Alexander Fury, you are a legend.
I mean it. Seriously. And we need to take a moment to talk about it. ‘It’ being the man, the myth, the legend that is you, Alexander Fury.
The fashion world has spent the last fifteen years investing in bloggers, giving them status as the new demi-gods of fashion media. And at the same time you emerged, proof that intelligent and thoughtful fashion writing can reign supreme in the land of #omgwtf, after all.
What’s so astonishing about you, Fury, and what I find worthy of applause, is the fact that you dare to have an opinion on fashion. You aren’t afraid to dish out doses of tough love. In print, nonetheless. Even more, you have the nerve to be able to back it up with a legitimate knowledge of fashion history. And that’s something that few of your so called peers can claim, try as they might.
Take, for example, your recent Independent appraisal of Hedi Slimane’s work at Saint Laurent. “The show notes credited the artwork – including a lips print from the 1971 “Vichy Chic” collection – to the Fondation Pierre Bergé-Yves Saint Laurent. Slimane took credit for set and styling. And the clothes? Their credit remained hazy. Ironic, really, as that was the reason we were all crammed into an airless black box around the back of the Grand Palais. Their merit is hazier still.”
Or, one of my favourites: your brutal observations of Isabel Marant’s recent collaboration with mega-chain H&M. “Her most noteworthy contribution to the state of modern dress is that hybrid of training-shoe and trotter, the ‘wedge sneaker,’” you said. “It’s an unholy coupling, but for the past few years it has proved ubiquitous, a fashion verruca we’re not yet shut of.”
That brilliant gem of honesty was delivered while every other fashion “editor” (sheep) was standing in line for said trotters. But not you. You, and your extensive collection of Prada, have integrity.
And don’t get me started on your Object Fetish film series for SHOWstudio. Who else could so casually describe a Givenchy fair isle sweater as “an erotic, ergonomic trip around the body, carving new erogenous zones in relief knit”? Your analysis of a pair of Alexander McQueen shoes referenced both Newton and Baudrillard. Later for the boring list of press release regurgitated references; you walked on to our screens and delivered sheer poetry with this series. One part clinical. Another part clairvoyant.
I mean, fuck.
My only worry is that you may not be loud enough to overtake the high street slaving masses who claim to be fashion critics, writers, what have you. There are a legion of recent fashion graduates out there who have confused a love of shopping for a sound understanding of fashion; that have been hypnotized into only hearing the high pitched screams of the Grazia girls’ twitter accounts; think that Fashion Television is the name of an old Saturday Night Live skit. I’m not going to claim to know how or why fashion writing has gone so horribly wrong, but god bless Nick Knight and Penny Martin for giving you your first platform from which to shout. That moment marked the beginning of fashion writing’s reformation. I’m counting on you, Alex, to guide us to salvation.