A Girl Moss in fashion! What does that even mean? Well firstly let’s talk about what this is not…This is not another piece of fashion literature that helps you “Update Your Winter Wardrobe”, and neither will you find any kind of GRWM content, or tips on how to style a maxi skirt (I’m still struggling with that one, to be honest). I have not mastered the algebraic equation that is fabric, divided by cut, multiplied by shape, to result in the perfect fit. I will leave these things to the plethora of other more skilled individuals. In the age of the influencer, in which visual content is consumed in rapid motion, the Girl Moss is the antithesis of this movement
.But Girl Moss is not just relegated to the forest floor, it lives with you in Manhattan, in your office, on the Tube. It boldly proclaims itself in opposition to hustle culture, it rebukes the notion of persistent productivity and instead returns us to a slower pace. Girl Moss energy is more contemplative, which is a skill required in reading, writing, and questioning things beyond the immediacy of visual content.
I have deeply questioned the relevance of writing about fashion, I know there are a million more important things than clothes and what to wear, and honestly I’ve found a million excuses not to add more noise to the ruckus. However, from a personal standpoint, there is nothing more that I want to do than to have meaningful conversations with people and connect over depth. Don't even try coming over to my table with small talk, you can only sit if you want to be here until 2 a.m. talking about “why”. Having worked in the industry for fifteen years, I’ve been a girl boss and a girl moss (and a mother, a taxi driver, and a pharmacist to name a few). The “thing” that has persistently driven me through life, is questioning and finding meaning in why we do the things we do, and so what better playground could I have found, but that of the world of fashion?
I was a chubby kid, growing up in a small town in South Africa. Though I had shiny taffeta dreams, I never in a million years believed I would infiltrate the glamorous world that is the fashion industry. I moved to London, freshly 18, and had my turn on the pouring pints merry-go-round that is obligatory when you move to Britain. Eventually, I landed an assistant position at a huge model agency in London. To say I was beside myself is a huge understatement, I was 19, and I jumped on my bed with so much glee when I got the email which announced that my dreams HAD come true! Fast forward 3 years and my mental health took a big plunge and suddenly the house of cards I had built began to collapse like the questionable ceiling of my shoddy London flat share. I eventually jumped off the proverbial cliff and decided to go freelance.
My new job was love at first flight! One day I was in Madrid, the next in Milan, then back to London, and again back out to Paris. However, what being a freelancer didn't give me was a stable enough income. The plight of the casting assistant, especially as you begin, is being overbooked and highly in demand during fashion week, and having very little work through the rest of the year. Particularly before the internet really changed things for everyone, and before “digital nomads” were a thing. So I began to explore living in economically developing countries because I could stretch my money and it would see me through from season to season. At first, it was Bali, but Morocco had me at the heartstrings from the first time I visited, so staying the second time was a no-brainer.
I started in a tiny village, in the mountains, the foothills of the anti-Atlas, in the southern regions of Souss-Massa, and moved around the coastal villages until I found nirvana in a minuscule flat, moments from the sea. This was the beginning of the discovery of the inner Girl Moss that I had never really identified in myself. I had always thought of myself as a city girl, but having recently escaped London, I could only really say that things had begun to feel a lot better. My life now looked completely different. Early morning commutes had been replaced with sunrise surf sessions, Pret a Manger coffees with long drawn-out breakfasts with my friends; bye-bye screen time, hello beach time. I would keep up with work by checking models.com and reading online articles on Vogue, but outside my window, I could hear my neighbours filling up their water tank from the communal tap because we had no mains water in the village. No one had a washing machine at the time, the nearest cash point was miles away and the stark difference between my two worlds was becoming more and more undeniable.
Now close your eyes, and reset the scene: It's September, “the January of fashion” as Candy Pratts calls it, and everything is dramatically different in Milan. The clothes I wear, my hair, and I even put makeup on. There’s no time for a slow breakfast, it's a quick “cappuccio e brioche” at the bar, and then numerous espressos knocked back throughout the day like champagne backstage. It was the mid-2000s, and this was still a thing. It's impossible to describe just how intense fashion week is. It's late nights, long days, temperatures and temperaments that keep rising, but also laughter and joy, coupled with awe and wonder, depending on who you’re working for.
It can be a lot of tears, good and bad or both. It's all the glitz and glamour that you imagine it to be, but you have to balance it with chain smoking and crying in the bathroom, losing your shit but only to an extent as to not completely undo all the work you’ve done and totally lose the balance of beauty and madness. It's insanely stressful, managing a hierarchy of egos in split seconds, but it's rewarding because the gratification is instant. You get to witness the fruits of your labour almost instantly, and I don't care how much you may think of the fashion industry as a joke, to witness a runway show in real life is a bewildering thing of beauty.
I was starting to work for bigger brands, taking more responsibility, but internally I was finding it harder and harder to close the gap between my professional and personal life. Could the girl boss and Girl Moss really coexist? Standing in a studio surrounded by a collection of feathered gowns felt incommensurable to my life in the village. Issues which needed to be resolved were insignificant to me anymore and I began to not take any of it too seriously. It culminated with a hysterical scream for a hairdresser, from an equally hysterical designer as a model's hair had slightly shifted upon the slipping on of an emerald silk blouse. The agitation of that voice shouting “PARRUCCOOOOO” will forever be ingrained in my brain as one of the most ridiculous moments I have beheld. I quit, if I had filed for divorce I would have quoted “irreconcilable differences”.
My two worlds were too far apart. I began to carry so much guilt for loving something so fickle as fashion, clothes and shoes because it made no sense to me anymore. Yet this duality lived within me.
At its essence, fashion is about creation, beauty and self-expression. Nothing too revolutionary there. Each designer brings into existence a collection that reflects them, individually, in one way or another. Then another person comes on board and will style this by putting individual pieces together in an even more creative way, to strengthen the spirit of the collection. Then the perfect model is picked to wear each look. It's not just about a pretty or interesting face. It's a myriad of facets that create the glimmer. What part of the body needs to be highlighted, who carries that perfect combination, and who has the strength to carry an outfit that demands character? It's all the minuscule details to the big picture, like the runway, the choreography, the music and the lights, which create the moment that is a runway show. And each show, regardless of personal opinions, is a work of art.
But although many scoff and dismiss the fashion industry, each one of us creates beauty and aesthetics in our lives. The things you choose to wear, whether a t-shirt and jeans or a beautiful dress, the shoes you buy, the items you select to adorn yourself with are available to you because of a symbiotic relationship with what happens on the runways. What Meryl Streep says as Miranda Priestly in the cerulean gown monologue is true: no one makes sartorial choices that exempt them from the fashion industry.
Over time I understood that all humans carry duality, and have qualities that oppose themselves in meaning. That finding joy was more important and beneficial than punishing myself into “meaningful” work, to balance the fact that I was still desperately coveting a Gucci Jackie. It didn't matter whether I was surfing, hiking, or strolling through Paris, my connection to nature did not waver, and neither did my love for beautiful clothes. The two are not mutually exclusive.
The theme of duality and inquiry is what I wish to carry on through each essay and what I hope will keep you coming back. We can say that the industry has evolved and progressed when it comes to racial inclusivity, and yet… We can debate the definition of a “plus size” model, and who makes those rules anyway. Let us argue the value of real vs. fake luxury goods, and we can talk for England about fashion trends being a reflection of what is happening in our culture.
Come back to read!
Love this Silvi and I totally agree, duality is possibly one thing that we can be sure in all
of us, or even more so that humans are multifaceted in the most complex and intricate of ways, the mundane and the extraordinary can be both part of a whole simultaneously and we perhaps may find more wonder in the world if all make space to celebrate and express these intricacies however they are formed, thanks for sharing this! x