NI designer JW Anderson talks Brexit and family
he whittled down the strongest images and turned them into a coffee table book.
“It’s really good that young people can go away with a fantastically edited version of their work. It’s giving them a start. We’re a brand that allows imperfection,” he adds. “We’re not here to sell millions of handbags. I would rather help young people find a platform.”
Actually, he does sell millions of handbags: according to Lyst, his Pierce bag was the most-searched of 2016, while his Puzzle bag for Loewe has been spotted on the arms of Beyonce, Julianne Moore, Sienna Miller, Kate Bosworth and numerous other influencers, none of whom he has ever tried to court. Rather than chasing celebrities, his success is derived from listening to — and trusting — his instincts. “Which is harder now, because you have to get into a very exact tunnel vision. There’s so much competition. There’s probably a new (fashion) brand start-up every day of the year, globally.”
Ever since September 2013, when LVMH took a 46% stake in his own-name label and hired him to helm the Madrid-based leatherware brand Loewe, Anderson has been a made man. In 2015, he was named both womenswear and menswear designer of the year at the British Fashion Awards — the first time anyone has won both categories — and has barely put a foot wrong since, beloved by critics for being avant-garde (he was doing androgyny long before the mainstream caught on) and beloved by customers for providing an alternative to the ‘grammable logofest’ that characterises so much of modern fashion.
“Loud is not always best, but at the moment you’re trying to compete against the market share of noise,” he says. “Automatically, anything that is above a €3bn brand is going to consume huge chunks of it. That is how the industry has changed. When you’re a younger brand, it is even harder. There was this moment where social media was great for young brands because the big brands weren’t using it.
“JW Anderson could coexist, as an online platform, with our advertising, and speak to people, because it wasn’t saturated. Now big brands can invest in it and, like magazines, buy market share. So it becomes harder for the smaller brands to exist in that system. Yes, Instagram was smaller five years ago, but it was effective. Now it’s too engaged. If you look at celebrities or big influencers, they’re like magazines now. They charge money. I don’t think we talk enough about these things. Younger brands need help more than ever to be able to navigate that.”
Like most of us he has mixed feelings about social media. “I go onto Instagram because I enjoy it. At the same time, I hate it. Sometimes, I think, ‘Why am I looking at this?’ You have to do it because of your business but when you look online you start to realise your eye is only used to sensationalism, because it’s all backlit. I do feel that some people look at life and are like, ‘Need to put a filter on’, when the sky is just great as it is. It’s as if the blue sky will never be blue enough.”
It’s partly as a reaction against this that Anderson champions craftsmanship. “Craft is about detail, time and precision — not worrying about loudness.” Yet even at the recent couture shows, where craftsmanship reaches its zenith, he says he noticed that not one person was looking at the clothes in front of them. “They’d already tricked their eye by looking through the camera. So when they go into store, they’re already disappointed.”
Another modern phenomenon that worries him is what he calls “recreational outrage”. “We’re more excited about tearing something apart than building it up. We don’t want to come up with solutions any more. We’re all very angry at the moment, because we have no idea where we’re going. But we would rather be outraged by things instead of saying, ‘How do we get a solution?’. If fashion councils around the world were to communicate with each other and work out how, as an industry, to help each other, then we might be able to come up with solutions. But the nature of fashion is competition, so forget that.”
Did he inherit his solution-driven ethos from his parents? “No. My father’s more fiery, whereas my mother is more sensitive towards people. I have a combination of the two.”
He remains close to his family: one of three children, his older brother now works for his label, while his parents, Heather and Willie, always sit proudly on his front row. Both still live in The Loup, a village in Co Londonderry, Northern Ireland. His father is frequently referred to as ‘Irish rugby legend, Willie’ on account of his 27 caps.
Whether he inherited his drive and dedication from his sportsman father or not, it seems unlikely to desert him any time soon. “When I do slightly reduce on anything, I feel like something is wrong,” he says in response to my asking whether he’s ever considered easing off the pedal a bit.
“I have amazing teams — it’s not just me. But I enjoy it. And I do feel that I have a responsibility. If the brand doesn’t work, then those jobs don’t exist. How awful would it be if these people didn’t have jobs? That is probably the thing that I find most petrifying, and the thing that drives me the most. That’s what fashion’s done to me.”
He pauses. “We’ve been going for 10 years. You have to reinvent your language — if you don’t, it’s over. You can have major success with a bag, and then it disappears and you have to find the next one. You’ve got to keep plugging away.
“I think my biggest fear of being in fashion is that I put out information that is not relevant any more. So I feel like if I’ve got through 10 years, and am still here, then I’m ready for the next 10.” So are we, J-Dubz.
I do feel that I have a responsibility, if the brand doesn’t work, those jobs don’t exist