
WThere's a saying among us that fashion brands don't matter, that what does matter is the quality of the garment itself. ("Quality," of course, being a flexible term—its use ranges from construction to color, fit and texture.) But while that's true, there is a certain point of identity and pride many take in the combinational origins of their apparel and accoutrements. For some, that's in the ability to mix vintage and designer. Others abide by vintage only, with the odd high-street basic like H&M tights. Then there are the masher-ups, who seek value in everything—be it indie, chain, designer, thrift, fast fashion, clothing not "intended" for your gender, self-made/modified, vintage, craft/goth/sex shops and Target—and will usually express this blend all at once in an outfit. Whatever the case, the sources and, more specifically, the medleys thereof that we wear likely put us into one pre-existing fashion breed or another. For all that we say brands don't matter—well, sometimes they kind of do.
Then there's Laura Whitcomb's Label. With its anti-logo stance, the line runs the risk of being pigeonholed into that angsty, counter-corporatocracy, different for the sake of being different category. Most wares made at this level usually turn out looking like poorly produced replications of one another. (Think shirts silk-screened with AK-47s, a concept which at this point has pretty much lost all traces of subversion.) Label, on the other hand, doesn't merely run from—it strives to uphold diversity and promote an energized liberation. Label is a world unto itself; somehow it fuses tradition and future in wholly unquantifiable ways.
A couple of months ago, I made a weekend jaunt down to NYC to hang with my homey Sharon. While waiting for her to get off of work, I hit up all my usual Soho/Nolita haunts and then popped into Label. Cohesion in collections has its place, but at the multifaceted Label, the fragmentary reigned and reigned well. The store housed all kinds of experiments in draping and fabric (loved the celestial prints and medieval velvets!), and there were garments for people of numerous sizes and ages, whether that be in body or in heart. Styles came in mostly one or two of a kind, so I'm guessing it's best to snap something up when one gets the chance. And, speaking of snapping things up, I decided on three pieces on sale: a caped white velvet dress with burnouts, a lavender asymmetrical tunic and a sheer lime dress (not shown). Though I count myself among those who try not to live by the rule of the label, these three designs all matter—very much to me.
hen Labels Do Matter