Thursday 23 July 2009

Communism is the new Chic


Has fashion replaced idealism?

Karl Marx did not have a section on fashion in Das Kapital. But Karl Lagerfeld am sure has other plans. In lieu of the Golden Star of the USSR, we have instead the gilded Cs of Chanel. To be honest. I am quite shocked, if not slightly flabbergasted at this flagrant capitalistic gob in the eye to communism. It is the irony of history I suppose: Cold War enemy of yesterday, inspiration to fashion today. The question that begs to be asked is this: will we be fashioning turbans, headscarves and the crescent in the next generation? While American foreign policy dictates who we hate, French haute couture dictates what we wear.

The bag - Lenin is spinning in his Red Square tomb:


Monday 20 July 2009

Highlights of June written in July

Finishing my exams/The GBLT picnic

After a month (SOAS doesn't do things by half!) of slaving at the library (9am-7pm, almost every day except for one day I blew off to spend by the river in Richmond Park - twas worth it!), the exams were over. The last line for the year had been written and the holiday had arrived. Not with a bang but with a little pull at the sleeve. It's quite discreet in that sense. It wasn't a feeling of intense relief but rather a ah tis done state of mind. The summer stretched ahead and to be honest, I was not looking forward to it. Too much space. The picnic was right after - it was lovely to see all of us with the look of relief and the ability to relax and not use the "i have to go to the library" excuse! I've heard it too many times, and I've used it on more than one occasion. Art was skipping and singing. We did the Time Warp again and again and again. We lay in the grass. Some of us ran into the fountain. Some of us were speaking in different languages. It was a good day.

Fairuz's Visit/The End of the Year Ball

Fairuz came to town and did she shimmer London or what! (She did, in case you were wondering). She stayed for two weeks and we watched (in order): We Will Rock You, Hamlet, Hairspray and Priscilla Queen of the Desert. We had English breakfast (not a tea, as you well know...) and Art cooked for us a banquet of meals fit for a King (or rather Queens). Fairuz and Art met and sparks flew - I maintain they gave me toncilitis in order to soft shoe across London on their own! I brought Fairuz to a Gay Bar and she danced the night away - wowing us all to the tunes of Katy Perry, Britney and ABBA (if memory serves me well). Thank you Elly for walking us to the bus stand- I can't walk down TCR without thinking of you. I dragged Fairuz to the End of the Year Ball (thank you Elly for asking me to go - I would not have gone otherwise) and we went home twice. I swear sir, we're over 18! Fairuz - you can really shake your groove thing! I just shift my weight from one leg to another. And we topped it off with some fast food before going home to gossip about the evening. We had a picnic in your honour Fai-Fai (thank you all for turning up to sit on the grass) and we also had a mountain of a breakfast that morning - those amazing pancakes that did not disappear no matter how hard you closed your eyes. And of course, that epic trip to the Science Museum. I love that stupid cup and curly straw thing. Love it. So. Very. Much. Not to mention the pile of crap we didn't really need but still bought. We drove the evening away too - we saw Tower Bridge at night and the London Eye sparkled for our young hearts. Ah when we saw you off at the airport, I had already begun to miss you. Good luck with Year 2.

Working with the D Group/The Occupation

Thanks to father, I managed to get a job as a temporary assistant at the D-Group, just on Dover Street. It was a good experience - name card sorting was never as fun indeed. My workmates were all so lovely (special shout to Roger Dillon who always asked how I was) though I doubt they'd say the same about me! It was an interesting company though I'm not quite sure what they do. Oh well! Art came round to see me for a few lunches and those visist always brightened up my day - it was something to look forward to! We'd have lasagnes or soup and gossip like two characters from Sex and the City. Great afternoons they were indeed! And one fateful Friday in June, some workers from SOAS were taken to a room, searched and arrested, and then deported. All without any initial legal aid. Just taken away like that. I left for work and made my way to SOAS for the protest. We ended up in the City with makeshift placards made on the train, and we marched in our SOAS colours and made our case known to the centre. We called it a day and continued again on Sunday to paint banners (I watched 3/4 of Hedwig the stage version with Art but I left before it finished - I know you haven't forgiven me but I hope you understand why), among other things - the Sunday of my life: the day I secretly relive in the sanctity of memory. Perfection in a day, if ever that was possible. But the week that followed was manic if not exciting. The occupation began and we slept on the floors of Paul Webley's office in protest to the deportation of the SOAS 9. We also marched down gower street, holding hands, carrying banners, holding up placards (though mine kept on unhinging) following Hanadi with a megaphone. I was so proud of all of us. We made it in the end and we won the fight. I've always admired Clare but it was truly something else to see her in action. It's nice to be able to say hey yeah I know Clare and oh yeah I was there.

Such a month it was indeed! It even needs its own soundtrack. If I could I'd play love songs, dance grooves, musical numbers, piano concertos, harmonica riffs and march songs. Ciao bella, my beautifuls.