Author: Danielle Mitchell

Seoul Fashion Week (Part 2) – Naked Titties

I scan the crowed room and I think to myself: This is it.

The girl sitting next to me gives me a smile; A punk Asian debutante, “Nice.”

I feel welcomed instantly.

She’s wearing plaid-yellow pants, multiple chokers, and a complicated updo. She’s outgoing. The word on the street is that she writes for Seoul magazine. There is another woman behind me who writes for Women’s Wear Daily, and somewhere in the crowd is an older, chic, white woman. I spot her twice. Someone tells me she’s frequented Paris Fashion Week with Rihanna. I’m going to assume that she’s a big wig.

It looks like I’m in good company.

The lights dim and I prepare for my first fashion show. As I sit in anticipation, I think of sex. I usually do. I dig a little deeper and ask myself: What does the modern Korean consider sexy? What will it take to push Korea into naughtier territory? Will harry potter glasses, tennis shoes, and baby doll dresses reign supreme forever, is what I’m asking??

These questions need answers. And as a fake Korean citizen, I demand something sexier for my palate. So bring it on.

Seoul Fashion Week, WOW me.

It’s 13:00 and CANEZOU pops my cherry.

The show opens up with a young girl strutting in ornate victorian garb. She’s holding a dolly. It’s whimsical and sweet and definitely unexpected. The collection reveals itself and …

“What the f***?!”

Um …

Homegirl brings out spandex dresses, neon pink clubwear, and zebra print-trench coats. I’m new to this, but even I can identify a what the f*** moment. As in, What the f*** is going on; Why the f*** am I here?; Does she know where the f*** she is??

Aw, I am so sad.

And yes, it is sexy but I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. To get analytical, It’s reminiscent of Westernized club wear circa 1998. CANEZOU is not the most wearable but it tells a story: Every little girl lives in a fantasy land and then grows into a sexier version of themselves. The club wear is jarring, but it is the interpretation of sexiness as seen through the eyes of a little girl.

Got it.

The fall line is hideous; almost laughable, but I also think Bomin Kim (the creator) is brilliant. She pulled a Warhol on us! Kim takes something terrifying and declares it high art. Who do you know that can tell their story using a tacky clothing, but re-mix it into haute couture?

I don’t know many.

Very, very well done, Kim.

About two hours later I find myself at pushButton, a brand that far surpasses the small fish. It’s blatant commercial appeal, allows for a smooth transition into a world of androgyny.

I love it: Boys that look like girls, who look like boys.

Currently, South Korea’s unisex fashions are framed around a masculine aesthetic. Cute, but not daring nor sexy. Nobody looks sexy wearing oversized everything.

pushButton uses feminity as its core delivery for both men and women.

And it works, the men look extremely feminine, while the women appear more dominant and strong. The look: Cat eyed sunglasses, furry sweaters and power suits for all. The gender-bending playfulness translates into naughty sexuality. It’s been decided: PushButton’s 2014 fall line is disgustingly perfect.

The final designer I witness, after an arduous day of fashions, is Jineteok.

Jineteok doesn’t just push the envelope. Her fall collection takes the envelope, stomps it to the ground, and shits on it. I guess she doesn’t like boxes. Oh, and the titties. Bare titties.

As a Westerner, I am quite pleased and … turned on. The fall 2014 line is comprised of victorian trench coats, polka dots, A- line dresses, and lots of textures for fall. That’s boring though. Nobody’s here for that. We want sex!

The mood shifts with unapologetic nudity; Jineteok is the first designer I see who plays with sheer T-shirts and dresses, all of which leave nothing to the imagination.

Many of her garments are sleeveless, and are a far departure from the aegyo- a traditionally tame and childlike fashion. Her shit was sexy, though! Who knew it would take an older Korean woman to show us the way. I’m inspired, impressed, and a little horny. Like a pizza, Seoul Fashion Week was multi-layered. You can even say it was a microcosm of Korea. There was victorian for the whimsical, unisex-minimalist for trendy, salacious club wear for the slutty, and chic nudity for the sophisicated.

There’s always something for everybody.

Overall, a game well played, Korea.

Images from Seoul Fashion Week courtesy of Danielle Mitchell

April 27, 2014
Seoul Fashion Week (Part 1)

Hello world,

Let me preface this by saying that I am no Anna Wintour. I can barely dress myself without supervision, let alone commentate on fashion or the industry itself.

Make no mistake, that I am a fierce bitch. And like bloodhounds, gays and fashionistas do (italicize do) recognize me.

I am also a new writer, someone with a smidgen of experience. I’m a baby in the field. Yet somehow, I found myself writing about one of the most swank affairs on my side of the continent: Seoul Fashion Week.

Whoever approved this must have been smoking the finest [drugs] … Regardless, I’m a fan of Jesus, and I know he specializes in results. Hence, my arrival at Seoul Fashion Week. This was the very spot where the corps de elite gathered to document new trends; These trends were forged by the same innovators that I was to share oxygen with. In. that. very. space.

Here is my account of said event in all it’s ratchetness. The triumphs. The pitfalls. The elegance and absurdities of it all.

Are you ready?

Do dim the lights, and wear something comfortable, reader. What I am about to give you, is the meat and potatoes of my experience. No chaser.

It’s Sunday; 10am

Today’s the day!

I’m in disbelief. My imaginary entourage and I arrive at the Dongaemun Design Park building. On the outside we remain cool; something cavalier. Internally, our hearts descend into our guts, then into our assholes—which feels about three seconds away from falling out of our bodies. We are not doing well.

We are not doing well at all.

In a moment of pause we remember to breathe; I personally acknowledge that I am a bad bitch from hell, and that I deserve to be here too. This realization allows me to put on my big girl panties, and I solider on.

Time to register.

“Hi! Is this where I check in?” I said in my most blithe, optimistic voice.

“Actually, you can’t register here. You were supposed to do that online?”

The woman saying this has the most monotone voice I’ve ever heard! She’s killinnnng me.

“Uh, I don’t think you’re on the list,” she says.

She must also be psychic because I didn’t give her my name. I guess I don’t look like the fashiony-type? Touché bitch. And I am on the list.

“Nope,” she says.

You see reader? This is the practical joke that is my life! I’m usually a happy girl, but what the hell?! My anxiety begins to creep into me as I fight to keep it tucked away somewhere deep inside of my purse. How can they not let me in? I was formally invited!

I spend the next hour spluttering, confused, and in disbelief. I traveled 3.5 hours to witness the holy grail of fashion innovation and was rejected.

On what basis?!

Despite showing the gentlefolk my passport, invitation, and proof of employment, I find myself sitting outside without fashion. Without material for this article; without everything.

Perhaps they were expecting a confidential invitation written in sheep’s blood. An hour later: The manager arrives, and I argue and fight my way to the entrance. I argue him so hard that I leave HIM stuttering, and confused. I actually feel quite bad.

I guess in every war there are casualties.

It’s after 11 am, and I am victorious. I enter the venue with my press pass in tow. Security accidentally ushers me backstage with the models and designers in completely prohibited territory. Jackpot!

They’re compiling their looks for the show. Photographers with thousands of dollars worth of camera equipment feverishly snap away for the likes of Vogue, W, and Seoul Magazine. I linger a bit longer to take pictures of my own. They become instagram worthy.

The show starts a few minutes later and I’m seated witnessing the greatest show on earth: Front row at my first fashion show.

As I look down at my program I notice Today’s lineup:

CANEZOU
JOHNNY HATES JAZZ
pushBUTTON
JINTEOK
LE QUEEN
Lie Sang Bong
the studio K

And a slew of others. This is my moment. This is what I have dreamt of. This is what it feels like to accomplish something off of your bucket list: Fashion Week.

I am a pervert, so I anxiously await the fashions, and hope that they’re sexy. Let’s see how this goes. My entourage and I put on our Anna Wintour shades and begin to take notes.

The lights dim. The first model steps out and we beg the question:

“Is anything provocative?”

Images from Seoul Fashion Week courtesy of Danielle Mitchell

April 26, 2014
Love and Comparisons: Why do we compare ourselves to other people?

You date. Find a great guy. All goes seemingly well. Then he dumps you. You are devastated. You are a strong woman, and you know you’ll go on. But what does that take and how the hell do you do that?

Cut to, a few weeks later. You see his new squeeze. Your ass is devastated.

Does it ever benefit you to compare yourself to another woman? Ever? Ever? But damn! She’s so pretty, outgoing, and funny…You’re either one second off to committing suicide, or dating her. You don’t even know which to do first.

Of course, you’ve guessed that this is art imitating life. You are damn straight. One thing I’ve always tried to do, is give back to the world what I feel I am missing. So, kind souls, this is my contribution to society. Thank me later.

So why do we compare?

I actually have no good answer for this. I don’t know why we do. We just do. Maybe it’s our EGO, a impression of people’s reactions to us. If they hate you, you hate you. If the world, or a guy thinks someone else is better than you, then you, unfortunately think someone else is better…This is not ever true.

Or, you accept the other person as better, because the person you dated chose them. You respect the other person’s values so much, that you think: “Wow, he chose her, and he’s amazing. So, maybe that other person is better than me.” A pretty dangerous way to think.

No matter how you do it, comparing yourself to another person will always F-up your self-esteem. Don’t do it, ever. I love you. Don’t do it=)

What has helped me in this circumstance, is thanking the universe for presenting a dilemma like this to me. Somewhere, deep down inside, I want to grapple with this. If I didn’t, I would have never been triggered. The rewards of dealing with difficult situations are usually far reaching, so having this assignment – I welcome it.

I also learned that it’s better to compare your new self with your old self. As opposed to other people. Why? Because we will never win at comparing ourselves to others. We simply can’t be them. But one thing we can do, is to be exceptional, kick ass, and magnetic versions of ourselves.

Look at who we were before this situation. Make a list. What did we do a year (or more ago) that we absolutely don’t do now. Really think about it, and be thankful for who we are now, and where we’ve come. If there is anything, we still want, GET IT. Take care of your body if you want to, rid yourself of unsavoury relationships and people, if you feel that’s essential to your betterment.

Lastly, It’s helped me to ignore everybody! Ignore all opinions good and bad, because they say “you’re never as good as people say you are, and you’re never as bad as people say you are.” You’re somewhere in between, and if you rid yourself of outside validation; If you don’t live within the opinions of others…. You’ll never fall victim to dreaded comparisons. Relationship or otherwise.

March 15, 2014