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Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Stockholm Fashion Week: Rodebjer

There was a special flavor of punk in Rodebjer's collection—not city or suburban punk, but small-town punk, the realest kind. It doesn't rebel against anything systematic, corporate or manufactured, but something inherently stifling in its surroundings. Confrontationally sullen, the collection had an undeniable sweetness to its surly enterprise, the way it feels when a teenager hates you with such passion that it's endearing. Models with flyaway and greasy hair wore narrow corduroys rolled up at the bottom, not-cool farmer’s daughter jeans, cafeteria-server smocks, cat-eye glasses, long-sleeved mini-dresses decorated with a tiny box of a vest, menacing hoodies—hood up, of course, hands stuffed in pockets—and blouses with bitchy little ruffles. Blank-faced, they skulked to the end of the runway in a black cloud of apathy, like when your mom summoned you from across the house and you'd take your sweet-ass time getting there. Add to that enormous elephant-eared tops that tied around the neck in a bib, a double-breasted Donald Trump sportcoat as dress (which is showing up everywhere, actually) and an incredible jodhpur jumpsuit, and you have an evocative, wearable collection—the kind of curled-upper-lip clothing you wear when you roll out of bed expecting to have a bad day and want to revel in it.


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