Charles Jeffrey has presided as the ringmaster of queer celebratory-slash-subversive British fashion performance for over a decade now. To launch his latest Loverboy collection he turned ringmaster, literally: dressed up in a mini-kilted pinstripe suit with banana-sprouting shoulders while emceeing a wrestling contest in the basement of Dover Street Market in Paris. “A one-night only display of British bombast and balderdash.”
Jeffrey’s Loverboy Fight Night—a four-bout performance by his friends Bullyache, aka Courtney Deyn and Jacob Samuel, and their band of actors and dancers was—what? Part-play, part-pantomime, a politically, emotionally, and athletically-charged spectacle sprawling across more than an hour.
“We’re in this dungeon here in Dover Street Market Paris, because the world out there is fucking scary,” Jeffrey announced in his rabble-raising prologue. “But we must not lose our lust for life, for decadence, for communion! We’ve scoured the globe for the weirdest, queerest, sexiest, most beautiful fighters that this Godforsaken planet has ever laid eyes upon, and we are here for the Loverboy!”
Scroll through the lookbook, and you’ll come across the 11 people who stepped into the ring. They were costumed in some of the pieces in the collection, though the bulk of what you see is the main business of the Charles Jeffrey Loverboy brand—a separate shoot detailing his popular beanies with ears, monster trapper hats, his Loverboy tartans, sloppy t-shirts and sweaters, and oversized suits.
Breaking the bounds of what a fashion show can be is, in general, the mission of designers these days. Jeffrey is taking the fight for attention in a turbulent time even further, communicating Loverboy as a multi-media, interdisciplinary entity. It can turn up as a zine, given out on the night, or video fantasias, discos, exhibitions, or even as a music album release fronted by Jeffrey himself, which happened just this week.
Behind this is his refusal to be limited, pressurized, or pigeon-holed by what it means to be a fashion designer at all. “I don’t want to conform to this commodified idea of creative directors—the T-shirt and jeans uniform masking as something grounded but disconnected from the real world. I’ve realized that my role, and with my work overall, is to remind people that fashion doesn’t have to be this bloated, oversaturated market. It can still be something truly transgressive, something that holds meaning at its core. For me, it’s essential not just to project these ideas but to live and breathe them. I want to show people that you can build a business that’s stable, trustworthy, and successful while still being radically queer, transgressive, and authentic.”
Wrestling with the troubles of today, sticking up for a generation of his own, giving hope (and fun), and setting an example, these are admirable ambitions in these dystopian days. “Fashion, dance, performance—these are my tools. The wrestling ring became a perfect metaphor for the battles we face every day, simply by existing and engaging with society. It’s about turning that fight into something creative, something powerful,” he says. The collection reflects this—it’s about multitudes. Its title comes from a list of things, a reminder of the many ways we can exist at once. I can be a serious creative director who sits in financial meetings while also wearing wigs, heels, and makeup, performing on stage. For me, it’s about participating fully, embracing all parts of myself, and showing that it’s possible to play the game on your own terms.
I want to give people validation in their own identities, to show them that you can be successful while staying true to who you are. That’s the world I’m trying to build—a whole world where we can live authentically and expansively.”
