Article
Culture
Fashion
6 min read

London Fashion Week: unstitching the tension between designers and religion

Why couture turns churches into runways.
Two models stride along a catwalk of a fashion show held in a church
Orgamea, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

During London Fashion Week, galleries, warehouses, halls and factories transform into runways to showcase designers’ newest collections. But sometimes they choose a venue that would otherwise be unexpected for an industry-insider event- one of London’s many churches.

In some ways, the Christian chapel is a natural runway – a crowd cut in two with all eyes on a procession down the central aisle. A church wedding might be the most literal analogy- with the bridesmaids and wedding party as the models on a runway showcasing their fine gowns. But the reasons why a designer might choose a Christian venue go beyond a convenient space. 

A venue of smells, bells, fabrics and painting

The Christian Church has a rich history of materiality that other Western institutions would struggle to compete with. During the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, the Church was the main proprietor of all artistic practice. Churches commissioned painters to beautify their walls and to illustrate biblical stories in the form of triptychs and altars. Textile workers embroidered intricate patterns onto clerical vestments, and metal workers and glass makers collaborated to craft stained glass windows. The Church and art were inseparable and for many, attending church was the only way you would see these human-crafted artistic wonders. 

Church history and art history are so intertwined that even in the present day, it’s hard to be in the creative industries without some awareness of it. 

That sense of materiality is a strong reference point for many who grew up attending more traditional Catholic, Anglican or Orthodox churches, but even for those whose experience with church might involve only the occasional tour of a beautiful church in Italy or Spain. Jean Paul Gaultier, a French haute couture designer, used Catholic iconography in his 2007 show at Paris Fashion week. Each model donned a halo crafted from materials ranging from the roses, metal, feathers, jewells, pearls, gold and yes- even stained glass. Some models carried what looked like hymnals, and a few were even wearing the image of Virgin Mary or Jesus printed onto a veil or fitted dress. 

Andrew Bolton, curator of the 2017 exhibit Heavenly Bodies at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, said “what we call the Catholic imagination” has “engaged artists and designers and shaped their approach to creativity.” Regardless of personal belief, Bolton believes “Beauty has often been a bridge between believers and unbelievers.” 

Beyond materiality, the history of Christianity has given us much of the language and concepts by which we think through some of life’s biggest questions. Even if you have never thought of yourself as religious, you will have come into contact with ideas of creation, sin, and redemption that come from the Christian Faith. 

At a fashion show, the designer is Creator and his models walk across the runway to showcase his creations. The crowd may be just as religiously devoted to him as church goers are to their god. A church is the natural venue for a designer who thinks himself worthy of that kind of attention. 

A church-made-runway is a symbol of designer as god- god of their own creations, their brand, and perhaps the future of fashion itself. By taking on religious iconography, designers become the centre of glory- at least for the 45 minute runtime of the show. 

Sometimes, like Gaultier, they feel inspired by the church’s rich iconography. At other times, like McQueen- they are upset at a world created by people who take advantage of power and use religion against others.

Subverting religious ideas 

But using the language of Christianity is often about more than co-opting it for a designer’s own glory. It’s often also about subverting the symbolism of religion - to make statements about the hypocrisy or limitations of religion on individuals. 

One of the most famous shows at London Fashion Week was the 1996 Alexander McQueen Dante at Christ Church in Spitalfields, East London. Based on the Christian-inspired Dante’s Divine Comedy, the collection featured a combination of photographs taken during the Vietnam war, bold takes on men’s tailoring, and black crucifiction-adorned eye masks borrowed from the work of photographer Joel-Peter Witkin. According to McQueen, “religion has caused every war in the world, which is why I showed it in a church.” Other more recent shows at churches include Dilara Findikoglu's show in 2018 at St. Andrew’s Holborn which dressed models in devil-inspired costumes and Julien McDonald’s show at Southwark Cathedral in 2019 which was heavily criticised for bringing revealing clothes into a sacred space. 

McQueen and other designers use their shows in churches to question its integrity. Many who have experienced hurt in the church or from Christians in their personal lives resonate with these fashion statements. 

Fashion’s subversion of religious ideas cuts to a core tension many of us experience. I have always felt drawn to Christian ideas. I love the idea that God created humans in his image to “do his handiwork.” Such creativity has fueled human endeavours as famous as Michel Angelo’s Sistine Chapel and as ordinary as my personal wardrobe. And that a loving heavenly Father sacrificed himself to redeem the world and restore creation-it is an extraordinary thought. 

At the same time, the history of the world, of Christians and of the church feels weighty. Christians have used religion to justify colonialism, racism, slavery, and a host of other atrocious acts of taking advantage over vulnerable people. In our personal lives, Christians we know may have acted in bad faith- as greedy, selfish and unkind in their dealings with others.   

And so, Fashion often encapsulates this duality of having both awe and anger at the church.

But we also know that Fashion isn’t an answer to these problems either. Powerful people in the fashion industry deal with the same temptations of greed and power that others do. The industry is fraught with its own problems of hypocrisy, of doing harm to the women they praise, to the earth whose materials they use, and the vulnerable whose labour they exploit. 

I work at an arts and fashion university, where I often see students creatively wrestle with ideas of life, death, faith and hope. Sometimes, like Gaultier, they feel inspired by the church’s rich iconography. At other times, like McQueen- they are upset at a world created by people who take advantage of power and use religion against others. It can be easy for those who come from faiths that are questioned in art to be outraged at this subversion- like many were with McQueen’s original show. 

In the novel I am Asher Lev by Jewish rabbi Chaim Potok, a young Hasidic boy in 1950s Brooklyn grapples with the limitations of his religious community as he realises his passion for art. A key moment comes when he realises that there is a difference between the “good” and the “beautiful.” His mentor Jacob tells him, 

“I do not sculpt and paint to make the world sacred. I sculpt and paint to give permanence to my feelings about how terrible the world truly is.”

An anthropologist by trade, I look at the work of Fashion designers who use and subvert Christian ideas as a culture grappling with faith in a post-religion world. Humans are unique in their ability to change culture through the things they make and the concepts that come out of them. As a Christian, that creativity, and that freedom to wrestle with life’s toughest questions, are both gifts from God. 

Faced with fashions that challenge the status quo or make people uncomfortable, I ask this- What questions is this designer asking? Do I have similar questions? And importantly- where can I start to find some answers?

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Article
AI
Culture
Generosity
Psychology
Virtues
5 min read

AI will never codify the unruly instructions that make us human

The many exceptions to the rules are what make us human.
A desperate man wearing 18th century clothes holds candlesticks
Jean Valjean and the candlesticks, in Les Misérables.

On average, students with surnames beginning in the letters A-E get higher grades than those who come later in the alphabet. Good looking people get more favourable divorce settlements through the courts, and higher payouts for damages. Tall people are more likely to get promoted than their shorter colleagues, and judges give out harsher sentences just before lunch. It is clear that human judgement is problematically biased – sometimes with significant consequences. 

But imagine you were on the receiving end of such treatment, and wanted to appeal your overly harsh sentence, your unfair court settlement or your punitive essay grade: is Artificial Intelligence the answer? Is AI intelligent enough to review the evidence, consider the rules, ignore human vagaries, and issue an impartial, more sophisticated outcome?  

In many cases, the short answer is yes. Conveniently, AI can review 50 CVs, conduct 50 “chatbot” style interviews, and identify which candidates best fit the criteria for promotion. But is the short and convenient answer always what we want? In their recent publication, As If Human: Ethics and Artificial Intelligence, Nigel Shadbolt and Roger Hampson discuss research which shows that, if wrongly condemned to be shot by a military court but given one last appeal, most people would prefer to appeal in person to a human judge than have the facts of their case reviewed by an AI computer. Likewise, terminally ill patients indicate a preference for doctor’s opinions over computer calculations on when to withdraw life sustaining treatment, even though a computer has a higher predictive power to judge when someone’s life might be coming to an end. This preference may seem counterintuitive, but apparently the cold impartiality—and at times, the impenetrability—of machine logic might work for promotions, but fails to satisfy the desire for human dignity when it comes to matters of life and death.  

In addition, Shadbolt and Hampson make the point that AI is actually much less intelligent than many of us tend to think. An AI machine can be instructed to apply certain rules to decision making and can apply those rules even in quite complex situations, but the determination of those rules can only happen in one of two ways: either the rules must be invented or predetermined by whoever programmes the machine, or the rules must be observable to a “Large Language Model” AI when it scrapes the internet to observe common and typical aspects of human behaviour.  

The former option, deciding the rules in advance, is by no means straightforward. Humans abide by a complex web of intersecting ethical codes, often slipping seamlessly between utilitarianism (what achieves the most amount of good for the most amount of people?) virtue ethics (what makes me a good person?) and theological or deontological ideas (what does God or wider society expect me to do?) This complexity, as Shadbolt and Hampson observe, means that: 

“Contemporary intellectual discourse has not even the beginnings of an agreed universal basis for notions of good and evil, or right and wrong.”  

The solution might be option two – to ask AI to do a data scrape of human behaviour and use its superior processing power to determine if there actually is some sort of universal basis to our ethical codes, perhaps one that humanity hasn’t noticed yet. For example, you might instruct a large language model AI to find 1,000,000 instances of a particular pro-social act, such as generous giving, and from that to determine a universal set of rules for what counts as generosity. This is an experiment that has not yet been done, probably because it is unlikely to yield satisfactory results. After all, what is real generosity? Isn’t the truly generous person one who makes a generous gesture even when it is not socially appropriate to do so? The rule of real generosity is that it breaks the rules.  

Generosity is not the only human virtue which defies being codified – mercy falls at exactly the same hurdle. AI can never learn to be merciful, because showing mercy involves breaking a rule without having a different rule or sufficient cause to tell it to do so. Stealing is wrong, this is a rule we almost all learn from childhood. But in the famous opening to Les Misérables, Jean Valjean, a destitute convict, steals some silverware from Bishop Myriel who has provided him with hospitality. Valjean is soon caught by the police and faces a lifetime of imprisonment and forced labour for his crime. Yet the Bishop shows him mercy, falsely informing the police that the silverware was a gift and even adding two further candlesticks to the swag. Stealing is, objectively, still wrong, but the rule is temporarily suspended, or superseded, by the bishop’s wholly unruly act of mercy.   

Teaching his followers one day, Jesus stunned the crowd with a catalogue of unruly instructions. He said, “Give to everyone who asks of you,” and “Love your enemies” and “Do good to those who hate you.” The Gospel writers record that the crowd were amazed, astonished, even panicked! These were rules that challenged many assumptions about the “right” way to live – many of the social and religious “rules” of the day. And Jesus modelled this unruly way of life too – actively healing people on the designated day of rest, dining with social outcasts and having contact with those who had “unclean” illnesses such as leprosy. Overall, the message of Jesus was loud and clear, people matter more than rules.  

AI will never understand this, because to an AI people don’t actually exist, only rules exist. Rules can be programmed in manually or extracted from a data scrape, and one rule can be superseded by another rule, but beyond that a rule can never just be illogically or irrationally broken by a machine. Put more simply, AI can show us in a simplistic way what fairness ought to look like and can protect a judge from being punitive just because they are a bit hungry. There are many positive applications to the use of AI in overcoming humanity’s unconscious and illogical biases. But at the end of the day, only a human can look Jean Valjean in the eye and say, “Here, take these candlesticks too.”   

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