Stylist Christopher Insulander would be unmissable anywhere, but he’s especially noticeable in Stockholm, where the vibe is mostly sophisticated but safe. No minimalist, this Swede favors skin-tight animal-print pants and safety pins, and his skin is a canvas for an ever-expanding gallery of tattoos. Now, with a project called Crapzine, Insulander is filling the void left by the absence of a Spring 2020 Fashion Week in the Swedish capital. “Cancelled due to the future,” was how the Swedish Fashion Council put it. Like Extinction Rebellion, the organization is questioning whether fashion weeks are sustainable.
Though the local Fashion Week had admittedly shrunk, especially in comparison to that of Copenhagen, fashion is big business in Sweden, and not only for giants like H&M and Acne Studios. Brands like Our Legacy, Rodebjer, and Eytys are internationally known, and there are always new talents to watch. The prospect of no shows, says Insulander, left him and his friends “feeling like a part of why we work within this industry died.” In response, the stylist is introducing an alternative concept he’s calling “Crap Diem Couture Week.” (Other shows and events, independently organized, are scheduled from August 27 to 29.) “At the end of the day,” he says, “it [all] boils down to actually being nice to people while kicking upwards.”
Here, Insulander discusses his fashion beginnings and what he wants to get out of Crap Diem Couture Week and Crapzine.
What’s going on with Stockholm Fashion Week, and what have you decided to do about it?
The original SFW opted to sit this week out, and instead focus on the future [and] create a digital platform, in what I understand was a step towards sustainability. So me and [designers] Emelie Janrell and Pia Simensen decided that we needed to create our own space.
What are you proposing?
I’ve organized a little bit of an alternative Fashion “Week”—Crap Diem Couture Week—which will hopefully be a space for creative designers to show craftsmanship and the fantasy of what fashion can be, and to inspire future designers to focus on the artistic aspect of fashion. [Besides] working on Emilie’s and Pia’s shows, [I] wanted to round off [the] project with a fanzine that also shared the idea of a “safe creative space.” Enter Crapzine!
Can you explain the title?
Well, I was kind of tired of the overall positivity and show-offy-ness that was all over Instagram when I joined, and I was having a bad day on top of that, so naturally my handle became @crapdiem. After I styled Tove Lo in a uterus dress and got quoted as Crap Diem, I decided this [would be] my new brand. [Looking for titles for] my new zine, I naturally fell [upon] Crapzine. With the genius beauty direction of Ignacio Alonso, and forward-thinking fashion editing by Maria Barsoum, I hope this zine will find its way to a new generation of fans—“little craps.”
Tell us about Pia and Emilie and how you are working with them.
Emelie is my fashion ride or die. I knew her friends and heard she was a sewing machine savant so I recommended her for a shoot as a tailor when I was still assisting. One thing led to another and a few years later, I forced her to do her first show. Pia, a woman shrouded in coolness, kimonos, and creative chaos, used to be in the outskirts of my friend group. I had admired her art from afar and heard rumors about her having a design past but never asked her about it. About a year ago we started talking about the space between art and fashion and together came up with a [plan] that would reconnect her with her design past. An experience free from the shackles of sales and mass production.
What’s the role of fantasy in fashion?
As a teen, [when] I snuck into shows by the likes of Helena Hörstedt and Sandra Backlund, [I was] gobsmacked at the level of creativity and craftsmanship. I feel really sad about the cancellation of SFW, and I want to give back what I experienced by showing a part of the fantasy, helping people dream—I mean someone might have a nightmare, but that’s still a dream. If I can make anyone as stubborn as I am in the way I see how fashion should be, I would be a proud mom!
How did you get into fashion?
[I’m from] a little town in the middle of nowhere: [there are] a lot of elks, two gas stations, three pizzerias, [and] about 2,000 inhabitants. I started working at a quite young age as a groundskeeper at a gas station, and my paychecks went to video games, CDs, and eventually fabrics to sew my own clothes. At the time I started buying my first Vogues, and another nifty magazine called Spruce that used to have a pattern for one of the garments [featured in] in one of the editorials, which I always made for myself. After that I thrifted my way into almost being dubbed “fashion victim of the year” my freshman year of high school.
How did you start styling?
I was discovered in a toilet queue in 2007 (in laundry-day clothes, mind you), by Robert Rydberg, superstar stylist of the Nordics, who took a chance on me and allowed me to go from concierge to stylist assistant. It turned out I had a knack for it, and a few years later I became a fledgling, trying it out on my own.
How has your style evolved?
For many years [my personal style] didn’t evolve as much as disintegrate. I had no time for buying new stuff and just [thought], What the hell! Why not just dress as the most naive thing I can [imagine]—a teenage punk—since I had the innate mindset of challenging why we look at fashion the way we do. ([I’m always wondering why] we follow fashion trends rather than fashion ideologies [like] buy less, buy better; better not buy but trade; help each other; kick upwards and lend a helping hand downwards.) It manifested in tattered clothes and tattoos all over—the tattoos being part of an art piece called “Salong Flyttkartong,” made by Linnéa Sjöberg.
Professionally, I tried to conform to what was the appropriate “outside-the-box” thinking within the “keep it commercial, but with an edge” [vein] without stepping on any local toes, but I soon felt held down. I had to rebel. Now I don’t even know where I’m at, but I know where it’s from, what I reference, and I sure make sure to have fun while doing it!
Once a punk, always a punk?
[I’m punk] in the way of having problems with self-proclaimed authorities and applying DIY thinking to basically everything I do. Bending rules has become something of a sport of mine. At the end of the day it boils down to actually being nice to people while kicking upwards.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
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