Sark Studio and the Danger of Trends

When I walk the longest but most visible path through campus I make sure to smile and look at the trees so that I seem conscientious of the beauty around me, like a man who reads Balzac; I’m prepared if I’m stopped en route: a playlist of Radiohead B-sides plays in my headphones and I’ve memorized my Letterboxd top four (that I’ve spent years curating to only consist of South Korean slice-of-life films that only ten people have seen). All of my clothes are thrifted and designer—everyone in the comments of my eventual interview-video will remark at the simplicity of my outfit’s shape and the seemingly mundane look I’m able to pull off in purely Margiela samples. In fact, a man comes up to me now: his Sambas are trendy, his SilverTabs are corny, his camouflage hat is overdone and his cropped tee is laughable. I can imagine that his Instagram ratio is extremely off-balanced and he loves Alex G; I can see a Yerba Mate in his hand and I think Great, another guy so concerned with his perception that he’s hit every trend unconscious. We get it, man. No one cares. What do you have to offer? What do you bring to this university, this city, this populous that isn’t being beaten by every male in their twenties? The man steps closer and pushes his headphones off an ear. He looks alarmed and opens his mouth. And I can’t deal with this, I think, and duck into a building closest to me. I wait in its courtyard for ten minutes, biding time, and go to my class forty minutes late. It was then that I realized my backpack was on fire; since I’d been on campus my laptop had blown a circuit and sparked due to all the illegal movies I’ve streamed.

So let me first say that trends are fine and that is how many people are introduced to clothing they love; clothing that compliments their bodies and themselves. Even I confess, I own a pair of Dickies workwear pants that I always use—I was only exposed to these through trends. Yet, the issue in trends is when the trends itself become the wearer. If someone owns a pair of Sambas and they love them, Please, continue to wear them. If they are comfortable and affordable and aesthetically pleasing, by all means, they are yours. But if a person wears Sambas due to the TikTok beauty of the shoes, the clout associated with the classic three stripes and the Emma Chamberlain-recognizable colorways, well, then what is the point in wearing them if not to serve as a sign saying: Look! I’m relevant, I’m up to date, I’m aware, I’m involved. But then, what does the involvement of trends to simply be involved in trends even mean? And what does it do? Like in the opening story, for those that are so obsessive of how they are perceived to the point that others' perceptions are the only things that matter to them, they may be missing real problems, such as their backpack being on fire, or - that underneath their SilverTabs and Radiohead playlists, it’s quite hollow. 

Sark Studio, based in Sydney, Australia and created by designer Theresa Jackson (who’s background lies in sculpting), is less interested in gluttonous production and more about crafting purposeful clothing for individuals—specifically for individuals, outside of any broader popular movements. Many brands have sworn to this oath, yet are embedded in unethical production or carried in every major outlet on both sides of the Mississippi. But this is not for Sark. Jackson has said: “I’m really not that bothered about selling vast amounts, I’m much more interested in getting into the right places.” And in regards to Sark’s production, as stated by ink, their “Fabric is sourced from mills as far apart as Italy and Japan but all manufacturing is done locally in Sydney.”

The studio’s primary involvement has been with womenswear, and in specific, dresses. In this frequently referenced interview, Jackson notes on the beginnings of her brand:

“I just started making little girls' dresses. Then people started asking for dresses for their slightly older daughter and then I found women trying to squeeze into them, so I stopped the childrens and moved into an older market. It just grew from that.”

And from there, Sark has created a copious resume of attentive clothing for mindful wearers. Sark’s clothing, one can assume, is not bought on a passive whim. Each piece differs from the next in substantial ways, only unified by the studio's mindful tone.

Trends play no role in Sark, and even, traditional clothing brand expectations are hard to find in the studio. Jackson releases clothing in small runs throughout the year, disregarding the fashion industry’s twice-yearly deadline. Her work is slow, thoughtful, inventive. There is no pressure to constantly produce, and the effect of that freedom is easily visible in her work through Sark’s sculptured shapes, interesting patterns and eclectic textures. Jackson has said: “[Many women are] after body conscious clothes for some obscure reason. They don’t understand that clothes can be their own shape. They don’t have to follow your body.” For her and the studio, clothing is more than just something to wear; it is personal, intimate, expressive, artful—with thought.

And why shouldn’t clothing be regarded in these ways? For many, it is difficult to afford artisan clothes such as Sark’s; but maybe, if wasteful buying habits were pinched, as in, trips to the mall avoided and scrolls through Alibaba or Shein or Zara or Uniqlo eliminated, well-made clothing would not be merely a concept to the consumer. But there is also the issue of personal taste. Many people simply don’t want to wear clothing so expressive, so tailored or crafted—they are fine with their graphic tees and sweatpants and Nike Blazers, and that is fine; these differing palettes span across all mediums. When watching movies, naturally, many people prefer, per say, to watch something by Disney than by Janus Films. Both are valid options; both are choices from the individual consumer. Diversity should be praised and embraced, and it is needed because diversity by definition is a variety of differences; a collection of individuals. 

But the thing is, with clothing such as Sark Studio’s, the husk of anonymous collectivism is peeled away and only images of singulars remain. The individual is left bare; naked, except for what they have done, for who they actually are. As Jean-Paul Sartre has said: “Man is nothing else but what he purposes, he exists only in so far as he realises himself, he is therefore nothing else but the sum of his actions, nothing else but what his life is.” Clothing is able to reflect that individuality, that essence of a person. Yet it can also do the opposite. It is important to keep that in mind when influenced by trends. What is the purpose of my desires? Is it to honestly buy and wear a nice pair of Carhartt pants or tortoise shell XT-6 Salomons? Or is it to be seen; to be perceived in a lens with the aim of unconscious elevation by others. When that question is satisfied—hovering a mouse over the checkout button after being linked through an influencer's GRWM—I’d say it’s safe to copp.