The Pulse, Vol. 17, Issue. 02 by the Pulse

A NOTE FROM THE EDITORS

Communications Officer Sol Schonfield communications@ussu.sussex.ac.uk Editors-in-chief Ariel Cohen Mary-Rachel McCabe pulse@ussu.sussex.ac.uk Designers Tollevin Williams Olivia Wilson Gabriele Barysaite Graham Monaghan Photographers Eleanor Campen Leah Jaques Features Editor Harry Yeates pulse-features@ussu.sussex.ac.uk Arts and Culture Editors Lilly Daniell Ben Lloyd pulse-artsculture@ussu.sussex.ac.uk Fashion Editors Alice Butler Lucy Morris pulse-fashionlifestyle@ussu.sussex.ac.uk Politics editors Patrick Dowson Asha Naznin pulse-politics@ussu.sussex.ac.uk Publicity Officers Joshua Boyd Billy Picard pulse-publicity@ussu.sussex.ac.uk Student Media Office Falmer House University of Sussex Brighton BN1 9QF Telephone 01273 678875

The Pulse is a free termly publication written by students for students. Views expressed in The Pulse are not allways the views of the Students’ Union, The Pulse or the University Of Sussex. Every effort has been made to contact the holders of any copywrite material in this issue and to ensure the acuracy of this terms articles. Please contact the communications officer if you are aware of any ommissions or errors.

As we sit in the Media Office in Falmer House co- editor in chief, MaryRachel, argues with our designer, Tollevin and Communications Officer, Sol. “Is it; ‘a’, ‘our’, or ‘hour’ new revolutionary age?” Who knows? Who gives a shit? This gives you an idea of how things get done at The Pulse; a model of professionalism. A model of sanity. Lots of things have happened since our last issue, notably, the passing of the great Pete Postlethwaite. We pay homage to his inspiring career. In this age of austerity, excessive consumption is out of fashion, nonetheless we have found ourselves gorging on fast food television, we explore this strange apetite. Speaking of apetite, we also have an excellent review of a local folk night. We can guarantee that you’ve never read anything quite like it. With our returning term abroad students, we challenge them to show us that other places around the world, from Vancouver to Stockholm, are better dressed than we are here in Brighton. Oh yeah, there was also that teeny tiny thing about revolution in the Middle East and North Africa, we sneak a peak at the cards that could be dealt in the aftermath. Finally our intrepid first year, Silas Brown, continues his rant about the political life of a fresher with new and insightful...well, new angles on the legacy of our parents and the future of our genaration. QUANTIC. Don’t forget about Quantic! We tracked him down in Colombia of all places where he obliged us with an indepth, and exclusive interview. If you would like to involve yourself in next term’s shenanigans, ‘like’ our Facebook page, ‘The Pulse’, or follow us on twitter @thepulseonline to find out details of our next writers’ meeting. Alternatively send an email to pulse@ussu.sussex.ac.uk. Enjoy. Mary-Rachel and Ariel Editors in Chief

CONTENTS

VOLUME 17 ISSUE # 2 COVER FEATURE And the Beat Goes On...Interview with Quantic

ARTS AND CULTURE The Passing of Pete Poslethwaite 08 Folk Tree: A Review 11 Dancer in the Dark 14 Fast Food Telly 17 FASHION Brighton Versus the World Yohji The Royal Wave

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FEATURES IDentity Friend of Foe?

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POLITICS The Far Right: Hysteria or Here to Stay? A New Age of Revolution: What Will Become of It? I Want a Legacy, Not a Flute

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…And the Beat Goes On An interview with Will Holland AKA:

uantic Images: mochilla .com & quantic.o rg

What does ‘Quantic’ mean to people? For some - absolutely nothing. Mathematicians may describe it as a ‘rational, integral, homogeneous function of two or more variables’. But, for others, like me, it is the rich and textured world of music crafted by the prolific musician/writer/producer, Will Holland. The last thing you may have heard from Quantic is the latest in his ‘Flowering Inferno’ project, ‘A Dog with a Rope’. You may also be aware that this home grown

By Ariel Cohen

lad from Worcestershire, come Brighton local, now resides in Cali, Colombia. But this probably won’t surprise you. His music is impossible to place, as futile as placing a pin on a spinning globe. But where did it all begin? I recently caught up with Will to talk about his ongoing journey into music. In the early 2000s, living in his family home in Worcestershire, the first Quantic recordings emerged, including the beginnings

FEATURE

of Quantic Soul Orchestra, an initial foray into original instrumental recordings; “I had a computer and a microphone in my bedroom and recorded guitar and saxophone with my sister there”. The name of the album was ‘Super 8’, reflecting the homemade approach to the album’s construction, “I was still making music with fairly rudimentary software and using cheap instruments, mics and some rice in a Turkish delight tin (a tip recommended by my

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mother)”. the song ‘Mi Swing The Turkish Delight tin I’d been interested es Tropical’ which was quickly replaced with a stick of Brighton in Latin music before featured on a widespread Ipod advertisement. Rock as Quantic packed I went, but visiting “Nikodemus, a good his bags and made his way the Caribbean was like friend and producer from down to our fair shores. York, had been “It was like a revelation. going to the source of New collaborating with a label In the midlands the river, so much vi- in Puerto Rico called alternative music culture Candela Records. He was very underground, brancy and soul. invited me down there to but in Brighton it felt so mainstream”. He had been collaborating record in the Candela studios and work on with Alice Russell, another Brighton staple, a track… ‘Mi Swing’ led to several trips and prior to moving down, “at first we exchanged eventually I was spending a lot of my time in ideas and recordings via post. After my first Puerto Rico…I’d been interested in Latin music album was released on ‘Tru Thoughts’ I before I went, but visiting the Caribbean was moved to Brighton to work more closely with like going to the source of the river, so much

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Alice and the label”. This allowed Will to exchange ideas with fellow producers such as Bonobo, Indian Ropeman and Nostalgia 77 - “everyone was connected and enthused with the music”. Many people will know of Quantic through

vibrancy and soul”. But, what is it like to record in Puerto Rico? “The key difference between the UK and Puerto Rico was that we were working with percussionists who had such depth of knowledge and feel. For me, music of African heritage is all about the

right feel.” “Puerto Rico was also a great place to find records as it was a recording hub in the 60s and 70s for combos [bands] and orquestas [orchestras] playing Guarachas, Plenas and later Salsa. I bought a lot of 45s, some of which I’m still going through!” Puerto Rico did not signal the end of Quantic’s excursion into the depths of Latin culture. He now lives in Colombia. “I visited Cali in 2007 to look for records and with the idea of

researching/planning a potential recording. I met with Alfredo Linares (legendary pianist), a friend of a friend and made a rough recording in a friend’s front room…I found Cali very interesting and decided to move there for 6 months or so. It’s now been 4 years and counting, but I have enjoyed every day of it. Cali is not your average destination; it is disorganised, dangerous in parts, polluted but has some amazing culture. There has been a record collecting culture there since

FEATURE

the late 50s and Boogaloo/Pachanga music dominates the city’s identity.” Like a prism, Quantic fuses the many colours of music that he collects on his travels. “I’ve definitely integrated Colombian Folklore into my own productions. I’ve also been learning accordion since I first arrived in Colombia, taking trips to study in Panama too. I’ve been studying under Maestro Anibal Velasquez for some time now and really enjoy playing”. His recent project, ‘Quantic

and his Combo Barbaro’, features various local Colombian musicians and some from further off afield. “The project came about by inviting Malcolm Catto to Cali to record. I figured that having Alfredo Linares and Malcolm Catto in the same room wouldn’t be a bad look. We recorded the sessions for the record over a week in my house in downtown Cali…I then took the tapes to Brazil where I recorded with Arthur Verocai and later to Panama City to record the singer Kabir. The star of the record is really Alfredo though, he’s such a master on the piano and a pleasure to watch playing. He never fails to add that secret ingredient that you are missing.” I asked whether this fusion of international sounds is a conscious or natural process: “Man, over the years, I’ve learnt that you just have to add or subtract what feels right. Sometimes logic can get in the way, but it’s often best just to let music run its course, it will always rest at a place that is natural. I’m

never consciously trying to mix styles but it just comes out of having a lot of appreciation for various styles of music and working with a variety of people who all bring something individual to the table…Colombia on its own is a universe of music and is often more Images: mochilla.com African or Middle Eastern sounding than people ever imagined it to. Brazil is the same; away from the Samba cliché there is music that sounds Romany or North Indian. It’s the beauty of the world we live in, sometimes we think we know it, but then something comes along and demonstrates to you that we don’t even know the half of it.” So what’s next? Will is “working on a new Quantic record, a collaboration with Alice Russell, a solo record for Nidia Gongora and traveling through Venezuela, USA, Panama, Canada and Europe over the next few months”. So keep your ear to the ground and you’ll be sure to hear something fresh coming from Quantic’s direction soon.

ARTS AND CULTURE

‘Who is it that can tell me who I am?’ The Passing of Pete Postlethwaite and the Legacy of the Man. DECLAN FOLEY

he beginning of 2011 was marked within the world of film and theatre by the tragic loss of the hugely admired British actor Pete Postlethwaite to cancer, aged 64. Hailed by Steven Spielberg as “probably the best actor in the world today”, Postlethwaite’s career was defined by an enormously wide range of supporting roles, from an Oscar nominated turn in In The Name of The Father, to his evocative portrayal of Danny in Brassed Off, as a tycoon on his death bed in last year’s Inception and, perhaps still most famously, as mysterious mob boss Kobayashi in The Usual Suspects. Yet such was the magnetism of this unconventional star, his distinguished career peaked toward the end of his career with a lead turn in King Lear as he made a triumphant return to Liverpool’s Everyman Theatre. Despite this success, while most will recognise Postlethwaite’s distinctive face from film,

Image: theincrediblesuit.blogspot.com

theatre and TV, take away the face and few would recognise the name. Unlike most ‘Movie Stars’ with whom their sense of identity and the brand that is their name often diffuse into their acting performances, Postlethwaite was an actor devoted above all to the craft of acting as an end in itself; an actor for whom fully inhabiting a role was all. For Postlethwaite the name came second; the face and the characters he conveyed with it was what mattered most. Born in Warrington in 1946, Postlethwaite’s career began in earnest at the Everyman where he acted alongside such burgeoning talents as Jonathan Pryce, Antony Sher, Bill Nighy and Julie Walters. It is hardly surprising that in these creatively fertile surroundings Postlethwaite thrived, honing his craft and preparing him for the film and theatre roles for which he would become best known. Postlethwaite has come to

represent to many a very specific type of actor, a type almost totally devoid of the kind of ego or persona that often infects the performances of ‘celebrity’ actors, tugging away at the illusory and mystical quality which the greatest acting performances exhibit. Indeed, he is recorded as commenting that when acting “the first thing you must do is leave ‘you’ in the dressing room, don’t try and make the character ‘you’”. In this modern age where 24-hour media feeds our unquenchable thirst for information about the personal lives of those actors and actresses that we invite in to our homes through film and television, it is seemingly simpler for such figures to remain constantly in the media spotlight, whether in character or not. It is therefore questionable whether it is even possible for the next generation of British actors to succeed figures such as Postlethwaite in leaving the ‘you’ in the dressing room. As such the latest influx of British actors now face new and more complicated challenges in striving to reach the benchmark set by their predecessors. It would be unwise and disrespectful to all concerned to attempt to label one rising actor The New Pete Postlethwaite. It is, however, possible to identify a new wave of performers who have in their short careers exhibited the same sort of qualities that Postlethwaite exuded: fierce distinctiveness, individuality and a genuine desire to create new characters in their performances and not just reprise the role of their own persona - themselves with certain qualities exaggerated. Amongst these bright young hopes of stage and screen are such notable performers as Toby Kebbell (Dead Man’s Shoes, War Horse), Ben Whishaw (Bright Star, Perfume), Juno Temple (Notes On a Scandal, Atonement), and perhaps most excitingly of all Carey Mulligan, currently being celebrated for her role as Kathy in Never Let Me Go. Whilst such actors are doubtless exciting prospects, whether these fledgling talents will rise to carry the mantle set forth by Postlethwaite and his contemporaries remains to be seen. Yet one thing is certain, however the careers of these young actors turn out: whenever they falter they can always look to giants of the past such as Pete Postlethwaite for guidance and inspiration.

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Actors now face new and more complicated challenges in striving t reach the benchmark se by their predecessors

ARTS AND CULTURE

d to et

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F O L K T R EE

R e v i e w

WILL WHITEMAN

ast year former Sussex University students John Fletcher and Mary Childs held the first Folk Tree – an evening of folk music and poetry from up and coming Brighton based acts – in their living room. Since then it has gradually snowballed, with attendances becoming too large for it to feasibly be held any longer in the young couple’s front room. Last Thursday marked the move of the bimonthly event from Mary and John’s rented house off Lewes Road to newly opened music venue The Bugles’ End on Woodward Street. I was invited to come along and share in the experience. On the whole the evening was pretty uneventful. The majority of acts passed as a familiar dirge of wet romanticism; attempts at profundity ended up as pretentiously stating the obvious. I slumped back in my

beanbag and grudgingly nursed the pint of weak tasting organic beer I had bought. I was going to have to make it last. It had cost me close to a fiver and was the only thing they were serving. Folk has become a dirty word associated with bores, waistcoats and Christianity. My hopes that this evening would prove me wrong had been seemingly dashed the moment the first performer opened her mouth, and the same pile of shit fell out of it that has been falling out of the mouths of the majority of young British folk acts for a few years now. Unsurprisingly the crowd around me – all looking like some kind of Enid Blyton led third Reich youth group – lapped it up. I began to become overwhelmed by the mind-numbing middle-of-the-road blandness oozing from the speakers. I longed for

ARTS AND CULTURE

something to stir my soul and remind me of my humanity. The atmosphere of polite applause and silent farts had started to dismantle my brain. I could feel myself slipping away. That all changed when Johnny Maywood took to the stage. Maywood wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t much to look at. He shuffled onto the stage wearing clothes I guessed his mother had bought him and flicked his eyes around the room like a dying dog looking for a place to empty its bowels. Prematurely thinning hay-like hair hung either side of his centre parting framing a face permanently set in a look of awkward moronic confusion, as if he was forever masturbating for the first time. Without tuning he mumbled something into the microphone that sounded as if it was spelt primarily with the letter d, then launched into his own version of Tombstone

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

he ploughed through the song like a 4x4 through a zebra-crossing full of school children

Blues. Instantly sweat began to pour from every pore of his body; it streamed down his arms and, with every poorly timed strum of his out-of-tune guitar strings, was flicked into the faces of those whose beanbags were nearest the stage. He began to shake uncontrollably and I was almost certain that I could smell urine, but still he ploughed through the song like a 4x4 through a zebra-crossing full of school children. As he neared the second chorus I began to notice that his face was starting to ripple and convulse around the left eye. Suddenly, in a small explosion of pink skin tissue, his eye popped out and was left hanging from its socket by the optic nerve. The audience gasped and several people were sick, soiling at least four beanbags and multiple waistcoats. But still Maywood

kept going, though the lyrics became interspersed with his desperately blurted apologies. Someone began to clap, another started to cheer. Maywood’s resilience to keep playing despite nerve-induced facial mutilation was a remarkable sight of human struggle. Soon the whole room was alive with shouting and encouragement to keep going. People began to dash in from the street and join in. As if by magic the place was full to capacity, then double capacity. The air danced with electricity. A rush of euphoria hit the crowd and many began to howl and scream in a manner that can only be described as overtly sexual. Some fell victim to convulsive fits and were soon trampled where they lay. A boy next to me started involuntarily speaking in tongues and soon I noticed that numerous others were as well. A powerful kinetic undertow swept through the room and raised us higher within ourselves. Hair stood on end. Skin prickled with burning heat and extreme cold. Shots of energy fired up spines, temporarily endowing all present with the ability to communicate telepathically. Glasses smashed. Windows

vaporised. Everyone was screaming at the top of their lungs. We wanted it; a part of what was happening to us. We wanted to take it with us forever or die trying. As the wave of energy reached its precipice members of the audience began to rush forward to Maywood. Soon he was engulfed by the crowd, all of them tearing and gouging away at him. Sections of his body were thrown up in the air; fights broke out where they landed, as the frenzied tugged at what was offered with tooth and nail. People began to rip off their lower garments and fornicate with whatever they could find of him, while others – too far from the fray – were openly stimulating themselves. Blood and bodily fluid evaporated the moment it came into contact with the unbearable heat of the air; the venue filled with a dense sultry vapour that choked the lungs. As I walked home naked through the freezing night, licking Maywood’s blood from my hands, I knew I had witnessed something truly incredible; something that would stay with me forever.

4/5 stars

Images: riflemaker.org

The Da n c e r In The Dark

ARTS AND CULTURE

JULIA STAFFORD

Image: sweetmilke.blogspot.com

Image: Julia Stafford

he turn of 2011 has seen a resurgence of attention to ballet, with the release of Aronofsky’s Black Swan, the Ballets Russes’ exhibition Diaghilev at the V&A, and the upcoming Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland; the Royal Ballet’s first new fulllength score in two decades. It’s intriguing to consider the portrayal of the dancer through these three mediums. In fact, if you look closely you may see a disturbing pattern emerging - one of darkness, legend and myth. With the Ballets Russes’ early twentieth century performances based on Russian folklore and legends, and Black Swan’s protagonist Nina’s emerging insanity and sexual release; come February when the Royal Ballet premier the naive Alice as the fresh figure of dance, who knows whether the fantastical, sinister wonderland will ruin her virtuousness. The female ballet figure, both in the physical/bodily and idealistic/symbolic sense, has reached a new representation, one of duality; sexuality and innocence. The V&A’s retrospective Diaghilev exhibition showcasing the marvel of the Ballets Russes has acted wonderfully as a comparative backdrop to our present cultural fascination with the ballet dancer. But how did we get here? If we look back to Degas’ impressionist paint-

ARTS AND CULTURE ings of dancers wearing romanticised classical bell-tutus – for most, the kind of image that comes to mind on hearing the word ‘ballet’ – these are a far cry from the striking and raw representation we are being presented with this year. To give you more of an idea as to what Diaghilev did to revolutionise ballet, this was a man who, in his first season with the Ballets Russes in Paris, threw all of the impe-

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sinister darkness steadily and slyly paints over the pastel hues

rial, conservative and traditional principles of ballet up in the air, and transformed the company into a scandalous, exotic and erotically-charged spectacle, shocking the early 20th century Parisian audience. Jane Pritchard, co-curator of Diaghilev at V&A explained ‘’as the institution with the largest collection of Ballets Russes material - especially sets and costumes, it was a centenary we could not justifiably overlook.’ The plots of the ballets, adorned with avant garde set and costume designs, shocked the Parisian elite and caused a critical storm. Imagine: civilised, majestic, eastern harem women were rebelliously adulterous with their ‘negro’ slaves. What a scandal! Ok, not by today’s standards, but if you imagine its impact on audiences used to experiencing elegant chassés and graceful élevés, performed by prim and poised ballerinas and stemming from Renaissance Italy’s tradition, then you begin to understand the sheer revulsion experienced by Parisians toward the seemingly erotic and otherworldly modernist creations of the Ballets Russes. This sexual charge is expressed through the dichotomy of a dancer’s strength and elegance, a balance which is arguably the

dancer’s most crucial component. It can be compared with Black Swan protagonist Nina’s relative sexual innocence. She almost painfully never steps out of a pastel outfit, continuously wears her hair in an immaculate ballet-bun, and sleeps in a sickly pink bedroom suited to a fourteen year old school girl. Yet the film’s highly sexual, ominous characteristics clash with Nina’s opposing naivety, until sinister darkness steadily and slyly paints over the pastel hues, resulting in a toxic surrender for perfection. A dancer must be devoted to their art if they hope to succeed in an environment which breeds such fierce competition. Reaching the point of extremity, Nina’s slow spiral into insanity is the effect of her unhealthy commitment to dance and her unhinged struggle for perfection. This striving for the unattainable goal of flawlessness makes for uneasy viewing. In fact, Black Swan has been compared not only to The Red Shoes – as would have been expected – but to Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby. What Aronofsky’s and Polanski’s films have in common is a woman’s perceived descent into madness, and because like femininity, madness is on many levels a social construction, it is impossible to recognise when to draw the line at what is feminine? What is not feminine? What is madness? Continuing the madness this February, with the new score by British composer Joby Talbot, the Royal Ballet’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland will likely also deal with the surreal, the uncanny, and the fantastical - keeping in tradition with folksy fairytale themes of classic ballets; The Nutcracker, Swan Lake, and other heritage performances. The odd and dreamlike world, into which Alice crosses with innocence ready to be tainted, is a place of magic and intrigue, which is akin to the fairytales chosen by Diaghilev for his Ballets Russes to enthral audiences around Europe. Let’s hope Alice will be no Sugarplum Fairy as she dances into the dark.

f a s t f oo d t e ll y LILLY DANIELL

he past is a foreign country: they do things differently there...” You said it L. P. Hartley. With regard to television at the moment, it’s hard not to feel a pang of nostalgia for those firstterm yester-days of Mad Men and Misfits; at least for style if nothing else. Media moguls are currently cramming our screens with a whole new wave of ‘docu-tainment’: a genre of telly that is so sensationalised, so salacious and surface-skimming that it is difficult to watch without a mixture of frustration and self-loathing. I’m talking about the double impact of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding and Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents, which I hate – but have definitely watched every episode of each. I can’t help it, and neither it seems, can the nation. Around 8 million viewers are tuning in to MBFGW; record ratings for Channel 4 since Big Brother. But this is less 1984 - more 1950s housewife hell. The consistent message each week is that the women travellers are utterly oppressed. Younger sibling Margaret has been taken out of school aged 13 to carry on the mantle of cleaning the caravan as her older sister is going to get married. An end to early-education marks an end to independence as daughters are denied the essential skills required for work. The yellow brick road does indeed lead to the home; the future ahead is wholly dependent on the husbands’ ability to provide. But what’s worrying and maddening is 17 their indifferent acceptance.

Feminism is not just a fad of the eighties – as the packed out Asa Briggs lecture theatre demonstrated last Thursday as students gathered to hear Judith Butler wittily captivate us with her measured rhetoric – so why does it appear to have by-passed an entire community? In post-lecture Q&A Butler seamlessly deflected a loaded question on Germaine Greer, positing that a lecture concerning the holocaust trials was perhaps not the ideal time or place to encourage feminist nit-picking. In contrast Channel 4 – given the perfect

ARTS AND CULTURE

platform to actively discuss this inequality – takes a backseat recline-point. In the twenty-first century, is the time and place really a theatre of difference? Passivity does not produce objectivity; as viewers we should demand transparency in delivery. No more mixed messages please. And yet as the furore over Rihanna’s new music video for S&M shows, Britain kinda likes the scandalous. So with such biased shock-tactic goals, do Channel 4 misuse the voyeuristic access they have secured within the traveller community? Helen Kiery, a 22 year-old Irish Traveller, sees the series

as “a missed opportunity to show contemporary traveller culture as it really is.” Too much OMG, not enough perspicacity. Indeed who should we be critiquing: the makers or the subjects? Louis Theroux’s series The Call of the Weird also walks the tightrope of integrity and respect when making a documentary. He ponders: “there is a slightly greedy aspect in journalism where you think: I’m entitled to everything, and anything they say in an unguarded way is just grit to my mill and fair game. And I think there are limits. You don’t stop being a human being when you start being 18

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Perhaps our zombielike stupor is analogous to the submission of the traveller girls

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a journalist.” Knowing the limits: advice not so well taken in the BBC’s contribution: Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents. The whole parent-child relationship of trust goes out of the window (-with I think it was a heating unit?) as parents play peeping Tom on their kid’s summer holiday. The series opened with soiling in the first six minutes; but this is hardly Ulysses. We know it’s bad, and we watch it anyway; but is it in an ironic awe or mind-numbing complicity? Perhaps our zombie-like stupor is analogous to the submission of the traveller girls: “Would you change it? No.” Will we stop 19 watching? No.

Image: nowmagazine.co.uk

At Brighton Women’s Writers Festival in November, Ali Smith described how ‘culture grows out of itself’. It would seem our cultural integrity is not so much growing, as falling out with itself. Like the Minotaur in his labyrinth, I have become totally trapped within my “ironic” viewing habits. When does it stop being ironic, I ask myself, and start to be actually just wrong? Easy set-ups provide a moment of amusement but an uncomfortable afterthought.

IDentity. Words & Images by Leah Jaques

It’s that moment again; your ID is required. Your admission is based on this single document. Not your self; you as a person. But a material thing that assures the appraiser that you are in fact who you claim to be. It’s fascinating that one object can have so great an effect on one’s life. Whether it is used to buy tippex or alcohol, gain entry into Life or even a country. If it does not convince the assessor that you are the owner and thus fit the relevant criteria required, then what you intended to spend your time doing will be radically altered. If from this one object a judgement will be made, what does your IDentification say about you?

FEATURE

The

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POLITICS

Far Right: Hysteria or Here to Stay? Emma Laboyrie

A spectre is haunting Europe â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the spectre of populist, radical right wing parties.

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polls, pushing parties from liminal positions into the mainstream of political discourse. ‘There’s no such thing as bad publicity’. So what do these parties really stand for? Despite marked differences in agenda, national identity forms the crux for this end of the political spectrum. Nativist politics is largely underwritten by the, usthem distinction, a world view that divides the “good” from the “bad”. Hence, certain groups in society are scapegoated as the ‘other’ and fall outside of ‘the nation’. Who this ‘other’ is varies over time and per party. But the most significant anti-figure in the past decades has been the immigrant, while the islamophobia of more recent times takes Muslims

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The outspoken, charismatic leaders of radical right parties satisfy the media’s thirst for controversial and personal coverings. This sea of publicity may controversially be their ticket for success.

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as a target. Therefore, in its essence, the far right is against cultural pluralism, insisting rather on cultural homogeneity within the nation-state, and thus proposing a bulwark against immigration, strategically associating immigration with crime. Support for the extreme end of the political spectrum is, however, far from a contemporary phenomenon. Image: g-8.de The Post-war period has seen several waves of plethora of labels has emerged to come electoral breakthrough for the far right. What is to terms with this puzzling, omnipresent novel at the present juncture is that electoral success force:‘Anti-immigrant’ parties, ‘populist has occurred almost simultaneously across Western radical right’ parties, the ‘far right’, ‘nativist parties’, Europe. The far right voter base has accumulated so to name but a few. However much we liberals at consistently, that it has quadrupled from just 2.2 % in Sussex may stigmatise this party family and find 1985 to a polling of 8.5 % in national elections in 2006 their ideology utterly distasteful, we cannot ignore across Europe. The right has become an undeniable this potent reality. And indeed we haven’t; the far presence in the political landscape of numerous right has, since the 1980s, been at the core of political countries, such as Austria, Belgium, Denmark, study, fuelling a permanent chain of stories for mass Netherlands, France, Italy, Norway and Switzerland. media outlets. The outspoken, charismatic leaders Does this mean that societies across Europe have of radical right parties satisfy the media’s thirst for been injected with xenophobic sentiment, intolerant controversial and personal coverings. This sea of of cultural values different to their own? The answer publicity may, controversially, be their ticket for to this question is not as obvious as we may think. success, for it gives them visibility and makes their Yes, xenophobic sentiment has got its grip on many of claims seem more legitimate. Even left leaning press Europe’s countries. Remarkably though, in countries can be a significant agent in facilitating success at the like England, Greece and Portugal, it’s been relatively

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POLITICS

quiet on the right wing front. This suggests that racism in society is not an indicator for the surge in popularity of the far right. Answers need to be found elsewhere. The media has almost functioned like a recruitment agency for the far right. The media has the power to frame political issues and, like the proverbial recruitment agency, decides who gets hired into mainstream politics. A primary example is Jean Marie le Pen’s 1984 airtime on a popular French television program, which boosted his support by 3.5% overnight. By the same token the media can also form an effective barrier against the consolidation of the far right. In Germany, for example, the media actively ignores the views of the far right. Is this a media induced hysteria that will eventually pass, or should we be concerned by the turn that European politics has taken? If we look at a variety of parties across Europe, many appear as quickly as they evaporate. However, parties like the Austrian FPÖ, the Dutch PVV, and the Flemish VB have, at certain times, become an entrenched aspect of the political domain. While Jörg Haider’s Austrian Freedom Party concluded a coalition forming deal with the Austrian people’s party in 2000, Haider soon stepped down and the party’s success declined. The Dutch PVV, on

the other hand, has had a dramatic leap in popularity and is currently the third-largest and fastest growing party in the country. These are but a few of the alarming instances where proportional representation systems have controversially allowed the far right access into the political playground, with mainstream parties concluding deals to form coalitions with the parties they so routinely condemn prior to elections. So what is the role of mainstream politics on all this? Contrary to popular wisdom, it is the mainstream party competition that can create the political space in which the far right can thrive. Mainstream parties first framed the national identity issue, politicising cultural sentiment in the 1980s to gain broad-based electoral support. However, when mainstream parties have dropped the issue, due to criticism emanating from within the party or through popular disapproval, they leave behind a niche for the far right to triumph in. When Cameron recently launched an attack on multiculturalism and Muslim extremism, critics condemned the Prime Minister for legitimising the views of right wing extremist politics. Even though Britain’s electoral system would hinder a breakthrough for the still marginal far right, highlighting such issues may have the unwelcome consequence of fuelling their popularity.

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A New Age of

Revolution ...what will become of it? DA M I EN S A L A M A

revolution is like a meal at McDonald’s. If you haven’t had it in a while, the longing builds up restlessly. Then you come around to it; you realize you had idealized it, and you remember that with the tastiness of a Big Mac comes the sensation of clogged arteries. It’s been a while since the last revolutionary age. Probably between 1989 and 1991, when Central and Eastern Europe shook off the yoke of the Soviet Union, and several other countries rid themselves, at least temporarily, of oppressive regimes (Benin, Madagascar, Nicaragua, South Yemen etc). With the recent people’s uprisings in the Middle East and North Africa it seems that insurrection is again, the order of the day. Many commentators are claiming that Islamism will fill an ideological ‘void’, but is

this the case? Damien Salama

The end of the Cold War presented the world with a singular ideological outlook; Capitalism or Free Market Liberalism seemed all encompassing. This feeling is perhaps best summed up by Francis Fukuyama who proclaimed it, ‘The End of History’. So, in the face of world capitalism, is there, or can there be, an alternative ideology? The ‘clumsy’ way in which Capitalism is enforced on certain countries by the IMF and World Bank, with it resulting in mafia-like monopolies, prompts a quest for a new alternative. Islamism is essentially the politicization of Islam. It is a growing force in the Arab world, and is considered by some to be an ideology. But not everyone agrees that the main texts of Islam provide for a politi-

Image: theatlantic.com

cally ‘true’ ideology - that is, an all-inclu- ed, Islamists have tried to adapt Islam to sive view of how the world is, and how it modern politics. But it will ought to be; and The ‘clumsy’ way in which eventually, a always differ fundamenmeans by which Capitalism is enforced on tally from to achieve the latter. Though certain countries by the IMF Capitalism the Sharia does or Comand World Bank, with it reoffer regulamunism tion concerning as these sulting in mafiasome aspects of are rooted like monopolies, prompts a legal, judicial, in the political and economic and quest for a new economic public life, it is alternative. arguably unsuitrealities of able in our conmodernity. text. That is why since as far back as 1928, Islamism, on the other hand, is founded when the Muslim Brotherhood was creat- on spirituality. Islamism might have some

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weight in contemporary world politics, but can it offer an ideology entirely distinct from Capitalism or Communism? What distinctive economic system has Islamism to propose against free market economy? Or is it that it alters our perspective of what ideology is? Whilst the bloodshed of 20th century is not entirely forgotten, it is becoming distant. The memory of the human cost of the Chinese “Great Leap forward”, the Khmer Rouge era in Cambodia, and of 27 years of civil war in Angola, is fading. It seems that our temporal distance from this human cost is permissive to the recent wave of revolutionary sentiment. The heartwarming sense of opportunity eclipses the fear of blood and broken promises. Thus, uprisings have started keenly in the streets of Tunis, Cairo, Algiers, Amman, Damascus, San’a etc. Not only are there causes for discontent, but this is a time when a whole generation hasn’t experienced revolution, a generation with pent up with frustration. Cairo has succeeded in toppling its target regime only time will tell whether the other uprisings succeed in doing the same. There has been a resurgence of Muslim faith in the Arab world in the past decade or so. And because the current uprisings are trying to do

faway with despots who adhered to the rules of Capitalism, it would not be unacceptable to think that a shift from Capitalism to Islamism beckons. But the resentment of the people is directed towards the tactless Capitalism that Ben Ali, Mubarak and others, propped up by their western friends, have sponsored, but not necessarily towards Capitalism or Liberalism altogether. Therefore, if the outcome to these uprisings is the emergence of Islamist regimes, it is unlikely to be driven by the will of the revolutionary masses. We are yet to see the end results of this period; it would be wise for us to tread carefully, as what emerges may surprise us.

lderly care homes are not particularly interesting; a dank smell, patronising carers and lighting suited for sun beds are what I associate with them. However, noone can deny the sense of history and admiration one associates with the occupiers, for we owe a lot to them. Their generation saved our country from the grips of fascism, and maintained an element of glamour whilst doing so. They handed down the cradle of power to our parent’s generation intact, and now have to look through the dusky panes of their care homes as it is

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I’ve pierced my ear, I’ve got a shirt with an anarchy sign on, and I’ve even got a socialist banner on my wall. The latter can be taken as serious OR ironic

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being rocked to within an inch of its life. It is taken as read that the elderly are people to be inspired by, but is it just that elderly people at the moment are inspirational? In other words, when our parents’ generation dutifully takes its place behind the dusky panes, what will be their legacy? It seems that the majority of their time was spent dismantling the environment and the economy, whilst listening to Hendrix and challenging ‘the man’. When I take my child to see my parents I don’t want to have to listen to stories about the stock exchange collapse, I still want to listen to stories about Jimmy Jack on the frontline with his bayonet ready to fight ‘the Hun’. Furthermore, the ‘cradle of power’ is going to be pretty battered once we get our hands on it. With the highest youth unemployment levels ever recorded, the graduates of today are looking into the abyss of doing another gap

I want a legacy, not a f lute. silas Brown

Another glance through our fresher’s skewed spyglass...

Image: Guardian.co.uk

year, taking up something ‘extra-curricular’ for a while, like the flute - or worse. Equally, the future undergraduates are faced with huge amounts of debt and a major cut to the safety net of our welfare state. So it seems that our future legacy is being governed, unfairly, by others. I like to think I’m demonstration-spirited: I’ve pierced my ear, I’ve got a shirt with an anarchy sign on, and I’ve even got a socialist banner on my wall. The latter can be taken as serious OR ironic, so I win either way. What I mean to say is that the superficial boxes are ticked, however, in terms of tangible proof, mine is painfully slim. That is to say, the only demonstrations I have actually been on are the ‘G20’ and the ‘tuition fees’ protests. These were protests that seemed to be affecting my generation directly, and so I felt obliged to rally along, complete with day-pack of banners, cigarettes and Doc. Martens. Interestingly, though, the issues behind both demonstrations do not affect me personally (immediately, anyway). It seems to me that us first years across the country have landed on our feet. We have no worries about amassing vast debt, and hopefully by the time we graduate the economy will be growing again. In Layman’s terms, my fellow first years and I are fine and every one else is fucked, so UNLUCKY! My tactic is to sit down, twiddle my thumbs, and wait for this all to blow over; whilst I plan my

legacy.

friend or foe?

how is changing we communicate Harry Yeates

“It is not the consciousness of men that determines their being, but, on the contrary, their social being that determines their consciousness.”

here was a time not so very long ago when ‘poking people’ would have been deemed socially unacceptable, intrusive and irritating. But times they are a changing and the humble poke is changing too, updating its status from: ‘annoying’ to ‘fun’ and ‘cheeky’. But besides making virtual poking okay, in what other ways

has Facebook changed the way in which we interact with one another? Remember the old fashioned, tyrannical process of making friends? The exhausting, emotional and time-consuming investment that forced us to interact on a one-to-one basis, that made us ‘meet up’ or ‘talk on the phone’? I know, what the hell were we thinking? Facebook allows us to accumulate ‘friends’ via ‘friend requests’, therefore cutting out face time and ensuring that brand new shiny friends need only be a buttons click away. You don’t need to like them or even know them but on your wall of friends may their profile pic proudly sit, effortlessly contributing to your popularity and sense of self-worth. Gone are the days of the ‘casual

FEATURE socially. They might express an interest in something by forming or joining a ‘group’, declaring their love for the OC or expressing a mutual interest in Scientology with all their pals; the possibilities are endless. Or, for round the clock information why not tweet? Go on, log onto Twitter and tell us what you had for breakfast, you social networking guru you. Then when you’re done extolling the virtues of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes you can tell us your favourite colour and why today you are feeling pensive. Tweeting proves that Facebook is not the sole perpetrator of a general dumbing down in the way we communicate, indeed the list of those

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Image: linked2leadership.com

acquaintance’, no that random person you met when you were drunk on WKD is no longer a nameless face but a chapter in your book of faces. But by how far are these friends of worth? A recent Metro article told the story of one man who has launched a £315,000 legal campaign against Facebook, claiming the social-networking page has lost him all his friends, oh the irony. The site is said to have deleted his account without warning and effectively ruined his life forever, but were they really ever friends? I mean, how many of them would buy him a drink or help him move house? A few perhaps, but, as for the majority, they would probably be too preoccupied with poking him to see him

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g the way

I mean, how many of them would buy him a drink or help him move house? A few perhaps, but, as for the majority, they would probably be too preoccupied with poking him to see him socially.

responsible is long, and includes Bebo and the original Daddy of them all, MySpace. Fans will doubtless list the many benefits such websites bring, though may well overlook the potentially detrimental effects of socialnetworking. Beyond the obvious concerns over cyber bullying and petty minded ‘cattiness’ there is a more hidden danger that we will forget the art of communication. As of January 2011, Facebook has more than 600 million active users, which of itself is no bad thing but of those 600 million users how many have substituted meaningful interaction with superficial, online existences? Of course one is free to choose such an existence; it’s just a shame that letters like: LOL, BRB, WTF and OMG might replace real words.

Image: terryapodaca.com

Popular website, ‘Entertainment Weekly’ put Facebook on its end-of-the-decade “best-of” list, saying, “How on earth did we stalk our exes, remember our co-workers’ birthdays, bug our friends, and play a rousing game of Scrabulous before Facebook?” Although said in jest, the analysis comes scarily close to capturing the reality of the service provided by Facebook and begs the question, would we not be better off without it? Social networking has the potential to breed an unhealthy competitiveness among some of its users, who need to know that they are popular enough, attractive enough, ‘good enough’ and far from encourage a sense of community what this does is create feelings of loneliness and dependence. The idea of someone waiting by their computer for a fellow Facebooker to tell them that they like their pictures or comments is, for want of a better word: tragic. It was poet, E.E Cummings who said: ‘To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting’. And without meaning to make it an overly philosophical question,

one might do well to remind themselves of this when collecting friends and keeping up with trends. Communication really is a dying art and evidence of its demise is to be found all around us. Naysayers will always be accused of being cynical and stubborn, but presented with the facts of what social networking means to so many, surely the staunchest of believers would think twice about its true worth. While social-networking certainly has its place it would be a great shame to see it replace other, more personal means of communicating with your nearest and dearest, for who doesn’t like receiving a letter or having a meaningful phone conversation? We need not bring the pigeon carrier out of retirement nor go looking for a piece of string and two plastic cups but the art of communication is a beautiful and powerful thing; let us not forget it.

FASHION

brighton versus the world The fashionable residents of our favourite seaside town are as notorious as its seagulls, but what about the street style to be found outside the Brighton bubble? Four returning term abroad students write us some super-stylish postcards...

Scarlet McNally

FASHION

Images: Scarlett Mcnally

San Francisco

Scarlet mcnally For every blandly dressed tourist, there’s an inhabitant of San Francisco’s Haight Street whose attitude to fashion defies the norm. The Summer of Love may have ended, but down this artistic memory lane, the bohemian ideals of the 1960s continue to make themselves felt. Tramp chic is the order of the day: the streets are lined with people wearing their hair longer and their clothes ‘vintage’. In a mood of fashion rebellion, piercings and tattoos appear to be the most sought after fashion accessory, as the street’s inhabitants seamlessly mix the carefree apparel of the Beatnik generation with the severity of body modification. I recall a peroxide blonde dragging on a cigarette as she took a smoke-filled breather outside a tattoo shop; as if Edie Sedgwick died and went to West-coast heaven. Low-slung distressed jeans and a green woollen jumper sheared off an inch below the breasts proudly showed off her red raw stomach, fresh with the scars of the tattoo artist’s ink. The reluctance to let capitalist enterprise dirty this eclectic street is shown by its distinctive attitude to fashion; the pavements are lined with vintage clothes shops that Brighton can only try and emulate. There is no place for American Apparel here: club kid jersey just reeks of Californian privilege. The street remains one of the last resting places of authentic hippie culture and nothing seems to demonstrate this more than the effortlessly cool approach to fashion those who dwell on the Haight adopt. A True Style Haigh!

Vancouver Sally Devine

The great Canadian outdoors. If it’s not skiing, it’s hiking. If it’s not hiking, it’s yoga. Vancouver style, quintessentially, is that of purpose, function and action. Sure, there’s a surplus of fashionistas alongside a handful of vintage stores. But the climate and health conscious lifestyle speaks for itself on these streets. Stores selling pricey yoga apparel, such as the infamous Vancouver chain Lululemon, are where your kudos is at. Each garment is around a whopping $110 (70 GBP) – but “totally worth it for style and comfort”, the gym bunny shop assistants tell me. So what’s the score when it comes to looking ‘vantastic’ in Vancouver? You’re six inch heels will not suffice, I’m afraid. The hottest and most wanted item on any Vancouverite’s list is a pair of wellies. Every day is festival-chic in Van city, lest you have a fetish for trench foot. And a good umbrella is vital. Practicality rules the shores of vancouver.

Images: styledump.com

Amsterdam

FASHION

Paris Jasmine Carr

Much like the social fabric of its nation, the Dutch wardrobe is sewn together with a seemingly atypical mix of experimental liberalism and traditional conservatism. Unlike the chic French, just a hopscotch away, a straight-faced coupling of the Netherlands and fashion is not overly familiar. On the rare occasions that such a partnership occurs, an array of diverse, yet equally stereotypical images blind the mind. Pertly positioned bike goers clad in vintage winter-warmers capture a cliché straight off the front of a Marks and Spencer’s Christmas shortbread tin. But what about Holland as the land of practical Pollys who lead the way in fashions without frills? This is a country whose footwear stamps out form, in favour of function. And let us not forget Amsterdam as the continent’s hedonistic headquarters - a breeding ground for reckless, experimental style. But it would be safe to assume the taste for geometric pattern and the rasta rainbow is more acid- induced than Pucci- produced. Whilst there is no doubting Holland’s reliance on canal couture, it is essential to clarify the latter stereotype. Much like the scantily constituted fashions which fill the red tinted windows, the novelty Bob Marley t-shirts which ogle outside them are anything but Dutch. So attempting to get beyond such style clichés, is it possible to locate a fashion particularity which lends itself as definitively Dutch? Arguably yes: a passionately dedicated love affair with, well, orange. In order to picture the exact shade, merely cast your mind back to the summer and the colour that flooded half the field throughout the World Cup final. Yet, this colour extends beyond the parameters of the pitch and pops up quite bizarrely in the most unexpected of places. Shoe laces, buttons, linings and trims are just a handful of examples where this obviously infectious colour is sure to make an appearance. The colour is that of the Dutch Royal Family and thus the attachments to orange go deeper than football fever. Indeed, the widespread celebration of orange, which on the surface seems so intrinsic to an eccentric element of street style, is fascinating considering royalty is ultimately at the roots of its loyalty.

Image: flickrhivemind.net

Stockholm

Thais Pheobe trimmington

Not only are the Swedes a beautiful, blonde bunch - they also have great dress sense. They seem to pull off minimal-glam, effortless charm with ease; a harmonious assortment of big knits, retro ski jumpers and mesh fabrics. Think that shabby chic look that Sussex swears by, but just done with so much more grace. Layers (it was -10⁰C); oversized dresses; casual coats; skull caps; hiking boots (but in a good way); and monochrome. Always monochrome. The Swedes didn’t seem overly adventurous when it came to colour. I rarely saw floral print anywhere, and leopard etc. was practically extinct. It may have been the time of season, but people certainly stuck to a strict code of white, black and grey– often wearing block shades with a camel-coloured scarf for good measure. My favourite shops were definitely Monki, Weekday, and the vintage chain: ‘Stockholm Stadsmission’. Beyond Retro (originally a Swedish company) was great as well. The clothes were more expensive but, as with everything out there, I feel like you get what you pay for. Even the high street giants H&M (another Swedish creation) seemed to fit better. ...but the staple, signature piece EVERYONE had was a Fjallraven backpack. A uniform for all Swedish students, Fjallraven bags are understated, trendy, sensible and literally everywhere in Sweden.

y o h j i

FASHION

LUCY MORRIS

he Nineties is a much overlooked era of sartorial supremacy. Tom Ford at the helm of Gucci, Donna Karen whipping up a storm of neutrals and Phoebe Philo making her name at Chloé all fundamental to the Nineties. But, it was the Japanese who bossed the avant-garde. Pioneered by Rei Kawakubo, Yohji Yamamoto and Issey Miyaki, the Japanese School revolted against established norms of shape, construction and fabric - these innovators forged new fashion territory. Fighting against the considered and the familiar, the new breed of designers, like all proper rebels before them, threw out the old to construct a dramatically new expression. Leading the way in discovering new weaves and textiles, they looked to plastics and traditional Japanese cloths, creating a combination of the archetypal and the innovative. The silhouettes of the West: body-conscious and ‘flattering’ were jettisoned. Oversized or engorged, the shape became architectural and graphic. Disregarding the form of the body allowed for an exploration of folding, draping and general manipulation of the fabric. The Barbican recently curated ‘Future Beauty: 30 Years of Japanese Fashion’ the first of its kind - it collated key pieces, looks, inspirations, video documentary and recreations of specific shows from the last 30 years of Japanese fashion. A fantastic exhibition, sadly now closed. But, the Victoria and Albert Museum have come to the rescue for those that never made it and

Detail of white cotton shirt and navy blue pleated skirt with raw edges Yohji Yamamoto Autumn/Winter 1999-2000 Courtesy of Victoria and Albert Museum

those left craving more: a retrospective of Yohji Yamamoto. Yamamoto, described as a ‘designer’s designer’ and ‘a Poet of Black’, has always challenged the framework of fashion. Reimaging the female form through unusual pattern cutting and a penchant for black, he came to the forefront of fashion after his first Paris show in 1981. Immediately established through his disregard for the norm, he sent out garments carefully tailored and gender-neutral in unusual textiles. Characteristically full of humour and mock arrogance, Yamamoto conquered Paris just like he had conquered Tokyo nine years before. Explicit about the possibilities fabric can hold, Yamamoto treads the boards of manipulation and reverence. Famously precise about hue, Yamamoto designs may be avant-garde, but the use of Shibori and Yuzen cloth dying techniques is not. Traditional Japanese methods, usually used for Kimonos, take hours of carefully trained workmanship to produce. Everything is designed by and made specifically for Yamamoto in Japan. Embroidery – both hand and machine- has often been added to Yamamoto’s carefully chosen cloth - especially to his menswear lines. Again, questioning the borders of gender in fashion, while adding a depth and dialogue to his collections. Yohji Yamamoto 12th March – 10th July 2011 Victoria and Albert Museum, London

the royal wave ALICE BUTLER

ans Holbein’s Herculean Henry, donned in sumptuous furs and Renaissance bling, commands our aesthetic attention like a dandified arbiter of taste. Broad and bawdy, sculpted to perfection so to appear like a waxwork and a mannequin; this king avoided the guillotine simply by virtue of his style. The plebs of Tudor yore clearly liked their royals to rock some serious blueblood looks, for they lapped up the tide of jewels and pearls in a state of fashion deference. On the street and in the sewers, they sure as hell like a bit of ruff. But when there’s tax evasion at play, all that glitters is not gold. Could Holbein’s portrait be visual testimony to the towering stature of the royal wardrobe? Fashion seeps into the cultural imagination in mysterious ways; like a yarn gobbling moth to a flame. Judging by the current crop of monarchical mania to be served on our ‘democratic’ platter, this flame is not revolutionary and red. It is blue. Royal Blue. With a giant sapphire rock big enough to sink the Titanic. Between the first Hoorah Henry and the Middleton-Windsor conjugal dream team, there’s been little sartorial inspiration to be gleaned from the palace’s fashion figureheads. Hardy Aimes got a look in with the current Lizzie but we’re talking style made for the giddy social heights of afternoon tea: cucumber couture if you like. And however much the People’s Princess knew the linguistic power of clothes to speak a political 43 language; how hard is it to look chic in made-

to-measure Versace when blessed with artistostock cheekbones? And so with the death of Di, came Sloane-set style all over again with Camilla’s patrician twinsets and Harris Tweed. While this virgin wool fabric might look ironically cool in a Camden pub, in a country-cum-city mash up, on Charles and Cammy, it’s a visual reminder of our non-elected regime. The crown jewels in the attic cannot save these imperial juggernauts from the bloody chamber of blandness. But could The Firm be Buckingham-up its act? Could a sartorial coup d’etat be in the offing? In the madness of the coalition commune, hey, anything’s possible. For the mood of late has been worryingly sovereign. The set-piece announcement of Kate and Will’s union has serendipitously, or perhaps conspiratorially, coincided with a cultural wave of royal raucousness. Seeing Colin Firth ’fucckity fuck’ his way through The King’s Speech gave a big humanising thumbs up to the aristocratic old-timers. In the art world, Tracey Emin, once proto-punk, has defected to neoTory. The cabinet is bursting to its centre-right seams with old Etonions, and yet we sit at home, eyes glued to the screen with our Sunday night posh pudding of Downton Abbey. What was it that Jim Royle said: “Meritocracy... my arse?!” And so the image of Kate Middleton coiffed, puffed and preened into a vision of patrician plasticity – in THAT blue dress – has been unfortunately etched into our fashion memory bank. The trumpeted fanfare that accompanied the Middle-

ton-Windsor betrothal could have been a dramatic proclamation of two young monarchs’ fashion credentials; but instead we are supposed to rejoice about Kate’s divine knees. You can forget about your god given right to rule when mid-length hems seem like a good idea in the morning. No, Kate’s middle-aged vogueishness is positively moribund. She committed the worst sartorial sin of all when her matronly decision to match her accessories to her clothes defined her fashion coronation. Blue ring plus blue dress: a simple algebraic equation that results in a stylistic dead end, the literal fashion blues. In a Dadaist challenge to this depressing

FASHION

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Fashion seeps into the cultural imagination in mysterious ways; like a yarn gobbling moth to a flame. Judging by the current crop of monarchical mania to be served on our ‘democratic’ platter, this flame is not revolutionary and red. It is blue. Royal Blue.

aesthetic, a satirical set of Royal College of Art students recently paraded outside Buckingham Palace, dressed in identikit Kate dresses and with ring fingers extended, accosting frightened royal-hungry tourists. However, irony lives on as the ultimate postmodern comfort blanket, as Jonathan Jones asks: ‘Is it possible to like royalty and be a republican?’ The soap operatic appeal of the Windsor band may have kitsch appeal, but to enter into the souvenir trap is a mug’s game. Come April, boycott the wrap dress, dismiss the diamante and wear red. They’re the style rights of man – and woman.

44 Images: photoblog.msnbc.msn.com