When I was a surly teenager, I used to grill my mother on why she dressed like Audrey Hepburn instead of Gracie Slick back in the sixties. She’d reply, “Hippies were smelly. I don’t do smelly.” Although Nirvana’s anthem of the era was named after a deodorant, the ethos of grunge was unpolished and unapologetic reality. The name ascribed to the subculture was not accidental; it was truly a grimy aesthetic. Although, most people’s nostalgia (not my mother’s) softens the edges on beloved memories and the true grit of grunge is now fast forgotten. Lala Berlin’s version of the early nineties’ key aesthetic exemplifies the Proustian process of sanitizing the past. Her early collections had a rough rock edge. They combined clashing proportions and everyday textures with punk spark. She used luxe wool and high-end fabrics but her core silhouettes reflected the relaxed ideology of the grunge era. For A/W12, however, she directly appropriates grunge but literally dilutes it. Her key looks were taken straight from Marc Jacobs' iconic 1992 grunge collection, which was initially criticized as an exploitation of the anti-consumerist movement. In retrospect, Jacobs' collection was probably a sincere homage, but did contribute to the disarming of grunge’s potential as a cultural revolution. Evoking that collection now, when the economic and cultural factors provoking grunge have returned, can seem a bit cynical. Lala Berlin’s forms are even softer than Jacobs', and her pastel palette is further from grunge’s darkness. But maybe designer Leyla Piedayesh's is just doing what we all do, spraying perfume over our past.
by Ana Finel Honigman
