Still, there was a lot to take away from the event. There is a huge hunger for a place and occasion for fashion expression on a larger scale. Though the seeming lack of boundary between what went down the runway and what was seen on the street can be explained, in part, by the fact that the designers, being mostly of a type, were speaking directly to their own underground communities, it demonstrates that there are non-traditional ways for fashion to exist. Take, for example, Dustin Glickman, a self-taught half-American designer, who drew a huge crowd who were already working the Western look he proposed. He will sell his collection of fresh-off-the-runway pieces in a pop-up this week.
I asked Emma Frisdell, a journalist and influencer beloved by street style photographers, her thoughts on the “week” (which was really 2 ½ days). “I find myself reflecting on street style culture—the very thing I fell in love with almost 10 years ago. I spent hours on Vogue’s street style pages and loved how people, for a brief moment, were given an international stage,” she wrote. “Today, much of that feels missing to me at the international fashion weeks, lost in commercial deals, show dressings, and the strong—but understandable—celebrity focus. But as I look through the street style images, I’m excited to see traces of that magic again. I see fashion enthusiasts knitting their own dresses, crafting hats, and wearing their grandmother’s old Dolce & Gabbana leather jacket from the ’70s. They deserve to be on stage.”
It’s clear that the reimagined STHLMFW is still in a transitional phase, but to ASFB chairman Michael Elembeck, a gallerist and entrepreneur, the future looks bright. “Our ambition is not to recreate Stockholm Fashion Week as it existed in the past, nor to replicate other ‘fashion week’ capitals,” he told Vogue. “Fashion is evolving, and the question we ask ourselves today is: what can Stockholm contribute to the global fashion conversation that is uniquely its own?”
To label something a fashion week creates specific expectations, which emerging talents can’t always meet, yet their vitality and their connection to the future fashion consumer are vital. It’s somewhat ironic then that one of the shows most in line with the look and spirit of the street was best represented by Peter Jansson, a St. Martin’s grad and 20-plus year industry veteran who helped launch the juggernauts that were Cheap Monday and Weekday. His show, a paean to Manchester’s Hacienda club (the New Wave ’80s), somehow dovetailed into a meta reflection on the indie sleaze revival. The designer, who walked in his own show, twisted the focus on the “young folks” narrative—as did Steph Orozco with her age and size varied cast.
Asked how the landscape had changed since the 2010s, Jansson noted that back in the day, “older people didn’t care about trends as much as now, and it’s more OK to change styles when you get older.” He attributes the return of skinny jeans as a kind of teenage rebellion. “The reason [they] are coming back,” he explained, “is that almost all 18-old-year kids now have a mom with wide jeans, and you don’t want to look like your parents.”
