Translator: Sophie Parker Reviewer: Denise RQ
I am a fashion designer,
so some of you might be expecting some advice
on the Spring/Summer trends for 2014
or maybe ways to make you look slimmer.
Well, sorry to disappoint you!
For me, fashion is something else entirely,
for me it's a communication medium I use to tell my story.
And just like in a story,
I have structured my collections.
They have a narrative structure and the same compositional components,
including a plot, an unfolding,
a setting, characters and protagonists.
This is why each of my shows is preceded by a cry,
a woman's cry.
It's a recording from the 60s of a Haitian artist,
imitating a battle cry, a call to arms which says
(French) 'assemble',
coming together, reunion.
It's the moment just before the show,
even if a show is usually
very much associated with entertainment, diversion;
in my case it isn't.
I ask the attendees to give me their attention,
to be present not only with their eyes,
but also to bestow their presence.
Because, in order to prepare these collections,
paradoxically, I have had to undress myself,
I have stripped myself bare to dress my models.
This is the cry that precedes each of my shows:
(Audio of the cry)
The story I'm telling, as I was saying, is my own,
so it is a story which starts in Rome, where I was born,
to a fair-haired, Turinese father with green eyes,
and an ebony-coloured Haitian mother.
Despite all their efforts,
despite the fact that they could send me to the best schools,
and place me into the best circles,
despite all of this,
I was not sheltered and not protected
from the traumatic impact that a society
that was completely unprepared for a multiracial family in the 80s
would have on me.
I won't tell you all the sad bits,
or trivial episodes ignited by intolerance
that can be even more cruelly hurtful
in a 'good' environment than elsewhere.
But I will use a very clear illustration,
I'm going to talk to you about my pre-university level exams.
I am a complete disaster, at all science-related subjects,
seriously, I'm terrible.
But doing a quick percentage calculation,
being good at Italian, history, literature,
languages and Latin, I thought I couldn't fail.
I present myself,
-- the first year they had a mixed board with an external president --
hand him my ID, so he had it in front of him,
and I begin my presentation.
The first compliments come from the examining board.
'Congratulations young lady, your Italian is excellent,
better than Italians'.'
I replied, 'It's in my ID, I was born in Rome, I am Italian.'
'Ah!' and I continue my presentation, as do the compliments.
When it comes to the science questions, I dry up!
'Miss, at least something, anything!'
'I really can't remember anything, I wouldn't even know where to start.'
'Oh, right, -- but, well, she speaks such excellent Italian.
If only more Italians were to have such an excellent command of their language!'
Here's how I responded: 'Thank you very much!'
so as not to get lost.
(Applause)
And that's how I passed my exams,
certainly not by my outstanding preparation,
but by the lack of understanding of those around me.
And this happens to me every day: 'Hi, where are you from?'
'Italy.'
'No, but, really, where are you from?' 'Italy.'
Even if it's funny at first, with the passing of time,
for a young girl, a teenager and then a woman,
the, in essence, questioning of your birth certificate
can become unnerving.
When this then happened to my eldest son, three years ago --
My son has my face, he's exactly like me,
and despite his father's milky complexion,
he's just like his mother -- fortunately!
We go into a flower shop:
'What a beautiful little boy. Where are you from?'
'Rome.' 'No, really, where are you from?'
'I'm Italian!' 'But you're not... Italian Italian'
'No, I'm Italian just once!' (Laughter)
At that moment I realized that after 30 years,
absolutely nothing has changed,
we are still stuck at the same point.
This is not acceptable.
I spoke to my son,
-- because he didn't or shouldn't have to suffer what I went through --
and said to him, 'Let's play a game.
Every time someone asks you your nationality,
don't trip out the usual trite response, "Italian", which is the truth.
Invent one: Canadian, Icelandic, Pakistani!'
He started doing this and they believed him every time.
The other day I saw him looking up
where Honolulu was,
so he could say he was from there.
So, when we speak about jus soli -- but which jus soli?
Our great obstacle is not at a legislative level,
the red tape will come later,
the obstacle is in the eyes, in the look, of the people who say,
'You're not Italian, you can't be Italian.'
It's more the jus oculi of those who ask than jus soli,
that will come later.
Then I began my career,
I started as a model, and that not being my true calling,
I began to create my own first experimental collections.
Then leafing through Vogue I saw an invitation to participate
in a competition sponsored by AltaRoma and Vogue Italia,
called 'Who is on next'.
I sent in for it, feeling very excited about it, and --
rejected!
The next year I send in my application again
and back comes my second rejection.
The third time I thought,
'Maybe it wasn't the judges, but me, who was missing something;
maybe I should present something more real,
more unique and more relevant to me and my story, my roots.'
So I took one of my father's shirts
which would truly symbolize my European roots,
my paternal roots, the superior quality of Italian shirts,
and wax cloth that would represent the African roots of Haiti.
Haiti is my mother's island,
the world's first independent black republic,
and the blackest of all Caribbean islands.
I stitched them together and began my story.
A story made up of twelve looks,
about which, the person who later became my mentor,
but whom I thought of as a witch because she had already rejected me twice,
said, 'Yes, now, Stella, this is you,
now you've got the story straight, now you can move forward.'
From there I began this philosophy,
which is the philosophy of Wax and Stripes
to just represent the de facto combining of two opposing elements,
a Black and White, I could just as well say.
The wax, Africa; the stripes, Italy.
The North and the South of the world, the Western world,
the developing countries, are all dialoguing within the same look.
It's not merely a look, it's not a dress or a skirt, I'm talking about,
but how very distant, completely different cultures can have a dialogue
if they are treated knowingly.
Because I cannot use a fabric without first studying it.
I study its history, I study its origin.
Because between the warp and the weft of a cloth
you can discover much more about a country
than Wikipedia can tell us.
And from there, and always together with Simonetta Gianfelici,
thanks to the ITC, the International Trade Centre,
and the Ethical Fashions Initiative of the United Nations,
I was able to go to Burkina Faso.
In Burkina,
-- these are all items from my collection --
you can see there is always an Italian element and a maternal element.
'Not Charity. Just Work.'
In Burkina, I met these women in their villages,
where they do everything for themselves,
from work, to bringing up their children, preparing them for school,
to preparing food.
Their day is perfectly organized
and they weave by hand with great decorum.
I must say that cloth hand-woven on a loom
doesn't look like much,
but if you think how every millimetre of fabric
is a manual effort, it's a huge undertaking.
Like making lace, it's truly an art.
And these women had me discover their fabrics,
which were a huge surprise to me.
Even now I am still stunned by it.
Because if I were to ask you now:
'Of these looks, one masculine, one feminine,
which piece is truly African?'
I'm sure 99% of you would get it wrong.
Which do you think is the African piece -- I don't know, the woman's?
It's the coat. The man's trench coat.
These are centuries-old traditions in Burkina Faso.
It's great, the capacity the world still has
to present us with things that surprise us.
So let's keep our eyes open.
Now, after much time, I've grasped
that there will be no more suspicious glances in my direction
sending me into an identity crisis,
because I've created my own space
and now know my own identity.
But I want my son to be able to stop playing
the stupid nationality game,
not least because the game has lost its edge.
But to do this, he needs all your eyes, your gazes, those same gazes
that up to now have only known one direction
to surprise everyone and change that direction.
And it can be done at any time.
To stop judging by appearance is the need for the change,
and if we believe in ourselves we can start right now.
Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please.
(Audio of the cry)
Thank you.
(Applause)