It was delightfully disturbing
As with any Craig Green show, references in the following piece of writing may trigger disturbing visual associations. Reader discretion is advised, and the designer wouldn’t want it any other way. Backstage, after his first show since the pandemic, he optimistically referred to techniques and materials as “horrible” and “disgusting”, making some of us almost sentimental for his return to the runway. There is no one in fashion quite like Green, who casually tackles alarming, or even off-putting ideas like they were any old reference on a moodboard. His work is so subversive that it comes full circle; turns elegant, romantic, and beautiful. It was something he illustrated perfectly in his first show post-Covid.
“We found an image of a man living in an iron lung where his head is still on the outside. They put a mirror above him so he can see behind him, but he can’t move. It has these holes on the side for other people to touch him,” Green explained. “There’s something dark but nice about it.” This real-life, Googleable scenario fuelled a study of the post-pandemic tactility we’re all dealing with, whether you belong to those longing for the human touch, or those who would be happy never to hug a stranger again. Green translated his trademark holes into knitwear and latex constructions. Some holes kind of invited you to stick your hand inside, while others – lined in boiled tuftage – looked like blisters that had burst. (In an abstract way.)
It dealt with phobias and fetishes
Green’s research into hyper-tactility was sparked by something as innocent as a mohair jumper, which he instantly managed to subvert: “People wear fluffy things on the outside, trying to appear fluffy to other people, rather than experiencing the material,” he reflected. The designer had turned the jumper inside out to provoke the extreme version of the suffocation some people associate with heavy knitwear. “We thought there was something amazing about the feeling of it pressing against your skin,” he said. Green’s rather fetish-y investigations generated a collection where the inside of garments was often more refined than the outside would suggest. “All the silk suits have the satin finish on the inside, so you feel it against your skin. The outside looks like nothing,” as he said.
Referring to our post-pandemic approach to dressing, “It was always about feeling things again: experiencing things in reality and touching things, for comfort but also for suffocation,” Green said, (His own return to the runway took place in a warehouse in E16 just next door to his future studios. Next season, he noted, he’ll be back on the Paris men’s schedule.) “I’ve always liked the idea of liking the way something looks but not the way it feels; or, liking the way it feels but not the way it looks. That kind of crosses over into a sexual thing, because sometimes you don’t like to share with people what you actually like. It’s pleasure and suffocation,” he said and paused. “In a nice way!”
Shoes were disguised Stan Smiths and bags channelled medical gear
Applying his premise to accessories, Green created a series of shoes with his long-time partner Adidas. Moulded on the classic Stan Smith, they looked nothing like it but evoked instead associations to footwear native to space travel, diving or hazmat suits. Green wanted people to have the feeling of wearing a Stan Smith but the look of something totally different. Similarly, bag and surface decoration constructed in British industrial factories drew on the properties of sectors far from fashion. Some bags were made at medical factories that produce anaesthetic pumps, while the pocket valves on certain garments were created in a latex factory that specialises in deep sea diving gear. It was a perfectly weird homecoming for Craig Green.
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