Meadham Kirchoff AW11: Take a Cue from Kansas by Sophie Bew

London Fashion week typically conjures an unthinkable amount of stress, outrageously dressed ques, exhaustion and tiny food; not forgetting a lot of travel. But for the Meadham Kirchoff show today, I gladly walked and sat in excitement, awaiting the 30-minute-late start to the show. Anyhow, this presented a good opportunity to examine the morbidly kitsch riot shrines (pictured left), situated at each end of the catwalk. The mesh-fence mountains were littered with crosses, coloured candles and ambiguous scrawled messages “I am the lie that tells the truth”, whilst wilted tulips lay as mourning gifts for the front row guests.
During fashion week it’s hard not to occasionally marvel at the peculiarities of catwalk shows; why so many of the press are herded bi-annually into elaborate pop-up venues, to watch 3 minutes of sylphs walking at a 45 degree angle, sporting top-knots and draped jumpsuits… but here’s why: incase something like Meadham Kirchoff happens.

To the hysterical slashing strings of Bernard Hermann’s Psycho score, an army of Salem witches and Children of the Corn assemble at the top of the stage, and march in unison, ever so quickly, only to come to a halt at the second shrine. Two-by-two, seemingly entranced, they storm across the front of the stage dressed in black corduroy pinafores with billowing white prairie sleeves, red pleated skirts with cool mint chunky knits, punky split black kilts with thick white underskirts; their white bleached hair with jet black roots, hung in a single ringlet tied in a black velvet bow. And yet! Do not be fooled - these prairie girls and boys were far from twee; the layering was positively grungy, the colours a clean and stark palette of black, white, red and mint green – an apocalyptic army of pagan punk androids, from the far and beautiful future (and past, of course). Is this the future of our angry rioters, a visit to a disillusioned youth of the not-too-distant past?

The bright lights dimmed for a millisecond to return with the screeching sounds of the Psycho shower scene for a re-run as quick as the show itself. And it was over in a flash! The heady lights and music left the audience stranded in a cornfield beneath a black thunderous sky, gasping for more. It was drama, fantasy, irony and social commentary - with beautiful, beautiful clothes. In a flicker of anarchic fairytale, Edward Meadham and Benjamin Kirchoff stirred something real.




Sophie Bew lives in London and works as a Fashion Assistant at Marie Claire; she is also wrestling with a first, small publication of her own.