Waiting For Fernando

A gaggle of impossibly hip of 20-somethings loiter on the stretch of street between Kawa and The Gaslight.

Waiting. Hoping. Chain smoking.

The heel of a passerby clacks on the pavement outside blank_space, and they swing around (scowls firmly in place), expecting to see Fernando Frisoni clicking his camera in their direction.

They wait and they wait. But Fernando doesn’t come.

The Sun-Herald is the Channel 10 news of publications, so perhaps I shouldn’t advertise my addiction to the ‘S’ lift out. But the Urban Style page, Fernando Frisoni’s parade of fashionable young things on Sydney Streets is my first port of call on a Sunday morning (or afternoon, more accurately).

Since I always unnervingly gaze at the clothes of those round me, it’s good to indulge in the habit in only my own company. Plus the claustrophobic nature of the Sydney-scene means that I usually know at least one person on the page each week, making my staring-session infinitely more enjoyable.

That was until I started to quiz my friends who have appeared on the hallowed page on what it was like to be fernandoed. After the mandatory self-concious laugh and deflective “Oh, I know how embarrassing!” type comment, it became routine for my photographed friend to casually point out some bizarre omission or fabrication…
“Yeah I can’t believe he said my cardigan was from Top Shop, it was totally from SES”… or “everything I was wearing was from Anglicare $5 kilo, and he had me wearing ‘Vintage’ and 'Cheap Monday jeans'", or even “I wasn’t ‘spotted in Neutral Bay’, I was in Bondi”.

Another friend, and shop-assistant at an Oxford Street Fashion Spot tells of Fernando bowling in to her shop and asking the staff to appear on his page; only after he has styled them in items he selects from the racks.

Sorry to get all Monica Attard on yo ass, but why does Fernando Frisoni appear to have such a rudimentary grasp of the truth? It isn’t easy to pin down his motivations. But Fernando told my source (dressed twice in her workplace for Urban Style) that Chanel sent his mother a free handbag on the condition that he would cease writing “fake Chanel from Chinatown” in his captions, as they thought it bad for business. And ever since, every dodgy looking quilted and chained number has been tagged either ‘Chanel’ or ‘Vintage Chanel’. So what of the phase, when week after week, at least one street-urchin just happened to be sporting an item from the latest Josh Goot collection- was this carefully orchestrated by the Josh Goot publicity team?

Look, I know this isn't exactly Cash For Comment, but it does annoy me. I see people wrapped in personal and inspiring packaging every day- the page should reflect this and not Fernando’s confused agenda.

We are already so beholden to the forces of fashion...

...that it’s nice to think occasionally this same world could pay genuine tribute to the exciting magic that starts on the streets.

For some other great Street fashion sites, check out:

http://blogs.theage.com.au/thirdbest/

http://hel-looks.com/

http://thesartorialist.blogspot.com/

And in a loosely relevant attempt to balance out Nina’s hip-hop monopoly of this blog, I offer you:

Bishop Allen - Click, Click, Click, Click

Oh and I pilfered the italicized opening of this way-too-long-post from a short-film concept by a friend of a friend, to, er, illustrate the harms of deceitfulness. Yes, that must be it.