[dropcap]A[/dropcap]s I survey the Arts Block “smoking area” on a Wednesday afternoon it occurs to me that it’s quite difficult to determine exactly what decade we’re in. Directly in front of me there is a guy wearing a very loud shellsuit jacket, rolled up jeans and vintage Nike trainers. To my left there is a girl who looks like she’s just auditioned to be a secondary character in Clueless, complete with platform boots and a gummy choker. It’s also no surprise that these items of clothing are not coming from vintage shops, but rather high street retailers. I am also quite guilty of this style of presentation — I once purchased an incredibly garish jumper because it looked “so 90s”, not really knowing why this is in any way of merit. If post-millennial fashion can be characterised in any way, it is by an increasing fetishisation of nostalgia. This is a seemingly innocuous trend. However, it begs the question: are we approaching a period of stagnation in design?

In The Devil Wears Prada, undoubtedly the seminal text in fashion, Miranda Priestly teaches us about the trickle down nature of commercial fashion. The designs presented by renowned fashion houses are picked up by department stores who simplify the original product to be mass produced under their own name. This top-down view of fashion leaves nobody exempt. Regardless if you are buying from Marni, Zara or Penneys, you are ultimately feeding into a capitalist system of fashion which is quite limiting in terms of personal expression. Vintage shopping once appeared to be the antidote to this oppressive design selection, as it was somewhat removed from the trickle down structure. Vintage clothing also connotes authenticity for exactly the same reason. But at what point does this authenticity become corrupted or exploited?

The allure of “vintage” is that it is, by nature, out of fashion. It is new because it is old. Valuable because it is valueless. It’s a strange paradox really. The rise of vintage stores really speaks to a sense of disillusionment surrounding the fashion industry today. Young, educated consumers have become increasingly suspicious of the dominant aesthetic. It is not difficult to look past a fashion campaign and see the multi-million dollar advertising industry lurking behind the pages, subtly enticing the reader into spending. On the other hand, if you buy a neon bomber jacket produced in the 80s it’s easier to see your purchase as an independent aesthetic choice. This phenomenon also owes its life to the new generation of bloggers who deal exclusively in nostalgic ephemera. Digital cataloging has generated interest in styles which have long remained trapped in celluloid. Tumblr is populated with vintage style blogs dedicated to analogue photos and magazine spreads from bygone eras. For some, these blogs are a more valuable style guide than more notable fashion magazines.

Despite their rebellious reputation, vintage tastemakers may actually have more of an influence over commercial designs than they would be comfortable with. Raf Simons’ work often references the Gabba subculture of his youth. His last menswear collection incorporated vintage photos from his younger years into the prints used on the garments, a very obvious nod to the cultural obsession with nostalgia. Similarly Nazir Mazhar has made a name for himself by casting our minds back to the aggressive sartorial choices made by young men in London who were branded as “hoodies”. Their success is not only predicated on their design ability but also how they re-situate recent history as something intoxicating and vaguely mythologised for a young audience.

It’s not surprising then that big brands have begun to take notice of the advertising potential of nostalgia to reassert their power over our wardrobe. Simons’ appointment at Dior is indicative of a new strategy in fashion, capitalising on an aesthetic which is largely indebted to the past designs or subcultures that it references. Similarly fashion campaigns are growing increasingly concerned with referencing past photographs or evoking key eras in fashion — take Kim Kardashian’s now infamous Paper cover or Celine’s unorthodox decision to appoint former Vogue features editor Joan Didion their new “It Girl”. The question of authenticity becomes more and more fraught herein as nostalgia is no longer a means to combat the gridlock of the fashion industry but yet another marketing tool to titillate young audiences into buying from the traditional chain of distribution. The trouble with this cultural outlook for young observers more generally is that something is no longer groundbreaking unless it goes grave robbing. This is a worrying forecast for our next generation of artists and designers. If we think about our current modernity in fashion our mind instantly summons up images of stark white clothing and sharp silhouettes, a literal blank canvas. But this canvas has yet to be filled in. When nostalgia is foregrounded and originality of design becomes secondary, will there ever be anything truly new?