Despite being a prolific shitposter, none of my online antics have garnered a response quite like posing the question: are fashion people worse than art people? A heated debate followed in my DMs, with both sides weighing in on the age-old question. So which scene really is the most insufferable?
Historically, fashion people have had a worse rep in the media. I lost count of the times people asked if my job at a fashion (adjacent) magazine was anything like The Devil Wears Prada and ‘fashion girl’ seems to be synonymous with ‘bitch in all black.’ What people fail to realise is that the theatrics are intentional; the icy onscreen portrayals are part of the appeal. Fashion people thrive in the limelight and don’t care who’s looking. By contrast, the art-adjacent are much more subtle in their attention-seeking.
While it’ll take a fashion person sub five minutes to tell you exactly where they work and with whom, the art world insider prefers to sprinkle knowing and cryptic reviews of the latest Sadie Coles show into conversation without ever fully disclosing their part in the equation. There’s a sense of social exclusivity that comes from never spelling it out and a need to be seen by people in the know. Fashion people just want to be seen by Everyone.
The divide is most evident on Instagram. My feed is a melting pot of gushy tributes and enigmatic close crops, the alternate approaches intermingling to give two very different impressions of a city that incessantly calls itself ‘creative’. On one hand, the gallery girl’s indiscernible pic of a dimly lit bottled-lined corner lets you know she just gets it. She’s at the right place at the right time but you never quite know why, whether it’s a work obligation or a favour to a friend doesn’t really matter. There’s an unspoken agreement that work and life must intermingle, and like any business, it’s built on relationships. It’s impossible to tell when the art person is on or off the clock; whether the brand-building persona is at work or you’re having a friendly chit-chat with the curator, whereas the fashion assistant instantly asks, “so WHO do you work for?”
Fashion people are more upfront about the grustle and seemingly more accepting, so long as you’ve got the funds to back it up. There’s more democracy in who’s hot and who’s not and you can network your way to it-girl status with enough DSM hauls and selfies at Chiltern. Similarly, on social media, the dripped-out fashionista leaves nothing to the imagination and there’s no shame in promoting the grind. An IG tribute crediting their full fit to the latest PR/designer du jour is par for the course, sincerity taking precedence over the ironic subtly on the art person’s posting.
Then there are people like me who spent the ages of 18-22 doing negative line drawings and discussing Spiral Jetty but now occupy a sort of no man’s land, observing both subsections with one Tabi-clad toe in each camp. In conclusion, neither fashion nor art people are better than each other but it’s fun to observe the phenomenon. Whether it’s better to earn your place through countless Thursday night openings and lukewarm Peroni’s or yet another unpaid assisting gig and #gifted Gentle Monster post, who can say? As long as we all keep snapping pics of whatever found object we’re pretending to look at while clocking someone with vague clout who just walked in the door, the wheel will keep on turning.
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