Hi, come in. Welcome to Fashion Neurosis, Jonathan Anderson. Can you tell me what you're wearing today and why you chose these clothes?
What am I wearing today? I don't know why I chose them. I am wearing a shirt that I really love that I found in New York at this place called the Front General Store, and then usual Levis, and I'm wearing Salomon trainers today. Everything is usually teamed with a kind of... for me, I like a uniform, so it has to be something repetitive ultimately in the morning. Because you dress people in these beautiful, quite romantic looks, but how you dress yourself is quite locked down compared to your designs. Is this a deliberate distinction? I don't know. I grew up in Northern Ireland, so when I went to school, you always had a uniform. So I think I've been always kind of indoctrinated in this idea of wearing the same thing. And I find with the work that I do, I think it's like cooking: when you cook something, sometimes it's very hard to eat it. So I feel like I need to be some sort of blank canvas to project onto other people ultimately.
I think that makes a lot of sense. I've always been obsessed with a uniform. We didn't have one at my school, but this container... and there is so much chaos and hysteria in fashion that you have to have somewhere to keep it down. I wondered, when did you first wear something that made you feel different, like attached you to the feeling that clothes had power? How old were you?
I think I must have been probably in my early teens. I remember there wasn't really big brand stores in Belfast, it was more kind of TK Maxx, which was where all the clothing that didn't sell in stores went. I remember going with my mother there and buying some crazy sort of Jean Paul Gaultier denim jeans – I think they were jeans with jeans printed on it – and then a kind of orange neon jacket. I'd always been obsessed by him because in school there was a little tiny book in the library that had the history of Jean Paul Gaultier, one on Vivienne Westwood, one on Dolce & Gabbana. I just found the imagery so amazing. There was an image of a guy in a zebra-printed double-breasted jacket smoking a cigarette with eyeliner and blonde hair. There was something in that that I found quite alien from growing up in Northern Ireland, where it was not about that at all. I grew up in a family which was about rugby and on a farm. So when I bought these, I never wore them randomly; I think they were more like the idea of owning it, that you were part of it by owning it. That was the first time I understood the desire or psychology around this idea of being a character. There is something in that idea of decoration ultimately.
And where did you... I mean, it's quite a bold statement describing where you come from, and you grew up on a farm. But had you seen something? Where do you think you made this affiliation with showing your identity through clothes?
I think it was... my parents used to always get the Sunday Times Style, which had these magazines about what's happening in London, fashion shows. I think at that point, A.A. Gill used to write for it. He was so amazing. And I think it was this idea of something which was foreign, where I felt like I needed to be able to express outside of a conformist environment. I grew up in Northern Ireland, I was born in '84, between '84 and '90s it was a complex place to live – the Troubles were in full swing. So in a weird way, I think it was more the idea of dressing up to somehow feel like you were not part of something, like a fantasy act. I remember at school, every six months you could wear what you wanted, and I wore the craziest thing and was completely harassed, like I was an alien. Do you remember what you wore? I remember we had gone to the south of France camping, and it was that moment where Decathlon was a thing, and they had climbing trousers with crazy '90s graphics. I wore that with a huge smiley t-shirt and baggy trousers that would have fit my dad. People were like, 'What are you wearing?' That was the first time I realized that clothing can have a divisive act, can make people question identity. I've always been fascinated about clothing and identity, what it tells you about yourself. And I've always been fascinated about gender. I remember when I was a kid, there was a small shop in the town I grew up, Moyle. My mom took me there to buy her clothing – it was a women's rest store. There was a sale on, a leather puffer jacket, and I wanted it. The shop assistant said, 'Oh, but the zip goes the other way, so it's the woman's side.' In my head I didn't care, and then I wore it and people said it's a woman's jacket, not a man's. So I was always obsessed by this idea of the coating that is enforced onto you as a child. Going back to someone like Jean Paul Gaultier, looking at gender, he was a big influence on presenting men in a way I was not seeing around me.
That's so interesting about the zip and the buttoning, the women's side and the men's. Did you feel any shame when someone pointed that out? Did you have any shame feelings, or did you feel like 'I'm in this, I'm going to this place'?
I think the natural thing when you're younger is that you want to fit in, you want to be cool at school. So this idea that you were doing something you were trying to get away with but people were noticing bothered me in the beginning. I was very sensitive when I was younger, I would take everything incredibly personally. It was the first time I realized that you could have judgment on wearing something that is not for your sex. That made me more introvert when I was younger, because you're toying with something that seems subtle in my head but is a bigger gesture in other people's heads.
Yeah, it's so interesting that it challenged you, it exposed you, but you had to follow it through. It's like that separation of protecting the introvert part by being extrovert. It doesn't make sense but it makes sense to how you feel. And how you've described it, it's so good. You either disappear, and especially what you were talking about growing up in the Troubles and there being so much division, separating yourself out by being a completely other thing, another kind of world that you allowed people to see.
Yeah, I think it's this idea of... anyone who grows up on an island and has gone through a bizarre moment in Irish history, there's always this thing of getting out. When you're creative, you have this feeling to try to see other worlds, to see if this world is what it should be. When I was younger, during the Troubles, it got very heated between 1990 and 1997, a chaotic moment in Ireland, the beginning of the end before the Good Friday Agreement. As kids, we became normalized to checking underneath your car. I remember going to school one day and on the way back the entire street was gone, blown up in Moyle. The closest it got to me was when my mother went to a shoe shop in Omagh to return shoes. She had just got a new car and parked at the top of the street. She was returning shoes, and when she got out of the shop, a police officer said she couldn't go up there because there was a bomb threat. She went through a war to get to another car park, and then the side she was on was completely decimated. That was the pinnacle in Ireland, a grotesque moment. After that, things started to realize that both sides were destroying each other. As a child, it really affected me, the idea that within a split moment someone could just disappear. It was a very strange moment in life because you realize this thing was real. So ultimately, the idea of fantasy, of not fitting in and trying to get out, was a driving force towards creativity. Certainly it intensifies the urgency. Now that I'm 40 and living in London and Paris, I'm really appreciative that I did grow up in Ireland. My whole family lives there still. I'm glad I went through this process because it toughens you and makes you see things for what they are. You never take it for granted.
Yeah, I suppose if you can survive that literally and emotionally, even though it's inconceivable for things to be so extreme and irrational. I think we forget about that period in British Irish history. It feels quite foreign to people now, but it was not that long ago. I remember it really well, it was such a hugely important thing in the news. And when it changed and there was a peace agreement, everyone wants to forget about it as fast as possible because it's so nice things being peaceful. There's room for so much else. I always find it incomprehensible why there is so much investment in conflict rather than in people living in a peaceful way.
When I go back to Ireland, it's such a cosmopolitan place now, it's completely morphed, which has been amazing. You look at cinema and things like that, they're more proud of what they can achieve. I find it very important that I did grow up there. It helps me understand how I got to where I am today. I've never been to the north, but my family from Cork, I feel very attached to Ireland and all the poetry. It feels like a powerful creative place. The greatest thing about Ireland is storytelling. Some of my all-time favorite writers are from Ireland. Interestingly, a lot of them left Ireland to reinterpret it – Oscar Wilde, James Joyce. There is a kind of colloquial in Ireland, but it's rich in literature. I grew up with the poet Seamus Heaney, he was wonderful. I remember going as a kid to listen to him read because my mother was an English teacher. In a weird way, the poet or writer in Ireland was like the rock star in other societies. It was a very esteemed profession.
And how did you feel about your body growing up? You're so handsome, it seems like you have everything going for you. But a designer thing is really conflict about their own bodies and how they feel physically. I always feel it's a driver to put your own sense of proportion onto other people and create something. I wondered how you felt about yourself.
I think the role of the designer is like searching for perfection in imperfect people. It's very difficult for me because I'm looking at image making, I work with some of the most beautiful people in the world. Surrounded by this idea of trying to find perfection, I become more insecure with my own appearance because I'm a realist. I look at myself and see my flaws. I understand where I am in comparison to others, which makes me insecure sometimes. When you're doing fittings or shooting campaigns, you're trying to find the beauty even in the strange. As a designer, it's taken me many years to put myself in front of the camera because I like to be the puppeteer behind the scenes. But as media changes, authenticity is important. Younger people want to know you and believe that you believe in what you're selling, that there is realness and honesty. I've always wanted to talk about my process because I was inspired by other people, and I hope younger people look at me and be inspired. I've always been interested in the idea of replacement. You have a period of time of creativity, but the ultimate is to be replaced because that is a sign that creativity is healthy. There is always someone out there that will challenge you. Creativity has a moment where you can be special within a moment to the audience you're talking to. It's different than being a painter or poet because you're trying to sell something to a generation. There comes a moment where reference points change or society changes. I always have to do what I feel is right, but I know there will come a time where it may not excite me the same or there are better viewpoints. It's important to never think you're invincible.
Yeah, it certainly keeps you on your toes. And if you fancy someone and you don't like something they're wearing, does it kill your attraction?
No. Because I deal with clothing all day, I'm more intrigued or attracted to people that have non-engagement with it, because then I don't have to explain myself. You're always attracted to things and people that you don't do, or what they don't look like your world. Even weird things with proportion don't phase me. I always think even the ugliness in clothing can be fascinating because it challenges your idea of proportion or color. It makes me more curious in someone because it questions my own idea of taste and reality.
Yeah, definitely know that feeling. It's either a squasher or an opener. I saw in a little interview that you have a shelf for awards. I wonder how much gratification that brings you and how quickly it wears off.
In the office there's a shelf for the awards, but it's in the CEO's office. First of all, awards are always incredibly ugly looking as objects, usually glass or some strange material. The only one that was quite beautiful was the Neiman Marcus one, a long figure. I think it was design of the year. I'm very grateful for awards because it's about recognition, maybe for the team. The minute the evening is done, it's done. It doesn't really change anything. I don't even come up from it. I never want to overprocess because if I feel like I know where I'm at, it's like vertigo, looking down and seeing what's happening, and it would prevent me from going forward. My whole thing is it's never done. No matter what I'm doing, the project is never finished. The minute it would be finished, I would be done.
