His tailor shop is below street level, in an underground strip mall, which gives Mr. Arabpour’s cramped business the appearance of only being open “late-night.” Burly men file in with their entourage, and he, elfin in comparison, reaches up to greet them with three kisses.
This is the sum of the action in Final Fitting, a portrait of the 80-year-old Arabpour, tailor to the stars of Iranian politics and religion for 58 years. Director Reza Haeri bounces back and forth from Mr. Arabpour’s reception area to his back room, where he cuts fabric and muses on everything from garment construction to his famous clientele to why one should not wear trousers to prayer (plumber’s crack!).
Mr. Arabpour has outfitted everyone from the late Ayatollah Khomeini, leader of the 1979 Iranian revolution, to popular former president Mohammad Khatami and current Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khamenei. You get the impression he treated them all as he does in the film: jumping up to wrap his arms around a man’s waist, faceplanting into his belly, reading the tape, and shaking his head, muttering, “God preserve me.”
Mr. Arabpour lives the city of Qom, a holy city of the Shiite Muslims and home to one of the largest religious schools in Iran. Although a strict dress code still exists, changes to Iran’s cultural climate over the past decade can be measured by Mr. Arabpour’s creations. Theology students now wear trousers, (and some wear jeans) and there are several accoutrements, such as turbans and abbas (robes) that have adjusted to fit these modern times. Labadehs (long, sheer robes worn over one’s ensemble), for instance, have gone from having one or two pockets to nine – even ayatollahs need a place for their Blackberry.
In a mere 30 minutes, however, Final Fitting manages goes beyond the garments to reveal a delicate portrait of an old man – a man who is traditional, modest, and accepts change with the indifferent resignation of someone who’s seen it all. It leaves you feeling you’ve trespassed upon his quiet life – and for that reason alone, Final Fitting is essential viewing.
Since it was released in 1986, Pretty in Pink has become one of those iconic movies that’s been watched at many a slumber party or girls’ night across the globe. Amongst the many debates that the movie has brought up - Can two people from different sides of the track really fall in love? Was Molly Ringwald’s hybrid prom dress that much of an improvement over the original one? - there is one element that almost all the fans of the movie can agree on: Phil “Duckie” Dale was the stylish guy friend that we all wish existed in real life, both so we could befriend him and raid his wardrobe.
Played by a younger Jon Cryer (yes, that’s the guy from Two and a Half Men, but we’re trying to ignore that), Duckie manages to accomplish an impressive feat: standing out in a stylish cast that included Molly Ringwald’s turn as Andie, a thrift-store-junkie-turned-seamstress, and Annie Potts’s portrayal as the spiky haired record store employee named Iona.
The first part of Duckie that we see in the movie are his Chuck Taylor clad feet, strutting down the hall of his high school. As the camera pans out we are given full view of what can only be described as the Greatest Outfit of All Time Ever: black slacks, a floral print collared shirt, a chequered vest, a plaid blazer, a bolo tie, several rings and pins, teashades and a fedora. The average person would probably not be able to handle such an over the top (yet totally charming) mishmash of patterns and accessories but for Duckie it is just another Monday morning, and a preview of more amazing outfits to come in the movie.
He rides his bike while wearing a boater hat and a plaid shirt over a printed tee, a concoction not unfamiliar to a recent Marc Jacobs show. He successfully captures the hearts of many a teenage girl while performing a rousing lip synch of Otis Redding’s Try a Little Tenderness in a yellow sport coat and creepers:
Duckie was the sort of guy who was not afraid to stand out in a high school that was dominated by preppy kids. His clashing patterns and infinite layers of clothing leads me to believe that he and I share the same style philosophies when getting dressed in the morning; I can almost picture him pouring in front of his closet, deciding whether his newly thrifted vest would look better with his plaid or his floral shirt, but ultimately just not giving a damn about what the other kids (save Andie) think of him. After all, this is the kid who would wear suspenders and plaid pants to class, and a blue brocade suit and a bolo tie to prom.
Duckie’s “competition” in the movie in vying for the heart of Andie’s affections was Blane, the sort of fellow who would wear plain tee-shirts and coats. If this was not a fashion centered post I would go on about how Andie is stupid for picking somebody who probably didn’t even know who Otis Redding was over the epicness that is Duckie, but I will refrain going off on a tangent. Instead, I will point out that sartorially, Blane’s khaki ensembles aren’t half as cool as one of Duckie’s floral suspenders. Not that we’re advocating judging people based on their wardrobe choices, but if you were Andie who would you pick?
Thought so.
The fashion rags-to-riches story is always potent for the celluloid treatment. It’s a Gatsby ‘American Dream’ trajectory that captures the complications our popular culture has with wealth and fame (Biggie said it best: “Mo Money, Mo Problems”).
In 1975, Diana Ross was at her Sasha Fierce zenith: an Oscar nomination for her turn as Billie Holiday in Lady Sings The Blues, the #1 hit “Touch Me In The Morning”, a duets album with Marvin Gaye. She was Motown’s reigning ‘Supreme’ Diva — the original Beyonce template, the “I’m Coming Out” gay icon, a halo of Medusa frizz with yes, that requisite off-kilter misbehavior (there has to be something to off-set the Mackie sequins).
Which is precisely why Mahogany stumbled as a semi-autobiographical rumination on black stardom: Miss Diana was allowed to overact the heightened version of herself. It was the first misstep of a ten-year-old brand: Time Magazine blamed director/Motown honcho Berry Gordy — who took over directing duties after firing British director Tony Richardson for misunderstanding the ‘black experience’ — for “squandering one of America’s most natural resources”. But just like you don’t watch Valley of the Dolls, Mommie Dearest and Showgirls with the oh-so-serious film theory approaches — you gotta delve into Mahogany with the explicit understanding that it’s camp with a fabulous wardrobe that has something rather profound to say about fashion and cultural/racial politics.
Mahogany in a nutshell is Diana Ross going from a poor Chicago secretary who dreams of being a fashion designer, to becoming a Pat Cleveland in Rome who is the muse of a Psycho photographer (played by… Psycho’s Anthony Perkins), to becoming said fashion designer, who then realizes that “success is nuh-THING… without someone you love to share it with”. Is it sad that after so many years — I watched this scene on a Motown 25 Beta tape 15 odd years ago — that line still makes me swoon?
But let’s talk about the fashion. Oh my. Miss Ross designed the entire wardrobe her self (and her daughter, Tracee Ellis-Ross, keeps it stowed away in her closet … and I am therefore patiently waiting for the museum retrospective). The film presents an interesting snap-shot of a time when black femininity was gaining acceptance in the fashion world — see aforementioned Pat Cleveland, Yves Saint Laurent’s ‘Quiet French Revolution’ in breaking down those high fashion racial barriers — and cinema was just coming out of its blaxploitation throes. New York City was a year or two away from Studio 54 madness, from seeing Grace Jones’ flat top challenge the singular mainstream representation of blackness being a light-skin vs. dark-skin debate (which unfortunately, is something that still holds up, just as much as the prevalence of white privilege — have we seen the promised Vogue Italia Black Issue diversity come into effect on the runway?).
The fashion shoot montage in Mahogany.
Purely from a fashion stand-point, the above montage is wonderful: Diana as a Nefertiti, a glittery oceanic siren, an Arabian drifter. Some film theorists have called this shape-shifting an example of a play “against darkness” — that Ross’ fashion shoot transformation actually illustrates how “her body colour is washed out in bright light or powdered over…her long-haired wigs blow around her face, she becomes suddenly ‘white’.” Other theorists argue that the entire film is an example of the greater political of a black woman caught between two worlds — “the struggle over the sexual objectification of Tracy’s body in the face of commercial exploitation and the struggle of the black community in the face of class exploitation” (there’s an early scene where Ross helps crazy Psycho photographer take a ‘gritty’ high-fashion shoot in the Chicago West Side slums).
But this is precisely why I love this film so much. It’s stimulating on a purely visual level, but is ripe for far more in-depth re-interpretation of how Ross — in her initial positioning as that one-time ‘only’ acceptable representation of mainstream blackness — gave us girls of colour an ‘in’. The film was hugely marketed, and even had a Revlon Touch & Glow make-up tie-in, which including a line of ‘earthy tone’ shades of bronze, copper and rust.
In Jamaica Kincaid’s Talk Stories — a collection of her New Yorker Talk of the Town pieces — she writes of going to a Revlon party celebrating the make-up line, and asking a Revlon representative whether the “China Bronze” colours were only for “black women”. Another Revlon beauty consultant cut-ins: “They’re not black cosmetics. People are no longer into that. There is no longer such a thing as black cosmetics. We don’t believe there is a different makeup for different people. There are many different skin tones in the world, and black is just one of them.” There’s something to be said about that even today.
And lest we not forgot how Mahogany has impacted us today: it’s been a longstanding inspiration for Marc Jacobs (the above are shots from his Fall 2007, which he admitted was totally a Mahogany tribute), who has been quoted as saying he’d die to do the costumes if a remake ever occurred (which would be brilliant, but please let there not be a Dreamgirls redux and Beyonce in the role). It has even inspired a fierce V MagazineFall 2008 shoot between Sessilee Lopez and Tyra Banks. It’s a wonderful send-up of Mahogany’s original subversive intent (if you sink yourself well enough into the camp) — that the girl of colour ain’t an object, that she can drip of luxury and style any old time, and maybe we need to name-check something like Mahogany to remember the legacy of that struggle.
In the late 60s, Anton Perich ran an underground film program in Paris that screened the early works of Andy Warhol and Jonas Mekas. When he moved to New York City in the 1970s, he freelanced photography gigs for Interview Magazine and ran one of the very first ‘underground’ cable access shows. He was even an ‘early pioneer’ of digital art, having invented in the late ’70s an ‘electric painting machine’ that was a precursor to the ink-jet printer.
Mr. Perich’s most accessible legacy however, lies in is his YouTube channel, and the uploaded classic fashion show footage he shot during that hedonistic Loft Party/Studio 54 era (the above photo is a Perich — see Andy, Jerry, Paloma and Truman). The videos are shaky and even blurry at times, but don’t let that get in the way of your viewing pleasure. It’s a wonderful documentation of how ye old fashion show might have been presented — on a stage, minus the runway. Given the recent inclination for designers to eschew the typical Fashion Week presentation for more creative events and installations, it’s a wonderful reveal that the more things might change, the more they’ll stay the same (ie. let’s put on a show!).
There’s a Kenzo show where the models prance out in high leather boots, twirling with style to the deep disco and if you look closely, you might spot Jerry Hall, Iman, Patti Hansen (cause everyone was there). Perich even caught a few historical firsts, such as Issey Miyake’s 1975 FIT show (his first in NY). It’s high drama via fuzzy black and white video: models coolly stride out (oh my, is that Pat Cleveland?) to wailing Robert Fripp guitars and Kraftwerk blips (a perfect accompaniment for his billowing and transformative windcoat shapes).
My favourite footage? Grace Jones getting her hair cut. Srsly. It’s a quiet moment between performer and hair dresser that’s incredibly intimate. Get thee to Perich’s channel and watch it for yourself.
