Dress To Impress (Part 2/3)

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In the last post, we got to learn a bit more about Ruth Carter and her work on Spike Lee’s 1992 Malcolm X. Mostly, we learned about her conceptual approach on the film: diving into research and making sure every single costume meant something to the character and played a role in the scene.

Costume designer Moss Mabry did the same in Rebel Without a Cause (1955).

His research involved spending days on end at Los Angeles high schools, observing the way teenagers dressed. Together with director Nicholas Ray, Moss decided to use the color red to create symbolism and touch on the subjects of juvenile delinquency and family conflicts.

The costumes helped tell the stories of Jimmy (played by James Dean), Judy (played by Natalie Wood) and Plato (played by Sal Mineo).

In Jimmy’s case, his red windbreaker represented the height of his rebellion and anger. In Ray’s words: “When you first see Jimmy in his red jacket against his black Merc, it’s not just a pose. It’s a warning, it’s a sign”.
For Judy, her bright red coat and red lipstick symbolized a person that, on the outside, seemed sexually confident, but on the inside, was confused and frail.
Finally, in Plato’s case, his red sock hinted at tragedy and death.  

In all three cases, red was intentionally used to represent the characters at their most emotionally fragile and defiant moments.

Just like Mabry used colors to conceptually help enrich the story in Rebel Without a Cause, Hungarian Beatrix Aruna Pasztor used something much simpler: T-Shirts. She is the costume designer behind the wardrobe we see in Good Will Hunting (1997).

The film tells the story of Will Hunting, a twenty-year-old self-taught genius, who has an incredible gift for mathematics, but works as a janitor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT).  

The story begins with Will as a troubled, confused and lost young man with a knack for getting into fights. As the movie progresses, we see Will maturing, as he confronts his past, evaluates his relationships and starts thinking about his intellectual potential and his future.

There’s a video posted by GammaRay channel, titled How The Fifth Element Changed Fashion, in which we learn more about Pasztor’s intentions when she created the designs we see stencilled on the T-Shirts Hunting wears throughout his journey of self-discovery: she wanted to show the evolution from a world or chaos to a world of order.

Take a look at the pictures below to see how she beautifully – and conceptually – succeeded at that.

Speaking of the The Fifth Element (1997), this movie is one of the big reasons why the 90s were, are and will always be the best decade ever. ;o)

I still remember the first time I watched it: my mind was totally, totally blown.

The plot is super fun – it is action-packed, insanely absurd, funny, romantic, and, believe it or not, even a bit philosophical. But what really blew my mind wasn’t any of that. It was something else: it was the outrageously creative costumes in the movie.

When I first watched Malcolm X and Rebel Without a Cause and Good Will Hunting, I didn’t really pay attention to the costumes. To me, they were simply a small part of the mise-en-scène. Of course, after I learned more about the subtle and hidden messages conveyed by the designs created by Carter, Mabry and Pasztor, I realized I was wrong. Those costumes, just as the characters wearing them, told stories. They mattered.

That wasn’t the case with Luc Besson’s The Fifth Element.

From the get-go, from the very first scene in Egypt all the way to the ones that take place in 23rd century New York, I just knew something unprecedented was happening. Unlike any of the previous cinematic experiences I had ever had, I realized I was paying as much attention to the costumes as I was to the plot.

The genius behind the astonishing and undeniably original costumes of the film is a man most commonly known as the enfant terrible of the fashion world: Jean Paul Gaultier.

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Together with French director Luc Besson, Gaultier conceived more than 5.000 (yes, you read it right: five THOUSAND) sketches, in order to dress every single person on the set. From the superstars to the extras, he made sure to create a single, unique costume for every person on the set. Now, here’s the craziest part: only 1.000 of those sketches were used, meaning that 4.000 didn’t even make it to the screen!

Canadian art curator Thierry-Maxime Loriot, who was responsible for “The Fashion World of Jean Paul Gaultier: From the Sidewalk to the Catwalk” exhibition at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts in 2011, spoke about Gautier’s work for the film:

“A thousand costumes is like 10 collections, but (he did it) all for one movie. It’s an incredible amount of work people don’t even know about. For a thousand costumes, he may have even done 5,000 sketches before narrowing it down”.

For years, movie experts and fashion magazines have been describing Gaultier’s designs in the film in a myriad of ways. Provocative. Ostentatious. Tacky. Vibrant. Flirtatious. Sumptuous. Elegant. Eye-catching. Even ceremonial.

Personally, I agree with the way Grailed, a website specialized in buying and selling high-end, secondhand menswear and streetwear, described it: “Gaultier’s work proved to be one of the most ambitious conceptual achievements in the history of cinematic wardrobe”.

Conceptual.
I agree. 100%.
Because it’s true.

 
PEDRO almodóvar, victoria abril and jean paul gaultier (kika, 1993)

PEDRO almodóvar, victoria abril and jean paul gaultier (kika, 1993)

 
“The costumes Jean Paul Gaultier designs are wonderfully beautiful and ABSOLUTELY CONCEPTUAL at the same time. Almost no one else is able to combine both in the same garment.”
— Pedro Almodóvar
 

“The costumes Jean Paul Gaultier designs are wonderfully beautiful and absolutely conceptual at the same time. Almost no one else is able to combine both in the same garment. ” - Pedro Almodovar

Gaultier’s work on The Fifth Element is as conceptual as it gets, in the sense that:

  1. Behind every sketch, there is meaning.

  2. Behind every design, there’s significance.

  3. Behind every costume, there’s purpose.

This powerful trifecta creates value for the characters, and most importantly, to the story that’s being told.

Let’s look at three characters that perfectly illustrate each of the bulletpoints mentioned above: central protagonist Leelo (played by a 19-year-old Milla Jojovich), central antagonist Jean-Baptiste Emanuel Zorg (played wickedly by British legend Gary Oldman) and the comic relief of the film, Ruby Rhod (perfectly portraited by comedian Chris Tucker).

Leeloo first.

Perhaps the best way to describe Leeloo is that she is sort of the human personification of an extraterrestrial divine being. The first time we see her, she’s “being born” in what seems to be a cryogenic chamber. And just like all newborns, she’s…naked.

That is until Gaultier decided to turn the straps that are keeping Leeloo tied to the chamber into a white bondage/bandage-like bodysuit. If you’re familiar with Gaultier’s body of work, you know the bondage aesthetics has always been an integral part of his creations. 

But in the case of Leeloo, it was more than that.

He didn’t go for the bondage lines out of habit. He wanted the design and the color of Leeloo’s outfit to mean something.  As writer Marianne Eloise wrote in Dazed Magazine: “Jovovich’s nudity and near-nudity, intended to show her vulnerability and naiveté”. The white color of her outfit, in contrast to her super bright orange hair, was intentionally picked to symbolize Leeloo’s innocence.

There you go. MEANING.
Bulletpoint number one: check.  

Then we got the maniacal industrialist Jean-Baptiste Emanuel Zorg.

His only goal is to destroy life on Earth, and he counts on his faithful henchmen to do as much evil as possible, the same way a mafia boss does. To convey that message, Gaultier dressed Zorg with a futuristic version of the pinstripe vests and suits worn by gangsters and mobsters of the 1930s.

See? Every bit of Zorg’s clothing matters, from his vest down to the tiniest accessories, like the ring he wears on his pinky. There’s a very strong significance behind them.

In Tony Earnshaw’s 2016 book “Fantastique: Interviews with Horror, Sci-Fi & Fantasy Filmmakers – Volume 1”, Gaultier talks about how the rolled gold ring became of part of Zorg’s costume:

“He was one of “whom” I made the most sketches. (…) The character was very precise: like a monster, very fascist. (…) And with the rolled gold, which is something militaristic that goes with the fascism type, that was a little accessory that made him like a monster”.

I can’t help but picture someone asking Gaultier: “What’s up with the rolled gold on Zorg’s pinky? Does he really need to wear it? The audience will barely see it! Does it matter at all?” only to hear Gaultier’s response: “Yes, it matters a lot, because there’s a lot of significance behind that ring. So it’s important that Zorg wears it.”

Boom! SIGNIFICANCE.
Bulletpoint number two: check.

Finally, Ruby Rhod, one of the most flamboyant, hysterical and extravagant characters ever conceived in the history of cinema. Jean Paul Gaultier never had any doubts about what Rhod’s costumes should look like.  

In the “Fashion Element” featurette of the film’s DVD, Gaultier talks about Rubdy Rhod:

“He (Ruby Rhod) sees himself as something between Prince and Michael Jackson.
I say maybe he’s not so much like Michael, but rather, Janet.
Maybe even LaToya Jackson! (laughter)”

Which means that from the start, the purpose was to create a wardrobe that would look and feel gender bending. Now, this is where Jean Paul Gaultier shines, this is when he is at his best and in his own element (no pun intended): when he gets to explore, test and break the boundaries of gender, culture and ethnicity. He’s an absolute MASTER at that.

So, from the “all-leopard print one-piece costume with the wide-brim neckline”, combined with a cane and the bleached blond-ish quiff to the black wide-necked satin top adorned with scandalous red flowers, everything was designed to serve one purpose: to be gender bending. A purpose that was also achieved thanks to Tucker’s impeccable performance.

Voilà. PURPOSE.
Bulletpoint number three: check.

Today, The Fifth Element has already achieved a cult status, and Gaultier’s costumes still inspire millions of cosplayers around the world. Neither the film nor the costumes have won an Oscar though. Ok, I can understand why the film hasn’t. I love the film to death, it’s still one of my favorites, but I get it.

Had the film been nominated in 1997, it would be competing in the 1998 Academy Awards. And in that year, the competition was particularly tough. The winner of that year’s Oscar for Best Film was a movie you guys might have heard of: it’s called Titanic. ;o) So yeah…  I get why The Fifth Element didn’t make the cut as a film.

But to this day, I still can’t understand why Gaultier hadn’t even been contemplated. His work on Besson’s film was inventive. It was imaginative. Most importantly, it was utterly and brutally ORIGINAL. And originality should count for something, right? Especially when we’re talking about original concepts. 

That year, the winner for Best Costume Design was… Yep. You know it. Titanic. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be, right? Titanic won everything that year. And you know what? It deserved it.

But here’s something I never understood: what are the criteria for Best Costume?

In my mind, in the case of “period films” (like Titanic), where the director is telling a story that actually happened or that is set in a period that actually existed, the criteria probably have something to do with research, accuracy and authenticity. To all the fashion experts out there, if you’re reading this, am I totally off base? I’d love to hear your comments.

In case I’m right, then how can we evaluate the authenticity and veracity of a wardrobe that doesn’t even exist and/or have never existed? Like the one Gaultier created, from scratch. We’re talking about designs that were entirely conceived and conceptualized in his mind. How do you judge that?

I might have a solution.

You know how there are two awards for screenplay? There’s best adapted screenplay (aka Best Screenplay Based on Material Previously Produced or Published) and best original screenplay (aka Best Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen).

Well, that’s it then.

There should be an award for best adapted costume (like Titanic) and one for best original costume (like The Fifth Element). This way, conceptual thinkers like Gaultier would have a fighting chance. How cool would that be? Academy, you heard it! Let’s do something about it. ;o)

As we all know, even the most original works are inspired by something (or someone) else.

And a big, huge inspiration in Jean Paul Gaultier’s life was a film called A Clockwork Orange. Gaultier even launched a 2008 Fall Collection inspired by the costumes he saw on Kubrick’s 1971 cult classic. Years later, upon running into Malcolm MacDowell (the actor who played Alex, the main protagonist in A Clockwork Orange) during a film festival, Gaultier told him: “Thank you very much, because that film changed my whole design.”

This was super kind of Gautiler. But the person he should have thanked though was Italian costume designer Milena Canonero. The woman is a BEAST. She’s done it all. The Shining, Midnight Express, Chariots of Fire, The Godfather III, The Grand Budapest Hotel, those are just a few of the movies she has under her belt. 

In my humble opinion, though, her work on A Clockwork Orange remains, by far, her best. For obvious reasons: it’s the most original one. It’s also the most conceptual one.

And it’s the one we’ll focus on in the next post!

See you all then.

Dress To Impress (Part 1/3)

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Let’s take a trip back to the best decade ever: the 90’s.

Ok. That’s debatable. Scratch that. Let’s filter it a little bit. Let’s talk music. Musically, I think we can all agree on that, right? The 90s were THE BEST! No decade comes close.

All due respect to the amazing 70s (which blessed us with bands like Rush and Pink Floyd) and the glossy 80s (which graced us with albums such as Appetite for Destruction and Master of Puppets). But they pale in comparison. The 90s were a different beast altogether.

The 90s gave us Tupac, Snoop and Dre on the West; Biggie, Jay-Z and Wu-Tang on the East. The 90s gave us Rage Against The Machine! The 90s gave us Grunge, for crying out loud.

The music scene in the 90s had an undeniable balls-to-the-wall, everything goes, fangs-out, nevermind (Nirvana, anyone?) attitude. Part of me can’t help but think that that was actually a reflection of that decade’s general Zeitgeist. It was such a messy and weird time.

It was also when supermodels became a thing. The 90s ushered a new era in fashion, as the decade started by introducing us to names like Cindy Crawford, Naomi Campbell and Linda Evangelista, and ended on the highest possible note: by introducing the world to our very own Gisele Bündchen.

Music and fashion seem to exist as two sides of the same coin or two hemispheres of the same brain. You can’t have one without the other. And like most teenagers growing up in the 90s, I used both my musical taste and fashion sense (or lack thereof, actually) to express my feelings, find my identity and make statements.

My weapon of choice was a plaid flannel shirt and baggy jeans. Yep. Not gonna lie. I was a grunge wannabe. The reason i say I was a “wannabe” is because I grew up in sunny Brazil, attending a private German school, under the careful and constant surveillance of my academic-driven Asian parents. So I was the furthest thing from the latchkey kids who were born and raised in (rainy and gloomy) Seattle, pretty much left to their own devices and who REALLY understood what Cobain, Vedder and Cornell were singing about. But somehow, for some superunkown (Soundgarden, anyone?) reason, grunge was my thing.

My classmates also wore according to their beliefs. 

Some banged their long hair while listening to Iron Maiden or Black Sabbath. Others wore leather jackets and boots, playing The Ramones or Die Toten Hosen in their walkmans (I know… I’m older than dirt). And then, there were the occasional clubbers, who were into bands like The Prodigy and The Chemical Brothers, at a time when no one really understood what electronic music was and… no one really understood what they were wearing either.

In any case, it was during those fun and tumultuous high school years that I came to understand that clothes aren’t just for protection or embellishment.
They’re signifiers.

Just like our favorite songs, bands and albums, our clothes tell stories. They represent who we are, indicate what we’re thinking and symbolize where our hearts are at a particular moment in time.

In other words, our fashion choices mean something.  

Concepts have the power to give things a meaning, thus creating value for them. And in that sense, fashion is (and has the potential to be) as conceptual an art form as any other. This isn’t a theoretical conclusion. It’s a statement of fact.

I know this because as an insecure 15 year old, I experienced this power firsthand: seeing other students in the high school halls wearing plaid flannel shirts meant that I wasn’t alone in my teenage angst. And that realization was extremely valuable for me.

Since then, I’ve gained a deeper appreciation for fashion design. I don’t really care about or pay attention to types of fabric, textile technology and whatnot. No offense to all the textile engineers out there, but the truth is that, for whatever reason, that doesn’t interest me.

What does interest me, though, is looking at someone or at a group of people dressed a certain way and trying to understand the whys behind that particular style.

What’s up with that metal chain hanging out of his pocket? Why is she wearing a foulard wrapped around her head? What’s the message behind a certain color or that particular motif on his/her T-shirt? Those are the questions that make fashion interesting for me.

It was also in the 90s that one of the most powerful films I’ve ever watched came out: Spike Lee’s Malcolm X (1992), starring Denzel Washington in the role of the African American activist. The film left such a lasting impact on me that a few years later, I decided to read the book By Any Means Necessary: Trials And Tribulations of the Making of Malcolm X, written by Lee himself and Ralph Wiley.

As the title of the book suggests, Lee walks us through the making of his masterpiece. He discusses the threats he received from the Nation of Islam. He tells us about his epic clashes with Warner Bros over the film’s budget. And he dedicates almost an entire chapter to talk about the meticulous and exhaustive research that went into the design of the sumptuously detailed period costumes shown in the film.  

Enter… Ruth E. Carter.

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Ruth Carter is a costume designer from Springfield, Massachusetts, and has collaborated with names like Spike Lee (Do The Right Thing, Malcolm X), Steven Spielberg (Amistad), John Singleton (Rosewood, Four Brothers) and most recently, Ryan Coogler (Black Panther).

Ruth Carter is AMAZING. Not just because she won the Oscar for Best Costume Design in 2019 for her work in the Marvel blockbuster Black Panther. Nah. The Oscar is nice. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. That’s not why she’s a creative role model to me.  

To me, what makes her such a brilliant and inspiring designer is the way she sees herself as a researcher, first and foremost. The amount of research that goes into every single one of her designs is simply off the charts. It starts at the moment she receives the script and goes all the way to the fitting sessions with the actors.

On her episode of "Academy Originals", a documentary-style video series produced by The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences, she takes us inside her creative process in an exploration of where her ideas come from.

First, she talks about how everything starts with the script.

“Generally, I like to read the script and experience the story. (…)
(The first time I read the script) colors pop into my head. I see the palette.
The second time that I read the script, I actually do focus on the image of each character.
And then, the next time I read the script, I’m breaking it down in terms of each individual character. (…)”

In other words, she goes through the whole script THREE TIMES BEFORE she even starts sketching or drawing or designing anything.

Then she proceeds to discuss the last part of the process, which is the fitting.

“One of the aspects of the process that I love is the fitting.
Many times, your board, your illustrations, your color palette, your swatching, all that goes out the window when two artists come together and decide ‘how can I tell this character’s story on me’?
So I spend a lot of time with the actors. Our fittings are generally two hours.
They become, you know, my canvas”.  

Which means that even during the fitting session, the last stage before the actual production of the wardrobe, she’s still researching, gathering information, collecting inputs and making final tweaks and changes and adjustments based on that.

You know, some creatives have the ability to come up with the most amazing ideas out of thin air. Seriously, I can’t even begin to fathom how they do it. I’ve known a few of them during my career, especially copywriters. And I’m not ashamed to say it: I really envied them. I was always in awe of how they were able to come up with the wittiest, most powerful taglines… just like that.

I wish I could be like them.
Unfortunately, I’m not.

Instead, I’m the kind of creative that needs to do his research in order to get started. Maybe that’s why I identify so much with Carter’s creative thinking: because I understand what she’s doing. Every time she dives into one of her researches, she’s actually making sure she understands the context first, so that she’ll be fully prepared to come up with concepts later.

Research has an extraordinary and indispensable effect on the creative process: it nourishes the idea and makes it stronger as it adds new depth, further accuracy and more veracity to the concepts.

When you do your research and you do it right, without skipping any steps, when you do it the way Carter does it, by being ruthlessly thorough and careful, something spectacular happens: your ideas and concepts become pretty much unassailable, from an objective standpoint.

Subjectively, of course people will still have the right to like or dislike your idea, no matter how much research you put into it. But if you do your research the way it’s supposed to be done, and they still dislike it, that only means your idea is not the right one (meaning it’s not their favorite); it will never mean it’s the wrong one (meaning it is incorrect).

Let me explain this difference between “an idea that’s not the right one” and “an idea that’s the wrong one” with a real example. 

In 2011, the French National Soccer Team changed sponsors. After 40 years working with Adidas, les bleus (the blues) decided to go with Nike. Obviously, Nike’s first assignment was to design the team’s new uniform. And (in my opinion), they knocked it out of the park. It’s just absolutely perfect. I even got myself one (and I don’t even like soccer!). The video below tells us a bit of what went into the design of what would become Nike’s debut uniform of l’équipe de France.

Now, most of the people I know loved the new design. Other didn’t. And that’s ok. Art is subjective. For some people, the idea for the new uniform wasn’t the right one. Which only means that the new design wasn’t their favorite. That’s all. However, say whatever you want to say, call it whatchu-wanna-call-it, but there’s nothing WRONG about the design: the color is right. The emblem is right. Even the phrase printed on the back of the emblem, and that represents the diversity of the French National Team (nos differences nous unissent) is right. 

Let’s imagine a different scenario now. Let’s say Nike had done a unanimously beautiful, cool and elegant job with the design of the new uniform. Let’s say EVERYBODY loved it. Here’s the thing though: let’s say that instead of a rooster (France’s official mascot), there’s an eagle. And instead of blue (France’s official color), the color of the uniform is orange.

Let’s say the idea behind the eagle is to represent freedom, or, la liberté. Let’s say that the idea behind orange is to symbolize energy, strength and resilience. They’re all great ideas and they make sense in the context of a soccer team. However, given that the eagle represents Germany’s National Soccer Team and orange is synonymous with the Netherlands, no matter how much people liked the new design, the idea behind it IS WRONG.

See the difference?

If you’re anything like me, that is, if you know NOTHING about soccer, you’re bound to make some mistakes, like using orange instead of blue, and an eagle instead of a rooster. But when you do your research, the chances of making these erros drop nearly to zero.

It’s our responsibility, as creatives, to make sure our ideas are never wrong.
Which is why we have to do our homework AND our research.

The most powerful idea is and always will be the one people are willing to buy, both literally (by paying for it) and figuratively (by believing in it). And people only buy things that are, on some level, valuable to them. They buy things that MEAN something to them. In the case of an ideia – a concept – people must feel like that idea represents them in some way, shape or form.

Carter excels at her craft in that sense. Watch her interviews. Read articles about her. Two words will pop up the most. A noun and a verb: “research” and “represent”.  And that creates a very delicate situation for her.

As creatives, the more research we do about a particular subject or project, the more inputs we’re able to acquire, the more knowledgeable we become about it and the more insights we tend to have. As a result, the temptation to create concepts that comprehend everything that was gathered during research is very, very hard to resist. It’s the ego, you know? As humans, we like and want to show how knowledgeable we are about this or that subject.

In other words, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking “but I can’t cut anything out, because everything is important”. When creatives fall into that trap, most often than not, their ideas tend to be so broad and general, that they end up looking like most airports in the world: faceless, insipid and, worst of all, unoriginal.

 
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“There’s nothing more beautiful than a sketch done on a piece of art paper”

Ruth E. Carter

 

So, how do you know what to include and what to cut out?
What are the criteria?

In an interview she did for Vanity Fair in December 22, 2020, titled ‘Black Panther's Costume Designer Ruth E. Carter Breaks Down Her Iconic Costumes’, Carter gave us a perfect answer to those questions:

“The most difficult part of being a costume designer is that (…) you’re in the background AND you’re in the foreground (…). There are lots of people and layers to creating a costume – from getting a person dressed for the set to communicating ideas – that I’m constantly paring it down.
We all want to take the lead, and show our stuff, and be out front, and (go): look at me! Look at me!” But a lot of times it’s: ‘DON’T look at me!’ A lot of times it’s: ‘let’s be subtle’.
Believe it or not, there IS a dialing down and a constant understanding of the bigger picture, the composition.
And I have to consistently be aware of THE INTENT and composition of each scene”.

In other words, it’s not about her. Much less her ego. It’s not about showing the director how much she knows about the subject. Carter Said it herself: it’s not about “look at me, look at me”. It’s about “don’t look at me”.

To her words, I would add this: “Don’t look at me...Instead, look at the scene. Focus on the character. Pay attention to the story being told”.

Once the research is done, that’s how you decide what makes the cut and what doesn’t. You have to ask yourself: WHY am I including this?

Think of it this way: costumes cost (a lot of money), so whatever detail you feel like adding to them, whatever changes you feel like making, needs to be justifiable. The studio, the director, the production company, they’ll want to know why you’re adding this or that detail, why you’re changing this or that color, why you’re designing the costume this or that way.

And if you’re thinking conceptually, “because it looks prettier” is not and will never be an acceptable answer.
There has got to be a reason why.

Every piece of clothing (from tiny accessories to elaborate suits) needs to have a meaning. Every detail (from texture to size to color) needs to have significance. The costumes must represent something specific. They must serve a specific purpose on the film.

Sometimes, the goal is to inspire and highlight a character’s line. Other times, the aim is to show us who the characters are, where they come from, and how they relate to each other.

Carter is probably one of the most conceptual costume designers ever in that sense. Her costumes tell stories of their own. And every single one of these stories plays a role not only in the composition of a particular scene, but also in the overall narrative of the film. Here’s a perfect example of Carte’s conceptual approach.

In Malcolm X, for instance, Carter invites us to revisit three different stages of Malcolm’s life by presenting us with different costumes.

First, there are the colorful, bright, extravagant zoot suits that represented his period as a street hustler as well as his state of mind at that particular time: a man ruled by his ego, filled with vanity and full of swagger.

Then there are the ton-sur-ton blue denim uniforms from the time he was incarcerated in Massachusetts. Carter deliberately toned down the color palette during the prison scenes, since the intent of those scenes was to depict a colder, sadder and – later on – more pensive and contemplative part of Malcolm’s life.

With that transition, from the vibrant colors of the zoot suits to the pale and washed-out blue of denim uniforms, Carter meant to show Malcolm’s own transition from an impulsive young man looking to make money illegally to a calm, religious, well-educated and articulate grown up man.

And finally, there’s the suit Malcolm wears during his first meeting with Elijah Muhammad. As Carter describes it, “the suit is old, oversized and a little rumply”. That was not by chance. It was intentional. That suit, which Carter called “one of the costumes I’m really the most proud of” signified Malcolm’s humility. It showed us that he was a changed man after prison. The vanity and self-obsession represented by the zoot suits were gone.

Carter went the distance (as she always does) in her research for Malcolm’s costumes. In her Netflix episode of the Abstract series, for example, she talks about how far she went when she was designing Malcolm’s zoot suits.

“I researched exactly what the length of the coat was, how narrow the pant was, what kind of chains went around, what kind of pocket watch, how long the feather would be so that we could really get a true sense of what a zoot suit looked and felt like to wear”.

She didn’t spare any punches either when it came to designing the prison uniforms and the suit Elijah Muhammad’s meeting suit.

“I wanted to know a lot more about Malcolm X, the man. Since he was incarcerated in Massachusetts at the Department of Corrections, I did a letter writing campaign to them asking to see his file.

I had medical records, his booking photo, and I had quite a few letters that he had written. And I noticed how his penmanship changed, and his grammar increased as he educated himself. I got to know a little bit more about Malcolm X through his writing.  


And I felt like this was important, since I was going to be creating his wardrobe in times where we didn’t know him and we didn’t see him in photographs. And I wanted to be able to make those decisions that I felt were critical to telling his story.”

See? I told you. When I said Carter is a researcher first, I wasn’t lying. Who goes as far as checking medical records to design and create a costume? But she didn’t go through all that just because. There was a very clear purpose behind her efforts. And the purpose was to tell Malcolm’s broad and multi-faceted story right. For every period of his life, in every scene, there was intent.

Carter is not the only one to create things this way in the fashion world. In the next post, we’ll get to learn more about other amazing, incredible costume designers who approach fashion in much the same way Carter does.

Conceptually.  

See you then!

The Indestructible House

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Hi, my name is Eugene, nice to meet you.

Now, let’s be honest. That’s kind of a strange name, right? I think so. Given the fact that I was born and raised in Brazil, I still can’t figure out why my parents chose this name. I also can’t remember how many times I had the following conversation throughout my life:

Someone: Hello, what’s your name?

Me: Eugene
Someone: Oh, Eugênio (which is Eugene, in Portuguese)
Me: No, Eugene.
Someone: Come again?
Me: Nevermind. Eugênio is fine.

As I grew older, I came to realize that not only is Eugene a pretty odd name, but it seems like there’s an inherently odd component to it too. Somehow, if there’s the name Eugene on it, it’s probably a bit weird. There’s probably something eccentric or unorthodox about it. As one of my fellow Eugenes once said, “You can never get too cool with a name like Eugene”.

The person who said that is a Canadian-American guy called James Eugene Carrey. He’s an actor. And also goes by the name of Jim Carrey. Yep. That Jim Carrey. The Mask. That one. On May 15th 1994, in an interview with the Los Angeles Times, he was talking about how embarrassed he felt being a movie star and all and this is what he said. 

“My life is a string of embarrassing moments. I’ve gone to premieres and tried to make the cool-guy exit, and the limo driver locks the keys in the car, and it’s running, and he’s trying to pick the lock while I’m standing there and the whole theater is emptying out.

I call it the Eugene Syndrome, because my middle name is Eugene. I always figured my parents named me that to keep me humble. You can never get too cool with a name like Eugene."

Jim Carrey starred in the 2000 film called “Me, Myself and Irene”, directed by the Farrelly brothers, where he plays a state trooper named Charlie, who suffers from a split personality. On the one hand, we have Charlie, who’s super sweet and gentle. On the other hand, we got Hank, Charlie’s unhinged, over-the-top alter ego.

Five years after Jim Carrey’s film came out, in 2005, another one of my favorite Eugenes launched his own movie (a documentary, actually), called “Mick, Myself and Eugene”. I’m talking about the fastest surfer ever and three-time Surfing World Champion, Australian Michael Eugene Fanning, best known as Mick Fanning.

The documentary shows us three sides of Mick, with Mick being the laser-focused competitor, “Myself” being the spiritual free surfer and Eugene being the fun-loving, crazy party animal. Not surprisingly, Eugene is the one who gets out of control and, thus, tries to throw a wrench in the works of Mick’s stellar competive surfing career and tries to break “Myself” out of his Zen.

Good things come in threes, so let’s take a look at a third and last example and we’re done, ok?

There’s this thing called Theater of the Absurd. Ever heard of it? It’s an artistic movement of the late 50’s, in which plays told stories about the human condition, swinging back and forth, existentialism on one end, nihilism on the other. You know, off-the-wall kind of stuff.

That being said, I guess it will come as no surprise when I tell you that one of the most prevalent characteristics of this movement was that nothing seemed to follow a logical train of thought and everything felt completely nonsensical, from the theme to the dialogue between characters. Come to think of it, there’s a reason the name of movement had the word “Absurd” in it.

And it just so happens that one of the biggest icons and greatest writers of this particular movement was a guy who was born in Romania but grew up in France. He was a playwright. His name? Take a wild guess. What name rhymes with absurd? That’s right. Eugene. But the guy was French, so it was actually Eugène. His full name: Eugène Ionesco.

I rest my case.

The reason I brought these quirky, idiosyncratic Eugenes up is because I wanted to warm you guys up before introducing you all to one of our most eerily unconventional, intelligent and talented namesakes out there: Chinese-American architect Eugene Tssui (pronounced t-sway).

He’s the mind behind the famous (and outlandish) design of the Fish House, located in the city of Berkeley, California. The house doesn’t look like a fish, so to this day I don’t know why it’s called the Fish House. It is also known as “Ojo del Sol” (which means Eye of the Sun, in Spanish). Given that it doesn’t resemble an eye, much less the Sun, I also have no idea where the name comes from.

Have you guys ever watched a series on Netflix called The Good Place? It’s amazing, and I highly recommend it. Anyway, there’s one particular episode where one of the characters says he has what doctors call “Directional Insanity” claiming “he once got lost on an escalator”. That’s me. I have that. I can’t read maps. I get lost everywhere. And I think Waze is the best invention ever. ;o)

The first time I saw the “Fish House” was because of my directional insanity. I came across it by accident. It was in 2001, I was a student at UC Berkeley and I was driving down San Pablo Ave, trying to get to Ashby Ave. They intersect, so all I had to do was drive straight. Yet somehow, I got lost and I ended up on a street called Matthews, which is where the Fish House is located. More specifically, 2747 Mathews St.

When I first spotted it from afar, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It looked otherwordly. First, I thought it was a house built in the shape of a mushroom. Then, I passed in front of it again and, this time, it sort of resembled a snail shell. I drove past it a third time and this time around, for some reason, my brain interpreted it as a Nautilus’s shell cut in half, transversally. Anyway. You get the point. It was weird. Peculiar. Most importantly, it was totally and completely original.

Dr. Eugene Tssui, like most Eugenes (myself included), is a bit of a weirdo and, thus, kind of a misfit. It’s hard to describe the man. Some people call him genius. Others call him visionary. Most call him a polymath.

Personally, I see him as a sort of Asian Ziggy Stardust, taking his Spiders from Mars on a crazy Journey To The Center Of The Earth, Rick Wakeman blasting on the background and dreams of Picasso, Matisse and Charisse floating on his mind.

He’s an athlete, but also a musician. He’s a martial artist who does Flamenco. He’s an Olympic medalist and an award-winning designer. People say he comes from another planet and he’s ok with that. He’s an eight-time world amateur boxing champion. And when his hands aren’t punching people to a pulp, they’re playing Chopin on the piano.

Academically, his path is also very unique. He was expelled from Columbia University Master’s Program because, according to the dean of the architecture department, “they couldn’t teach him what he wanted to learn”. So, he kicked the East Coast to the curb and headed west.

Started his Masters again, this time, at the University of Oregon, which is located in the city of Eugene. That’s right. Eugene, Oregon. Now, with a name like that, you’d guess he’d be embraced – or at least accepted – there, right? Nope. He was expelled again, only this time, it was due to “conceptual differences”. See? I told you. Eugenes are weird.

Finally, he ended up at UC Berkeley (go Bears!), the “home of the Free Speech Movement”, where his unusual approach and his imaginative work were not only tolerated but also encouraged.

 
 

Tssui is of Chinese descent (his parents have roots in Beijing and Shanghai) but identifies more with Mongolia. So much so he says the reason he added an extra “S” to his last name is because Temüjin (Genghis Khan’s birth name) told him to do so. Yep. Somehow, Tssui not only listens to Genghis Khan, but apparently they’re so tight, he gets to call the founder of the Mongol Empire by his birth name.

Speaking of Tssui’s parents, Florence and William Tsui, they are the reason Eugene designed and built the Fish House. He wanted to build them the safest house ever, one that would be impervious to fire, storms, hurricanes, floods, earthquakes and every other kind of Natural disaster. He wanted the house to be indestructible.

Being a ferocious advocate of the principles or Evolutionary Architecture (he even wrote a book about it, called Evolutionary Architecture: Nature as a Basis for Design), he looked to Mother Nature for inspiration and advice. As most conceptual thinkers do, he started his creative journey by asking questions.

And the first question he asked was: what is the most indestructible living being in Nature?
The answer: the tardigrade.

The tardigrade, also known as “Water Bear” (come on guys, if that’s not the most adorable nickname ever, I don’t know what is), is a microscopic eight-legged animal, virtually invisible to the naked eye. You know how some people say that if someday a nuclear cataclysm puts an end to the world, cockroaches would be the only survivors?

I don’t know if these people are right or wrong. But I do know this: if ever there were an apocalypse strong enough to wipe out even the cockroaches that survived, tardigrades would still be chilling. Sunglasses on. Sipping on gin and juice, with their mind on their money and their money on their mind. ;o)

Here’s how a 2015 BBC article described them: “Boil them, deep-freeze them, crush them, dry them out or blast them into space: tardigrades will survive it all and come back for more”. But let’s get into more details, shall we? What exactly does that mean, “boil them”, “freeze them”, “crush them” etc? 

Well, according to the National Geographic website, tardigrades can survive temperatures that go from −272.95 °C (that’s almost zero Kelvin, guys!) up to 150 °C. They can withstand pressures six times that of the ocean’s deepest trenches. That’s six Mariana Trenches, one on top of each other. Believe it or not, there’s more. 

They can also spend up to 30 years without food or water. They’re capable of resisting incredibly high doses of radiation (from X-rays to ultraviolet radiation). And if that wasn’t enough, in 2007, they were sent to space, spent 10 days being exposed to conditons that would kill any human in a matter of minutes, and came back as if nothing had happened.

All that toughness has an explanation though. The reason why tardigrades are able to survive such extreme conditions and environments is its ability to enter into a state of anhydrobiosis. The word comes from the Ancient Greek, hydro meaning water, bíos meaning life and the prefix an- meaning not.

In that state, tardigrades squeeze all the water out of their bodies, retract their heads and limbs, roll up into a little ball (called a tun), and become dormant. Without water, they become wrinkled like a raisin. Most proteins need water to work, so to protect their proteins, tardigrades basically turn their insides into glass (!). And that’s it. Now, they’re basically dead. They’re just there, their bodies stopped in time, waiting for the conditions to improve, so they can unfurl themselves and go about their business.

In other words, Tssui designed a house for his parents based on the Chuck Norris of the Animal Kingdom. ;o)

Now, on the pictures below, please - from left to right - follow the sequence.
First, let’s take a look at the Tardigrade, the animal.
Then, let’s check the croquis designed my Tssui’s Design and Research Company.
Finally, let’s see the finished product, the Fish House itself.

You can see that - from animal to croquis to building -, the shape and the external appearance of the Tardigrade are somewhat preserved, right?

In some circles, that’s called Biomimetic Architecture (the name is self-explanatory).

Given his passion for Nature, at first, I thought Tssui would be one of the greatest examples of biomimetic architects. I was wrong, though. Ironically, he is one of the harshest critics of this school of thought.

In a 2012 interview for the State University of New York College of Environmental Science and Forestry (SUNY-ESF), Tssui explained to American physiologist Scott Turner why he doesn’t consider himself a biomimetic architect. It’s in the video below (7’00” – 12’00”).

“Those architects are just copying the shape and form, the external appearance. They’re approaching architecture as a decorative form. And that’s the opposite of what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to understand WHY that form was built the way it is. (…)
Beyond that, I’m also trying to understand how these concepts in Nature can be utilized for everyday purpose.  (…)
I’m not just copying shapes for the fun of it. I’m not saying ‘oh, so this is biologic design, so it looks like a fish, or it looks like a tardigrade, or an eel. That’s not what I’m doing. I’m trying to understand the thought behind the creation of these living things. And then, trying ways to apply those concepts, those thoughts. (…)
I’m trying to understand the whole process of the structure.
The REASON for it. Not just the appearance.
And that’s a big difference.”

 
“I’m trying to understand WHY that form was built the way it is, (…) understand how these CONCEPTS in Nature can be utilized for everyday purpose, (…) understand THE THOUGHT BEHIND the creation of these living things. I’m trying to understand the whole process of the structure. The REASON for it. Not just the appearance.”
— Eugene Tssui
 

Yes, Tssui is an architect. But first and foremost, he’s a conceptual thinker.
What interests him is the ‘whys’ of the process. It’s the reason why something is being done the way it’s being done.
It’s the thought behind the creative endeavor. He doesn’t look at an animal or a plant and thinks form first, function later.
Eugene Tssui thinks function first, form later.

Need a roof that allows ventilation and warmth as needed? (Function)
Easy. Let’s build a hinged retractable roof inspired by dragonfly wings. (Form)
Boom. Welcome to the Reyes Residence in Oakland, California.

Looking to minimize carbon footprint and utility bills? (Function)
No worries. Let’s build 10 wall panels that open and close according to the changes in temperature, humidity, climate and natural light. Mmm. Let’s see. What opens and closes as needed in Nature? Oh, yeah. Of course: the Venus flytrap. (Form)
Boom. Welcome to the ZED Residence in the foothills of Mount Shasta, Northern California.

In the case of the Fish House, the goal was to build the most indestructible house ever (Function).
And the answer was the Tardigrade. (Form)

The Tardigrade has an oval shape. So, by curving the outline designs of the house, Tssui wind-proofed it. Ranging from 0.3 to 0.5 mm, the Tardigrade has a pretty compact body plan and kind of looks like a single cell organism (even though it isn’t). So, all floors, walls and ceilings of the Fish House were built in one unit, because this kind of continuous construction dissipates the force of earthquakes tremors on the house.

California is known for its raging fires. So the Fish House needed to be fireproof. The only thing is that, by now, we all know Tardigrades can sustain incredibly high temperatures, but they’re not fireproof. So…now what?

Well, luckily, by now we also know that when it comes to conceptual thinking, function always comes first. The form is there to serve the function, not the opposite.

And if function comes first and, in that case, the form of the Tardigrade couldn’t serve the function of fireproofing the house, Tssui needed to find a different solution. Which he did. And it came in the form of a cactus (ahhh…Mother Nature never disappoints!).

Some cacti are known to be fire resistant, because of the total amount of moisture they contain relative to their dry weight. Much like a succulent plant, cacti have the ability to store water, which means they don’t ignite or catch on fire very easily. In addition to that, some cacti can even close their pores to prevent excessive water loss.

In other words, the inner structure of some cacti isn’t shallow. It’s quite the opposite, actually. They’re packed with water and try everything to remain this way. Inspired by that, Tssui used blocks of recycled Styrofoam cups strengthened with concrete and steel rods to build the Fish House. And the Styrofoam blocks are so packed together; no air can get through, making them fireproof. The plastic coating ensures they’re also waterproof.

On the last post, we’ve seen how a croquis – conceptually speaking – is not a rudimentary version of the final project, but instead, the synthesis of the final project. That’s the case with the Fish House.

Outside, it’s not just the shape of a Tardigrade; it’s its essence.
Inside, it’s not just the structure of a cactus skeleton; it’s its essence.

In other words, there’s a reason behind every element that went into the Fish House.
Every window, every ramp, every shape, every decision, there’s a reason-why behind it.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit it: aesthetically, all three buildings (the Reyes residence, the ZED residence and the Fish House) look super alien, even though they were all inspired by Mother Nature. Some of you guys might find their appearance way too unusual. Some might find them scary even.

But that doesn’t take away the fact that, no matter how we feel about them, they are and, to this day, remain impossibly original. And “impossibility” and “originality” seem to be the main driving forces behind Eugene Tssui’s unrelenting inquisitive brain. 

“There’s something about things that have never been considered. True success happens when you’re doing something that has never been considered before. That’s when you know you’re on the right track, because you have originated something new. (…) You contributed something to the consciousness of possibility. (…) You’re making the impossible possible. That’s when you know that you’re doing something significant”.

This excerpt came from a video published on September 22, 2020, titled “A Spontaneous Conversation with Dr. Eugene Tssui”, which you can watch below. If you’d like to jump straight to it, please start at 7’00” until 11’00”.

Ok, enough is enough. Time to come clean.

I’ve been writing this endless text about Tssui and his designs and all, but the truth is I don’t know anything about architechture. I mean, anything. All I know are the names of a few famous buildings and a few famous architects. One of them is a guy named Frank Lloyd Wright (a name that, to this day, I mistake for Andrew Lloyd Webber, the composer). I know… NOT COOL! Then again, my name is Eugene, so… what did you expect? ;o)

Frank Lloyd Wright is considered one of the greatest architects in History. His career spanned over seven decades. That’s SEVENTY YEARS of creative work, designing buildings such as the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in NYC.

Now, with that kind of experience, talent and legacy, I think it’s safe to say the man probably knew a little bit about how to spot creativity, right? That being said, according to a 1951 edition of Life Magazine, one of the few American architects Wright considered truly creative was a guy called Bruce Goff.

And when Wright says a guy is creative, the least one can do is give him the benefit of the doubt. You have to go check, if only for your own edification. So I did. I googled “Bruce Goff” and read about him. I’ve seen some of Goff’s work. And I assure you guys. He’s beyond creative.

The man was a nutcase. He was also Eugene Tssui’s mentor.

Eugene Tssui was Goff’s apprentice for six straight years.
During Tssui’s formative, post high school years.
It’s all making sense now, huh?

Extraordinary. Genius. Brilliant. Wild. Creative. Experimental. Innovative. Those were and are some of the words used to describe Goff and his body of work. However, the adjective that is most commonly associated with him and his legacy is ORIGINAL.   

His emphasis on originality mirrors the value and importance he placed on conceptualization. A 2011 article written by Arn Henderson “Teaching The Organic” shows us how Goff saw the creative process and the role concepts played in it. As Henderson tells us: 

“Goff insisted that students had “the right to have their own ideas.”

Yet, they were also encouraged to be curious and keep an open mind in conceptualization. They should not be afraid to try other things. There was no form, color, or texture that should be taboo. But as the seed of an idea developed, recognizing and understanding the order within that idea was imperative. (…)

The only way one could achieve originality, and the potential for richness and variety of expression, was by a critical understanding: achieving order in a design was dependent upon the discipline of rejection of all that was not true to the idea. It was through a process of discovery that one arrived at an honest expression.

This was the meaning of Goff ’s oft-used statement of design as “discipline in freedom.” Ultimately, creativity would only be achieved through intuition, rational thought and the discarding of ideas that did not sustain the order of the initial concept. (…)

In his view, it was imperative to acknowledge the developmental order in the moment of the present. A conceptual idea had a life of its own and must be nurtured”.

What Goff is saying is that it’s all about the concept.
It starts with it.
And ends with it.

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And if there ever was a student that took that philosophy to heart, it was Eugene Tssui. And I can prove it: in the same 2020 video “A Spontaneous Conversation with Dr. Eugene Tssui” posted above, here is what Tssui had to say about the “conceptualization versus the actual making” of the Fish House.

“It’s interesting because when I designed this building it was a real search. It was a solution to many problems that I was given by my parents and other people and the environment itself. But the actual making of it and the result is kind of anti-climatic because you’ve already thought about it.

So it’s the PROCESS OF CONCEPTION that’s really the time when you’re creating something that seems to be impossible and making it possible.

Once you start to draw it all out and think about it and work out the details, then it’s almost - for me –, it’s almost a kind of anti-climatical process because you’ve already thought about it, you know what it’s gonna look like when you finish. (…)

The conception is the most empowering part of creation.
So it’s all about the concept: the power of the concept, the quality of the concept.
It’s not so much the result in the three-dimensional realm. (…)

That’s the irony of it. You’re trying to grasp for this “making the impossible possible”. And then, when it becomes possible, you’ve already thought of it, so it’s just a matter of making that thing happen.

It’s the irony; it’s the paradox of life. It’s that we always look for the greener pastures and then when we arrive, we think “oh man, you know, I really remember those days when I was struggling and it was so much fun to be a part of that struggle”.

Now, I’m not saying that we should revert to those days and that we should all just be in pain and struggle, but I am saying that once you dream of the concept, that really is the most attractive part of the whole process”.

 
“It’s the PROCESS OF CONCEPTION that’s really the time when you’re creating something that seems to be impossible and making it possible. The conception is the most empowering part of creation. So it’s all about the concept: the power of the concept, the quality of the concept.”
— Eugene Tssui
 

Goff is probably in Heaven, smiling right now, proud to have taught his student well.

I know I am. Smiling, I mean. Because when Tssui shared those words, it was the first time I heard someone verbalize what I have felt for years (decades, actually), but never knew how to explain: that the conceptualization process is what really, truly matters to me. Somehow, once the conceptual idea is born, everything else seems… incidental. It sounds bad, I know, but that’s how I feel.

Perhaps that’s a different kind of Eugene Syndrome. You know: only caring about the concept and nothing else. Go figure. As some of you guys probably know, the name Eugene means “well born”. So maybe that’s what it is. Maybe what interests us is that unique, special, irreplaceable moment, when nothing becomes something. When the impossible becomes possible. When a blank page becomes a croquis.

The moment when an idea – a concept – is born.

Hopefully, well born.


Ps: FYI, one of Goff’s most iconic buildings is a house known as the Bavinger House, located in Oklahoma. Here are a few pictures. Given how (literally) twisted the house is, can you guess the name of its owner? His last name was Bavinger. Now, guess his first name. I’ll give you one try. ;o)