Yohji and Rei were lovers
Hello Internet,
I know, it’s weird that I start every dispatch as if it is a real letter of its own. It makes it more personal in the end, I guess. Newsletters are meant to be weekly dispatches of inspiration, and my favourite discovery this week was that Yohji Yamamoto and Rei Kawakubo used to be lovers. I know, even the ring of their names said together sounds like the most beautiful love story.
A few weeks ago, probably already months at this point, I watched “Notebook on cities and clothes”, by Wim Wenders, which follows Yohji Yamamoto around during the process of creating a collection. A year ago, all I cared about was tulle, pink and scraps of a Simone Rocha fantasy. Now, all I buy on eBay is vintage Yamamoto. Maybe the way Wenders structures documentaries made me buy into a brand I never thought of buying from before. In the documentary, the way he points the camera at the craft is so delicate. It feels like he is observing precious china, fearing that it could break any second.
To me, when I bought my first Yohji piece, the fabric in my hands felt like God materialised. It was so precious and perfect at the same time, carrying a force in its seams that feels like a higher power. When Wenders tries Yamamoto’s creations on for the first time, he says: "My first encounter with Yohji Yamamoto was, in a way; an experience of identity. I bought a shirt and a jacket. You know the feeling; you put on new clothes, you look at yourself in the mirror, you're content, excited about your new skin. But with this shirt and this jacket, it was different. From the beginning, they were new and old at the same time. In the mirror, I saw me, of course, only better; more me than before. And I had the strangest sensation that I was wearing... yes, I had no other words for it, I was wearing the shirt itself and the jacket itself. And in them I was myself. I felt protected like a knight in his armour."
When I tried that skirt on for the first time, I felt as if strangely all pieces fell into place. I wondered, why do I feel so content and beautiful in a skirt that is simple, not extravagant? My wardrobe is full of extravagant prints, ready to deck out an army of angsty teenagers who listen to pure heroine on full blast. I couldn’t make sense that now I, the one who profiled herself over flamboyance was now, ready to commit to simplicity.
Monochrome does not mean simplicity. It can mean the complete opposite proved Rei Kawakubo, with her label Comme des Garçons. She chose the name because it had a nice ring. Nearly as nice as Rei and Yohji in love. Her creations are man-repelling in modern terms, it is fashion, outside the lens of the male gaze. Kawakubo did not only create garments for women, she created women as beautifully as God created humans. Her label is famous for the big shapes and anything that the usual observer would classify as weird. It is so much more than that. It is a way of life. A way of caressing the inner child whilst never giving a fuck. It is a way of being like the boys in a world full of male privilege. When I am grown up, all I want to wear is a symphony of Comme des Garçons and Yohji Yamamoto.
Just like they did, when they were lovers.
Until then,
N x