First light
A milestone presence at Australian Fashion Week saw First Nations fashion thrust into the spotlight. Many spoke of irrevocable change. So, is this the biggest turning point in Australian fashion history, and if so, how do we seize it? By Alice Birrell.
A milestone presence at Australian Fashion Week saw First Nations fashion thrust into the spotlight. Many spoke of irrevocable change. So, is this the biggest turning point in Australian fashion history – and if so, how do we seize it?
As the full-force of the pandemic hit early last year, Australian designers joined the rest of the country in worrying about the future, their businesses and the fate of a whole industry. What is going to happen? What will happen when shops close? Will we survive?
Rewind hundreds of years, to the 1700s, and the shores of Arnhem Land and the Kimberley. Hand-dyed textiles brought by Macassan, Indonesian fisherman, from Sulawesi arrive. Soon a new style of fabric is incorporated into important objects and worn in ceremony. Go back 40,000-plus years, and the rolling of fibres between a palm and thigh in Indigenous cultures was the progenitor of cloth. Look forward, then, to the 1960s and 70s, and the famed silk batiks of Ernabella and Utopia in Central Australia emerge to great acclaim. Soon after, graphic colour bursts from the Tiwi Islands, from pioneering artist Bede Tungutalum and Giovanni Tipungwuti’s screen prints to Bima Wear’s electric dresses, to name a few.
To reassure ourselves of the longevity and continuity of fashion design here, we need only look to our First Nations peoples. “There’s this remarkable repertoire of sophistication and fashion and style,” says Franchesca Cubillo, executive director of First Nations Arts & Culture at the Australia Council for the Arts, and a Larrakia, Bardi, Wardaman, Yanuwa woman. “You’ve got this really engaged, really refined aesthetic, that sits within this societal network that is played out in so many different ways right across this continent,” she says.
When the first-ever all-Indigenous runways appeared at Australian Fashion Week this year, opened for the first time with a Welcome to Country, it underscored this fact. Showcasing sweeping gowns from Murrii Quu Couture, hand-woven sinuous body adornments from Grace Lillian Lee and the elegant whirling prints of slow fashion Wiradjuri label Ngurri Miimi, the exclusion of First Nations design, which predates fashion week itself by 60,000-plus years, from mainstream fashion for so long hit home. Tear-streaked models on the runway for First Nations Fashion + Design’s show saw a standing ovation from a weeping gathering of editors.
Fashion is no stranger to landmark moments – moving forward is a raison d’être – but was this moment the point of no return toward true inclusion of Indigenous fashion? “We know fashion has been a catalyst for change. It has been used as a tool to challenge the way people view many things,” says Wiradjuri, Gangulu, Yorta Yorta woman Lillardia Briggs-Houston, of label Ngarru Miimi. “I also use it as a catalyst for change and a conversation starter to challenge the broader communities’ misconceptions of First Nations people and culture.”
Those misconceptions troubled designer, producer of the aforementioned show, and founder of independent organisation First Nations Fashion + Design, Grace Lillian Lee.
“For far too long, we’ve been seen as primitive, whereas I don’t see that,” she says, pointing out the sheer diversity within cultures with more than 200 dialects within Australia. She wants people to see what contemporary Indigenous design is. “It doesn’t have to be this literal – take a photo of Aboriginal art and then create a collection. I’m also interested in drapes – why don’t we talk about the act of draping? We’ve been draping for nearly 60,000 years. When you look at the possum skin cloak, that’s a form of drape.”
Indeed, Indigenous swim labels, such as Liandra and Native Swimwear, are taking up space previously occupied exclusively by the labels that promoted the archetypal blonde-haired, blue-eyed ’Australian’ beach girl. Nancy Pattison is the owner of label Indii Swim, and as a Dunghutti saltwater woman, is inextricably connected to ’sea country’. She makes sun-bleached prints that capture the surf-sun-sky feel of the South West Rocks area on the New South Wales mid-north coast. “I don’t want to be just seen as, ’It’s just Indigenous designs; it’s just Aboriginal prints,’ because my personality is fun, and I like to be able to share whatever things that I’m inspired by,” she says.
Pattison nods to culture in subtle minimal designs, such as one that captures the stars of the Dark Emu – a constellation in Aboriginal astrology found in the Milky Way – reflected on a night ocean. “The Dark Emu rising,” Pattison says remembering when “our Aunties used to take us at night-time to walk
“We know fashion has been a catalyst for change. It has been used as a tool to challenge the way people view many things”
along the beach, just so we could experience the warmth of the breeze and feel the ocean at night … As designers we’re always connected to our culture. It’s a lot more than just a piece of swimwear,” she says.
A basket bag might have upcycled ’ghost nets’ woven into it, a pattern may convey a way of life, or, like Liandra Swim, which includes a card with every swimsuit, tell the story of inspiring Indigenous women. “We have had customers in North America let us know they appreciate the cards and keep them,” says founder Liandra Gaykamangu who grew up surfing and swimming in Arnhem Land.
To create real, meaningful growth for labels like these however, Lee says requires concrete support. “I prefer to see more engagement from the industry so it can upskill independent designers to grow their labels,” she says. “I’d really like to see self-determination that comes along with that to create economic growth.”
With the Darwin Aboriginal Art Fair (DAAF),
Indigenous Fashion Projects has partnered with David
Jones in their Pathways Program where emerging designers pair with established names. Denni
Francisco of label Ngali, is one of the six designers chosen, and says real-world initiatives enable progress. “Indigenous-specific incubator and accelerator programs do much to support the start-up and advancement of young labels. Specifically, because cultural aspects are deeply important considerations in how we do business as First Nations people.”
It’s something Cubillo, who worked on the Pathways program as part of her role as DAAF chair, elaborates on. She knows, sadly, exploitation makes up part of this country’s past and present. “To see the appreciation grow and grow is so exciting, but equally, there is that aspect of ensuring there is protection,” she says. “It’s not a straightforward process of just, ’I like that artist’s work, I’m going to go in and buy that painting and now I’m going to reproduce that painting. I’m no longer answerable to that artist.’”
Against a backdrop of a country still finding it difficult to face injustices past and present, conversations and connection are aiding progress. Partnered with Pip Edwards and Claire Tregoning of P.E Nation for Pathways, Pattison visited the label’s offices while in Sydney for fashion week, which was also Reconciliation Week. “I invited with me an Elder who came in to do a Welcome to Country and also a local women’s service,” she says of Aunty Bronwyn Penrith, chairperson of Redfern-based Mudgin-Gal Women’s Centre. They sat with Pattison to learn traditional weaving and Penrith told the history of Gadigal clothing. “Women in that area were really renowned for stitching the best possum skin coats,” she says. “To be able to share that with the P.E Nation staff, I thought it was really special.”
“The key to the successful conversation and cultural exchange has been to approach it slowly, and with an open mind,” says Bridget Veals, buyer at David Jones and manager on Pathways. Like Veals, Mary-Lou Ryan, one half of label Bassike, who is mentoring Francisco, says listening is vital. “We need to be able to truly digest and reflect on the learnings that come out of these conversations – how can we actively work to support our First Nations creatives across all disciplines?”
It’s becoming more widely spoken about that representation needs to extend beyond front-of-camera. “This fashion week, we got to see people behind the scenes; the teams we’re working with, we had stylists, we had make-up artists, we had assistants who were shadowing the lead roles of how it was running. They were First Nations people,” says Whadjuk Noongar man and model Nathan McGuire. “Ultimately that’s going to be the difference between how we have representation in the imagery and representation in the industry.”
The trickle-down impact of this includes things like making culturally safe spaces the norm. When McGuire entered the industry, coming from Perth, few understood the deep connection Aboriginal people have to place, or Country, and the impact it has on Indigenous models, leaving it. “That’s not ingrained in non-indigenous Australia. It’s almost seen as a little bit foreign,” he says.
“I didn’t know of any other Indigenous models. I didn’t have anyone that I could kind of aspire to be like”
“That was part of a frustration for me in the beginning of, sadly, modelling. When you’re working with Aboriginal models, we do represent something bigger.” Something that could be a barrier to aspiring models is now spoken about regularly with his agency IMG.
The second-ever Aboriginal Vogue Australia cover model, Samantha Harris, who joined Elaine George (first in 1993), Charlee Fraser and now Magnolia Maymuru (for this issue), on the cover, looked up to international models of colour because, “I didn’t know of any other Indigenous models. I didn’t have anyone I could aspire to be like”. She hopes young people are impacted by increased visibility. “For them to be able to see Indigenous people doing it and doing well could give them courage.”
McGuire mentors young Indigenous models, checking in with them before a show to offer support. “[I’m] texting them and saying: ’Brother, you’ve got this, you can do this. Hit that runway and show them what you’ve got.’ That’s what this space is going to bring in representation. It’s that there’s going to be more kids who come through that smash down those barriers.”
If change continues in this direction, who will we see reflected back at us in fashion? “I think First Nations is ‘Australia’s’ identity,” says Kamilaroi model Kiesha Bovill (seen on these pages). “Once all people can accept that, then I think First Nations design can be accepted fully by everyone and celebrated to its full potential. I want to see more black models on the cover of magazines, in the shop windows, on your social media pages, and walking on our runways.”
“We are the oldest living culture in the world and in time we will be a formidable force in fashion history, much like our ancestors before us. I think that is something Australia as a whole can be proud of also,” Briggs-Houston adds. Cubillo, who notes we’re only at the start, says: “We don’t want this to be a moment but rather be the start of what is recognition of the remarkable wealth of First Nations’ contribution in the arts and culture to this country.”
Many see a day where First Nations creatives aren’t separate, but part of the fabric of Australian fashion. “I hope this continues every year, and, as the years go by, it’s not, ‘Oh, my god, it’s an Indigenous runway.’ It’s just an amazing designer,” says Harris. “There’s going to be a whole bunch of professional kids who model – and they just happen to be Indigenous. And they’ve got their stories and they’re beautiful and they’re smart. They’re going to know their industry,” says McGuire.
Last year saw the first major retrospective of First Nations fashion at Bendigo Art Gallery’s Piinpi exhibition. This year, a momentous fashion week. “We’ve had people crying [before],” says Lee of prior events. “Every time we do a show, there’s a narrative and there’s a reason,” not downplaying the significance, but rather, hinting at emotion, ebbing and flowing beneath a performance, with sorrow, injustice, profound realisation, pride and hope perhaps all in the mix in an expression of cultures. “This time we had the audience of the industry. So,” she says pausing momentarily, “it’s just, from here … where do we go?” It will be for a fashion community to help answer.