The Complexity of Referential Art
Famed Instagram account @diet_prada has been on a vigilante crusade to expose the exploitation, racism, and plagiarism pervasive in the fashion industry. Their mission is to prove that toxic and problematic practices are economically optimal for the companies that engage in them, and as consumers we have the power to endorse them or not. The challenger: @insidethemood, taking a more benevolent look at the ripple effects of iconic art, promoted by popular fashion bloggers Evan Ross Katz, Pam Boy, and Luke Meagher.
For the uninitiated: Diet Prada is the unofficial-official fashion watchdog, with over a million followers and an entrenched industry presence that gets them invited to the major shows. They put companies on blast for a murderers row of industry sins such as cultural appropriation, racism, and sexual harassment, but they’re most infamous for their penchant to spot designer plagiarism and #callitout.
“Have we seen this before? @Moschino showed a Pre-Fall collection heavy on Fellini references yesterday at Rome’s Cinecittà Studios, but they look a lil familiar lol. An aesthetic departure from the brand’s signature camp, the historical hairstyles, embellishments referencing the 16th century jeweled skeletons of Christian martyrs, and even Leigh Bowery-esque fetish masks were all present at @gucci‘s Resort 2019 show in Arles last May. Dieters, coincidence or too close for comfort?” —@diet_prada.
Designer knockoffs have always been rampant but in the age of irreverent “normcore” and hoodie-dominated streetwear, the thirst for creativity and originality is sky high. Enter Diet Prada—social media has ensured that the punishment for stealing such creativity has never been more damning. They often post Instagram stories asking their followers to chime in on whether something is valid or merely a knockoff, and most of their captions suggest foul play when it comes to the comparisons they draw between similar styles.
But callout culture has made the line between an homage and a knock off quite thin, and here I turn to @insidethemood. Their bio reads “discover where inspiration comes from… art, fashion, a photo, a film, a real person…” Their posts consist of side by side photos, drawing parallels between them and often diving into the cultural significance of the given similarity. They look at anything that may have informed the aesthetic of a garment or collection, from iconic art to silly pop culture references.
“JUST FOR FUN: Darth Vader, “Star Wars” || Valentino, Fall 2019” — @insidethemood.
Memes are born of a constructed sense of shared referentiality, and Inside the Mood often includes “JUST FOR FUN” comparisons, creating a particularly meta reflection on shared pop cultural understanding. Inside the Mood is my favorite account because my love of fashion, and pop culture as a whole, comes from my love of history.
I love the nexus between cultural creation and consumption—how we process the world around us and channel those perspectives into art and media that demonstrate our points of view. The result is a sprawling cultural mythology that tracks the trends, progress and problems of any given society or place.
“FROM A FASHION ICON: Jaqueline Kennedy, 60’s || Zoe Kravitz in custom Oscar de la Renta, SAG Awards 2020” — @insidethemood
In contrast to Diet Prada, Inside the Mood has only 32k followers. It’s clear where the cultural tide is on calling things out vs. looking to the past as a legacy that consistently shapes the present. Like I said, it’s a fine line—if you give me the “cultural legacy” argument for a Fashion Nova ripoff, I’d laugh in your face. The environmental dangers of Fashion Nova’s fast fashion empire aside, there is a point to be made: who determines what falls on which side of that fine line? Who determines the valid art from the exploitative trash?
Prestige and cultural value is often hinged on the price of the item, the reputation of the designer or the quality of the products, which leads to the even larger question of who gets to be validated for their art. Historically, designers of color haven’t received credit for their pioneering aesthetics, producing groundbreaking and zeitgeist-shaping content only to have it popularized by those outside of their cultures. Restoring long overdue credit to such artists is a vital task that Diet Prada often attends to. It’s important to analyze the complexities of the high art vs. low art distinction, but that’s not the point I’m attempting to make here.
“ON AND ON: Givenchy, “Funny Face” 1957 || Givenchy by Claire Waight Keller, Fall 2018 Couture || Paul and Joe, Spring 2020” — @insidethemood.
In every aspect of life, it’s beneficial to be attentive to history, and fashion is no exception. Nostalgia is one of the most valuable media currencies of our time, with many designers breaking out their greatest hits in recent seasons (see: Fendi’s Baguette, Dior’s saddle bag, That Green Versace Dress, to name a few). Every idea comes from somewhere, and no artist lives in a silo of their own genius-level creativity. Acknowledging an homage isn’t merely letting it off the hook for copying something else, but rather appreciating the legacy and influence of the piece it references.
TL;DR—I don’t have an end all, be all answer for what counts as plagiarism and what is a valuable, meaningful tribute to another piece of art. Follow both accounts and make decisions at your own discretion!
Feature image via (FROM ART: Eugene Ionesco, “The three faces of Hélène Cixious, 1955 || JLo wearing a Heidilee Swarovski mask, 2019).
