āHey Google, why should I use a steamer?āĀ
The truth is, I didnāt really need to ask Google. I knew the answer deep, deep down in the bottom of my soul. Truths like this are the ones that gnaw on your insides. You wanna ignore them, but they wonāt let you. Every day you choose to keep living the way you do, in my case, wearing creased clothes or choosing a lesser-than look, because I donāt have the time or the energy to get the thing that requires a little more attention out of the closet.Ā
By now you probably know that Iām talking about the difficulties of setting up a situation for ironing. I own one, I just donāt know what brand it is and I donāt think that I care much. All I know is that sheās tucked at the bottom of the dumping closet in the hallway and I can barely look at her let alone take out stacks of boxes and other shit just so I can use her for 30 seconds. I bet thatās actually all it takes really, 30 seconds or so to take the creases from out of your clothes.Ā And itās not just the iron. Itās the hassle of the ironing board too. The whole thing is a mini project that no one, especially not me, has time for.
I grew up in an ironing household. The kind where my mum controlled all things laundry (and everything else) and I never had to iron a. single. thing. Donāt get me wrong, I wanted to do it so bad. It looked fun, therapeutic almost, and was a much sexier chore than say, making roti and learning how to cook daal or sabzi. So that day when I asked my trusty Google about why I would need a steamer, what I failed to mention was that there was already one sitting in my Amazon basket waiting for me to hit ācheckoutā.
In my short-lived experience, I had only really come up against steamers in the most professional environments. As a blah blah blah fashion student and whenever I could worm my way onto a set for a shoot, I would take the most pride ā no forreal the MOST pride youāve ever seen in steaming the clothes. It made me feel so important, so connected to each piece that Iād never own in this lifetime or the next. Even today, electricity runs through whenever the steam hits a silk dress ever so gently, making it ready-to-wear just like that.
The first shoot I ever āsteamedā on was for the Daily Express newspaper back when I lived just outside of London. I think we were shooting at the Kingly Club ā just off of Carnaby Street ā and it was also the first time I saw a pair of breasts in my face that didnāt belong to any of the women in my family. Cute. I beamed with pride: āAssistant Steamer, Hardeep Gill,ā I thought of introducing myself as; a top-notch title for someone with the most eye for detail. Graduating from the fashion cupboard to actually being on set was a v big deal in 2008. That day, and on every shoot after, I relished in slowly unpacking the clothes from the suitcases, hanging them up, and getting that steamer going making sure there were no visible creases to tell tales of transportation.
Now, after all of these years, my time has come. I am the photoshoot and promoting myself from Assistant Steamer to Bitch in Charge of my own life requires some ground rules:Ā
All makeup must be removed before bedāno excuses, buts, ifs, ands, or maybes.Ā
Vitamins: love em, take em.Ā
Keep this face out of the fucking sun (this might be runner up for first place, actually).
Be unapologetically myself at all times.Ā
All clothes that are to be seen in the public by the public must be steamed.Ā
Entering the upper echelon of your wardrobe (thanks to climbing certain corporate ranks) requires a different kind of care for your clothes. Care thatās rooted in having pride for the things youāve worked hard for.
This piece was written before I visited In America: A Lexicon of Fashion at The Met last weekend and edited after I found out that Andre Leon Talley had passed. š
Tucked in my drafts somewhereālike a creased jumper I stopped giving fucks about years agoāre-reading these words, seeing the exhibition, and learning more about Talleyās legacy took me down a lane of nostalgia for an art form Iāve loved for longer than I can remember: fashion.
Itās a confusing kind of love. One that you know probably isnāt good for you (the fashion world has too many issues for me to even list), but when it boils down to the basics Iāve been reminded that itās always been about the clothes. No really, itās always been about the clothes. How they look and feel and the hope theyāve always given me that having choice in how you express yourself is one of the easier types of freedom we can attain. Ā
As for the steamer? To quote my man Shakespeare, āThe fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.ā That part. š
Stay steamy,
H x