When Australia shut down international travel as the rest of the world re-opened post-pandemic, hand-wringing began about the cultural cost to the country. With some of the globe’s strictest border rules, international buyers weren’t just locked out. Many of the usually peripatetic local fashion creatives were grounded and the far-flung trips that fueled the inspiration behind resort looks so synonymous with Antipodean fashion were off limits.
At the second Australian Fashion Week since the outbreak of Covid-19, and the first open to international visitors, the press and buyer contingent was noticeably leaner. For some, that raised questions about the purpose for runways. Why show to loyal stockists already dialing into online showings? What’s the point of a remotely-located fashion week? An interesting and unexpected answer cropped up and it came in the form of thrilling, shows-as-spectacles. In the strongest presentations of the week, a commercial element had all but dropped away.
First was Luke Sales and Anna Plunkett of Romance Was Born, who coaxed the 81-year-old cultural icon and artist Ken Done into a full-blown collaboration of one-off looks lavished in sequins, some upcycled from vintage gowns. In the 1980s, Done held a mirror up to Australia, painting the country’s untamed natural beauty as worthy subject matter. “Some people wrote that I took the beige out of Australia,” he chuckled. Done sees in Sales and Plunkett a similar willingness to embrace inspiration in one’s own backyard and not subscribe to a sense of cultural inferiority, a lingering quirk of Australians. “Romance Was Born look at Australia unashamedly, which we don’t always see designers doing,” he said.
There were cross-generational pollination on other runways, too. Emerging designer Jordan Gogos’s extravagant sophomore show was an unabashed celebration of color and kitsch with 15 monumental sculpture and 60 collaborators. One of them was arist and designer Jenny Kee, who closed the show in repurposed versions of her own designs, dancing her way down the runway to club music. “Jenny wasn’t just a designer. She made a ripple effect that undoubtably changed the trajectory here,” Gogos said. Now he is following suit. “I don’t need to see more clothes,” he added. “I want a whole new experience. I want to see what the future is.”
Though different social and economic forces were at play, the Covid lockdowns reminded many of the relative cultural isolation of Australia in the 1980s. Back then, a bold creative identity and pride developed as a prospering country found its voice on its own. Something similar is happening now. “Although social media exposes us to the rest of the world, the fact that geographically we live so far away means we need to be self-reliant, resourceful, and resilient; we do more with less,” said Leila Naja Hibri, CEO of the Australian Fashion Council (AFC).
Bassike creative director Deborah Sams says the pandemic gave her team the breathing space to foster closer relationships with makers and suppliers and to “ensure we are sourcing the finest fabrications and producing the highest quality garments.” Along with streamlining operations, she’s been considering what makes Bassike uniquely Australian. It followed that her resort ’23 presentation was an elegy to the Great Barrier Reef, borrowing its tropical colors.
Underscoring this is the AFC’s launch this week of an official trademark for Australian fashion. Only labels satisfying certain criteria can carry it; those criteria include producing a portion locally and having a sensibility defined by “effortless style, raw nature, boundless optimism, and fearless innovation.”
The electric energy surrounding the overdue inclusion of First Nations creatives was evidence the introspection went deeper. The first ever all-Indigenous shows took place at fashion week last year and this time First Nations models were front at center at Indigenous and non-Indigenous shows. Elaine George, Vogue Australia’s first ever Aboriginal cover model, closed the final show and says the natural next step involves non-Indigenous designers pursuing equality. “It’s not about me just representing First Nation’s fashion design; it’s about any designer that is willing to make a change.”
“We see challenges and turn them into opportunities,” said the AFC’s Naja Hibri when asked what might define Australian fashion post-pandemic. “We are pioneers, mostly free from old-world rules and restrictions.” Done recognized something familiar bubbling up. “Bright, young, confident designers...This is like a second coming.”
