Alice in Wonderland [Tim Burton, 2010]

Last week, WORN’s Editor-in-Pants tried to schedule a staff meeting. “I can’t come,” I told her. “I won tickets to an advance screening of the new Alice in Wonderland movie.” Apparently I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t make it and the meeting ended up being rescheduled. “Maybe you could write about the movie’s costumes for our blog?” she said, subtly reminding of how long it had been since I last wrote a post (her exact words being, “it’s been a long time since you wrote a post.”) I told her I would.
After my last class on Wednesday I bolted for the TTC, hoping to make it to the theatre in time for the 7 pm screening. Long story short: I was too late, and the doors were closed by the time I got there. “Well, that’s it,” I thought. “I’ll have no article to turn in and everybody in the entire world is going to hate me for being a terrible, terrible blogger and for making my editor reschedule the staff meeting for nothing” (sometimes I get dramatic when I’m tired). But gosh darn it, I had promised our good readers here at WORN an Alice in Wonderland themed blog post, and I am a woman of my word. So here you go:

Neco z Alenky [Jan Scankmajer, 1988]

It’s not like there’s a lack of anything to say on the subject of fashion and Alice. If I had a penny for every artsy film adaption, inspired runway collection, and magazine editorial entitled “Through the Looking Glass” I would have enough cash to buy not only my own movie ticket, but theatre-priced popcorn – and that’s saying something. I want to start this post somewhere else, however. After all, my own introduction to Lewis Carroll didn’t happen with a visually-saturated interpretation of his stories – no, not even the Disney one - but rather on a more literally literary level.

Alice v Strane Chudes [Efrem Pruzhanskiy, 1981]

When I was a little girl I spent many holidays in British Columbia, visiting my grandmother. She had this thick book called The Complete Works of Lewis Carroll, and before I could understand what they were about, she would read to me his poetry – the Jabberwocky, The Hunting of the Snark, and so on. For my birthday a couple of years later she gifted me with an illustrated hardcover copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, two stories I would read over and over again. Alice served as the gateway to the books I would learn to love reading as a kid: stories about children who were bored with their humdrum lives, finding a way to escape to a world of wonder; the likes of Narnia, Harry Potter, the Phantom Tollbooth and others followed suite in my readings.

The Wednesday Play: Alice in Wonderland [Jonathon Miller, 1966]

Growing up however, I had no magical cupboard of my own, no Platform 9 ¾, no mysterious tollbooth and no rabbit hole to escape through. Being introverted and more than a little nerdy, I continued to seek my own escapes through what I read, and eventually through what I wore. Discovering fashion felt a bit like entering Wonderland; the first designers I really fell in love with were those like Alexander McQueen and Viktor & Rolf: designers who, with their clothes, created a world of the fantastical where practicality took second place to imagination. It became really evident why Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was a major inspiration point for countless photo shoots – at its best, fashion could share that notion with the story that the absurd is always so much more compelling than reality. I’ve tried to channel the more popular perception of Alice in my own wardrobe, occasionally donning that iconic cornflower blue dress and white tights when I run errands, causing my sister to ask “Anna, are you doing that weird thing where you pretend you’re a fictional storybook character again?” (Answer: yes. Yes I am).

Walt Disney’s Alice in Wonderland [Geronimi, Jackson & Luske, 1951]

My grandmother passed away last month, on the same day that McQueen did. Going back to her old apartment in B.C., I found her Lewis Carroll anthology (it seemed so much bigger when I was a child!) as well as a couple of tattered, fading books a relative had salvaged. Among them was her first copy of Alice, a copy which, according the scrawl in the front, had belonged to her own grandmother. It doesn’t surprise me that this book has been passed down through so many generations and yet continues to stand the test of time: another year, another half dozen photo shoots, another film adaptation – this one in 3-D, no less. I still haven’t had a chance to see Tim Burton’s version (at this rate it looks like I’m going to be shelling out for a full priced ticket) and I know it won’t be able to live up to the image of Alice I’ve constructed in my head. At the very least, I hope it can serve as the jumping-off point for a new generation to fall in love with all things Wonderland.

Alice in Wonderland [Cecil Hepworth and Percy Stow, 1903]

How did you dress in high school?
Terribly. I went to a private middle school where we all wore uniforms, so by the time I started high school I had no idea how to dress. First, I wore these baggy corduroys every day, plus lots of Emily Strange stuff. Then I got really into ska music - I thought I was the coolest kid ever, going to shows every weekend with ripped jeans, band t-shirts, and hair dyed black. It’s painful to look back on. Towards the end of high school I started to become interested in fashion, but still played it a bit safe - I had that “Audrey Hepburn, but edgier” phase that so many teen girls go through.

Who would you rather be trapped in a broken elevator with — Karl Lagerfield, Tyra Banks, or Lady Gaga?
Gaga. I’d use the time to get her to teach me the Bad Romance dance.

If you could dress like your favourite food what would it be?
This one time when I was a teenager, I stayed home sick from school and made layered jell-o with six different flavours. It’s not my favourite food per se, but I think it’d be pretty neato to translate into an outfit.

Last fashion related book or article you read. Was it good or bad?
It was a profile on Rodarte in the New Yorker. It was an alright read, but it didn’t really give me any new information and I didn’t agree with the author’s interpretation of their spring collection. I’m kind of a huge Rodarte fan - I read everything I can about them. Kate Mulleavy and I have the same favourite band, book and movie and that gives me the warm fuzzies.

What fashion blog do you think is underrated?
There are many, but lately I’ve been digging À l’Allure Garçonnière. Canadian ladies with intelligent musings on fashion? Yes please.

What fictional character has the best style?
Tie, between Pretty in Pink’s Duckie and Annie Hall. I like anybody - lady, gent, or other - who can rock a good vest.

What do you think about the relationship between fashion and conspicuous consumption?
Oh man - I think it would be hard to pretend that that relationship doesn’t exist, especially in a lot of mainstream fashion magazines. That being said, I’ve always been more interested in how people wear their clothes than the money spent on them (and I’m pretty sure that sentiment is shared amongst the Wornettes). I do tend to purchase my own clothing rather than making it (I’ve never been that handy with a sewing machine), but thanks to my university-student budget I’ve learned to become creative in finding thirty different ways to wear the same pair of jeans.

What movie’s costumes/clothes were better than their plot?
Would it be cliche to say Marie Antoinette? Yes? Ok, I’m going to go with Miranda July’s wardrobe in You and Me and Everyone We Know. Half the Worn staff tries to convince me I have no soul for disliking this movie, though it’s been a while since I’ve seen it so I should probably just give it another chance. For the record in every interview I’ve read with July she herself seems pretty cool - although all this is me straying from the original very simple question about the movie’s clothes. I liked those pink ballet shoes, let’s leave it at that.

What are your thoughts about this quote? “On matters of style, swim with the current, on matters of principle, stand like a rock.” – Thomas Jefferson
I’m not against the occasional swim with the current, but I think that really depends on where it is heading! I’m in the “do what feels right to you, everything else is incidental” camp.

Finish this sentence: There are two kinds of people in this world….
Those who can properly pronounce “Olivier Theyskens” and those who just sort of mumble his name when it comes up in conversation. I am in the latter category.

It was around 15 years ago that Tokyo-based Shoichi Aoki decided to capture the increasingly intriguing street style local to the city’s Harajuku neighbourhood. The decision proved to be a smart one, leading to two photo-books (entitled FRUiTs and Fresh FRUiTs), a fanzine, and a dedicated fanbase. Recently, the photos were put on exhibit at Toronto’s Lakeview Restaurant, which will be closing with a reception at STUDIO gallery on Friday, February 12. I talked to the Lakeview curator (and FRUiTS fan) Rafi Ghanaghounian about his thoughts surrounding the popularity of this iconic street style.

Fruits has achieved a huge level of recognition - what do you think the appeal is?
Like most people, when I first discovered that book it was a bit of a shock. There was no standard to it – no textbook. It’s like everything about fashion was just tossed out the window. All the layering and different textures and patterns all mashed together to make these beautiful pieces, and they just made it work somehow… I think that was my initial reaction to it. Looking more into it I discovered what influenced a lot of these styles. In Japan, things like anime and that counterculture is strong, and you see that in a lot of that. There are things based on characters, like how they dress, that you can see in this style.

Why do you think that this form of street style is specific to Japan? Why has it not taken off in, let’s say, Toronto?
Things can be pretty conservative in Japan, but on the other hand over here pretty much everything is just blue and grey and khaki. There’s no colour. The only time people wear colours or patterns is on Halloween or something. For these guys, it’s a daily ritual – they get up and dress up and go out. It is starting to take off here. I went to this show a few years ago called No Kimono; that was five years ago. You can see now in Toronto more people aren’t afraid of wearing colours or layering, mixing patterns and textures. It’s refreshing to see something like that on the street. As far as why it started there, again I think anime culture has a lot to do with it. There is a lot of colour and pattern in that.


Do you consider this style to be costume or fashion? What do you think the difference is between costume and fashion?
I think most of it is fashion. There’s certain elements of design in street wear as opposed to costume, which is a bit more theatrical. I mean, these are very functioning pieces of clothing. There are more sects of this scene that are more costume-y, but I think in Fruits’ cases, it is all genuine, everyday clothes. A lot of them are made or manipulated, so they’re bought off the rack and cut up into something new. Accessorizing is huge; dyeing your hair and all that type of stuff that can help express how you are feeling that day.

Gwen Stefani has been accused of co-opting the Fruits and Harajuku style. Do you agree? Why or why not?
I say go with it. You know, she knew it existed, everyone knew it existed. I remember when I first did this show it was huge press for me because all of a sudden everybody knew what Harajuku was, and that was fantastic. The more people who know about this scene the better it was. There is that thing where, you say, she accessorized herself with four Harajuku girls, that they were just kind of accessories like her earrings or something. They just followed her everywhere she went; but it is great that she knows that it exists and she loves it. I think she genuinely loves it, so it’s good there.

Do you think dressing this way is about uniqueness, or conformity? Can it be both at the same time?
One can say when you have teenage angst or whatever, you’re “not conforming” with hundreds of other non-conformists. There’s that wanting to be an individual, separate from the group. But these Fruits guys, they know that there’s a whole bunch of other people interested in the same thing. They’re making their own stuff, they’re doing their own stuff, it’s just what they wear on the outside is kinda who they are on the inside. I don’t think they’re too concerned – in fact, they might find it comforting to know there’s a group of people who will appreciate and enjoy your type of clothing.

Do you follow runway fashion? Do you ever see a Fruits influence on designer clothing?
I do; I have a few friends that do regular stuff. When I do work with them, I challenge them a little bit – like, let’s create sculptures as opposed to the regular stuff. Again, that show, No Kimono, there were three designers involved in it and there’s stuff in what they do as designers. The clothes they created were very artistic. I think I see Fruits influence more in the street than I do in the runway. Runways are still pretty conservative, I find. You also have the independent fashion shows, like Toronto’s Alternative Fashion week, that are not so much copying what these girls are doing in Japan but more the idea of creating things for yourself. Just seeing that whole DIY stuff, whether it’s craft-making or dressmaking, more and more people are making their own stuff. I think it’s great that there’s this influence.

When we first meet Clementine Kruczynski (played by Kate Winslet) in Michel Gondry’s 2004 film, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, she has blue hair. Introducing herself on a bus to Jim Carrey’s Joel Barish, she explains her reasoning behind the dye job. “It changes colour a lot,” she says. “It’s called Blue Ruin…this company makes a whole bunch of colours with equally snappy names. I apply my personality in a paste.” In watching this movie for the first time I may or may not have yelled at my TV screen, “Geez Clementine, why don’t you just wear a sign around your neck that says ‘tra la la, I’m so quirky!’” (I might have a problem with contrived one-dimensional “offbeat” film characters – yeah, I’m looking at you, Natalie Portman in Garden State). Of course, to the film’s credit, Clementine turns out to be a well-developed character and the movie escapes many typical clichés, earning Oscar nods for both Winslet and the screenplay. The reasons behind its success are evident - but since we are on a fashion blog, I will be focusing solely on Clementine’s hair.

As the film unfolds in a non-linear fashion (hey, it worked hard for that best original screenplay Oscar!), Clementine’s hair colour changes from blue to orange to red to green. While I gotta love any movie that treats a personal styling choice as a plot device – the hair colour helps keep track of the movie’s constantly shifting timeline – more appealing still is the way that it is unapologetically treated as a realistic artistic outlet. Clementine isn’t the first film character to express herself via hair colour; honourable mentions go to My So Called Life’s Angela Chase, Ghost World’s Enid Coleslaw and Whip It’s Bliss Cavendar. However, there’s something to be said for a woman who is more than a couple of years past teenager-dom willing to repeatedly experiment with crayola-coloured hair.

My own adventures with hair dye start a bit younger; going to summer camp in the ’90s, hair mascara was all the rage. The smelly, sparkly, purple-y goop joined Bonnebelle lip smackers and Caboodles nail polish as the must-have beauty products for the preteen girl set. Once I got to middle school, I was met with a strict dress code that deemed any unnatural or dramatic hair colours to be an “academic distraction.” My mother used to take me to her hair salon to get blonde highlights (occasionally I would be able to sneak by with a little bit of red in there). I made it through the eighth grade with the secret knowledge that at the back of my closet hid a bottle of L’Oreal do-it-yourself hair colouring in Purest Black.


From the first day (on the dot) after my eighth grade graduation throughout the bulk of high school, all I would need to change my hair colour was a quick trip to Shoppers Drug Mart and 45 minutes crouched over the bathroom sink with an applicator brush in hand. While black was my go-to shade of choice, I would occasionally experiment with the worlds of burgundy, plum, or other teen-angst-approved colours. Granted, I never went as artificially bright in my picks as Ms. Kruzcynski over here, but I could appreciate her need to express herself (and mark major changes in her life) with the help of some pigmented cream.

Unlike Clementine, I’ve somewhat outgrown my home-colouring ways. Purple locks aren’t as fun when it comes time to hunt for a job, and at-home hair treatments become a bit trickier when you live in a dorm and share a bathroom sink with 40 other people. Still, whenever I’m in the drugstore, I always make a point to stop at the aisle that carries all the shades of Manic Panic, tempted to give in to the little voice in my head (that sounds suspiciously like Kate Winslet with an American accent) saying, “do it! do it!”

-Anna Fitz