Welcome to 'In Pink Print'

I’ve always found a classy cosiness in the idea of columnists. There has always been the very romanticised fashion columnist career we see on tv. The Bradshaw, Jones, Anderson, Golightly, Gilmore archetype. Each have their own charming messiness that we love in a nostalgic rom-com way.  So when I suggested to Liam that we both start our own columns, my thought process was that a column could capture this image while also allowing me to capture my own messiness in a form of writing that is historically ephemeral in interest (much like fashion) but hopefully appealing to some.  

This need for forming my wanna-be columnist vision had me thinking: What do I have to tell people? What can I offer that people don’t already know– or even more, care about? I’ve studied fashion and journalism in school, interned in fashion buying in Amsterdam, and written a handful of articles that I’m relatively proud of. But in true twenties fashion, by comparison I haven’t really done as much as a lot of others. So, in attempting to form the foundation of this column I was at a standstill. Writing down key words and interests hoping for the perfect fitting name that has that “I should have thought of that” sound that I see in so many others’ projects. As I collected my ideas and visions into my notebook and laptop, I was faced with an all-encompassing, erratic, visual representation of who I am. And as I’m staring at this moodboard of cheetah print, barbie pink, fashionable grandmas, pop idols, and dogs, I really do see my two passions in life….  

First, Fashion…

In my daily dose of fashion and pop culture podcasts, I once listened to one where a fashion writer I love said in an interview that their favourite question to ask people is “what is your first memory of fashion?” I’ve thought about this question a lot since then and have come up with a simple moment. 

An early one that comes to me is a simple one. I was maybe 6 years old and was sitting in the basement of my grandparent’s house on a large, deeply red, Persian rug. The TV was on in front of me, likely playing CNN or a Dutch news channel, being watched by my Opa who sat in a classic brown leather reclining sofa chair that I imagine every grandfather ever owned. I was sitting on the rug playing with this new toy with all its pieces sprawled out in front of me. It was this large sketchbook/how-to that taught you how to draw different shoes, handbags, hats, pleating on skirts, different textures for fabrics, etc, etc. Now I can’t remember if this was given to me because I had previously liked playing with fashion-related toys, but I’ve always remembered this one because it felt very real. Where a lot of toys felt like toys, I always preferred playing pretend games that made me feel like I really was whoever I was pretending to be. And this fashion designer game always felt as serious as playing teacher or doctor. 

Years later it was time for university. The arts were always something that were valued in my family, in a lot of different forms and so I think I always considered fashion and writing as a natural extension of this. Choosing to go to fashion school always felt like a very real, very viable profession. So it was surprising when I would go home from the city and tell people about my academic choices and have their response be this pitiful reaction. This response is the same sort of interaction that a girl feels when they say their favourite artist is Taylor Swift or their favourite movie is Barbie– an unnecessary embarrassment. It had never occurred to me that people were surprised that people work in fashion. We’re all wearing clothes aren’t we? 

And so, as I pretend I’m being interviewed and am asked what my first fashion memory is, I think of that. As I continue to write this column, I then come at it from the perspective of a twenty-something-year-old who feels no shame in working in fashion and actually pities others who think nobody is working behind the clothes they wear, the movies they watch, the music they listen to, and the art around them. 

and feminism…

Later on in my degree, I had a professor put up a similar question in a design class; “when did feminism become something that not only spoke you…but spoke of your existence?” In a lot of ways I grew up in a very female-dominated upbringing. When I think of who raised me it was my grandmother, my mother, and my sister. And a lot like fashion, feminism always came very inherently. The women in my life weren’t necessarily out there campaigning for gender inequality, instead, I think it was something that each of us grew into on our own alongside each other whether we realised it or not. 

The women in my family have always been the superheroes of my life and I think as a kid I really only ever looked up to women. Apart from my matriarch of a family, women in pop music aided in my feminist upbringing. I have always gravitated towards the Beyoncés, Madonnas, and Lady Gagas of the world. I only ever had a perspective of women being these emotionally intelligent stars who are the ones who get things done in the world. 

In my late teens and twenties, feminism has only really become something that I am so vocal and outrightly passionate about. It now feels not just like something of a trait inside me but also something to base my life’s work on. As I work towards a broad idea of a career in fashion, arts, culture, journalism, blogging, etc, etc, etc. every opinion and perspective I have comes from feminist theory and life experience. 

So as I open this column and craft my own romanticised columnist persona, I want to introduce myself here as an open-minded individual, impressionable to new inspiration, while someone who holds strong in their values, a younger sister who takes pride in the word ‘stubborn’ but is still susceptible to changing trends and fashion. While I hope “In Pink Print” is never as much of a personal essay as this one, I welcome you to a personal space nonetheless where my monthly words as a woman in her twenties comes from a tasteful place of good fashion and art, and always with a hyper-feminist rage.

- Gill