05/11/2015
I have news for you all: those ridiculous sleeves are stupid.

Words by

Bianca O'Neill

The other day I was ironing some white origami bullshit shirt I was talked into buying. In the shop: amazeballs. It looked so effortless. That is… until I had to iron it.

I swear I needed a physics degree and a four dimensional iron to work that shit out. I don’t know what the fourth dimension is, but I’m assuming it would have been helpful at one point when I found myself wrapped in the shirt attempting to vertical steam it on my body.

Hey, the third degree burns just accentuated my #stronglewk.

The ironing debacle got me thinking about the rise of impossible fashion, mainly led by the amazing Ellery this year. But I have news for you all: those ridiculous sleeves are stupid.

Sure, we all saw a million bloggers post photos in Ellery’s oversized trumpet sleeve (after they saw La Centenera wear it at fash week btw), but I dare ONE FREAKING BLOGGER to put their hand up and tell me they actually bought the damn thing. 

They didn’t. You know why? Because it’s ridiculous. It’s fucking ridiculous, people.

Sure, it looks amazing if you’re standing still for a photo, but try to drink a coffee in those sleeves and you’ll be sent straight to brown stain hell. It’s not real. It’s not actual, real clothing.

There’s always this debate in #fashun about how it’s ‘art’ and how it doesn’t have to be practical to be important. Well here’s a question: do you see an architect trying to convince a developer to build a building with no door? Of course you don’t.

Because fashion needs to be about the intersection between art and commerce. Fashion needs to be practical. It’s there to wear.

It’s one thing to talk about costumes. If you’re designing for a play, or for a movie, or a popstar on stage, that’s one thing. But if your demo is an upper middle class white woman who drives a BMW to Chapel Street on a Wednesday morning for a lil shop til she drops, then you’re not doing your job.

Then again, an upper middle class white woman who drives a BMW to Chapel Street on a Wednesday morning for a lil shop til she drops probably doesn’t need hands anyway. She’s got an assistant for that. Der.

Ellery, you got me this time. But next time I won’t be so forgiving when I find myself covered in coffee stains, with n’er an assistant in sight. It is #reallife, after all.

Follow Bianca’s sensible, practical, functional fashion journey over at @alphabetponymag

Shop Twylamae's pop culture illustrations (including sad Drake on a tee) here.

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