We challenged her to undergo the various effects of this. The result was a switch between individual personages.
These outfits directly changed Lisette’s behaviour, mood, do’s and don’ts and focus,
as she encountered altered emotions with in herself.
Creative direction & concept – Conny Groenewegen
I dressed up in an A-line blocked dress, a piece I would never normally wear. When I zipped the dress up I had a reluctant feeling. I experienced an increased sense of rebelliousness in myself. In an attempt to make myself feel more “comfortable” in the dress, I tried emphasizing this rebellious feeling. I let my hair down, frizzed it up, smudged my make-up, made everything dirty, slide across the floor, ran around and mentally went to a dirty heavy punk bar to head bang and yell my head off. Hello transformation into Courtney Love!
I undressed, standing in my underwear thinking about what to wear next; I dressed up in a pair of loose fitted, harem pants. I wore a leather sleeveless top, with a textured pattern. I wildly started doing punches in the air, took on a fighters’ position and behaved like a boxer in a ring with a full crowd of spectators around me. I created a neck towel out of one of the white cloths that was lyingaround. I threw it over my neck, with both of my hands wrapped around it forming fists. For a couple of minutes, I walked around like I’d just won the match; tough, masculine, tired but fulfilled. I had just become the champion, the man of the match, a respected legend.
The monk came to life when I put on an army green rain cape with a large hood. It became clear to me that I felt safe and protected but paradoxically also alone and vulnerable, lonely even. I dared to confront myself with these feelings and to explore my mind within this big piece of clothing. Did I feel especially vulnerable in this piece because I could, because I felt protected? Was this the “real me” at that moment? Or did I feel this way because this piece made me too distant from the outer world and too close to a part of my inner core?
I threw on a way too big grey A-line dress with diverse textured patterns, which is designed to be sexy and revealing, but on me only exposed my extremely pale skin, my “chicken breast” and my muscular spindle-shanks. I was delighted by the dress being pulled out of context, and I felt like a young tomboy who was being dressed up by her mother to visit her fancy Aunt’s birthday. With dirty feet, my skinhead hairdo and a shitload of heavy metal earrings I pulled up the bottom of the dress, stood on my tiptoes and I felt like a ballerina. Probably one of the worst young ballerinas in the world, but I couldn’t give a damn and plié’d, relevé’d and port de bras’d my ass off.
Holy Mary! Yes, Holy Mary is the fifth and last role I played in a long leather skirt. A skirt and silver ring with a naked upper body. Previously I had already created some sort of bedroom with a “bed”. I walked up to it, lay down, closed my eyes and made myself comfortable. Good old Mary, I now know that ‘rebel’ is one of your names’ meanings, and oh if I would’ve known this beforehand… Thank you Mary, endless virgin, I rest my case.