gender or domination. The anarchist project of total liberation calls us to move beyond these limits to the point of attacking gender itself with the aim of becoming complete beings defined not as a conglomeration of social identities, but as unique, whole individuals. It is both clichéd and mistaken to claim that men and women have been equally oppressed by their gender roles. The male gender role does allow a greater leeway for the assertion of one’s will. So just as liberation of women from their gender role is not a matter of becoming more masculine but rather of moving beyond their femininity, so for men the point is not to be more feminine but to move beyond their masculinity.
The point is to discover that core of uniqueness that is in each of us that is beyond all social roles and to make that point from which we act, live, and think in the world, in the sexual real as in all others. Gender separates sexuality from the wholeness of our being, attaching specific traits to it that serve the maintenance of the present social order. Thus sexual energy, which could have amazing revolutionary potential, is channeled into the reproduction of relations of domination and submission, of dependence and desperation. The sexual misery that this has produced and its commercial exploitation surround us. The inadequacy of calling for people to “embrace both their masculinity and femininity” lies in the lack of analysis of the extent to which both of these concepts are social inventions serving the purposes of power. Thus, to change the nature of gender roles, to increase their number or modify their form, is useless from a revolutionary perspective, being nothing more than mechanically adjusting the form of the conduits that channel our sexual energy. Instead, we need to reappropriate our sexual energy in order to reintegrate into the totality of our being in order to become so expansive and powerful as to burst every conduit and flood the plain of existence with our indomitable being. This is not a therapeutic task, but rather one of defiant revolt – one that springs from a strong will and a refusal to back down. If our desire is to destroy all domination, then it is necessary that we move beyond everything that holds us back, beyond feminism, yes, and beyond gender, because this is where we find the ability to create our indomitable individuality that rises up against all domination without hesitation. If we wish to destroy the logic of submission, this must be the minimum goal.
Mdm Flow’s Cosmetics Who are you? My name is Florence Adepoju, I am a cosmetic scientist, artist and the boss lady at MDMflow. What do you do and why? I do whatever I want. More specifically I hand make lipsticks using the latest colour technology for my brand MDMflow. MDMflow is all about street culture, colour and self expression. Growing up I was very influenced by music, mostly hip hop and the glamour of it. I loved the styles derived from it and I wanted to be Kelis in the bossy video so bad! So I guess I do what I do inorder to live out the dreams I had growing up. How did you get to the point you’re at now, education/ideas/hustle ? I have always loved science, particularly chemistry. I studied Chemistry, Biology and Art & Design A levels. At 17 I got a job on a makeup counter by chance and I became hyper obsessed with the cosmetic industry and last minute went into clearing and changed from applying for Pharmacy at university to Cosmetic Science. Idea wise I’ve always be an artist stimulated by colour, entering the cosmetics industry heightened this experience for me. But of course to me every brand out there is doing everything wrong and MDMflow is here to stir upthe industry to do and be better! Setting up MDMflow as a business straight after graduation is definitely the craziest thing I’ve ever done and everyday is a hustle I don’t know what to expect, I don’t entirely know where this is going, but I’m having fun with it! How hard/easy has it been so far? It has been sooo hard!! It can get seriously fustrating trying to make your dreams a reality and dealing with all the issues that come up. But I just see myself as the chief problem solver. Initially I was only dealing with issues as they come up but now i try to have foresight and be strategic with my business’ growth and what the future holds. But as the saying goes the best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry. That being said every success makes it all worth it. I’m creating something that I love and that I am passionate about and that is a real privilege. What obstacles have you faced? Finance. Students have little money, recent graduates have even less so getting funding and keeping the business afloat during these first few months have been tough. There is also a lot of waiting for things to happen. What have been the highlights of your journey so far? Getting featured on the source was MAJOR! Other than that when people send me lovely emails, it’s so encouraging, I’ve received so much support from friends to complete strangers! What does makeup mean to you as a woman? I think makeup is a powerful accessory a woman uses to adorn herself and express herself. What kind of woman would buy your cosmetics? Girls who do what they want, who like bright colours and gold shiny things. Where can they buy your cosmetics? The Public Image, Antwerp MDMflow.com What are your aims for the next 2 years? I don’t want to reveal too much but I’m working on some new products, building stronger relationships with existing customers and growing the MDMflow girl community. What advice would you give to other young creatives with start up projects? 1.Work on your ideas until the flame dies 2.Don’t put too much pressure on yourself to be super successful over night 3.Get a mentor who has genuine interest in your venture/industry
Who can afford to EAT FRESH?! By Jake Colmanivich 1.
I feel excited, angry, happy, and upset about skipping. I have been able to live for about 5 years, getting the majority of my food for free. This is fantastic for me, but I have only been able to do it due to a system, which puts profit before sense,
and so WASTES an UNBELIEVABLE amount of food every single day.
There have been many articles written about just how much food (and everything else) is wasted in this country, a quick search on the Internet and youâ€™ll find some mind-blowing stats. So I wonâ€™t give you the big picture, instead I will tell some stories from my experience.
If you can take the time to go a few places, at different times of day, then you can skip; (find in a bin) a very healthy and balanced diet; there huge wholesale fruit and veg market in Vauxhall, which runs all night long.
We go along in the morning, when they’re just closing up. It is huge, quite hard to describe the scale in fact. It is made up of about 40 big stalls, each with1 or 2 large blue, organic waste bins, almost waist height and about 1m x1m, each full of fruit and veg. All of which is being thrown away! Lots of it is perfect quality, just ‘leftovers’ of their huge batches, some of it is slightly bruised or mouldy and so of course no good for sale, but a good portion of it all is perfectly good to eat.
So we go along with huge rucksacks, or sometimes even a bike-trailer, and just load it up full of fresh vegetables and fruit. Regularly getting huge quantities of avocados, aubergines, courgettes, leeks, onions, tomatoes, potatoes, mushrooms, bananas, apples, melons, all kind of salads and all kinds of vegetables and fruits I don’t even know the name of! Every time, even if there is 10 of us there, and a 2 or 3 other people we don’t know taking some pickings (rarely see more then that number of people) there is so much more then we could ever possibly carry and share around, we barely make a dent in the huge piles of good food. So often I get excited and fill up my bag with 20 potatoes, 2 melons, and 15 avocadoes, before I see a huge pile of aubergines (my favourite vegetable) and bananas (my favourite fruit) and have to un-load half my bag! Hard not to bite of more then you can chew when placed in such unbelievable abundance. Then, in the afternoon, we’re off to pick up some goodies; between 4 – 6pm when the bakeries, sandwich shops and sushi places close.
When the shop close they often put out on the street in front of the shop, bin-bags full of nothing but bread, pastries, sandwiches (in their packaging), salad and noodle dishes, or the bizarre sight of a bin bag entirely full of singly packaged up sushi! Usually everything that has been made ‘fresh’ that day, is packaged up, and there is nothing other than food in the bag, so it wont be contaminated with anything. Sometimes a yoghurt pot or something has burst, or some coffee grains from a coffee machine have fallen into something. You can choose whether to just leave it, or take it and give it a wipe. Depends how good your pickings have been that day! Into the evening, (though also often at any time of the day) we nip round the back of supermarkets. Even small supermarkets and ‘local’ branches often have unbelievable amounts of food. Supermarkets, I find, are a bit more mixed and inconsistent, you never really know what you’re going to get! You could possibly get 400 Twix’s or Jaffa cake bars, or an entire bag full of pastries, or sandwiches and ready-meals, or bags of pasta (with a slight rip on it) or boxes of eggs (with one cracked egg in, the rest good), fruit, veg and quite often packets of meat (like ham or chicken, or chicken pasta dishes and things like that), or really anything you find in a supermarket, and very often ludicrous amounts of bread. Need to be careful with meat obviously, but if just past its sell by date that day, then it’s probably got a week left in it. Anyway, you learn to work out if something is good to eat by following your nose and your senses rather then a date printed on the package. Occasionally you do just find bags of wrapping and actual rubbish. So, apart from the temptation to live off chocolate bars and pastries when you have those in abundance, you can eat a very healthy and balanced diet, almost for free, you probably just need to buy staples like rice, and cooking oil and spices and some tins of tomatoes..
Time and Sharing An important and beautiful part of skipping for me is the communality of it. When you’ve got all your food for free, and so much of it, we don’t have goods on shelves or in bags with our name on, we just share. And we try to give it to all our friends when they come round, so it doesn’t end up back in the bin! Around Elephant and Caste where I live, a bunch of houses and squats in the area have kind of teamed up. 1 or 2 people from each house go along one a week for a big skip to the market. We all come back together, lay out all our findings (an incredible, beautiful and upsetting experience) out in one of our kitchens, or the park in the summer, divide it all up and each time someone goes round with a bike trailer dropping off a big box of fruit and veg to each other houses. Even if no one from a particular house makes it that week, they still get a free veg box delivered to their house. Also, not everyone goes out skipping all the time, but between us, on our way to and from work or socials, the stocks just keeps being refilled. Is skipping for everyone?! I know that a lot of people don’t have the time or the willingness to do everything I’ve mentioned above. It can be quite time-consuming, though sharing it out in a house or community does reduce the time on any one person. I kind of see life as often having a balance between time and money. Part of the reason I have time to skip my food for free is that I only work part-time, which I can afford to do because I don’t have to spend much money on food!
But when it comes down to it,not everybody can do this. If huge numbers of people did it, it wouldn’t work any more. There are huge amounts of it, but not enough to feed everyone! I guess the obvious first choice for who should be getting this food is people who are going hungry and/or homeless. I have spoken to some homeless people about it (over a dinner of skipped sandwiches from EAT sitting on a doorstep) and certainly some homeless people know about it, and some do get their food this way..
And some individual shops, part of bigger chains, do give some of this food to homeless charities, but very few, much more of a tokenistic attempt to look good then any serious pro-active attempt to reduce waste and get food to those who need it. I have no idea how much would-be-land filled food makes it to the hungry, or those who regularly have to choose between heating their homes and eating proper meals in the winter (due to massive rip-off bills from energy companies) and those who don’t have a choice (unlike me, who is doing it much more out of a lifestyle choice). Criminal?! Unbelievably it is actually a crime to take something from a bin. Technically it is till theft. Yes, even though it’s all got a one-way ticket to the landfill. In practice, I think it is very very rare that anyone is actually arrested or prosecuted for it. Police and security do often try to stop people skipping and try to get name and details from us. Many I have come across think it’s mad that all this stuff gets thrown away and that they are held responsible for stopping people taking it to eat. There have been many occasions where security turn a blind-eye, or suggest better times to come back when they won’t catch us.
Sometimes, though quite rarely, the supermarkets put ink or bleach or some other poisonous chemical all over the bins and inside them to deter this. Why, whatâ€™s the point in it being criminal or security bothering to stop people, or at least being told to by their bosses? I can never quite make sense of it, but I think their logic is that they are loosing business if people are getting their food for free. So, every time I get home and unload my bag full of good food found in a bin, I feel satisfied from a kind of hunter-gatherer feeling, excitement of sneaking round back-alleys and dodging security, and getting back home safely, ready to make some tasty dinner, but at the same time horrified and upset at a system driven by profit. The â€˜fresh madeâ€™ image; fear of being sued, and plain-old profiteering from the food producers, and it being cheaper to put in landfill than give to the hungry homeless, which forces so much food, and packaging to be thrown away, much of which has been produced on the other side of the world (grown, produced and packaged by exploited farmers and factory workers) and transported here to then be put in a bin and transported to landfill.
We are living in a world being destroyed by exploitation, climate change and excessive resource depletion and out of which we find ways to live cheaply and make beautiful communities of scavenging and sharing. So Iâ€™m sure you can see why I have mixed feelingsâ€Ś
Photograghy by Virginia Wilson
V I mean I love them both you see… But I’ve noticed in this day and age, or maybe it’s a reoccurring trend; one finds themselves getting to a stage in life where they begin to associate good and great with all things new, modern, and contemporary. Does new mean better? If it does then what does old mean? And why is old, old and new not just newer? Such finite words, for such infinite conceptions. It took a while for me to put a title to what I thought I was best at, I mean I’ve given my self so many titles I laugh at my attempts to prove to myself that I was doing a job I loved. To be a Creative Director I guess you need to have ideas and you need to be able to direct them in a way that shows vision and understanding, and to be able to bring things together as a team, not alone. Looking around for industry role models it seemed my mirrors of dreams were shattered… I was afraid to want to be like Anna Wintour, and then I found out about Diana Vreeland in 2nd year of uni. I’d hear talks about her schooling the likes of Andre Leon Talley who I’d be so fascinated by, his opulence and his ego seemed to be accepted? Was it because he was a man? Regardless…He was him.
V Vreeland appreciated his uniqueness and talent, and Vreeland was beloved by many, like a human goddess applauded for her fierce vision and clinical but magical execution of Fashion Editorials, and her outspoken morals that added such vivid visual conviction to her work. She was hated obviously, even God is. But those that hated her allowed her to be, but kept their upper lips a little stiffer and their noses just a tincy bit higher, most probably because of the infuriating feelings of hate they felt towards themselves for admiring her unconventional ways. Wintour always got the bad end of the stick and I always wondered why, I watched September Issue, I adored Grace who was once my idol, but became a victim in my eyes and I seemed to dislike that. Anna was quiet, thorough and unafraid. Why? What were the unspoken rules? Then I watched The Devil Wears Prada, after about 10 reruns I still feel like cremating the whole DVD, Blue Ray or not. Oh, because Fashion is pretentious and does nothing for the economy and has no historical background, no substance no political or social influence. Whatsoever (!) You have to lol.
And oh, after you dwell in the cratered depths of the fashion industry aka the Devils Castle, you must leave traumatized and find a decent career path to settle down in. Lo and behold a Baptist pastor beckons for a Hallelujah. RIP Lee McQueen. I digressed. Positively digressing into some research I found out that Vreeland was the first, the real Devil wears Prada?! Watch â€˜Funny Faceâ€™... Unbelievable.
The Editor’s Guide... The thing is we cannot deny the pure talent these women had/have, are aware of and use to the best of their abilities, by all means necessary. So what’s new? You want to become a Fashion Editor? Okay what’s (2 x 1345) % 6798 - (a+b) = Oh, you failed GCSE Algebra? Shucks… Okay how many degrees do you own? 1st or 3rd? Oh you didn’t make it past college? Well I’ll have you know, Sonny Jim, Vreeland and Wintour were fashion illiterates… Both came from wealthy backgrounds which may seem to some as a healthy way to get your butt in the acacia wood, iron filmed, platinum plated, double glazed, opaque, deep purple velvet industry doors. This is debatable. We can sit for Coffee on that one. So you don’t need a degree, or education at that, Wintour couldn’t write or articulate herself, she just knew what she wanted. After her resignation from the ungrateful House of Harpers Bazaar and soon after being exterminated from her brief position at Vogue, Vreeland was beckoned in by the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, turning the place into a living breathing tomb, unraveling the mummified couture garments, reminding people of the fashion before us. Educating them the way they wanted to be educated, using her creative direction to raise awareness of the times we used to be and why. She brought the art out of fashion, the social critique that didn’t intend to be a critique it just happened and people started to be conscious. Vreeland a one man woman, a woman who was deemed unnaturally beautiful, whatever the heck that means got her first fashion job after attending a party and wearing a hot dress that was admired by a woman who’d soon become her boss. Luck or destiny? Wintour a serial dater a cheat and a passionate childlike lover, the beauty who her dad made her late brother’s substitute, the one who’d carry the family name and trait, the Editor. He laughed at the fact that she wanted to work for American Vogue but supported her nonetheless; with a recommendation here, there and everywhere, and her own teenage apartment at 14. Confused.com? Don’t be we all have different backgrounds.
Privileged to be a young adult in the swinging 60’s, with a titanic disposable income, no respect for authorities and institutions and an appetite for bringing lifestyles to life using clothes? She first worked in retail, lucky for her it was her favorite store, Biba, her dad put a word in. Thoroughly connected, because of her revered father, Editor of the Evening Standard at a time where being hired in Fashion meant being related to anyone from a respected, well known, Upper Middle class and ‘upward’ background, no CVs or experience needed! Who? An unpaid internship. All lies I tell you!
With access to some of the most exclusive club nights and creatively inspiring individuals, she swam, straight from the deep end. Well aware of the sharks, she kept her prescription shades up on that bridge and her fringe so choppy and thick, it became the invisible cloak to her third eye. So you don’t wanna work in retail I hear you winging? Same! But you better start creating; I mean who’re you waiting for? Daddy Wintour? If you live in any metropolitan city in 2014 with the economy grieving the loss of something we didn’t know about till we heard we were in a recession, then you need to figure it out. No one will save you. Don’t be afraid, be fabulous. Oh!? That was soo corny ergh! You don’t need money to look good, looking good isn’t about wealth it’s about personal style. You don’t need money to create the perfect editorial, just talented creatives who know how to make magic as a team. You don’t need money, but in reality, our social man made constructions, environments and conditioned mentalities delude us to think this way. Read. Research and create. Create newer ways, create adaptable ways until we can no longer adapt and need new ones. It’s funny how funding for arts was cut, and art is the most powerful weapon, not of destruction but of mass revolution. Revolution isn’t bad... Revolution means change, evolution, a metamorphosis. Metamorphosis is the process of transformation from an immature form to an adult form. Adult, meaning mature. Mature, being fully developed. Develop yourself. You are.
A Journal for the Young Creative