Reykjavík Grapevine - 14.07.2017, Side 30

In-The-
Street Bitch
High-end streetwear with Alexander Kirchner
Words: Hannah Jane Cohen Photos: Art Bicnick
Fashion designer Alexander Kirch-
ner arrives to our interview wear-
ing a pair of welding sunglasses.
Black metal, wiry, chunky, they
seemed designed to leave a hideous
tan line.
To be blunt, Kirchner could best
be described as a 101 personality.
Everyone knows him and every-
one has an opinion. Perhaps it’s
because of his appearance. Easily
over 190 cm tall, he has a swar-
thy complexion, incredible style,
and shiny long hair, or as he says,
“Long hair, don’t care!” Perhaps it’s
his charisma. He’s pathologically
social and knows everyone every-
where. Or perhaps it’s simpler—
he does things like wear welding
sunglasses.
It’s fitting then that his signa-
ture design motif is a seatbelt trim
with “ALEXANDER KIRCHNER”
written in bright gold letters on
it. “You will know my name,” He
tells me. “I mean, I’m really start-
ing my line now, so I thought: You
will know my name.” It’s a good
catchphrase, but the thing is, most
in Reykjavík already do.
Attention whores
and Vera Wang
Listening to Kirchner describe his
work is like eavesdropping on a
teenager talking about their bes-
ties. That’s how passionate he is.
“My first piece was some hooker
dress for my friend. She was like,
‘Oh my god, I love it!’ My favou-
rite was a multicolored attention
whore fur coat. That was hard to
sew.” As much as he loves colour,
though, black is his go-to in every
way. “People who only wear black
are the most colorful people. It’s
big and beautiful. Black is the new
fucking black.” There’s another
catchphrase.
In the last few years, Kirchner
has concentrated mostly on wed-
ding dresses, helping other Icelan-
dic designers, working on pieces
for music videos and theatre, and
tailoring. Wedding dresses are a
particular passion: “Right now I am
working on a hooded one in white
beige for a friend. Wedding dresses
are so personal, which is why I like
making them. I would never pro-
duce a line of wedding dresses ever,
that doesn’t seem right. I am not
Vera Wang.” He laughs and mock
shudders. “Oh, please put that in! I
am not Vera Wang… yet.”
High-end hype
“In Iceland, the fashion commu-
nity is small, obviously,” Kirchner
begins. He leans back. “We are all
trying to make high-end couture
shit, but in different ways than—”
A Fila-clad blonde with cheek pierc-
ings yells out Kirchner’s name,
interrupting him. They kiss and
have a short conversation, the sec-
ond time our talk is paused by a
trendy-looking downtown rat.
Even camped out in Hressó—not
a typical Kirchner haunt—there’s
no escaping his popularity.
When she leaves, he seamless-
ly returns to his thought thread.
“High-end street is coming though.
I would characterize myself as that.
I make fancy, fancy, fancy shit
that’s still loyal to the streets.” He
smirks. “Industry bitch? Nah, I’m
in-the-street bitch.” There’s the
catchphrase.
Eygló—the cover star of this
issue—is a personal favourite
in the scene. “She has a sense of
humour in her clothing. It’s this
playful je ne sais quoi.” Inklaw is
another. “Those guys are so tal-
ented, so so so talented, but man
they are fucking crazy. That IKEA
shit!” He’s referring to the limited
edition jumpsuit line the Inklaw
boys put out in response to the
$2,145 Balenciaga. IKEA tote bag
frenzy. “I mean c’mon,” Kirchner
continues, “Balenciaga was not at-
tempting any IKEA stuff. Everyone
knows that, but it was a hype and
so much about fashion nowadays
is hype.”
“Vetements? Louis Vuitton x
Supreme? Think of that Supreme x
Louis Vuitton hooker-looking top
with the open stomach and bounc-
ing tits in that stupid Iggy Azalea
'Mo’Bounce' video. It’s chic but it’s
not chic. It just makes hype.” He
rolls his eyes. “But, of course, I re-
late. I mean, look at my stuff: Alex-
ander Kirchner. Alexander Kirch-
ner. That’s hype. As I said before,
you will know my name.” Boom.
Catchphrase.
Post-apocalyptic
health goth
In March, Kirchner had his first
fashion show, which, he says, is
when everything hit off for him. “I
was not accepted into [Reykjavík
Fashion Festival]. My creative di-
rector Lukka was like, ‘OMG, that
is great!’ ‘To not get into RFF?’
‘Yes, that’s amazing!’ She said,
‘Let’s just do a show ourselves!’ So
we did.” He smiles, leans into the
microphone. “You are my muse,
Lukka.”
The show was held in combina-
tion with a large concert, lit com-
pletely by the blue headlights of a
group of surrounding Mercedes
and outlined by smoke. Kirchner
laughs. “All the photographers
were like, fuck, really?” The col-
lection had 24 outfits, which were
“kind of pornographic, kind of
chic, kind of hip-hop, kind of rock
and roll, kind of dark.” Completely
black or white, Kirchner’s looks
emitted an industrial bondage
feel—fitted but utilitarian, like
post-apocalyptic health goth.
“I think a lot of it was inspired
by the beats in songs or the atti-
tude of music.” He starts naming
examples: Kanye, Busta, Missy,
Timbaland. “But afterwards I was
like, ‘Lukka Lukka, what the fuck?
We did it!’” He smiles. “It went
much better than I thought, but
of course I will never be too happy
about anything. I am always evolv-
ing and everything can always be
better.” There’s that true artist

Man at work
30 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 12 — 2017
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