Who's offended by Victoria's Secret?

After their 'racist' use of Native Indian headdresses, Victoria's Secret is yet another fashion brand in the firing line for cultural insensitivity. But is appropriation always insulting?

Earlier this month, Victoria’s Secret was forced to issue a public apology after its annual catwalk featured a lingerie model gyrating down the runway in nothing more than her underwear, heels, and an oversized, pseudo-comedy Native American headdress.

Instant outrage followed this rather brazen attempt to use a sacred object to promote an underwear brand. Victoria’s Secret promptly issued a formal apology and removed the photograph from all marketing material.

The incident follows a chain of recent libel suits which saw a slew of fashion brands facing racism allegations for their appropriation of Native American imagery. Urban Outfitters faced legal action from the Navaho nation after printing their name on its products, Paul Frank were forced to issue a public apology after hosting a Native American themed party, and No Doubt very recently had to withdraw their latest music video after they faced a storm of offended criticism for its thematic ‘Cowboys and Indians’ clichés.

Why has this collective outrage exploded so suddenly? Although all the above examples are understandably offensive, they don’t detract from the fact that Native American heritage has long been part of the landscape of popular culture. From Clint Eastwood to Pocahontas, the American Indian image has been subsumed into mass culture - sometimes respectfully, other times much less so. The fashion industry, in particular, owes an unquantifiable debt to this visual culture, but few have yet to be offended by the legions of beaded moccasins in any high street shoe shop.

So, where do we draw the line? When, in other words, does cultural appropriation become cultural misappropriation?

It is, of course, demeaning for popular culture to arbitrarily borrow sacred symbols with no acknowledgement of their correct context. What’s interesting, however, is that the laws of political correctness differ between different art forms.

Consider the music industry – the entire history of popular music is, arguably, an extended exercise in cultural assimilation. Jazz, rap and hip-hop owe their entire existence to the elastic intermingling of alternate cultures. Paul Simon's seminal 'Graceland' album is widely considered one of the greatest records of all time for his open inclusion of South African musical traditions – albeit achieved collaboratively and inclusively, and still mired in racial controversy following Simon’s apparent boycott of anti-apartheid protests.

In our current musical climate, Damon Albarn remains a key example of how to do cultural assimilation credibly. He is currently creative co-director of Africa Express, a project seeking to foster collaboration between Western and African artists, with the intention of gaining a wider audience for the latter. The project has so far been extensively applauded for its inclusive approach and progressive sounds.

Of course, the extenuating factors are obvious. Whether cultural assimilation is seen as a tribute or an insult comes down to whether it is achieved in earnest artistic collaboration (as in Albarn) or flippant superficiality (as in Victoria’s Secret).

Nonetheless, a huge grey area is destined to loom over the issue. No Doubt were recently forced to pull their new music video following outrage at their use of Native American outfits. Its worth asking – had they sampled traditional American Indian music instead of clothing, would anyone have been as offended?

The truth is that nowadays, cultural assimilation has become so all-pervasive it’s almost unnoticeable. Popular culture has always consisted of mining, borrowing from and subverting the cultural heritage of the past. In fact, Frederic Jameson went so far as to see this as a defining factor of the postmodern age. For him, the past and its symbols no longer exist, "except as a repository of genres, styles, and codes ready for commodification”.

This has vast implications for political incorrectness - no symbol can truly be said to be culturally isolated any more. The eagle-feathered headdress which inspired such extensive outrage on the Victoria's Secret runway doesn't belong to the Native American repositry alone. It's origins date back to widespread early cultures, including Aztec warriors, early Gaelic clan chiefs and Slavic hussars. Now it’s been assimilated into contemporary culture and passed into the collective unconscious. Its original meaning is melded and mixed in a sea of new, secular meanings.

In other words, in a postmodern, post-ironic, globalised world, can anyone really be said to have ownership over their own heritage?

Model Karlie Kloss walks the runway during the Victoria's Secret 2012 Fashion Show in New York City. (Photo by Jamie McCarthy/Getty Images)

Kamila Kocialkowska is a freelance journalist based in London.



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Shell-shock symphony: Berg’s Wozzeck – opera’s take on post-traumatic stress disorder

Begun in 1914 and premiered in 1925, Wozzeck has class struggle, poverty and mental health problems as its principal subjects.

When I was 12 years old, I made a devastating discovery. The arias from my favourite operas – Rigoletto, Turandot, The Barber of Seville – which I played over and over again, winding and rewinding the cassettes ­until they ceased to work, did not ­necessarily have words that matched the beauty of the music. Intense study of a book I had received for Christmas called Stories from Opera taught me that although some of the soaring melodies I adored carried words about love, death, horror and tragedy, other lyrics, in translation, proved to be people agreeing where to meet later, or misremembering each other’s names.

This crushing disappointment came to mind again recently while I was listening to an edition of Radio 3’s Building a Library, a segment of its regular Saturday-morning CD review, in which new releases are compared and contrasted with archive recordings to find the best listening experience. The reviewer Gillian Moore was surveying the available recordings of Alban Berg’s Wozzeck. She gave credit to several English-language recordings for the clarity they offer newcomers to this work, but eventually concluded that she must recommend a version using the original German, because there were crucial aural elements that could not be reproduced without it.

Moore, now director of music at the Southbank Centre, chose to kick off a series of semi-staged concert performances of operas with Wozzeck. Although undoubtedly an opera, it was a far cry from the fairy stories and doomed romances that filled my pre-teen ears, but it worked surprisingly well stripped of scenery, costumes and other theatrical accoutrements.

Zurich Opera’s presentation placed importance on the orchestral score above all else, allowing its jagged and insistent lines to remind us that this is music born of the dark years between the world wars. Begun in 1914, but delayed while Berg served in the Austro-Hungarian army (it premiered in 1925), it has class struggle, poverty and mental health problems as its principal subjects. The score owes much to Berg’s fellow Viennese composers Gustav Mahler and Arnold Schoenberg (Mahler’s widow put up the money for the initial publication of the score). At times in this production, the orchestra was so utterly central that it felt like a symphony with singing, rather than vocal melodies with accompaniment.

The Wozzeck of the title is a poor soldier, flawed and dogged by madness and visions we would probably now see as signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. He scrapes a living for his girlfriend, Marie, and their son by humiliating himself before his military and class superiors (the Captain, the Doctor, the Drum Major) and by participating in degrading medical “experiments”. The star of the show, the German baritone Christian Gerhaher, had to withdraw at the last minute for health reasons, so the British singer Leigh Melrose stepped in to reprise his Wozzeck from the widely acclaimed 2013 ENO production. Despite performing from behind a music stand, Melrose acquitted himself well, handling the transitions between Berg’s three singing styles: “half-singing”, Sprechgesang (or “spoken singing”) and full vocalisation to great effect.

Gun-Brit Barkmin, with a severe Twenties bob and a flowing scarlet dress, was a superb Marie – alternately harsh and soft as the music demanded it, flirting destructively with the Drum Major while conveying how little choice she had in the matter. Of the ensemble, Lars Woldt’s Doctor particularly stood out, using the German libretto to drag every ounce of black comedy out of his character’s fascination with Wozzeck’s bodily functions. The high vocal standard proved Moore’s point about the necessity of the original German libretto – it is a difficult language to sing, because of all the harsh consonants and modified vowels, but when used expertly can be unendingly expressive. We hear this in the way the double “zz” of the title character’s name becomes a derisory bitten-off “tz” in the mouth of the Captain; and Wozzeck’s exclamation in Act I that “Du, der Platz ist verflucht!” sounds so much more accursed and deranged with all those consonants in such close proximity.

The German sociologist Theodor Adorno once called Berg “the foreign minister of the land of his dreams”, much to the composer’s amusement; but, hearing the score for Wozzeck laid so bare, you understand what Adorno meant. The incredible double crescendo on a single B from the orchestra after Wozzeck murders Marie – raised by the conductor Fabio Luisi in this performance to an unbearable volume before being allowed to die away – feels like music from an other-worldly nightmare. Yet, for the war-battered men who inspired Wozzeck, his tragic half-life was all too real.

Caroline Crampton is web editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 08 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin vs Isis