Pity the poor custodians of the new Kylie exhibition at the V&A. For theirs is a hard lot. Not only must they contend with the heaving throngs of Kylie fans all fighting to get a look at those gold hot pants, but they must do so while listening to Kylie’s entire back catalogue, on a loop, eight hours a day, seven days a week, for the next five months. So, to the strains of Now We’re Back Together, I climbed the East Stairs of the V&A and ventured into the high camp world of Miss Minogue.
Apparently, and this is news to me, Kylie is a fashion icon on par with Gianni Versace and Vivienne Westwood, the last two subjects of V&A costume exhibitions. In the Autumn, the V&A will unveil The Golden Age of Couture, profiling the 'New Look' of Christian Dior, Hubert de Givency and Cristobel Balenciaga. But Kylie is not now nor will she ever be a tastemaker on the Balenciaga/Versace/Dior scale. So why then is she the subject of a major retrospective at the V&A?
Because she’s popular, of course, and as Waldemar Januszczak put it, there is a lamentable vogue among the nation’s art institutions for ‘catering to the tastes of the average Heat reader.’ Unlike Januszczak, I have no objection to such transparent, populist tactics. There’s always an outside chance that somewhere between the Kylie, the café, and the gift shop a visitor might stumble upon some proper art (by which I mean art that wasn’t worn to the Brit Awards.) But there are ways and means. This retrospective is an epic act of lazy indulgence on the part of the V&A. There has been no attempt at originality or ingenuity in the display of costume, no effort at revelation, and no pretence that this is anything more profound than a feature in Hello!
Despite contributions from Alexander McQueen, Karl Lagerfeld, and John Galliano there is a cheap, shoddy look to the clothes on display. A lycra mini-dress by Veronique Leroy could have come straight from the bargain bin at Jane Norman, while a pink chiffon number from Chanel trimmed with ostrich feathers was more Soho Drag-Queen than Rue St. Honoré . Most hideous of all was a yellow marabou bolero last seen on Sesame Street's Big Bird. Most of these outfits were never designed to be seen up close and personal. An aggressively sequined number that might have looked fabulous on a distant stage, appears tarnished at first hand. A feathered and plumed dress which moved like a dream on MTV just looks mangy and moth-eaten in the flesh. Only a Helmut Lang couture creation, all cascades of pleated crimson chiffon, held its own under the gallery spotlights.
The designers who steal the show, however, are Dolce and Gabbanna who designed the wardrobe for Kylie’s sell-out Show Girl tour. Among the D&G outfits on display are a sumptuous black velvet appliqué dress with a ten foot long train, a midnight-blue star-spangled bustier, and several of their signature silk corset dresses. Also on show are Dolce and Gabanna’s original Show Girl design sketches. Far be it from me to be prescriptive but wouldn't a Dolce and Gabanna retrospective have been more diverse, more adventurous, more culturally exciting than this rummage through Kylie’s cast-offs? And talk about populist! Oscar dresses, condemned advertising campaigns, Madonna, Naomi Campbell, Mario Testino, Victoria Beckham, Chloe Sevigny, Giselle, Charlize Theron…Need I go on? A D&G exhibition would have shed light on a hugely influential and innovative fashion partnership while also appealing to that all-important Heat reading demographic. Instead we have to make do with the lazily curated Kylie, an exhibition as skimpy as those infamous gold hot-pants.
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