”Fashion Is Spinach“
Design represents the taste of the designer as an individual, whereas fashion represents the collective act of following. In the book, she describes France and the United States as two extremes: France holds the authority over fashion discourse, yet the truly beautiful styles are owned by only a very few; America holds the usage rights to fashion, but design only plays a minor role in a system built on copying and imitation. Designers are not free—constantly shaped by social, economic, manufacturing, wartime, and consumer forces. Nor are consumers truly free, as they are likewise influenced and manipulated by these forces—plus designers, advertisers, and other invisible players behind the scenes.
The author herself begins as a naïve newcomer, then gradually comes to understand the forces at play, eventually gaining control and clarity—culminating in a sense of disdain for the idea of “fashion.” Watching this transformation, I was excited as a fellow designer. I could sense her process of taking root in her field, and at moments I even found parallels to my own experiences. But at the same time, I disagreed with some of her viewpoints. I felt that the very things she criticized were, in fact, projections of her own contradictions. She needed to make money from consumers, yet refused to become a designer making ready-to-wear for the masses. She wanted broader recognition, but also believed most consumers couldn’t understand her designs—thinking their lack of understanding came from an inadequate aesthetic sensibility.
The latter part of the book brought these feelings to a peak. She wanted to create an American fashion of her own and expressed disappointment with the current state of the American industry. She believed consumers—both men and women—were trapped in outdated cycles of fashion. She looked down on this, saying “the average American consumer, represented by the ready-to-wear woman, cannot possibly understand what I’m doing.” And yet, she craved recognition from exhibitions in Paris, though unwilling to accept that her work might become the “fashion” she herself rejected. Still, she needed more consumers to assist her designs. She said, “Designing clothes that are truly stylish, not bizarre, and reflect the spirit of the times—this is not complicated. You simply need to interact with the women who are going to wear them.” All of this made me almost want to stop reading.
I believe this reflects a common flaw in many designers: we separate ourselves from ordinary users. We imagine ourselves as gods of creation, while those who use our products are expected to accept our beliefs. And yet we rely on these users—without their belief, we designers, the so-called gods, would disappear from this world.
As an interior designer, I too cannot escape this experience. And so, I came to understand why the author could simultaneously be immersed in the industry and feel disillusioned by it. I find myself compromising with her story. No matter what field of design we’re in, it is not always a matter of free choice—it is often a cultural illusion deeply shaped by capital and consumer logic.
At the same time, it’s worth noting that what she described took place nearly a century ago. So the question arises: after all these years, especially in a post-pandemic era, has the fashion system—or our pursuit of fashion—changed in the way she envisioned?
The following reflection focuses on what I’ve observed in the fashion scenes of Japan and China. In this context, economic regression has left many with fewer choices. During the lockdown period, the world entered a kind of standstill. Social media became the only way to connect with the outside world, and it remains one of the most influential forces today. But like a double-edged sword, it has brought both joy and sorrow to the fashion industry. Social media opened a brand-new platform—countless small design brands emerged, and now anyone can become a designer. As I mentioned earlier, designers are no longer gods of creation. They are now cores formed by communities of people with shared passions and values. In this way, fashion has grown closer to everyday life.
In recent years, outdoor, fishing, camping, hiking, and utility wear have gained popularity—trends driven by people’s pent-up desire to go out after long periods of isolation. But big data also limits what each person can see, creating barriers in people’s fashion choices. For example, the “Cityboy” concept initially introduced by Japanese fashion magazine Popeye once inspired a wave of oversized, loose, and minimalist styles across Asia. This style originally emphasized restraint, comfort, and a lifestyle-oriented approach—a way to relax from the fast pace of the city. But after going viral online, it was imitated by merchants and overexposed in media, eventually turning into something criticized for its disproportionate silhouette and “five-five body ratio.” This shows how such transformations are still shaped by social background (like postwar prosperity and the post-pandemic world) and communication methods (once driven by buyers between Europe and America, now driven by algorithms and big data).
So, how should we as designers position ourselves today? I think this is the question the book most inspires me to reflect on. Whether we design for ourselves, for society, or for users, we inevitably carry blind spots. As designers, perhaps the real goal of our work should be to seek balance between these roles. That is what design can—and should—try to change. Just as contemporary interior design constantly challenges the boundaries between people, space, and societal needs.