HERE at Bog, we think there are more fashion shows to see outside the slim parameters of Vogue Runway. So here we present to you five shows from the last year which we’re pretty sure you missed. And if you didn’t? Well, then you must be pretty cool

words: Natalya Serkova

images: Janna Tatarova

NIKITA DEDEL’S debut fashion show for 1000MORCEAUX took place last November at START, a project space in Moscow focused on supporting young Russian artists. Models did whatever they felt natural: swaying around, holding hands, bumping into each other, filming on their phones, smiling. It was as if everyone was in a trance, lost in their own world, hidden from prying eyes by a translucent curtain.


This was enhanced by the low lighting, illuminating only the very centre of the gallery. The music sounded as though it had been created for an altered state of consciousness – for Dedel, a meditative state of removal was crucial. For this show he looked at things which are very familiar so often taken for granted: clippings from Burda magazine, his parents’ wardrobe and cheap department stores.


Collecting these scattered memories, 1000MORCEAUX connects them into patched up pieces made from sumptuous fabrics from family members with ceramic objects – mini sculptures – dangling on single threads.

words: Matthew Linde

images: Nina Saulwick and Margaux Jones

THE ill-defined 19th century condition of neurasthenia was established to diagnose a range of symptoms such as fatigue, migraines and anxiety. A sinister residue of the modern experience which is often characterised by the ideals of novelty and speed, neurasthenia suggested its eventual breakdown: apathy and neurotic exhaustion. The title of Melbourne-based designer Tallulah Storm’s debut collection Blink, or don’t, you’ll probably miss it anyway could be read as an aphorism for the ambivalence of this modern experience.


The slightness, irritation and mundanity of “getting dressed” is repeated throughout the collection. The deflated neck of a shirt appears repeatedly worn, as if the once resilient elastane has exhausted itself, unable to retract to its original position. Elusive internal stays twist a wool jersey turtleneck so the correct fit is never quite possible. A pair of jeans hauntingly capture the collapse of undressing through a constructed web of dart manipulation and rivets. This backwards fragmentation continues in a sleeveless dress, comprised of a base layer made from luscious gold velvet which is bitterly masked by the glum layering of a beige nylon exterior and the brown silk which lies in between.


When strands of fine chain are left to their own accord at the bottom of bags and boxes they erratically clump and knot together. These nervous entanglements were left as readymade necklaces constructed from stolen chains to adorn the collection. The most spectral moments appeared in the found children’s duvet pieces, drafted into dreary garments to appear precariously wedged in; the vestiges of a prior life reclaimed for a second chance.


Unlike the more obvious subversions of spectacle from the current ilk of ironic fashion designers, Storm’s collection does not attempt to expose the “false consciousness” of archetypal pieces of clothing but upheaves the value of their marginalised idiosyncrasies. Her approach, which could either be the figure of bricoleur or saboteur, sought out the irrational traces hidden in everyday dressing.

words: Justin Seng

image: Ozziline Bill

ANSWERING the siren call of Marc Elsner’s a capella serenade of Cascada’s Everytime We Touch we were made attentive to a shyness, an earnestness and a candour that set the scene for Hurtence Live. Forgoing the conventional decision of utilising a soundtrack to conjure an immediate and steady mood for the show, Hurtence (the name given to Maddy Thornalley’s accessories label) answered these questions in a succession of entrances featuring “live action” adornments – live in their spirit; action in their palpable dynamism as each model made their circuit on the runway.


The models being a tight-knit group of close friends and the show taking place in a friend’s basement, each pass was consciously undermining the need for spectacle by bringing to the fore a warmth and an idiosyncratic rhythm in each take. Amidst the swathes of pink, scattered leaves, and mulch bark scattered unceremoniously around the runway by the set designer Jack Appleyard, the show was a ceremonious occasion – a celebration of communal spirit, of care, of love, of respite, of being together, of coming together, of a recalibration of attention amidst the brutal austerity that we find ourselves surrounded by.

words: Eilidh Nuala Duffy

 video (stills): Milo Alexander-Travers

LAST November at Cafe Oto’s project space-slash-shed Ilana Blumberg showed a few of her latest creations in a 45 minute extravaganza of “clothes and music; fabricated, hung and performed”. The clothes were Blumberg’s and the music, her boyfriend Tom Wheatley’s. Blumberg’s speciality is knitwear and felt fabricated in an assortment of different wools: alpaca, sheep and – most remarkably – dog.


While Blumberg mooched around Cafe Oto’s project space in her grotty little M&S thong (I’ve got the same one, they always turn a bit grey after the 15th wash) Wheatley “played” the double bass, a reverb contraption strapped to his bow. Instead of the charmingly melancholic solo I’d expected to hear we got a medley of clicks, hums and whirrs coming off the instrument. Blumberg wobbled about on a foldable chair reaching up to the rafters where her pieces were hanging, selecting stuff to put on and then take off in a meditative look at how each item was worn. A loose-knit ghostly white dress was an absolute highlight – she looked super hot, a cross between ice queen and sacrificial virgin. When asked about it she replied, “It’s just plain knitting.”


Once she was done she just sat amongst the crowd in a very cool and blasé way as Wheatley continued to frisk with the bass. Then he stopped but everyone was too shy to clap. It was a fun intimate moment (about three minutes I’d say) where we all just sat there looking at the clothes. Then someone began to giggle.

words: Eilidh Nuala Duffy

image: courtesy of Temple Magazine

IN March Paris-based Diane Gaignoux presented Expeausition which was, rather strangely, totally devoid of clothes. She decided instead to paint symbolic garments, like a tuxedo or hot pants, on to each model’s body, openly questioning their purpose by removing the process of construction and looking only at their aesthetic value. For the performance Gaignoux wrote accompanying texts for each look, “highlighting that actually none of these pieces were normal or basic, but gendered”.


As the models performed their genders down a red-carpeted runway one of the models, Eloïse Kelso, described each look to a soundtrack by Victor Baudin. With huge spotlights following each of the models in an otherwise unlit room their bodies were draped in shadows, revealed only when the light caught them. For most, especially those who were drunk, it took a moment to realise that they were actually naked.