The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Friday, January 29, 2016 — 5
EnspiRED supports
fashion for a cause
By DAILY STYLE WRITERS
On Jan. 23, EnspiRED, the
University’s student-run fashion
organization, hosted an Insta-
gram-worthy event right here on
campus in celebration of its 10th
anniversary: Rouge. Rouge was
a fashion show meant to bring
awareness to the arts, not only on
campus, but also to the Fleming
Elementary School community
in Detroit, to which the event’s
proceeds went. Reminiscent of
Fashion Week, the long runway
was surrounded by rows of seats
for family and friends alike to
truly appreciate the unique styles
that strutted down the catwalk.
The event was comprised of
eight individual themed scenes.
Accompanied with videos, music
and fabulous walks to match,
the
varied
themes
included
mimes, dolls, clowns and in true
freakshow
fashion,
monsters.
With a lively and packed room,
LSA senior Brysan Porterfield,
EnspiRED president, said this
year’s show yielded the largest
amount of donations so far.
Rouge featured apparel and
accessories from many designers
that ranged from local Ann Arbor
businesses to University alumni
and high profile chains. Pitaya,
Verbana, Victoria’s Secret, Rag-
stock and Today’s Clothing, to
name a few, loaned clothes for
the Rouge event. Local design-
ers such as Grant Henerson and
Caleb Moss also helped curate
looks. With apparel supplied
from such varied sources, the
range in fashion ensembles we
saw crossed lines and transcend-
ed boundaries.
With
an
impressive
and
expansive array of sponsors,
EnspiRED’s event was calcu-
lated and ultra posh. This atmo-
sphere was exemplified by all of
the little extras the org provided,
from freshly popped popcorn
and colorfully spun cotton candy
before the show to the various
raffles and prizes that were given
to lucky guests with a winning
ticket.
Though the fashion seemed
an afterthought compared to
the show’s stunning theatrics, it
was far from forgettable. Among
the various thematic “scènes,”
aesthetic
standouts
included
the Scène du Clown, Scène de la
Poupee, Scène la Rue and Scène
Sauvage. The opening Scène du
Clown consisted of relatively
tame looks in comparison to the
rest, but was punctuated with
playful touches — punchy, bright
makeup, jugglers and a skirt
replete with balloons.
The models in the Scène de la
Poupee channeled their inner
dolls with more fanciful, delicate
dresses and tutus, with the make-
up transforming models into
mannequins. Models also slowed
their sashays down the runway
with an eerie stillness for a com-
plete doll effect. Scène de la Rue
showcased the most wearable
looks — activewear, ripped jeans,
boss vests and an unforgettable
gold jacket for the adventurous
menswear shopper. Things took a
more risqué turn as the models of
Scène Burlesque nearly bared all
in lingerie of the lace, silk and net
varieties. The penultimate Scène
Sauvage also took a strong activ-
ist stance, stressing the impor-
tance of the Black Lives Matter
movement. Models rocked nearly
every subtype of dress — prep,
hippie, boho, professional and
urban trendy.
***
Needless to say, the Daily Style
Squad was impressed with the
sheer amount of talent and fash-
ion choices we saw. However,
what does it take to plan an event
like this each year?
Turns out, a lot of hard work
went into putting on Rouge, from
choosing the theme to deciding
between the carefully curat-
ed models. With the planning
beginning in early September of
last year, LSA junior Ify Odum,
EnspiRED Image Consultant,
explained to the Daily that it
takes “a lot of teamwork, com-
munication and dedication to
pull off a show like this.”
Besides planning the themes
and coordinating the logistics
for an event such as this, there
is also the key task of assembling
the models and the style looks.
Everything from the clothing,
down to the makeup and props
used on the runway, was special-
ly designed and curated for each
scene’s theme.
“Model
coordinators
work
with fashion consultants and cre-
ative directors to ensure that the
models we chose for this year’s
show had the right walk, attitude
and confidence,” Odum said.
EnspiRED’s model coordina-
tors are specifically responsible
for choosing which outfits each
model would wear based upon
what they were comfortable with
as well as what the coordinator’s
vision was for the theme.
This wasn’t an easy pro-
cess, Odum said, adding that it
took hours of fitting sessions
to decide and coordinate indi-
vidual ensembles. To choose
what each model was going to
wear in relation to the different
scenes, Odum and fellow image
consultant, Darbee Pass, also an
LSA junior, both worked for two
days straight to decide individ-
ual outfits and get the fittings
perfected.
And just like in typical runway
show fashion, there was little
input from the models them-
selves, in terms of the outfits and
makeup they adorned. That was
left up to the image and fashion
consultants to decide.
Beauty is a huge part of any
stylized look; hair and makeup
can make or break an outfit
choice. Makeup artists drew
inspiration for the makeup looks
by working with the scenes that
the models were in. For this
show in particular, the makeup
and hair was unique, trendy and
flawless.
***
In addition to the fashions,
what impressed us was the pro-
fessionalism of each model. Right
away we knew this wasn’t going
to be just a fashion show run by
University students. The confi-
dence, grace and pure passion
each student had on and off the
runway made the experience all
the more fun and authentic.
“The models practiced every
Sunday for two hours for about
four months,” Odum said. In
addition, in order to walk in the
runway show, each model had
to do one day of community ser-
vice. One option was volunteer-
ing at the local children’s Hands
on Museum, holding true to the
organization’s mission of bring-
ing awareness to the arts in our
local
communities,
especially
amongst creative youths.
“Each model had their own
reasons for modeling, whether
it was to get over a fear or just to
strut their stuff,” Odum said.
Having raised just shy of
$1,000 for Fleming Elementa-
ry’s arts programs, Rouge was
fashion for a significant cause,
in support of creativity amongst
University students as well as our
local communities.
FILM NOTEBOOK
Lizzie in my dreams
By LAUREN WOOD
Daily Arts Writer
This weekend, I traveled back
into the depths of the grade
school movie vault, though not
entirely on purpose. For a class,
I watched the original “Cinderel-
la” cartoon, which I had not seen
for probably a decade. When I
sat down to eat dinner one night,
“High School Musical” was play-
ing on TV, and when I visited the
childhood home of my roommate
in Chicago, we unearthed a DVD
copy of “The Lizzie McGuire
Movie” and couldn’t resist.
While watching these movies,
the plots were familiar, as was the
overly emotive dialogue and high-
ly stylized sets. But what stood out
to me most were the objects that
surrounded these films’ construc-
tions. The beads strung up on one
of the mouse helpers’ tails in “Cin-
derella” nearly jumped out of the
screen and rolled across my own
kitchen floor, so memorable to me
they seemed completely separate
from the plot of stepsisters and
fairy godmothers. While watching
“The Lizzie McGuire Movie,” my
roommate Caroline pointed out
every item of Lizzie’s very 2000s
wardrobe, moments before they
would appear on screen. “In the
next scene she’s going to wear the
blue hair clip.” “Wait for it, they’re
almost to the shot of her spinning
in the red shoes.” And when these
objects did come up in the film,
I could see them in the world of
the movie just as easily as I could
imagine them lying at the bottom
of my cluttered closet at home.
In a class last semester, while
talking about memoir and the
detail of description, my teacher
told us that half the memories we
hold as true are actually the stuff
of our dreams. When we speak or
think of the past, we do not pull
ideas from a memory storage bank
but instead reconstruct what must
have happened from details we
have held on to. In another class
about film history and theory, I
learned that some early fictional
films were imagined as one of the
closest things we have to dreams,
and the film industry was some-
times called the “dream factory.”
If we think about this connection
between movies and dreams, and
between dreams and memories,
it’s difficult to find a line of separa-
tion between our own experiences
and the events we watch play out
on screen. With enough distance,
everything falls into our memory
as real, and our own lives begin to
bounce and blend with those of the
characters. Of course, this is dif-
ficult to do with things like events
or locations. I know I haven’t sung
on stage at the Roman Colosseum
at age 14 to a crowd of my shocked
and awed classmates and snubbed
Italy’s most famous young pop star
(although I really, really wish this
had happened.) But, looking at a
blue hair clip on screen and look-
ing at one in the bathroom cabinet
my sister and I have stuffed with an
inordinate amount of Claire’s mer-
chandise over the years is harder to
differentiate.
I know this seems trivial: who
cares where that hair clip came
from, and who cares why it shocks
me when it comes up in a movie?
But what’s weird about all of this
is the way it shocked a room full of
girls who had grown up in differ-
ent cities, going to different schools
and living completely separate
lives. In a basement in Chicago, we
were watching a pretty stupid, but
nonetheless amazing movie and
we all simultaneously went silent,
realizing that something we had
remembered as real was not ours.
It had only lived on screen. In some
section of our pasts, we had mixed
in elements of some same stuff,
and we had experienced that thing
together from miles apart.
So what happens if we take
Lizzie McGuire’s blue, flowery
hairclip and switch that out with
something bigger, like a car, or
maybe a house, or even a city. With
wide reaching movies like this
one, there is a generation of kids,
eyes wide on the screen, coming
to know these things as ideal, and
integrating objects they’ve never
even touched into a wide collec-
tive memory. There’s something
strong in that, something hard
to nail down and understand but
pervasive nonetheless. There’s an
understanding that strings our
bumping, opposing conscious-
nesses together, and a place where
our movies fade into reality.
CONCERT REVIEW
Elle King transcends
at Majestic Theatre
By CHRISTIAN KENNEDY
Daily Music Editor
Elle King didn’t play The Majes-
tic on Wednesday night — she
transcended in it. She has all the
makings of a rockstar: drinks like
a fish, swears like a sailor, dresses
eccentrically and, most impor-
tantly, puts on a damn good rock
show. The rescheduled, sold out
show, refused to lose any amount
of steam throughout King’s set.
Draped in a black and white fur
coat, the 26-year-old singer/song-
writer worked through material
from her debut LP Love Stuff com-
plemented by a handful of widely-
appreciated covers.
First and foremost, an Elle
King concert is a good time to
be had by all. Two songs in, she
admitted to the crowd she had
forgotten her drink and con-
versed until one was brought to
her — her wry sense of humor
was the perfect complement to
her alt. rock sound, making the
personality, and the sometimes
dark humor present in her music,
feel all the more genuine. Before
rolling
through
“Under
The
Influence,” she declared, “I’m
drunk,” laughing with the crowd
and asking them to raise their
glasses because no one likes to
drink alone. She made a spur-of-
the-moment decision to throw a
mash up of Nick Jonas’s “Jealous”
and The Weeknd’s “Can’t Feel My
Face” partway through the setlist
— demanding that even the shyer
concert goers dance.
More dazzling than her per-
sonality, was her voice. Her sin-
gularly soaring and raspy delivery
didn’t come as a surprise, simply
because it was so pure on her
record, but even live there seemed
to be a bit more growl in her deliv-
ery, infusing more energy into the
set. She showcased the majority of
Love Stuff, prefacing most tracks
with short stories on inspiration
or uninhibited ramblings. After
performing Grammy-nominated
top ten hit “Ex’s & Oh’s,” King
poked fun at herself when she
unabashedly called herself a slut.
King’s voice allows for both of her
tones — lowly blues-country sing-
er on “I Told You I Was Mean,”
“Make You Smile” and “Kocaine
Karolina,” and growly rocker on
“Where The Devil Don’t Go” and
“Last Damn Night,” to maintain
the crowd’s focus at all times. The
band-heavy tracks pulled energy
from the crowd, while the slower
songs demanded attention solely
because of King’s delivery.
At the beginning of the show,
she announced a special surprise
would be coming if the crowd
stayed until the end. The sur-
prise, to make up for postponing
the show in November, came in
the form of a three song encore,
which was the the energetic cli-
max. First — for Detroit — King
spat the entirety of “The Real Slim
Shady.” “Pinching nurses asses
when I’m jacking off with Jergens
/ And I’m jerking but this whole
bag of Viagra isn’t working,”
is way more charming behind
King’s persona — she added some
miming for explanation, laughing
collectively with the crowd. Next
up was a cover that helped get her
noticed, a folk-indie rock mold of
Kia’s female satisfaction anthem,
“My Neck, My Back.” Between
the two covers in King’s encore
and “Oh! Darling” during the set,
there’s no question: Elle King can
do it all.
She capped off the show with
her upcoming single “America’s
Sweetheart.” She delivered the
verses with a wicked smile and
blew through the song’s even-
better-live chorus. Drums vibrat-
ed off every surface in the room
and the passion of King’s deliv-
ery took the crowd just a little
bit higher before the night was
over, building more energy with
each chorus. King certainly isn’t
America’s sweetheart — she’s not
rock ‘n’ roll’s either (yet) — but on
Wednesday night a much-hyped
show proved, at least for a night,
she was Detroit’s.
T
hroughout my teen years,
the dog days of YOLO
summers fell into a
monotonous rhythm — I slept the
daylight hours away, forced older
friends to play
chauffeur and
take me on
destination-
less drives
at dusk and
filled the rest
of the time
with friends,
food or films
(on a good
day, the whole
trifecta). On
a characteristically tame sum-
mer night, I stayed true to myself
and stayed in, but this time it was
socially excusable — I was recov-
ering from a nasty sunburn (an
unfavorable outcome from the one
day I forwent an afternoon snooze
to “enjoy nature”).
The year was 2010 and video
stores were my second favorite
destination after bookstores
(RIP Borders on Woodward St).
Pre-nationwide Blockbuster
extinction, my cinematic indeci-
sion always got the best of me as I
scoured the shelves. I could usual-
ly be found debating between the
safe choice of “Legally Blonde” or
something I wasn’t able to quote
from opening to closing credits.
Elle Woods’s romantic odyssey
suddenly seemed less interesting
when R.J. Cutler’s Vogue docu-
mentary “The September Issue”
caught my eye that day; or rather,
its cover of the magazine’s icy edi-
tor-in-chief Anna Wintour. Fur-
clad, sporting a pursed pout and
hiding behind oversized shades, it
instilled an incalculable fear in me
(an effect I still dream of having
on others). I was at the peak age
of pretending to be interesting via
documentary viewing, so I picked
up the fashion flick, my sunburn
still sizzling.
Despite my ever-fleeting atten-
tion span, I was captivated for the
entire 90 minutes. I repeatedly
got the chills, which felt like more
than a sunburn side effect. I like
to think the goosebumps were my
body’s response to a divine inter-
vention of sorts — during which
the chic spirit of Diana Vreeland
or Beatrix Miller propped them-
selves next to me and planted the
seedling of my sartorial dreams.
It sounds far-fetched, but I can’t
fathom a logical explanation for
my immediate attachment to
Vogue’s creative director — the
film’s accidental star, the frizzy
firecracker and crazy cat lady —
Grace Coddington.
Upon my first view of the film,
Grace’s instant allure stemmed
from her superficial markers. In
the offices of the fashion bible,
she seems completely out of
place in her standard uniform —
black portmanteau, bright red
locks utterly unkempt and the
occasional barrette highlighting
her makeup-less face, all while
shuffling around Condé Nast in
orthotics. I was completely taken
when she delivered her sharp
British wit — uttering either wry
backtalk to her boss, something
comically sensible, or something
hilariously crude. And then,
there’s her work. At its simplest,
she devoted her days to spinning
our favorite fairytales in a most
enchanting light; she made the
contrived look effortless.
I, like most of the fashion-
inclined ilk I admire, was intro-
duced to Coddington during my
inaugural view of the doc. Fol-
lowing what will likely remain
my most formative viewing
experience, I was instantly less
interested in my future and more
intrigued by Grace’s past.
From that fateful day forward, I
charted Grace’s story to the best of
my abilities. I pored over her stun-
ning spreads, immersed myself in
her 2012 self-titled memoir and,
above all, loved how all her work
reflected her distinct disposition
— somewhere between staunch
pragmatism and free-spirited
romanticism. I loved how she was
Wintour’s consummate comple-
ment and perfect foil — always
unraveling the EIC’s tyranny with
her autonomy.
Being the selfish being that I
am, I tend to be most interested in
the tales of those that I can relate
to — so for years, I’ve been piecing
together Grace’s narrative thread,
which I imagine is somewhat
similar to how she storyboards
spreads. The more I learned about
her, the more she reminded me
of myself — a general loner with a
taste for adventure, a stomach for
uncertainty, an inherent fickleness
and the inability to take anything
too seriously.
So despite Coddington being
my kindred spirit who definitely
doesn’t know I exist, I was sad last
Wednesday when I realized her
decades-long Vogue chapter was
ending — but not really. She’s still
committed to direct four spreads
a year, but at the age of 74, she has
decided it time to pursue more
professional projects — collaborat-
ing on a fragrance with Comme
des Garçons and assisting in the
production of her memoir biopic,
to name a few. I was sad because
I know, as the fashion community
knows, that she’s completely irre-
placeable. The thought of someone
else’s creative eye directing our
beloved book is unsettling. I’m shy
to embrace change, sorry.
Not unlike life itself, the fash-
ion industry is quick to change
— with each season the dominant
styles shift, positions are taken
and lost and we’re reminded how
everything is heartbreakingly
fleeting, fickle and seldom fixed.
When I saw the New York Times
report on Grace’s future, I thought
about the fashion world at large,
past and present.
I’m not going to pretend the
industry doesn’t have clear faults
— latent racism, excessive fat-
shaming and a quickening pace
that hinders creativity. But at its
best, the industry makes us think
and wonder. When Grace decided
to step down, I started asking the
questions that every generation
within a given field asks when
the greats and standard-setters
start to slow down. It’s scary to
consider the inevitability of our
influencers fading away; it’s scary
to think these iconic names and
storied fashion houses will all
be gone someday. Personally,
the scariest part is that these
legacy brands and publications
will (hopefully) take chances on
young, scrappy hooligans like me
and expect us to take the reins
and run with our creative impuls-
es — using only our instincts and
influences of the bygone icons to
set the standard for the next gen-
eration of hopefuls.
There’s a particularly moving
scene in the doc when Grace taps
into her signature self-awareness,
as she stands outside the Arch-
ways Versailles (because of course
that’s where she is). “I think I got
left behind somewhere, ‘cause
I’m, you know, still a romantic …
You have to go charging ahead.
You can’t stay behind,” she said
in “The September Issue.” That
scene didn’t faze me when I was 14
and sunburnt, but last week when
I re-watched the documentary
and considered Grace’s future, the
chills were alive.
If you want to hang with Filips,
she’ll probably send an Uber for you.
E-mail her at carofil@umich.edu.
STYLE COLUMN
Fashion fell from
Grace Coddington
CAROLINE
FILIPS
STYLE EVENT