Perhaps it is because your correspondent is an Essex girl—Americans, think New Jersey—but to my mind The Vulgar: Fashion Redefined (until 5 February), which opened at the Barbican Art Gallery last night, just isn’t vulgar enough. Yes, the show gives this slippery and loaded term a thorough, academic and non-judgemental seeing-to. And yes, it is a treasure trove of wonderfully, excessive, transgressive exhibits—from 19th-century Viennese bonnets to Vivien Westwood’s fig-leaved body suit—but a little more curatorial humour wouldn't have come amiss.
Not only does the exhibition’s design present its flashy provocative line-up in a sombre black-screened setting, replete with po-faced wall panels, but this spirit extended to last night’s private view crowd who, along with the curators Judith Clark and Adam Phillips, was also almost uniformly decked out in darkest monochrome. Notable—and welcome—exceptions to this tide of sobriety, were two of fashion’s grandest and most vivid of dames, Zandra Rhodes and Pam Hogg, both of whom had fantastically flamboyant pieces in the show.
Another beacon in the gloom was honorary grand dame (and Essex boy) Grayson Perry. As well as standing out in his technicolour frock, canary yellow wig and blindingly vivid makeup, Perry cheered matters greatly by loudly enquiring, “where are the grey tracksuits?” It seems that the fear of being considered vulgar is still stronger than many would like to admit. As the wonderful and unashamedly over-the-top milliner Stephen Jones (who probably has more works in the Barbican show than anyone else) told us, “what we must never forget is that the vulgar is tremendous fun!”