This was a wonderful clash between the expectations of the public and the aesthetic tastes of the intelligentsia. The middle classes, at whom the magazine is directed, seem to be broadly unaccepting, are even unaware of the fact that we Poles might still be perceived as “post-Soviet” abroad. And, more to the point, that the sensibilities of the world of fashion in the last few years have been wrapped up in the idea of exoticised “post-Soviet” aesthetics, best symbolised by the designs of Gosha Rubchinskiy and Demna Gvasalia of the equally cult and annoying Vetements.
In reality, the “poor but sexy” chic of Vetements doesn’t match the perception that broader Polish society has of itself as aspirational, westernised and still on the make. Most Poles would rather have something along the lines of Vanity Fair: photoshopped, heavy on bling and celebrity, heralding our eventual “arrival”. This is only the third international edition of Vogue in eastern Europe: the first was Russia in 1998, confirming the dominant role of the former Soviet hegemon in the region. The second came, surprisingly, in Ukraine; before Maidan, but under the now much-hated Viktor Yanukovych. For the Polish edition to start so “late” (relatively speaking) may speak volumes about our society — in terms of our consumerist potential, we’ve clearly only just been deemed “ready”. Adding to the symbolism, the publisher of the magazine is Kasia Kulczyk, daughter-in-law of the late Jan Kulczyk, formerly the richest man in Poland, who had a huge influence on the development of Polish capitalism, with its privatisation and asset-stripping.[...]
Poland is a post-communist country with growing inequalities (or, euphemistically, “contrasts”) that may look picturesque in a fashion shoot but also stand as an indictment of the capitalist dream. Hence the negative reactions. This is a world where the middle classes, losing money on credit they’ll never pay back, at least want compensation for their efforts in the form of a beautiful magazine. What they get instead is an aestheticised slap in the face, the let-them-eat-cake Marie Antoinette attitude of the upper class, one percenters who can afford such nonchalance.
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