In lockdown because of Coronavirus our lives have radically changed. But there have been other illnesses, other plagues and other times in which humanity lived in similar conditions. Yet there can be creativity even in such times: Boccaccio for example conceived The Decameron after the epidemic of 1348. In the book a group of ten young people shelter in a villa outside Florence to escape the Black Death. To pass the evenings, each member of the party tells a story each night, ending up collecting 100 tales characterised by different themes, from love and the power of fortune to examples of virtue.
Today we will do the same with a short story inspired by fashion and in particular by the knitted armours of French designe Xavier Brisoux, one of the finalists of the 35th Hyères Festival. The story is entitled The Moirai's New Clothes and it is a tale of life, death and legends. In times of a pandemic it may seem like a distraction, but it also a way to survive and find the strength to go on. It is inspired by the three weavers par excellence, Clotho Lachesis and Atropos, the three Moirai, who one day get bored with killing people (check out the myth if you don't remember it) and decide to change jobs.
The Moirai's New Clothes, a Fashion Novella by Anna Battista
"Another day, another rider," Atropos announced.
"I'm fed up with this life," Lachesis stated.
"Absolutely. It is nothing but a repetitive routine," Atropos nodded to her sister. "Besides, I will never find a husband."
It was another boring day at the Moirai's HQ and the morning had started by killing a young bicycle courier on his way to deliver a mid-morning snack to an office. It had been easy, a quick and lethal heart attack caused by stress.
Lachesis looked at Clotho who rolled her eyes; she was tempted to remind her bored sister Atropos that going around since the beginning of times with a pair of extremely long and sharp scissors had never guaranteed her the possibility of finding a partner.
"Who came up with all this business of us killing human beings?"
"Don't you remember, Atropos? Father Zeus," Clotho told her, thinking that at times she was the only one who still remembered their roles and duties. And yet Clotho herself couldn't stand things anymore: she felt she had been spinning so much yarn that she could have become the best knitwear designer in the world. Or she could have maybe been an avant-garde textile designer. Instead, she spun the thread of life and then passed the yarn to her sisters - Lachesis who measured it and Atropos who cut it, killing people. Clotho wasn't complaining, but, like her siblings, she felt she had just missed out on a lot of opportunities in her life.
"A man and estranged father who decides what you should be - typical of the patriarchal society," Atropos scorned.
"Men never take their responsibility for anything," Lachesis agreed, nodding.
"I always thought he did it on purpose because we are women and he wanted to confine us in domestic jobs," Clotho bitterly added.
"At the beginning I actually enjoyed it," Atropos told her sisters, reminiscing while spinning her scissors on her index finger in a way Clotho hated. "I liked the power I had and the possibility of killing people who deserved it. But then they started portraying us like old hags and calling us names and..."
"...it became just another job, a sad routine," Lachesis finished her sister's sentence.
"You know, I think it has become almost too easy: human beings have developed a passion for dangerous activities that may cause death," Atropos told her. "First it was extreme sports, then came stressful jobs, now it's taking selfies in impossibly weird and dangerous places. At times you just feel redundant."
"Maybe it will get better later on today," Clotho tried to cheer them up. "We may regain a taste for death with the next victim."
"Well, let's hope so, who's on next?" Atropos asked.
"Let me check the threads Clotho gave me to measure... a 95-year-old man who was hit by a car and he's now lying in a coma in a hospital."
"You must be kidding me! We have killed three pensioners with three different road accidents only yesterday! Are we just exterminating elderly people having a walk now? We should find more entertaining ways to kill..." Atropos moaned.
"Well, the last time Zeus overheard you talking like that he unleashed a pandemic onto the world to make our job more entertaining, so we decided to keep a low profile since then," Lachesis snapped back.
"It was just a drunken joke," Atropos protested. "I don't understand why he was so serious about it. But I hope he doesn't do it again, I got tendinitis from cutting all those threads."
A somber atmosphere descended upon the sisters. Then Atropos broke the silence.
"I want out."
"Me too," Lachesis agreed, "but what else could we be doing?"
The Moirai suddenly realised that, since they came into the world, they had never had another job apart from that of killing people.
"Well, we can... change and reinvent us maybe? We have absorbed all the knowledge of the world by killing all these human beings," Atropos said.
"I have an idea!" Lachesis announced. "We have so far killed human beings, why not letting them live?"
"Zeus will be pissed off," Clotho warned.
"Wel, you know what? He can go and f*ck himself, let somebody else do all the dirty business!” Lachesis stated.
"I'm up for it!" Atropos shouted.
"Well, you know what? I'm with you," Clotho shrugged throwing in the air the yarns she had been spinning, including the thread of life of the 95-year-old man programmed to die at 2.00pm on that day. So, while the elderly man in the hospital regained consciousness surprising doctors and annoying his children and grandchildren who were ready to bury him and open his will, a makeover started at the Moirai's HQ.
Clotho started spinning more threads of life, then she passed them to Lachesis who didn't measure them for Atropos. Lachesis wove and knitted them instead, and Atropos kicked away her scissors and got a needle to stitch the pieces together.
The three sisters used the threads of life to create architectural shapes and sculpted silhouettes with thick three-dimensional ribbed motifs; they also designed accessories to go with them – there were helmets and armbands, gauntlets and gloves, shin guards, knee and elbow pads. And each thread was a life, and each yarn throbbed with a sparkling existence. They spared men, women and children, people of all ages, from newly-born babies to elderly ladies. They transformed them into knitted elements, they turned them into embroideries. Then they put these armours of life on and felt like warriors.
"We've been witches; now we will be benevolent goddesses," Clotho announced. Her sisters nodded feeling in control.
"We must find ourselves new roles!" Lachesis stated.
"I brought misery, now I have to bring joy, I'll be a videogame designer and give people hundreds of hours of fun and... plenty of lives!" Atropos said.
"I've patiently measured thread all my life, I'll be measuring substances and find a cure for incurable illnesses," Lachesis announced.
"Well, I've been spinning for my entire life, I'll be a knitwear and fashion designer and create clothes that can help people's self-esteem," Clotho concluded.
The Moirai put on dark sunglasses, chose a glamorous destination, thought about it and opened the door of their HQ, stepping outside.
* * *
It was a beautiful day in Paris and the Moirai sat at an outside table in a bistro, sipping coffees and looking at life happening. They had undone so many lives in their previous existence that now all they wanted to do was absorbing the hustle and bustle around them and the vibrant energy of the world.
They stared at the crowds walking and moving in front of them: there were mothers pushing prams, young couples walking hand in hand, colleagues complaining about their bosses and teenagers laughing out loud, showing each other something funny on the screens of their mobile phones. A guy busking in the street was playing on his guitar an acoustic rendition of a pop song, it was almost a lullaby for the black and white cat sleeping on a sun-soaked window ledge on the first floor of a nearby building.
Feeling hopeful again like Cleo at 5.00, the Moirai had new purposes in life. But first, impossibly cool in their armours of life, they wanted to finish their coffees. They would soon be filling time with life. Death could definitely wait. Indefinitely.
Image credits for this post
All images courtesy of Xavier Brisoux
Knitted armour and accessories by Xavier Brisoux
Model: Milliana Maalim
Photographs by Mathieu Drouet
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