Very long but totally worth reading.
Named after a formidable queen of ancient Britain who led a revolt against the Roman army two thousand years ago, the Boudicca label of latter-day London defies the fashion powers-that-be with equal tenacity and aplomb, wielding weapons of ideology and tailoring in their fight against conformity. Here, the duo behind the cutting-edge women's line open up to LEE CARTER about their motivations, including a passion for film, a distaste for the English press, the top secret launch of a perfume that isn't, and, above all, the importance of being independent.
As we throw back a few at Matsuri restaurant in New York's newest hotel, the Maritime, Zowie Broach remembers precisely the circumstances that brought her together with her partner—business and otherwise—Brian Kirkby. "We met on a business trip to this weird seaside town in Italy," she recalls, batting big blue manga-like eyes. "It was really windy like tonight and raining cats and dogs. Everything was closed up except for some bars. There was nothing really to do so we'd drink all day long. It was great. You can quickly cut through a lot of superficiality that way—you can have a whole relationship in a week." She tugs at her red locks, another shared trait with the label's namesake, only here they take on an unnatural, punk-perfect shade of pink.
"I think that's when we set down the foundations, the manifesto of what we wanted to do," Kirkby interjects, as couples have license to do. His longish hair and keen articulation suggest that "manifesto" is a word he uses often. At 37, Kirkby is slightly younger than his cohort, but reading either one's age is a fruitless exercise. "We knew we were meant to be when, on the night we got back from that trip, after I had gone out to a bar, Zowie called to say Saturday Night Fever was on TV..." Trailing off, he turns to his partner, takes the baton. "Right, we had had a big conversation in Italy about the suicide scene. When I got back and it was on, I thought this is really freeaakyy." Her voice rises and explodes into laughter. "The rest of it too bizarre and would make no sense if I tried to explain it."
Boudicca's breakthrough collection took place three years ago in an old run-down building far in London's outskirts. Inside, expressionless models nearly levitated across the stage in teetering pieces rendered architecturally, having the shape of some primordial exoskeleton. The obsessive rigidity of form and adherence to a minimal color palette would solidify their aesthetic from then on.
For Boudicca, it memorable for another reason. Says Kirkby, "That was the season when the four of us (including Roland Mouret and Sophia Kokosalaki), who'd previously shown off-schedule, were invited by the British Fashion Council to show on-schedule. It was a turning point for Zowie and me in that it was completely anticlimactic. We wondered why they felt the need to wait for the media to say these guys are good. It's sad, really."
Internal motivation and unwavering independence are the hallmarks of Boudicca. While no one is an island, they come closer than most. "We're not controlled by anyone," reiterates Broach. Loquacious, spirited, but above all serious, she speaks with the heart of an artist. "Creatively, it means we don't think about putting across themes. Our collections are defined by us, by the friends we have, and by the conversations we have." Needless to say, without a speck of interest in celebrities, they might be flattered but are almost certainly not interested that Scarlett Johansson counts them among her favorite labels or that Claudia Schiffer claims to be a fan because, she says, the clothes are "edgy."
Espousing concept over cash, Boudicca shuns the larger fashion world, measuring success in a small but fiercely loyal clientele no doubt attracted to the inordinate amount of personal attention that goes into every garment. "We often do everything ourselves, staying up until 4:00 in the morning, because we want it to be better, so what leaves the door is super professional," says Broach. "When you believe in something, that's how you do it."
Personally meaningful, each design is named after its origin. A dress called "I Wanna Be Adored" is cut with tunnels in the neck so the wearer can be held; a "Trip to the Moon" jacket is inspired by the 1902 Georges Méliès film; and "The Night Hunter" dress is covered in black sequins, inspired by the Stealth fighter. "We're very nuts and bolts. But in a way, there's something really beautiful about that, to be the manufacturer of your own idea."
Broach and Kirkby are nothing if not their own creators, inhabiting a universe of their own making. Cold and cerebral, it's a space full of Boudicca trademarks: tailoring so sharp it could kill, leather jackets, breath-restricting dresses, men's shirting, stiff military collars, hoods resembling veils, bondage-like straps around the exterior of coats, and layers of intricate and idiosyncratic geometry.
Existing somewhere between Japanese experimentalism and Victorian perversion, the collections are at once sexless and female-fixated, played out predominantly in a color palette of black and white, with the occasional flash of blue or gold. Rounding out the eccentric look are leather appliqués, feather headdresses, belted sheepskin, knee-high boots with metal shields, accordion pleating, raccoon and rabbit pelts, the occasional breastplate, and, for those familiar with the history of the name, a crystal-encrusted Roman-style helmet.
Not surprisingly, their hard-fought autonomy has drawn comparisons to that other English king of the will, Alexander McQueen. Appropriate, then, that Boudicca's closest stylistic relative and fellow trend-bucker is also the only other recipient of British fashion's plummiest sponsorship: American Express. Boudicca's Daddy Warbucks-style arrangement with Amex began last year with no visible strings attached, and remains a coup by any standard. "They fund all our catwalk shows," says Kirkby, "which as you can imagine is a huge benefit to us. Now we can put the monies made from sales back into the company, allowing it to grow and move forward."
Having watched its previous seedling grow into a multi-million dollar money tree for Gucci Group, as well as a fashionable reflection of itself, the giant of a credit card company has no doubt fertilized Boudicca with similar hopes. All too aware of the pitfalls of a potential deal with the devil, Broach and Kirkby are quick to point out there has been no pressure from above. "American Express give us complete creative freedom, and are very supportive of our ideas," confirms Kirkby. "We have nothing but good things to say about them. The system isn't built for people like us when big corporations can supply the Tom Fords of the world, or whoever. American Express are very aware that they are in a position to help new creativity flourish and, for this, we salute them. As for McQueen, we both have huge respect for him and what he has achieved in the industry. But he is McQueen and we are Boudicca."
Smelling a winner, American Express is also funding the launch of Boudicca's first and very hush-hush fragrance, WODE. An experiment five years in the making, involving a small army of specialists who've all signed non-disclosure agreements, it's more of an anti-perfume that Kirkby claims "does something never done before and is applied in a new way." But here's the kicker: it won't be available for sale when it's unveiled in a "spectacular" September launch. "If I say too much I'll be in breach," explains Kirkby, "but it will not follow the conventional route of a fragrance. And anyway it would be a huge cliché for us to do a fragrance as we all know it's a well-trodden path. We see it more as art."
Art is a term used often by Kirkby, a graduate of London's Royal College of Art, who appears more at home with its crisp vernacular than plushy fashion babble. "When Boudicca was formed in 1997, we envisioned it more as an art project than a fashion line. We were invited to represent the Brit art scene in Wolfsburg, the city in Germany virtually created by Volkswagen. We based an art collection there. It was just about experimenting." Broach chimes in, "We didn't feel like we were doing fashion. We were doing something like a weird conversation between two people. It was never about making money, we just wanted to get personally involved."
Which is why, in 2001, Broach and Kirkby were among the thousands of demonstrators at the G8 summit in Genoa, Italy, protesting the insidious advance of corporate globalization, an act which would later inspire show titles such as Corporate Deserter and It Pays My Way But It Corrodes My Soul. "Our involvement with the anti-capitalist movement was caused by our concerns for anti-banality," says Kirkby. "We didn't want to see a McStarbucks world destroying cultures. To protest is the ultimate celebration of democracy. At Genoa, unfortunately, freedom was hidden in a cloud of tear gas and people's rights were met with a nightstick. Big corporations have become so powerful they now control governments. This is the antithesis of democracy. I could go on forever about our feelings on this subject, but will sum it up with a poem by Shelley, which was written on the banner we carried:
'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you—
Ye are many—they are few.
"There where a lot of reasons why we where in Genoa," continues Kirkby. "There was also the question of AIDS in Africa, which all the big industrial nations where ignoring. And to add insult to this devastating disease they where making a great deal of money from the drugs and not allowing the Africans to produce generic drugs."
Here, Broach takes over. "The first time the AIDS quilts were brought to London, we were able to connect what was happening in the world with making clothes. Fashion is such a vacuous term, but sewing is a communal event, particularly between family and women. The whole purpose of the quilts was to join together in response to an illness so rudely and ignorantly stigmatized." Her voice rising, the diminutive designer commands attention. "I was also helping produce and direct an AIDS documentary, the only one at the time. I interviewed an old couple from the north of England who had lost their son to the disease. They were so strong in the way they dealt with it. When the two-day interview was over, I remember walking away and completely breaking down. In fact I cried a lot during the whole filming. I like things that are very emotional," she asserts finally, in a statement that, to someone who didn't know better, might squirm in contrast to Boudicca's subversively cool image.
"Films do it to me, too. Currently, I'm really into this odd film called Time Code, by Mike Figgis. You'd never know it at first, but it's a modern story about sex, love, treachery, adultery and isolation—all the emotions. The screen is split into four stories, all shot in digital." She searches for a way to illustrate the point with her hands. "When you first start watching you think you can't follow what's happening. But it all comes together at one point on one screen."
"You know," she continues, now clearly on a roll, "the world I lived in when I was younger wasn't global, but it was global ultimately, because we had TV. And when I'd watch TV, I'd watch films. This is very strange for Americans, but in London we had two channels and they ended at midnight. When I was a kid I would sometimes watch thirteen films a day and switch between them. I never had a favorite, but I love Cassavetes. I think he's an amazing filmmaker. And he's inspired so many others. I also love really old films with Bette Davis." She imitates the actress puffing on a cigarette, her lake blue eyes striking an uncanny resemblance. "That wrinkly old woman is so genius. But gruff, because she smoked packs a day. I was brought up on watching movies where everyone smoked. I think I'll pick the habit up again when I'm 80."
And will she still be designing? "I hope so. And I hope there'll be many other young designers. But what really angers me is how people who make millions from the industry give f*ck-all about bringing people from the bottom to the top. It's really key to support those who are new." What, then, are the prospects for a new UK competition called Fashion Fringe—which aims to find the next McQueen, Galliano or Westwood—started by Colin McDowell, senior fashion writer for the London Sunday Times and, for many, the voice of London fashion? Likening it a sort of Fashion Idol, Kirkby leans forward and says, "I find it slightly distasteful. For the last three seasons Colin McDowell has cut London Fashion Week to pieces, probably setting the stage for this competition. I think he understands fashion history quite well, but I'd want to keep an eye on the first people who didn't win."
But Boudicca is full of surprises, and where there's pessimism, there's an equal dose of optimism. In her final thought, Broach offers this: "I think, above all else, Boudicca is a journey for us, and sometimes people get it and they walk with us. But I don't think we've gotten where we want to go. I don't think the vision has become a reality yet." A silence follows. "But I don't think that's negative. I think our dream is pretty big."
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