AMBUSH Fall 2018 Mix by Slow Waves


Track List

Each Time You Fall In Love- Cigarettes After Sex

Twin Peaks Theme (Instrumental)- Angelo Badalamenti

Where Is My Mind?- Pixies

The Rain Song- Led Zeppelin

Pictures Of You- The Cure

Fade Into You- Mazzy Star

Muzzle- Smashing Pumpkins

Dreams- Fleetwood Mac

Heroes (Single Version)- David Bowie

Dead Souls- Joy Division

How Soon Is Now?- The Smiths

Dear Prudence (Single)- Siouxsie & The Banshees

Sweet Jane (Live)- The Velvet Underground

After Hours- The Velvet Underground

100%- Sonic Youth

Rebel Girl- Bikini Kill

Svefn-G-Englar- Sigur Rós

We Are The Music Makers- Aphex Twin

May This Be Love- Jimi Hendrix

Soon- My Bloody Valentine

Seven- Sunny Day Real Estate

Rid Of Me- PJ Harvey

Bed For The Scraping- Fugazi

Blue Flowers- Dr. Octagon

Cherry-Coloured Funk- Cocteau Twins

4th Chamber (feat. RZA, Ghostface Killah & Killah Priest- GZA


Oyster Magazine: 'Pamilya' shot by James J. Robinson by Slow Waves


Featuring clothing from SLOW WAVES, styling by KEVIN CHEUNG


(MOLLY GODDARD Robyn Dress, Y/PROJECT Faux Fur Coat, FAUSTINE STEINMETZ Logo Track Jacket and Track Pants)


See the full shoot HERE


Y/Project Homme Spring Summer 19 by Slow Waves


"Glenn Martens has a knack for producing clothes in altered states, which made today’s Y/Project venue, the garden of the Faculté de Phamacie de Paris, a perfect fit whether deliberate or by coincidence.

Consider how his clothes might make you feel confident and in control thanks to oversize and structured silhouettes and extroverted color-blocking."


"Innovation is essential to design, and its success is usually determined by how deep and broadly it can penetrate. Y/Project looks would appear to be self-selecting; most people usually already want to wear them. "

This wasn’t a wholly crowd-pleasing collection, yet the blocks of billowing fabric and integrated layering felt important—as though they will turn up elsewhere in due time. For now, Martens noted, “I would get really bored if I only did easy looks. And it’s not about being beautiful; it’s about seeing how far we can go.”


Text by Amy Verner for Vogue


Vogue Italia: Even cowboys get the blues by Slow Waves


He arrives, wide eyed.

Nothing is as he imagined. Neon signs flash. Fields of concrete. Mobile phones seem as if almost an extension of the body. Crowds. Filth.

Strangers glare or, worse, shuffle forward almost unconsciously.

Too far from home. He has the blues. Even cowboys get the blues.

The title is based on ‘Even Cowgirls Get the Blues’  – a 1976 novel by Tom Robbins.



Alex Mullins Stone Washed Jeans and Y/Project Embellished Belt from Slow Waves


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Photography: Agnieszka Chabros (@achabros)

Styling: Sarah Pritchard (@sar4hcant)

Model:  Zach at People Agency (


View the full feature HERE


BOF: The Ghosts of Lang and Margiela by Slow Waves


How Helmut Lang and Martin Margiela left a radical roadmap for Raf Simons, Demna Gvasalia and Phoebe Philo.




LONDON, United Kingdom — Fashion is no different from the rest of life in its binary essence. Its story evolves in pairs: Chanel and Schiaparelli, Balenciaga and Dior, Montana and Mugler, Armani and Versace, Galliano and McQueen, Philo and Ghesquière, defining their moment, inspiring their peers. Currently, we’ve got Raf Simons and Demna Gvasalia, who have sparked the conversation between street and salon that is transforming fashion. But behind them looms another pair of influencers: the true motivators.

It’s been more than ten years since Helmut Lang and Martin Margiela left their brands in the hands of others. The reasons why their influence lingers so strongly are complex, as much to do with who they were, as with what they did. They walked away at the top of their game. There are few gestures more resonant, partly because unfinished business is not the way fashion prefers things. Look at the world now and you could easily imagine some of today’s key players taking upon themselves the responsibility of wrapping up loose ends for Lang and Margiela — or at least running with the radical road map they left behind. Simons and Gvasalia, obviously. But Phoebe Philo’s time at Céline explored similar territory, and, less obvious but maybe more intriguing, you have the likes of John Galliano, now carrying the mantle at Margiela’s Maison, and Rick Owens, continuing the grand experiment.

"Reflecting on the nineties, it’s hard to dodge the feeling that fashion is now a lot more ordinary."

In an era — and an industry — where there are no longer things such as secrets, Lang and Margiela remain consummate men of mystery. They weren’t opposites — like Armani and Versace for instance — but they were different enough that, at the time, people seemed to favour one or the other. Lang was always the modernist, the arch-minimalist. Margiela’s aesthetic was, by comparison, riskier, more of a magpie clutter. Lang celebrated construction, Margiela dissolved it. If Lang’s radicalism seemed to be very much of the time (1997’s “Gattaca,” the fashion movie of the millennium, was cool, sensual Helmut on celluloid), Margiela veered between discombobulated echoes of a formal past in his Edwardian silhouettes and fleeting glimpses of a synthetic future.


One thing I remember is the wholesale enthusiasm that would greet Lang’s shows, and the more guarded assessments that would follow Margiela’s, much like Miuccia Prada’s some years later, where, after a show, you could sense people waiting for a consensus to form. “Martin was never a tastemaker,” claims one contemporary, whose claim on anonymity is convincing enough for me. “There was always something uncomfortable and unflattering about his clothes. And people at the time really thought the secondhand, pre-worn thing was a bit creepy.” That is something else the passage of time inevitably allows: as the rough edges are smoothed, the burnishing of the legend can proceed without question.

In hindsight, Lang’s prescience was stunning. He was the first designer to acknowledge the impact of the internet, choosing to show his collection for Autumn/Winter 1998 online, rather than as a physical presentation. That was the same year he advertised on New York taxis, the first designer to utilise mass marketing in such a creative way. And it was in 1998 that Lang turned the fashion calendar on its head by deciding to show in New York rather than Paris, thus forcing the show schedule the industry now follows, with New York first in early September instead of last in early November. Lang didn’t play by the rules, he simply changed them to suit himself. How irresistible such a notion must be for designers now, either bound to a corporate wheel or wrestling with the tenets of independence.



If Margiela’s engagement with the cutting edge of technology was less obvious (despite what former colleagues describe as a neo-Warholian fascination with the culture of celebrity), his commitment to iconoclasm was as ardent as Lang’s. Their clothes were unyielding, tough and unsentimental. It occurs to me that, in initially setting them up as counterpoints, I’m instinctively finding connections. Like the season where they both chose the same accent colour — a bilious yellow — for their otherwise monochrome collections. But whatever wavelength they were on found more compelling expression in ideas bigger than colour palette. Chaos, for instance. In Lang’s last collections, he seemed to be embracing the fiercely unpredictable. At the time, he insisted he was also introducing a lot of organic inspirations, like stuff he found on the beach outside his home on Long Island. Nature is the mother of beautiful chaos. How often were Margiela’s collections formed in that essence of paganism, bodies daubed, crusted, swaddled?




Reflecting on the 90s, it’s hard to dodge the feeling that fashion is now a lot more ordinary. Maybe it’s the ambiguous benison of streetwear. Designers themselves seem to acknowledge that, when they commit to “finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.” In their own distinct ways, Lang and Margiela made the blueprints, creating cult objects out of basics: utility wear, T-shirts, distressed denim, lingerie, latex. Margiela challenged function by exploding coats and jackets. At Balenciaga, Gvasalia launched his quest for a way to transmute the classic elegance of haute couture into the 21st century with an off-the-shoulder parka whose volume was a deliberate Margiela echo. At his own label, Vetements, he was compelled to acknowledge the influence of Margiela, the crucible in which his own aesthetic was formed by being in charge of the design team for three years, when he named his collection for Autumn/Winter 2018 “The Elephant in the Room.” The prototype for Galliano’s dissection of garments at Margiela, the skeletal technique he calls décortique, can be found in Lang’s experiments with the bare bones of clothes.

The way in which Lang and Margiela addressed the familiar — finding ways to mutate and elevate anonymity — was a natural evolution of their sense of the women and men they dressed. The current debate about diversity would have been irrelevant to them. Their runways were home to all sorts. “Both Martin and Helmut dressed real people as opposed to the generation of Montana and Mugler before them,” says Lutz Huelle, who assisted Margiela from 1994 to 1996, “so they spoke to a lot of different women, not an idealised form of one type. And I think that people miss that ‘artistic’ view of seeing the world as opposed to a uniquely mercantile one.”


It wasn’t only “artistic.” What stands out for me now is the precise psychology of Lang and Margiela’s clothing. They knew what their customers needed. The notion of protection has been a stated trend in recent fashion, entirely explicable in light of a world going gaga. But protection has always been fundamental in clothing. It’s striking how armoured Lang and Margiela’s clothes often seemed, how they provided an inbuilt sense of security. Fashion always reflects — “the glass of fashion” Cecil Beaton called it — but the best fashion projects. Anticipates. Like Lang. Like Margiela. Post-Internet, there’s an irresistible purity and integrity to what they achieved.

Helmut Lang called his shows “séances de travail.” There, the literal meaning of the word séance is a session or a sitting. It was not just about the work, it was equally the showing of the work that mattered to him. Sometime after the fact of his last presentation, for Spring/Summer 2005, he told me, “I didn’t want it to be always starting somewhere and then ending and the next thing being completely different, because that didn’t make sense to me.” Margiela was similarly preoccupied. His work diverted fashion away from the circus it became in the 90s — the delirious roundelay of change — to re-focus attention on his consistent core principles: body and fabric.


But we could choose to use the word séance as it is understood more generally in English, as a communion with something spiritual, intangible. Lang and Margiela saw creativity as a forceful, continuous flow. Evolution, not revolution. It’s telling that both designers removed themselves from the industry while they were still comparatively young. “This isn’t for me” is a powerful statement. We know that Lang has since lived his life quietly as an artist, according to the precepts that shaped his time in fashion. Margiela remains as enigmatic as ever. His current retrospective at the Palais Galliera is impressive but it appropriately, provokingly, asks more questions than it answers. So, it’s in the work of the acolytes that we’ve seen the seeds they sowed sprout contemporary forms: Simons at Calvin Klein, Gvasalia at Balenciaga, Galliano in his stewardship of Margiela’s Maison, season on season exploring defiant pet themes like “dressing in haste” and “unconscious glamour.”




Like the tendrils of triffids, Lang and Margiela infect new generations. The most inspiring, encouraging thing, however, is that their truly transformative impact has yet to be felt. As the future tries and fails to define them, they will continue to warp fashion in their own supremely logical, totally inexplicable way. In light of the fact that I’ve never actually laid eyes on Martin Margiela, let alone spoken to him, it has to be Helmut Lang who has the last word. I asked him once about the gap between ideal and reality, the chasm where all dreams die. He was characteristically unshakeable. “I’m not made for that negative concept. Even when times are not favourable, there’s a good possibility to do something or to start something. I think if I am interested in something, I’ve never been so disappointed by it that I was irritated.” Children of the future, heed those words.



Article by Tim blanks for Business of Fashion


10 Magazine- International Woolmark Prize by Slow Waves







More fashion prizes. Keep ’em coming. The 2018 International Woolmark Prize nominees have been announced, and the United Kingdom is being represented pretty damn well with nine semi-finalists including A-Cold Wall*, Alex Mullins, Daniel W. Fletcher, Edward Crutchley, Liam Hodges, Marta Jakubowski, Nicholas Daley, Richard Malone and Steven Tai.


As for the panel or Advisory Council as they’re known, 10 is all up in it with our BFF’s from across the pond at 10 Australia, Editor Alison Veness and Associate Editor Rebecca Khoury joining 10 contributor Colin McDowell alongside Tim Blanks, Jefferson Hack, Christine Centenera, Diet Prada, Catherine Baba, Sara Sozzani Maino, Gert Jonkers and Christiane Arp. A fiercely good panel of advisors.

With more than 300 designers from across 46 countries entering, the nominees have been whittled down to 42 designers who will go forward into the regional semi-finals to be held in Hong Kong, London and New York City in July. The winners within each region then go into the finals. No mucking about here. Finalists will receive approximately £40,000 to invest in the development of their collection, along with mentoring. May the best designer win.


Article by Roxy Lola for 10 Magazine

Is Yoon Ahn the coolest jewellery designer on the planet? by Slow Waves


Designing for Kanye, partying with Bella Hadid and now rocking it at Dior Homme — Tom Ellen meets a style maverick on a mission

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'Everything that used to be underground is mainstream,’ declares Yoon Ahn, the Korean-American jewellery designer beloved by supermodels and hip-hop megastars.

‘Times change, so high fashion has to accept it or get left behind.’ She should know. A decade back, Ahn was just a jobbing graphic designer who spent her downtime making experimental trinkets for friends. Today, that ‘passion project’ has exploded into one of the planet’s hippest streetwear brands, AMBUSH, a favourite of rappers such as A$AP Rocky, Skepta and Kanye West.


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Now she’s in Paris to embark on her latest challenge: heading up jewellery design for Dior Homme, the fashion house’s menswear label. She was announced in the role last month by her friend — and the label’s new creative director — Kim Jones, hence our interview venue, a precious stone’s throw from Dior HQ in Paris.

‘It’s really an honour,’ she says of the Dior appointment. ‘Kim has talked about us working together since his Louis Vuitton days, but honestly, I never thought I could come into an old couture house and make things, because I came out of nowhere. I had no training and no one behind me. In that sense, I always felt like an outsider.’ That may well be but on catwalks right now, it’s the outsiders who are taking control.



From the ascendance of Virgil Abloh — another untrained disruptor turned world-dominating trendsetter — to Vuitton collaborating with Supreme, Ahn’s Dior Homme gig feels like the latest groundswell in a high fashion revolution. When we meet it’s 7pm but her body clock is approaching 2am. She’s come straight to the 8th arrondissement bar after flying in from Tokyo, looking about as un jetlagged as it is possible to look: platinum blonde hair slicked straight back like a Thin White Duke-era Bowie, pale pink T-shirt framed by a black leather jacket and ‘fanny pack’. ‘We belong to a generation of designers who grew up on skate culture and street clothes in the 1990s and 2000s, so naturally it gets manifested in our creations,’ she says. The designer’s label, called AMBUSH and named for her desire to take people by surprise, was very much born from this mentality. Created in the late Noughties with her husband, Verbal, one of Japan’s biggest rappers, the pair began making chains and rings purely because Verbal couldn’t find any decent jewellery to blow his royalty cheques on. Neither had any formal fashion schooling: just bags of enthusiasm and a thirst for experimentation.


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‘We just wanted to prove we could do s*** no one else was doing,’ she grins, sparkling at the memory of it. ‘We went all out, making crazy, outrageous things. Fifteen-centimetre [wide] Cuban chains... A baseball cap out of bronze.’ Was it actually wearable? ‘Was it wearable...?’ She ponders this over a sip of Coke. ‘Well, yeah, if it fit your head. We didn’t make lots of different sizes...’ These eye-catching (and potentially neck-damaging) items aside, things really caught fire when they unveiled their Roy Lichtenstein-inspired ‘POW!’ rings at the turn of last decade. ‘We really just made them for friends,’ Ahn shrugs, but since Verbal had recently signed to Def Jam Records in the US, those friends now included the likes of Pharrell and Big Sean.

Suddenly, the planet’s most style-savvy rappers who were already enthusiastically tapping in to the Tokyo street-wear scene now had an authentic, exciting Japanese jewellery brand to provide their accessories. ‘The rappers really are the rock stars of today,’ Ahn points out. ‘You had movie stars and rock stars setting trends in the past, but it’s rappers now. That’s why streetwear is bigger than ever, and it’s not fading out.



Yoon was born in Seoul, South Korea, in 1970-something. ‘You can just say “Seventies”,’ she smiles. ‘I think it’s okay to keep certain things quiet...’ That vague air of mystery continues to pervade as we discuss her childhood. Her father served in the US military and when I enquire about his role she purses her pillar-box red lips and chuckles: ‘You know, I should ask him.’ Army life saw the family uprooted constantly and by the time they settled in Seattle when Ahn was a teenager, she had already lived in Korea, Hawaii and California. You can still hear these locations jostling for position in her accent. Seattle was where her ‘outsider’ mentality took shape, and despite holding US citizenship she still describes herself as an ‘alien’.

At 18, she went to Boston to study graphic design where she met Verbal — then just a rap-loving marketing major. The two began dating and when Verbal suggested relocating to his hometown of Tokyo after graduation, Ahn jumped at the chance. ‘The club scene in Tokyo at that time was off the chain,’ she recalls. ‘Hip-hop, electro... Everyone was peacocking so you wore things to stand out. This was before Instagram, so if you wanted to see what a scene was like, you had to go to the clubs. My hair was a different colour every few weeks, I was customising clothes with studs, making jewellery from found objects. Mixing things up.’ Today Ahn’s inexhaustible work ethic allows for far less after-hours ‘peacocking’. Rare downtime is spent at home in Tokyo with Verbal and their two cats, or indulging a burgeoning Korean gangster film obsession (‘You can learn a lot from Mafia movies...’).


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That said, the mix-and-match ideology she learned in the clubs is still on display: her just-off-the-plane ensemble includes a silver Rolex, custom diamond earrings and AMBUSH ball-chain choker. The idea of exploring fresh territory is clearly still what powers the designer’s engine at AMBUSH (‘We’re making down jackets for the first time,’ she gushes, excitedly).

As our time together draws to a close, though, I wonder: how will her playful, explosive spirit fit in at Dior? She nudges her suitcase, which contains the first ideas she’ll be presenting to Jones tomorrow, ahead of her collection’s debut at Paris Men’s Fashion Week in June. ‘Dior’s a heritage brand,’ she explains, ‘so you have to keep the DNA going, but refine it.



I have to find the right balance to complement what they do. But the thing you realise is... there’s nothing new under the sun. Everything has been done. So, then, what is our role as creators?’ As the sun sinks into the Seine, she finishes her Coke and answers her own question for me: ‘To reintroduce things. To make people see them in a whole new light.’




Article by Tom Ellen for the Evening Standard

Connor Magazine / Alex Mullins by Slow Waves

 ALEM MULLINS Denim Funnel Jacket

ALEM MULLINS Denim Funnel Jacket


Photographer: Sam Wong @samwongphoto_
Stylist: Nat Pluch @natpluch
Model: Christopher James White @citizensomething