I have taken a lot of crap for my fashion sense. Most people say that I've brought this on myself, the looks, general confusion, rolling eyes, death threats, sudden outbursts of rage and disgust, laughter, insults etc. I understand.
What many fail to understand is that there is a theory or purpose behind why I dress the way I do. I'll have to begin with the admission that yes at various points in my past and even a little in my present I have aimed to shock, but at no point has this been the driving philosophy. I usually only happens on specific occasions. 9 times out of 10 there is a reason behind it.
Well a couple. The principle I have tended to call in the past fashion anarchy is an attempt to shake off the opinion of my sister that I do indeed have a style. I mean she is right in one sense, I do have themes on my body, but I see a style as having a specific pattern or common element that you can predict or see with regularity. I do not believe that I've ever completely had that. The only element that I believe has been common throughout my wardrobe and colour selection has been one of ugliness and pure impracticality. The clothes often do not emphasize good parts of my body (you may know what pants I'm referring to), the colours constantly clash, the textures gross people out and often very unflattering parts of my body are showing. I know this, so when people say, "come on what did you really expect people to say/think" I generally see the point. However, it doesn't always happen; people do not always freak out and that's basically what I'm going for.
Tibor Kalman, a designer my sister got me onto said my philosophy best, after I'd been practicing it for years. In fact so did the first Projekct by King Crimson. Graphic and fashion designers have to try to be bad and stop being so fucking good. And according to Bill Bruford, the best part about improvisational music is that accidents will happen.
This fits nicely with how I dress. Not only do I suck it up sometimes, but I can also get away with wearing something that no one would ever dream of and it can sometimes work. Perfectly. Like mixing chocolate and cheese or salt and an apple. Sometimes, it can just do it for ya d'know?
This is very deliberate. By mixing ridiculous stuff and actually attempting to look ugly; growing ugly long ratty hair, ripped clothing, facial hair that doesn't work, unkeptness, everything eventually looks like something interesting after a while.
Revolt. I remember a time in grade 7 when a guy named Jeff made fun of me for wearing sweatpants. I was to realize that years later that was the exact moment when the fashion socialization of Geordie Dent had begun. I was being told "Geordie you fool, Sweats are out jeans are in, get with the fucking program" and it was the first time in my life my poor ass had ever thought about it. And oh the humiliation I was to endure from my fathers budgety ass shopping bringing home the neon green and black Wild cat sneakers that were only $59, or the plain turquoise sweatshirts while everyone else had B.U.M. equipment and Nike's galore. Well yes, now I would give anything for that shit, but at the time I was devastated. I know no one anymore from those years so most people don't know that back in the bad old days I was running around sporting grizzlies and Michael Jordan T's, shorts in bland or black colours that went down to my knees, bad haircuts that I got from supercuts that made me look as neutral as possible, the worst fashion of my career and I was constantly afraid of it.
Then grade 9 hit and all of a sudden it was in! I got away this one day with wearing clothes my grandma had sent me for my birthday. These old brown green jeans and a baby-blue button up dress shirt with gold and red stripes and oh how the floodgates opened when I realized that people thought it was OK. Cut to two months late and me reveling in anything I could get away with. You know what I'm talking about. Lobster ties, sombrero's, red and blue paisley dress shirts, crushed velvet, etc. It got really bad and I was like a kid in a candy store. I revolted against all of it, hard and fast and pushed it as far as it could go until in grade 10 I showed up to drama class in a moo moo and a satin turquoised green robe. Even my friends shut me down then. A guy from my past named Brad had a very hard time.
I always remembered the kids. I got fucked up from that shit man and I never knew that if I broke out of it, it would not have mattered. I could have gotten away with nothing in elementary, I would have gotten my ass kicked no matter what. I was taught that in order to be a success you have to shape up at one point.
And I revel in the photo of me in SFU's paper donning a dinosaur hat two feet wide, speaking very eloquently to a group of 1000 students. I was getting $20, 000 a year at the time. I went back to my old high school and talked to the grade 12's about life after high school wearing a rooster hat and after about 5 minutes they were eating out of my hand.
When I dress the way I do, I hope that the people around me and the kids who see me on the street, understand that you can be perfectly normal and be a regular success (or at least functionable in society) and look like me. I think it may give them hope. I have this wish that I could go back to me in grade 7 and tell him that everything was gonna be alright.
I have a dream that one day all the Gap's and Le Chateaus are raided by angry people who tear up their clothes and then take them home and sew them back together using their own imagination�I have a dream that one day people will not be judged by the colour of their skins but instead by the strength of their character.