Wednesday, October 31, 2018 // The Statement
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Wednesday, October 31, 2018 // The Statement

5B

ILLUSTRATION BY EMILY KOFFSKY

by KATE GLAD

éline was a fashion house run
by women for women. Celine —
with the accent above the “e”
conspicuously deleted — is a
fashion house run by Hedi Sli-
mane for Hedi Slimane.
On Sept. 2, every post on the
official Céline Instagram was

deleted and replaced with a new branding cam-
paign by Slimane that introduced a logo that
purged the ubiquitous accented “é.” A series
of three posts that debuted the new, accent-
less Celine. In the caption, an explanation was
given.
“THE ACCENT ON THE ‘E’ HAS BEEN REMOVED
TO ENABLE A SIMPLIFIED AND MORE BAL-
ANCED PROPORTION, EVOKING THE CELINE
COLLECTIONS OF THE 1960’S WHERE THE
ACCENT WASN’T USED OFTEN,” the photo
caption read. “#CELINEBYHEDISLIMANE.”
These posts were Slimane’s debut as the new
creative director of Celine, where he succeeded
the beloved, previous creative director Phoe-
be Philo, who held the position for 10 years.
This rebranding, along with Slimane’s reputa-
tion based on his work at Dior and as creative
director of Saint Laurent — also a name change
he is responsible for — had the fashion world
waiting skeptically for the Celine SS19 show on
Sept. 28.
And it was bad. The show was full of designs
directly derivative of his work at Saint Laurent.
He showed that the one aesthetic he can exe-
cute is short skirts and dark colors that never
quite have the edge of punk (think McQueen)
and lack the polish of being truly mod (think
Burberry). Everything that could have possibly
been wrong with the design was wrong. The
colors were too dark. The textures were try-
ing too hard to be interesting, and the music
wasn’t trying hard enough. Silhouettes — bor-
ing. Makeup — lacking expression. Audience
— stacked with invited celebrities. And, only
nine models of color walked in the entire show.
But making boring, overtly-sexualized clothes
isn’t necessarily a crime.
“Why am I so mad?” I ask myself when I see the
YSL 2.0 dresses and the accent-less logo.
The problem is this so-called “BALANCE”
Slimane is after, which he mentioned in the
rebranding Instagram posts.
Under Philo, Céline was a home for quirky,
artistic fashion that women could feel comfort-
able in — wearable sculpture that was actually
made for everyday wear. Céline women had to
worry about keeping their SS12 sunglasses,
modeled by Joan Didion (pictured), scratch
free. They did not have to worry about itchy
sequins scratching their skin.
The unapologetic imbalance of Philo’s Céline
in favor of empowered women, comfort and art
counterbalanced the rest of the fashion indus-
try that objectifies women and makes uncom-
fortable clothes without artistic integrity. Now
that Slimane’s Celine follows suit, the industry
is lacking balance.

“The problem is this
so-called “BALANCE”
Slimane is after, that
he mentioned in the
re-branding Instagram
posts.
Under
Philo,

Céline was completely
off kilter.”

T

hrough my childhood, I attended Père Gabriel Richard Elementary School in
Grosse Pointe, and was taught the accomplishments of the school’s namesake.
There are at least four schools in and around Detroit named after Richard, a per-

son who was committed to the promotion of education in Michigan.

Richard was a humanitarian who spent much of his life promoting education on the

frontier. He built schools for both white and Native American children — despite the area’s
generally problematic history with Native Americans — helped the city of Detroit avoid a
food crisis and potential ruin after the fire of 1805 and assisted cholera victims until he died
in 1832.

But perhaps Richard’s most lasting legacy was the establishment of an overly-ambitious

joint venture on the American frontier in 1817 which would ultimately become the Univer-
sity of Michigan. For its first 20 years, the University was only an idea, with no student ever
enrolled at the university level. The school we know today wasn’t established in practice
until 1837 when it moved from Detroit to the then-small settlement
of Ann Arbor.

It was during the Detroit fire in 1805 that Richard also penned the

official motto of Detroit: “Speramus meliora; resurget cineribus,” or
“We hope for better things; it will rise from the ashes.” In many ways,
this is also a metaphor for the University, which nearly faded into
irrelevance leading up to 1837.

While I didn’t know Richard’s legacy completely as a young stu-

dent, I could nonetheless appreciate his dedication to education. From
a young age, his lesson was ingrained in me — helping teach me the
importance of education.

This appreciation spread out of the confines of my elementary

school building as well. Living minutes away from Detroit, I would
often see Richard’s many memorials in the city. Whether it be driv-
ing past Pere Gabriel Richard Park on Jefferson Avenue or visiting
his tomb and state historical marker at Ste. Anne de Detroit Catholic
Church, I knew Richard helped build Detroit.

Yet, years later when I arrived at the University, the figure who was

so ever-present in my hometown’s lore drew barely a mention in Ann
Arbor — a town he was arguably even more instrumental in building.

Walking down State Street in 2017, it was impossible to miss the

banners commemorating the University of Michigan’s Bicentennial.
Our school’s 200th birthday instilled a sense of commonality for stu-
dents, faculty and alumni alike, one in which we could take pride in
our heritage. At least that’s what I was supposed to think.

When the banners were pulled down and the festivities faded,

our school origins were once again difficult to find. Sure, we knew it
was old and prestigious — but while many students (myself included)
saw this history as distinctive, we failed to recognize the ones who
founded the Catholepistemiad, or University of Michigania, in the
first place.

I am only aware of our university’s founders’ legacies because I

went to an elementary school named after one of them. When the
University moved to Ann Arbor, new leaders emerged and, from their
perspective, they started from scratch. Yet, since the 1930s, the Uni-
versity has proclaimed 1817 as its original founding date, prompting
debate over whether or not the University may claim an extra 20 years
of history.

In recent years, the University strengthened its efforts to connect

to its original home in Detroit, perhaps an attempt to fully recog-
nize to its roots. Whether or not this commitment will be successful
remains to be determined. Regardless, I now go to a school founded
by — yet not named after — Richard. Why is this?

Why should we care about the
University’s forgotten Detroit roots?

ILLUSTRATION BY CHRISTINE JEGARL

BY KEVIN BIGLIN, CONTRIBUTOR

Continued on DETROIT, Page 6B