NO LOVE LOSS FOR Łódź - ANA FINEL HONIGMAN'S REFLECTIONS ON POLAND'S FASHION WEEK

http://garm.moderatorzy.pl/marta.html Marta Sinilo

I decided to attend Polish Fashion Week when I first saw posters for Lady Gaga's "Monster Ball" around Berlin. I knew that being in the same city and unable to afford a ticket would be too depressing to bear. A few friends whom I respect enormously had advised me to stop flitting around to random fashion weeks. Apparently, I was getting a trampy reputation - meaning that I was starting to look like both a vagabond and a bit cheap. I appreciated the advice but I was more grateful for a chance to be anywhere besides Berlin on the night of Gaga's show.

I was also genuinely curious about Poland. The fashion week itself was less interesting than the opportunity to witness the contemporary reality of the country. I wanted to witness the environment where so much of Europe's work-force is from and to see Eastern Europe outside of stereotypes. Fashion week was less compelling to me than discovering why a fashion week was happening and how it related to the larger cultural context in Łódź, a city struggling with layers of poverty and ideological identity issues.

So...between Gaga and my desire to augment my readings from The Economist with a little reality, I accepted the invitation. I packed practically and I left at 5am from my home and flew to Warsaw. Once I got there, I was greeted at the airport with a 3 hour wait until the other six international journalists arrived. We were then escorted to the "Mercedes" - a rickety van which had been a German taxi in its former life. I snuggled up against a protruding piece of plastic, emailed editors and texted with friends at home who were getting geared up for Gaga.

After two hours of turbulence, we arrived at the magnificent Andel's Hotel Łódź, a magnificent modernist four-star design hotel. There, I was greeted by Vlad, my guide - whose pushy tactility and oily grin gave me a creepy impression that he was an extra from Hostel. I was equally perturbed to learn that my luggage had gone in another car and was missing. I had no real qualms about attending the shows under- dressed, but I was eager to find an excuse to stay in the stunning hotel. So, I went to my room. Twice, people rang my bell to hand me bags. But neither were mine. Instead, they both held tourist information on the town and huge variety tins of Pepperidge Farm cookies.

The same cookies were offered - along with vodka and sugary fruit juice - in the VIP lounge at the official fashion week tent.Tickets for free dinners by an allegedly leading Polish restaurant were also handed to me. But after attempting their weakly Campbell's reheated soup and flaccid salad, I decided to indulge a passion for Milano cookies which I hadnt had since fourth grade. "Why serve these cookies?," I asked the VIP doorkeeper. "Everyone loves American biscuits," she replied, with more contempt than passion and stuffed a cookie in my palm.

http://www.andelslodz.com/en/home/

The clothes themselves at the main exhibition space were similarly stale Western standards. There were goth collections, plain casual wear and overheated glamour-puss shows, which Vlad insisted reminded him positively of Dynasty. However, the next day presented two examples of genuine and striking talent.

Because of our late arrival, and a confusion on my third day, I only saw three of the nine shows from the Off Out schedule but they made my overall experience entirely worthwhile. Unlike the hackneyed and unflattering main tent, these afternoon events were held in the majestic ruins of Poland's oldest textile factory. Massive, powerful iron machines, slivers of stained glass and enough space to properly present the clothes to a single-file line of young, chic, overtly artistic and influential viewers generated genuine energy, promise and interest.

Marta Sinilo's womenswear show was a touching balletic portrait of fraught female friendships. Her models wore gauzy white gowns and ghostly make-up as they giggled, bonded and bullied each other like immortal schoolgirls. The garments themselves were hardly arresting but the staging was elegant and moving.

Ania Kuczynska's show had a few light production flaws but the clothes themselves were worthy of any major fashion city. The Warsaw-based designer is her country's leading light and her charming, sexy and chic homage to Manhattan's creative heyday was spot-on. Kuczynska started her show with the sound of Diane Keaton struggling to sing "It had to be you" over the noises of bored patrons from a pivotal scene in Annie Hall. She then presented a range of seventies-inspired black, grey and navy separates for men and women. The forms were sculptural, geometrical, sensual and willowy, for both sexes. She captured the seventies in spirit, without resorting to cultural cliches. Kuczynska really evoked the essence of Annie Hall. That movie was human (thereby both timely and timeless) whereas Allen's more recent offerings have been smug, patronizing and soulless caricatures of urbanites and their issues. Similarly Kuczynska's show was authentically inspiring and glamorous because it was realistic, empathetic and intelligently designed.

Another reference to Annie Hall was accidentally made during the official fashion week dinner, hosted at a Jewish themed restaurant. But instead of the love story between Annie and Alfie, this was the scene when Annie takes her boyfriend home and Grammy Hall sees what she terms "a real Jew."

There were traditionally dusty plates of chopped liver, kugel, kishka and paper-mache dolls of rabbis. Underneath faded paintings of rabbis counseling little boys with payas, enormous blond Polish men played klezmer music. When the owner asks me whether I like the chicken liver, I said "It reminds me of how my Grandmother makes it" (a compliment akin to my father telling her that she "didnt teach him to cook, she inspired him to learn.") Overjoyed with my vague praise, the owner rushes back to the kitchen and brings me both a shot of vodka and an adorable live bunny. At first, I decide that the Polish attempt to apologize for some pretty problematic history is working. The bunny is pretty cute. But it's also pretty passive and actually makes eating a little awkward. I start to worry that this bunny gets passed around a lot. It looks a little emotionally traumatized. I dont really regret handing it back at the end of the night - although my host seems really concerned that maybe his nice gesture wasnt fully appreciated. I tell him "carrying bunnies over international borders isnt Kosher," and we smile a lot at each other.

The next day, Vlad tells that the off-site shows are canceled. I decide that I'd rather not see the main events, or him. He seemed disorganized and phony. I would ask for information and he was clearly making an enormous effort to impress and please me. But his real intentions seemed to be to distract me from seeing the actual city, which was clearly suffering. I appreciated his intentions but I was uncomfortable with his manner. Instead of sticking to the planned program, I wandered around the Manufaktura cultural center and saw some superb contemporary art museum exhibitions, as well as the rough reality of the city, which put the bizarre pretentious gloss of fashion week in context.

That night, Vlad phoned and insisted that we meet to talk in the lobby. I was not thrilled for a confrontation but I did not want to make my departure more awkward. He offered me "American cigarettes" and I offered to buy him a beer, since he was clearly distressed that I had not had an ideal stay. After his beer, he began to talk candidly. We stayed in the lobby bar area drinking wine and discussing the after-effects of communism on Poland. I learned about his lovely wife, their upcoming baby and her hopes to finish a law degree as a new mother. We talked about Poland's future and crippling insecurity. He explained that his friends and family buy broken cars with luxury brand names because they hope that foreign investors will think that they are successful if they list owning a Benz on their website. We both agreed that it was odd and off for Polish fashion week to insist on feeding guests pre-packed American grocery store products, when Polish produce is extraordinary. He promised that his Grandmother would kill a chicken from her farm for dinner, if I ever returned. I felt guilty for having been unnerved by his demeanor, but he felt equally guilty for having been disengenuine. Despite my initial reservations, he was a sincerely funny, perceptive and insightful person who I hope has nothing but success in his life. When we shook hands, I genuinely felt that the trip had been an invaluable experience

I woke up the next morning to a text from a dear friend in Berlin, who also happens to be close buddies with Lady Gaga. He hadnt understood why I was in Poland until that morning, but he'd arranged a 3rd row seat for me at the show. I immediately began to plan my exit home. After another bumpy two hour ride to Warsaw and a change of clothes in the airport toilet - from my bunny-hair covered catwalk wear into the only cool outfit I'd packed, deep in my bag, I arrived to my seat just in time to witness Gaga perform her own brilliant odyssey to the Monsters Ball.