As Dilara Findikoglu explained it, hers was a Spring 2019 collection rooted in conflicts: “between good and evil, sinful and innocent, natural and synthetic, provocation and modesty, Istanbul and London, past and present . . .” These binaries were visible at her seriously spooky presentation this afternoon, for sure—yet, the most urgent conflict of all was whether to cringe in a corner or bolt for the door.
The presentation was held at Dennis Severs’s House in East London, an artfully unrestored 18th-century Huguenot home which, over decades, was transformed by its late, U.S.-born artist owner into a richly layered time capsule. It proved a perfect haunt for Findikoglu’s Turkish-inflected brand of bewitchingly unstitched sorceress excess. Timed appropriately for Halloween, the collection spanned seven conflict-themed rooms, the most truly unsettling of which happened to be Findikoglu’s own pick as its standout.
She said: “So many girls in the Middle East have broken dreams because so many of them are pushed, as children, into marriages. This represents them: They are in a child’s room, haunted by their lost lives.” Three figures, one of them apparently pregnant, wore ornate gowns edged in aged Turkish head scarves whose cuts are based on Findikoglu’s collection of vintage doll’s attire. They themselves clutched dolls. Together, this ensemble made the Grady twins look like members of the Brady Bunch, but the point was sincere as well as chilling: The collection will coincide with the release of a T-shirt capsule, proceeds of which will go to a charity supporting victims of enforced marriage.
Other rooms included one dedicated to Dilara Findikoglu’s most personally specific conflict—the push and pull of her two cities, London and Istanbul. Here, Lily McMenamy, apparently lost in a reverie, wore a chain-garlanded bodysuit and belly danced in a ritual circle as a sportily possessed Salome. There was a seance attended by mourners and ghosts. A room dedicated to the poles of modesty and provocation was inhabited by a harrowed cast of harem-interred concubines, one of them wearing what looked very much like Chanel. In the dusty top-floor room, a fire flickered in the brazier at the foot of a bed in which lay a wan, berobed bride played by Aomi Muyock. Between her and the flames, two characters—the devil and an angel, Findikoglu prompted—gesticulated at each other in layered, roughly hemmed hoodies and skirts. Together, both clothes and the place combined to cast a powerful spell.
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