The New York Metropolitan Museum of Art will carry a heavy burden on its marble and stone shoulders this May when the new Costume Institute exhibit, Punk: Chaos to Couture opens. One of the premier fashion and art events of the New York City social circuit, the event rakes in hundreds of thousands of dollars for the museum and debuts an exhibit that will remain open exactly 100 days. Now, let's abandon the red carpet event for a moment to reflect on the past themes and exhibits.
The museum rose to the forefront of international fashion-curated exhibits when an Alexander McQueen exhibit debuted in the summer of 2010. Located in a large, winding gallery space, a somber mood enveloped visitors - appropriate for a designer who struggled with personal demons throughout his entirely too-short life. Starting with early McQueen commentary on construction of garments, the development of McQueen spiralled into a bizarre wall of taxidermy. A deep fascination with bones rendered a skeletal ribcage belt; a delicate flutter of red papier-mache butterflies hovered above a stiff headband. The experience was more than just fashion. McQueen's proud Scottish roots garnered their own explanation of various Scottish plaids. Towards the end of the display, a hologram of Kate Moss swirled in a small glass box - a reproduction of a finale to one of McQueen's last fashion shows - and almost seemed a ghost of the designer himself. The Metropolitan was inundated with guests, and the event transcended all forms of art.
The next retrospective paled in comparison. Not only did Prada and Schiaparelli: Impossible Conversations lack the emotional intensity of the McQueen exhibit, it also lacked display pieces. Miuccia Prada, currently the creative director for the storied Italian fashion house, filmed a painfully awkward video in which she engaged in dialogue with a woman playing the deceased designer Schiaparelli. It was forced, to say the least. While the side-by-side comparison of modern Prada by surrealist '30s and '40s looks from Schiaparelli was informative, the story lacked passion, mostly on the part of Prada. The fashion world buzzed about the exhibit, but it was constrained to a mild hum.
So what is to be expected at the opening in a month for a retrospective on punk culture and fashion? The New Yorker recently published a detailed preview, walking through the Met's creative process with the Costume Institute director. The article isn't entirely straightforward, as it attempts to reserve some suspense for the opening gala, but one can expect pieces from the Ramones, Patti Smith and Vivienne Westwood, including her tartans and the iconic "God Save The Queen" image, safety pins piercing her prim pout.
How does so-called punk fashion still live on? Criticism of the exhibit from former counter-culture icons laments the fact that the minute punk was picked up by the mainstream, the spirit died. Everywhere one turns in today's retail experience, influences of punk can be found: Valentino's clear carry-all totes trimmed with thumb-sized pyramid studs; an endless array of Zara footwear with studded cap toes on ballet flats, heels and ankle straps. Whereas Giorgio Armani remade the female pant and gown in the 1990s to hide any evidence of zipper, punk influences crop up all over jackets that have decorative zipper pockets slashed across the breast pocket. Unlike the McQueen hoof heels or Prada's furry ombre coats, punk seems wearable; certainly elements of the DIY essence that captivated anti-establishment artists of the '80s now charm those seeking to differentiate themselves from the usual fare at national chains. Punk has been elevated to a near-couture level in fashion and has been made gallery-worthy. No one ever expected that when they were making music in dingy basements of the Bowery.
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Elizabeth Landers is a senior majoring in political science. She can be reached at Elizabeth.Landers@tufts.edu.
