Obsessions come fast. You never plan to fall for something; it strikes you—and suddenly your subconscious is bonded and your imagination is dependent on this external power source. As we planned our coverage of the the First Monday in May—when the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute gala would have taken place and its exhibition been unveiled—I was reminded again of one of the objects of my obsession: A crimson velvet Vivienne Westwood corset and mini crini skirt. A look from Westwood’s fall 1988 collection, the ensemble is a pointed shot at English tradition and conservatism, whipped up with the cheeky wit that is another hallmark of the Brits. This little outfit and I first met on July 22, 2006 in the Costume Institute exhibition “AngloMania: Tradition and Transgression in British Fashion.”
That show was Andrew Bolton’s first at the museum. I won’t editorialize or dramatize Bolton’s resumé here—that’s for a memoir I hope he one day writes—but I think anyone who has experienced one of his exhibitions knows him to be a dreamer in a pragmatist’s uniform. “AngloMania” was one of the museum’s grandest exhibitions, positioning mannequins throughout the museum’s period rooms in vignettes evocative of theater or film. (Unsurprisingly, Baz Lurhmann and Ang Lee have become Bolton collaborators since.) The Stephen Jones headpieces featured pompadours and tampons in equal measure, and the mannequins wore the most evocative riding coats, three piece suits, ball skirts, and delicate shoes from Alexander McQueen, John Galliano, Huntsman, Burberry, and Manolo Blahnik.
Every year, on July 22, I would ask my parents to take me to the Costume Institute to see its summertime show, but 2006 was the first time I was stopped in my tracks. I remember my mother lingering on a staircase display near the entrance where a House of Worth gown stood and the Hussein Chalayan dresses nearby. Very nice, I thought, but just to the left, set into a wall all alone, was this kinky, quirky little Westwood thing. All the other mannequins had jobs to do, dioramas to inhabit, and here was this lonely little princess ensconced in vitrine of humble pink cotton cloth. No mannequin friends. No fun activity. Just her QEII wig and frivolous little ensemble. You can see how such a freakish little garment would speak to a girl on her sweet sixteen, an only child who spent every single birthday ages 10 to 21 walking through the Metropolitan Museum of Art with her mother. I made the mistake of bringing a friend just once, and when she copped out before climbing through the Modern Art galleries, I called that practice quits.
The blessing of having a summer birthday is that I have had the pleasure of spending many birthdays since 2006 with Andrew Bolton’s shows. This first one has a special place in my heart for two reasons: I met a great obsession that day in Westwood’s precocious outfit and I also found a new external power source in Bolton’s work. You couldn’t write it better: 10 years later, I would have the privilege of walking through the exhibits with Bolton himself, to discussing each new show for Vogue. This year’s exhibition, “About Time: Fashion and Duration,” would have been my fifth time. I was really looking forward to exploring how fashion has changed in the last 150 years—and how it hasn’t—with Andrew, walking through the spaces created by Es Devlin. We’ll do it in October, I’m hopeful, but waiting is such an unfulfilling game. Time stands still in the obsessions of the past. So I’ll think about Westwood’s petulant little outfit and this fantastic show until then.