Friday, August 22, 2014

Actual doctor

Brigitte Bardot channelling my general feelings right now.

A few things in list form. 
First. I am an actual doctor now, guys. As many of you already know, I got my examiners' reports a few weeks ago and after writing in a few amendments to make it clearer and more nuanced, it was 100%, completely, totally done. The Arts Faculty have confirmed it, it's on the University of Sydney Library (link in Press if you're keen to read it aka why are you still reading this sentence? GO, it's v. brilliant) and so I have finished my PhD.
YEAH!!!!

Second. I wrote a post a little while ago that some of you saw (and I'm so sorry to people whose RSS feeds told them there was something new and then you found a 'sorry, page not found' where there should have been a post called 'future doctor'. Well, I posted a little thing and it was kind of a goodbye but it was a bit mawkishly sentimental and also, I wasn't ready to say goodbye. And I wrote some awkward "memories" things in it and ew. Let's blame it on getting-my-reports euphoria and forget it ever happened. 

But I've been thinking carefully about the future of this blog ever since I submitted, and while I love the freedom Fashademic offers me to write about anything and nerd out over everything, I'd like to keep it as an archival document spanning the PhD experience, beginning to end, so this will be my last post here.

Third. BUT this is not the end of us, ok? I mean, it doesn't have to be: I'm writing columns on fashion at The Conversation, I'll be listing my academic publications on my Academia.edu profile, and everything will be gathered together at fashademic.com (including a rambly blog of Deborah Turbeville photos and bits and pieces of thinking about self and stuff). I love thinking and writing, and I love that you've been reading along all this time: thank you! It really makes me really happy that you have, and I want to keep sharing work with you. 

Well that's everything for now, and so to end with a quote from Pride and Prejudice (because why not?), "let us say not farewell, but as the French have it, au revoir!"

xx


Friday, June 13, 2014

fashademic.com


I keep writing bits and pieces that are being published in different corners of the Internet, and various journals and things, so I thought I'd pull it all together on one very spare-looking website for your convenience, if you'd like to keep reading what I'm writing. On the website, fashademic.com, you'll find a link back to this blog, as well as a link to my column on The Conversation, and a list of my academic & general readership publications.

I say it's "spare-looking" because on the Internet, visual content is king, and though I secretly fancy myself as quite the accomplished Instagrammer (don't we all think that about ourselves?), I'm still getting the hang of incorporating visuals on the site... so it's very "minimal" aka loads of white. Let's all pretend that it was intentional.



Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Fashademic at MBFWA

Hello! This is to let you know about my current series on Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Australia. As you may know, I write a fashion theory and culture column on The Conversation (and will be posting much more regularly now, post-submission!). Right now, I'm going to a range of shows at MBFWA and writing thick anthropological descriptions of them to give a sense of what it is like to be there, and to sketch a thick portrait of the socio-cultural aspects that compose the event and make it meaningful to its participants.

This means I'll be standing in queues, writing feverishly in corners, rushing back and forth between my office at Sydney Uni and Carriageworks, and giving serious thought to which of my handbags best accomodates a bulging notebook (and which will be least marred if my fountain pen bursts blue ink everywhere.) I have written three columns already, outlining the project (and referencing the lovely anthropological writing of Clifford Geertz), giving an initial impression of what it is like to be there, and my first description on the show of Australian newcomers, Strateas Carlucci.

A description of last night's exquisite Gail Sorronda show will be going up later today, and I look forward to doing some gritty observation, you know, some really hard, exhausting, demanding observation... while drinking free San Pellegrino and posing for pictures... because I'm a srs academic (slash columnist slash buyer).

Meanwhile, I wanted to share a funny anecdote with you. I was leaving the venue after my first show yesterday, just started walking up the stairs to get back to uni when I hear a soft voice call out behind me "don't go!" I didn't really think it was calling to me, because I was there on my own and had been drifting around solo for quite a while after the show, but I turned anyway. There is Mr Streetpeeper himself, Phil Oh, DSLR in one hand, half-smoked cigarette in the other. He was looking interestedly at me and said "I just saw you walking past with your bag!" Ah, my little bag. It's a vintage Chanel number, and in the spirit of Lagerfeld's art students of this season, I had woven a bag strap to affix to it with carabiners from Daiso. Yep. I did. Was a big compliment to my make-it-up-as-I-go approach that he thought it was a new piece from the collection, and ok, who doesn't want to get photographed outside a fashion show? Super flattering. Even if your resting camera-face is a grimace (uh-oh) and even if the whole time he's taking your photos you're looking after him calling 'is this right?' I'm not even joking.  

Meanwhile, as I'm walking up the stairs "naturally", thinking "just look normal! Just look normal!" and feeling like a deer in the headlights, three or four other photographers materialise out of nowhere, with DSLRs instead of faces (or so it seemed), crouched down and snapping away furiously as I walking slowly up the stairs... grimacing. It was pretty funny, I have to tell you. 

Then I had a good chat with Phil Oh at the top of the stairs, and as I said goodbye (back on mission to uni and blushing hard), he runs out onto the road, shutter still going a million clicks a second. I looked back in alarm as a security guard yelled out "watch out for traffic!" and an oncoming car drew back really fast. Luckily, we all escaped unscathed, except for my hard blush which burned for at least an hour after the fact.

And these, my friends, are some of the resulting shots:


Tommy Ton (!) for Style.com (!!) (both of whom I reference in my PhD but whatever no big deal) (J/K TOTZ A BIG DEAL)

From pedestrian.tv (actually, this one was taken later as I came back for Desert Designs and was actually talking to my friend T. The smile is me laughing with her at the situation and her laughing on the other end. All communication with the photog was mimed as I was all 'do I walk?' with hand gestures, and he was all 'pose. smile' with hand gestures. Mr. Photog, I salute you- I feel like I look like myself here which is really nice and kind of funny considering our exchange!)

Phil Oh for Vogue.com

That's all I've got right now, but here's a close-up of my DIY Chanel strap because if this is it's two seconds of fame, I'm really going to make it work.



Meanwhile, the shows are why I'm there and they've been wonderful so far. Do join me on The Conversation so we can nerd out together through thick description!

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

I submitted my thesis last Friday!


Somehow, and I can hardly believe it, but somehow, I finished writing and editing my thesis and I submitted it last Friday. I keep trying to write out different thoughts and feelings about it but it feels too personal- and I keep thinking, what if my markers look at Fashademic? So I'm very self-conscious all of a sudden. Ah, internet ethnography, you are too weird.

So all I can say is... I am a little incredulous and very happy, and thank you for reading along with me throughout this entire process. I will reflect a little later on finishing the PhD experience, a part two to this post, perhaps (the key take-home of which will be: however long you think something will take (proof-reading, writing your conclusion, getting it bound)... it will take longer than you think. Much. Longer!) And maybe by then I can corral some further words into cohesion beyond a confused flush of pride.

But for now, I am officially under examination, and I will let you know if and when my thesis is available to be read (some of you have said that you'd like to?) I'm going to set up a website that has links to all of my writing and articles, so I'll post a link here when that happens, too. 

In the meantime, check out my column on The Conversation for more enthusiastic ramblings on fashion theory and culture. My next project will be a series of articles on the performance of fashion shows, and I'll be kick-starting my thoughts on that with a series of columns drawn out of my attendance at Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Australia next week.

See you soon!


Sunday, March 16, 2014

oh, you know

I was just reading through a few old posts and came up against my past self again. Sassing all over this blog with my snappy declarations about haute couture (including gushing over some looks that have me looking cock-eyed at Past Rosie and saying '...really?'), posting wishlists, oh, too much, so much. Hours of writing and thinking and scrolling through pictures online, hours of falling in love with clothes in pictures and half-dreaming about hazy future times in which I lived and breathed in those clothes. Imaginary fabrics on a younger me, Rosie at 24, at 25, and now I am two weeks shy of 28, two weeks shy of submitting my thesis. I have thirty pages left to proof and have written a final 'to do' list, probably the last of literally dozens I have written throughout this process. For those playing at home, I have to write two footnotes, add a couple of sentences tying an example to another article, and whip up a conclusion that is already murkily drawing muscle and sinew together in the... I have to follow this metaphor through... primordial swamp of my mind? Which, I guess, makes me conclusion super-advanced in the evolutionary process because it is has bones... And if you're wondering how we got to this point in the sentence, I am truly not quite sure myself.

What am I sure of? I like what I have written in my thesis- I think this is no small achievement, as I always wanted to still be interested in my object of study at the end (I am) and find reading my writing enjoyable, if a slog at parts (you always have that, surely, with a doctoral thesis? All the qualifications and explanations of bias and things you can't get to. Well, anyway, yes, it's all right. I like it. So that's satisfying.) 

What else? I want to keep thinking about clothes and fashion and selves and bodies and performance. I want to keep reading and writing and teaching. 

And I'm grateful to you for reading along with me, with all the gushing and the thinking through, the sighing over Proenza Schouler and Dries Van Noten, the draggy distracted times, the cryptically-written elated times. I'm sorry I've been so invisible over the past year. Writing about my life would pretty much have looked like this: 'sat at my desk for another twelve hours today, but I eventually overcame my loathing of my ideas and forced them out and then was pleasantly surprised that they didn't suck when I read back over them. I might get out of my pajamas tomorrow but who knows?' Which might have been v. interesting in a kind of warts-and-all portrait of my working style but 1. ew, and 2. not v. interesting in general, I don't think.

So I leave you now, but I will be back in two weeks with some photos of me holding the printed and bound beloved beast and some kind of teary sign-off summing up of this experience? Or maybe just a chat about how I can't stop looking at coats. Especially coats I can't afford and don't really need, but it's a mania, a mania I tell you. And Haider Ackermann's perfectly perfect AW 14 show didn't help at all, thank you very much Haider

But also, I always have my dream world, in which I am currently dressed like this-




-and my next lecture is already entirely written. And yet in the absence of the world's most perfect grey coat (no exaggeration, obvz) and with more writing to do, I can still dream, can still write my heart out and will, and will, and will. 

Saturday, December 28, 2013

On writing and Edward St. Aubyn

I’m not trying to uncover the facts of my life, but to discover the dramatic truth of the situations I was in. Something being hidden is a necessity before I can start writing. If I have something to say, it’s much easier for me to just meet up with a friend and say it. If there’s something that I really don’t want to say, as in Never Mind, or something that I don’t know how to say, as in Bad News, or something that I don’t even know what it is, that’s what makes me submit to the horrible process of writing a novel. It is very unpleasant. After I’ve written a novel, I feel a little bit clearer and freer than I did before, but while I’m writing it, it’s horrible, it’s intensely upsetting. But for some reason I feel obliged to go on doing it. It’s the only thing I can do. 

—  EDWARD ST. AUBYN via SNP


Yes. 

And also, when asked if I like writing I used to enthusiastically reply yes. Now I hesitate. Sometimes I like it- when it's like hypnosis and you're discovering the story as it flows from your fingertips in a heavy fevered sonambulance. When you know what you want to say and you have the words to say it- rarer than you might expect- then, it is smugly satisfying. Words hitting the page like arrows hitting a target, as if by reflex.

Sometimes it is like wrestling a foe you can't quite grasp, always twisting out of your grasp, barging into you where you least expected, dragging you somewhere you're unwilling to go. You can discern the dim shape of it but how to pin it down? Exhausting. It throws you back on yourself, on your abilities, on your ideas. 

At other times, I sit gaping at the silent screen, handwritten notes lapping around the keyboard. Stunted sentences that I quickly delete. I gesture emptily with my hands, prompting nothing from my shy and teeming mind.