A conversation with Georgina Johnson

This edition of Denier is to honor World Mental Health Day.

I often think about the fashion editor and stylist Isabella Blow. I spent a long time working on her clothing archive —bought after her death by the Honorable Daphne Guinness — and in 2013, I co-curated an exhibition about her life and work at Somerset House. 

Today I don’t research the minutiae of her life or quibble about what might have caused a stain she left behind, glooped, for example, on a white Hussien Chalayan dress. No. I think about her like you would an old friend you have lost touch with. She swims in and out of my consciousness as the world spins. I often wonder what she would have made of today and all the changes that have impacted the fashion industry. How would she have felt about the Me Too movement or the quickening climate crisis? Would she have protested that Black Lives Matter — from aristocratic stock, this would have taken a hard look in the mirror. But I mostly think about her mental health struggles. Isabella was diagnosed with bipolar disorder towards the end of her life; I wonder how she would have fared today. Would she have had more support and understanding from the fashion industry and her peers?

When I worked on the exhibition at Somerset House, we decided that we would not focus on Blow’s mental health struggles. We would celebrate her creativity, vigor for emerging fashion designers, nurturing, idiosyncratic character, and personal style. I regret this decision. I think it would have had a positive impact if we had shared more about her diagnosis and mental health challenges. All too often, especially in the fashion industry, so focused on surface, such issues get brushed under the rug. 

Bipolar disorder is a mental health condition that causes extreme mood swings, including emotional highs (mania or hypomania) and lows (depression). It is widespread, there are 3 million cases per year in the US, and one in fifty is diagnosed with bipolar in the UK. According to a study conducted in 2018 by Ulster University, in Northern Ireland, depression is three times more likely in the creative industry, where factors such as irregular working hours, the lack of job security, poor pay, and the fact that society undervalues creative work all impact on wellbeing.

For this newsletter, I spoke to Georgina Johnson, founder of The Laundry arts; she has done so much to bring mental health issues, within the fashion industry, out of the dark and into the light. She is an incredibly inspiring individual, describing herself as a polymath; her work has included clothing design, panel discussions, exhibitions, zines, film commissioning, and most recently, a book: The Slow Grind: Finding Our Way Back to Creative Balance. 

Released last year, with a second edition supported by Mulberry now available, The Slow Grind features contributions from Bethany Williams, Caryn Franklin MBE, Campbell Addy, Francesca Gavin, Giulia Tomasello, Ib Kamara, Juno Calypso, Kimberly Jenkins, Material Driven, Maisie Skidmore, Orsola de Castro, Pak Chiu, Renuka Ramanujam, Seetal Solanki, Sara Arnold, Tamsin Blanchard, and Wilson Oryema. The foreword is written by curator Sumitra Upham, the introduction by Deborah Joyce Holman (Auto Italia), the design is by Josh Woolford + Jonathan Rowntree, and Georgina was assisted with the editing by artist, writer, and curator Tamar Clarke-Brown. The book brings together social justice, climate activism, mental health advocacy, and creative philosophy, offering a profound and multifaceted perspective on how to exist today and in the future. 

Georgina Johnson. Image by Edvinas Bruzas

Shonagh Marshall: You studied fashion design at London College of Fashion. I read that the experience shaped your practice. Could you explain how this time impacted the way you work?

Georgina Johnson: I just didn't have the best experience at university. I don't think it was in sync with how people should work or live. It was just go, go, go, go, go, go, go. Do it, don't think about it - don't actually be conscious. On reflection, I think it lodged me in a state of exhaustion and anxiety. 

I also wanted to be the best. I wanted to be really good at everything I attempted. I have a perfectionist streak in me; I'm really aware of that. I tried to one-up myself, and thought if I could just do this better (if I didn't understand something), I just had to work hard to try and make sure I could grasp it. I learn differently; I am dyslexic but more than that, I'm an individual. So the experience just didn't work for me. 

After putting The Slow Grind out, and only now in hindsight, I realize that I’d been edging into a really bad phase. It manifested in a way where I was overthinking everything; I was very paranoid, second-guessing myself constantly, and just not feeling very well at all. Undeniably the pressure of the year itself — being in a pandemic, not being around my family, and having lost so many loved ones, definitely contributed. I kept my cool the whole period; I was very focused on putting out the project. I couldn't have guessed how much of a massive dip I'd fall into once I finished everything. 

I had a really bad episode at the start of November. I ended up in a mental health hospital for some time. I guess this isn't something that people would expect just after you've put out a book, something you'd worked so hard on for two years. This is the first time I'm speaking about it on the record. From late November till about late in May 2021, I've been in recovery. I've been trying to take care of myself and get back on my feet — and to understand what "back on my feet" means. 

After having that experience and being in that place physically, I learned through various psychiatrist appointments that what I have been experiencing, most notably since I was 17, is bipolar disorder. That really wasn't something I expected to hear. I'd always thought that I had just been experiencing clinical depression for a long time. It is interesting because my mum said when talking to the psychiatrists that I had always been a sunny, bouncy child. But that there would be periods where I would stop talking or cry uncontrollably, and she wouldn't know what was wrong with me. I'd never known or remembered that; I'd always thought that I'm very sunny. So when I do have the opposite sides of myself, it can be kind of scary. 

I have now come to understand that people who have this disorder really should try and maintain equilibrium and stay away from highly or continuously stressful situations as much as possible. Well that has been the advice I've been given by mental health professionals. In hindsight, I think I was on a pendulum of episodes during my degree because of how stressful, intense, and how high pressure it was. Not just on a work level, but on a person level. The fashion industry as a whole is largely like that; it says you have to give your all. I realize now that with this illness, that's not possible, for me at least. But for anyone, whatever their situation, it shouldn't be the requirement. 

Shonagh: I can’t imagine what that must have been like for Georgina. I am really, truly sorry you went through that. Thank you so much for being so courageous and sharing your experience. I think sharing is key to getting rid of the stigma attached to mental illness. Especially in fashion, where people are cautious not to let on that they are struggling and often act as if everything is fine. 

You graduated in 2016 with a first-class degree no less and set up a clothing label called Laundry Service. Your practice evolved from there. Why did you start Laundry Service, and how has your practice changed since then?

Georgina: It has been a massive evolution. I guess I can use the word shame — I feel shame because I sometimes feel as though I failed at fashion design to land where I am now. I'm still working that idea out in my head. I explore that in my essay in the book — about the shame I feel for even having mental health issues. 

But speaking specifically about Laundry Service, I think I started it because I felt I needed to. I thought that is what you did when you left fashion school to be honest. I also started it out of necessity because although I had a first-class degree, I applied to so many places for a job and couldn't get one. Everyone would say, “We love your work, we see you're so skilled, but could you come and do an internship?” and not even offer expenses! This sets the standard for who can even access the industry. It was disheartening. I thought in depth about doing an MA like some of my peers, but because of how traumatic my experience studying for my undergraduate degree was, the idea of going back to study just felt triggering — it still does. I do hope I get over that. 

Laundry Service evolved into The Laundry arts. I felt I wanted to do both things. Something has remained with me since doing my art foundation at Ravensbourne — Campbell Addy, Bianca Saunders, and I did the same foundation; that's how we became good friends. In my foundation year, Campbell was always commenting in a very positive way on how I wanted to do everything — I wanted to design, I wanted to make films, I wanted to illustrate. But I remember our tutor saying really harshly “you can't do everything”. That stuck with me. So I felt as though Laundry Service and Laundry arts had to be two separate entities. But the idea of that was interesting to me. Now that Laundry Services is done The Laundry arts is the entity that all projects I do are within — like The Slow Grind. 

I started The Laundry arts because I needed to build community. I didn't feel as though people like me had access routes into the arts, culture and fashion industries. They didn't have people in their corner as other kids did. So I wanted to bring people together. I met incredible individuals from all across the world. I would say, “You should connect, you should collaborate, and I can facilitate this”. I didn't know how to do it. I didn't have all the answers. 

Something that's been encouraging is that most of the things that I'm doing now I have no formal training in. So it’s all been a pile of risks. Some have paid off. Some haven't. Some are incredibly stressful. Few run smoothly. It all contributes to carving out my path. That's where I am now — coming off the back of wanting to create community and create different routes into an industry that ostracizes a lot of people.

Shonagh: Collaboration is at the heart of your work. You describe yourself as a polymath; I think your practice is very curatorial. You bring people together to explore different themes across different mediums and formats. You have collaborated with Campbell Addy and people such as photographer Tyler Mitchell, artist Evar Hussayni, stylist Ibrahim Kamara and curator Sumitra Upham. What is your process when working on these collaborations? Do you look around for people to work with, or do you meet them organically?

Georgina: Well Campbell and Evar are my creative soulmates and family. I have so much love and time for them. It is definitely not contrived; I don't scour the internet for people. After uni, I knew that I wanted to go to New York to shoot my collection — at that time, I was thinking of it as a brand. I messaged Tyler on Instagram, and we met up and hung out loads. There was no decision from the off to work together. It was like, let's see how we get on. 

It’s really important that there is mutual admiration. A lot of the people that I continue to work with I have relationships with. It is incredibly organic a lot of the time; we might just happen upon each other, one way or another.

For instance my first exhibition ‘memories’ (2017)  brought together folks that I met in New York, friends of friends and artists that I long admired.  Whereas today, there are people I work with whose work I did see online, and I just reached out to see what they thought. I also go to a lot of exhibitions or graduate shows, and I contact people. Often I don't have a solid plan. I just say, “Hey, I like what you're doing. Do you want to have a chat? Do you want to see where it could go?” That's the energy I've kept with the book. Only two or three people that contributed were first time collaborators. 

Sumitra Upham, who wrote the foreword for the book, I love her, she's just so magnetic to me. That worked out because she nominated me to be one of Design Connections: 10x10 recipients — a combination of some of the brightest creatives in design at the Design Museum in London. That was in 2018. Straight after that, I said, “We need to meet up and have lunch — let's meet, let's talk”. From there, we just continued talking. 

I do have my eye on people, but not in that scouty, sharky type of way. I keep people in my mind, in my peripheral vision, and I think you'd be perfect for this, you'd be perfect for that. But I don't always act upon it immediately.

Image by Edvinas Bruzas

Shonagh: In 2018, you also worked on a special project with mental health activist Sara Radin. Together you created a manifesto called Slow Fashion to Save Minds. How did the manifesto come about? Why did you decide to lay out your thoughts in this way?

Georgina: We wrote the manifesto to try and grapple with and respond to our experiences within the industry and personally, everything I'd built up in my head about fashion over the years — the propaganda around fashion. I tried to package that into something. Sara and I had a little bit of a back and forth; initially, there was a very formal tone. I went through it finally, and added character; I wanted just to say it as it is. 

To me, that is in the same vein as how my career has progressed. I'm from Thornton Heath, South London; I have a perspective where I do see most things as not that deep — I really try to encourage a dropping of the exterior and really can't deal with posturing. Whilst some things are incredibly important, I believe that we can still do it in an organic way. A way that hopefully carves out space for open dialogue. I wanted it, the manifesto, to relate to people; I like speaking how I speak; I haven't always felt comfortable in a lot of spaces, but I have come to terms with the fact that I'm a Black woman and that that comes with its own complexities. I don't care to do the work for somebody else to break that down in their mind though. I love the song ‘No White God’ by Oscar #Worldpeace. In it he says two things that resonate with me - “Who killed culture? White men in suits”, “Big lips, nose and opinions too”, mwah, chef’s kiss. What you see is what you get. 

I tried to package that in the language I used in the manifesto. I love some manifestos so much; I have one in my room, and it's called: How to work better by Peter Fischli and David Weiss. It's a great manifesto, it's light. I wanted the manifesto to feel powerful but also relatable and natural. To roll off your tongue rather than make you feel as though you can't attain it.

Shonagh: When you released it, very few conversations were occurring about different ways of being in the fashion industry. Capitalist production was at an all-time high. The manifesto came at a time when people were unhappy; they knew something wasn't working. But they couldn't envisage another way. Then from the manifesto came the book The Slow Grind. What was the catalyst to make the book?

Georgina: I knew I wanted to do a book, but I was afraid of writing something long-form myself. And I don't know if writing has always been my strong point. As I said, I am dyslexic. It also came down to this idea of still wanting to base it in a community; it is a community within itself. There's a conversation between people in the book — not necessarily literally — but there's a conversation between the language that someone is sharing, the tone of someone's voice, the kind of poetics of an essay or a think piece in harmony with a conversation that we have with someone like Francesca Gavin or Kimberly Jenkins. 

I adore Kimberly Jenkin's work. I think her mind is super sexy. I saw something on Instagram that she'd done, and I messaged her immediately and said, “You have to be a part of my book; I need to get you involved in my book”. She said, “Okay, just email me”. 

I wanted to make the book because I felt as though the manifesto needed something longer standing. I think that especially felt cemented for me when I saw the reaction to the manifesto. I was getting a lot of dms, messages, emails, and responses from the press. People were saying, “Wow, this hit me hard”, “This is what I've needed to hear”, “This is my anthem”, “This is my North Star”. I didn't realize how important it would be to people. So when I got those responses, I realized that I need to continue this work; there's obviously a need for more of this. So I began delving into it. 

Shonagh: It is compelling, and the book format allows for the diversity of voices of the community you built up and for the nuances of these complex subjects to come to the fore. You are releasing a second print-run this month. Have you made any additions or edits for this? 

Georgina: Around 96% of the content is the same. The only different thing is I've added the Slow Grind principles, which surmise what the project is about. The five principles are:

• Addressing a history and legacy of destruction and oppression.

• Developing responses and ideas that are reparative, regenerative, and imaginative.

• Viewing the interconnected issues of climate and social justice through the lens of creativity.

• Placing the safeguarding of ourselves and the natural world above all. 

• Exploring ideas that posit alternatives to our present condition. 

What I also found interesting is that when I was having conversations with people about the book in 2018, nobody understood the term "intersectional environmentalism." People just didn't understand why I was using that term. Environmentalism for so long, well, the image portrayed, has been overwhelmingly white. But who is affected? It is affecting Black and brown people incredibly. It is affecting their land. Land that has been stolen from them. Much if not all of what we are experiencing in contemporary society is a hangover of colonialism, the Atlantic Slave Trade, Imperialism and a culture of greed in general. What are the effects of those things? What has this post-industrial society brought on? Who has gained from all that money that was earned in these periods — and that still continues to be? All these things are interconnected. Immediately in my head, it made sense. Then after having the first press interview about the book very early last year, I started seeing the term "intersectional environmentalism" everywhere in the media. I was like, What the hell? When I started talking about it three years ago, it was a non-conversation. Maybe, it was humming in enclaves and pockets of people really rooted in environmentalist communities but in the mainstream media, nobody understood what I was saying. I was just trying to get across the fact that we cannot separate environmental issues from social issues, because to me, environmental justice is social justice. It affects our social environments and intricate fragile relationships between all living things, which are deeply social. So it makes a lot of sense. 

When I say we view it through the lens of creativity, this is because saving the planet is profoundly creative. You have to have imagination; you have to delve into conversations that might be difficult. How do you pose those things as a question, instead of being combative? How do you ensure that they can be accessible to wide and broad audiences? 

That is something I made sure of within the book — that we had definitions or explanations. For me, as someone with dyslexia, I hate it so much when I read a book, and there is a continuation of complex and inaccessible language. Not to say that there isn't space for a breadth of language. But it often interrupts my flow, I end up googling what the word means, and I lose my place in the book. Instead, I wanted to make sure that there were mini pauses for essential terms or important people mentioned. It immediately becomes an accessible piece of writing, even down to the color of the design. That was purposeful. For me, it's easier to read on colored paper — especially pastel colored paper. That's why all the interviews are in lilac. 

I got an email from a woman who bought a book and has aspergers — I think she was in Australia — and she said it was the first time in three years that she could read a book from start to finish because of how it had been designed and formatted. That made my day; it was so special.

Image by Edvinas Bruzas

Shonagh: Many of the conversations up to this point focusing on sustainability and fashion had been exploring material solutions. Whereas in The Slow Grind and your work leading up to it, you invited people to think beyond that and think about the impact fashion has on mental health. You are looking at why we consume. How do you think this conversation has progressed?

Georgina: Looking at material culture, the way some communities — predominantly indigenous communities and Black communities — the way that they deal with material culture can be inherently sustainable. They don't use as much, and they use things in particular ways mainly because of access. Material culture to them isn't as rampant a consumption model as it is for us in the West. 

But also even in the West, depending on where you come from and where you grew up, there are different politics of power. Ultimately consumption and capitalism are about power. It's about doing the most, for the most, winning the most, getting the most, having the most. So it is already a mental health issue because it is ingrained in our minds. For those that can't attain ‘the most’ it can impact their sense of self greatly. In general it is something that we are indoctrinated into, that school of thought. So, I believe that it is linked to our mental health because it's an intense cognitive exercise to break out of.  

Separating material culture from desire is difficult because we've been trained and taught to find our sense of selves in material culture and how we dress. That's not to say that I have anything wrong with people feeling good in what they wear, and in buying what they want because it makes them feel better when they dress how they feel. But I do have a problem with buying something new consistently and not thinking about or loving what you have in your wardrobe already or what your mom or aunt has. I just think something is missing because you can be incredibly creative with old clothes; you can put a humongous safety pin in it to cinch certain places or create a wrap over, tear it apart, wear it backwards. 

There are self imposed and cultural limits and parameters around those things because we are afraid of being embarrassed, of not fitting the status quo. And so that's why we buy and buy and buy because we want to keep up. Deciding that you don't want to keep up is when something exciting starts happening in your mind. It then manifests in other things that you do.

Shonagh: You have emphasized the role of education. How important do you think that is in raising awareness about what you tackle in The Slow Grind?

Georgina: I'm going to paraphrase Kimberly Jenkins. In her piece about educators, she speaks about the fact that educators are vital in shaping our conception of the world. And in doing so, that's a massive charge in itself. Some people bear the brunt of it a lot more than others. Mainly Black women, because somehow we have to educate everybody. And Black women are not always given credit or reimbursement. 

In education, I think there needs to be a lot more knowledge sharing; a lot more co-mentorship. I think there needs to be a lot more collaboration. There needs to be less hierarchy of knowledge. It does feel as though you have to climb ranks to be considered someone intellectual. There are different strains of expertise and knowledge. I might not know something entirely back to front, but I know an element of it. If I'm open to learning something from somebody else, then I can be available to change or expand my school of thought. I think that's important because we cannot be afraid to learn; we can't be scared to be wrong. Oftentimes the fear of being wrong stops us from actually engaging with education in a way that could be expansive and positive. 

Shonagh: Thank you so much for talking to me today, you are so brave. I find you incredibly inspiring. As my final question, I always ask: what would your utopia be? If you could wake up tomorrow in a world constructed by you, what would that world look like?

Georgina: My utopia would be that womxn are safe. That Black womxn are valued. The middle classes and the lower classes are given the resources they need to contribute to a reparative and regenerative lifestyle. We can't forget that it is a privilege in itself to be able to live out your values. There would be more non-hierarchical structures in most industries. We would put more significant value in people's embedded experience over where they have been educated and who they've worked with — I don't believe in that as a marker of value.

In a major sense, we would try to be more in sync with nature. We need to align ourselves with the complex and organic infrastructures nature provides. We need to feel and listen to our bodies. And to just be more mindful.

If the experience I explored with you at the beginning of this conversation — my admission into a mental health hospital — taught me anything is that we really need to listen to our bodies. 

I have a new grace for myself and awareness that I cannot take the smallest of things for granted. There was a time not so long ago that the idea of making a cup of tea overwhelmed me. I couldn't fathom the idea of getting on a bus let alone go outside. I cried almost continuously. I started small. I built up to taking daily walks and fed the cows that grazed in a field opposite me. I spent a lot of time just looking at the sky and being so immersed in its grandeur. I had a fear that sat so so deeply inside of me and would not shift, I was afraid to live and yes I know that is my illness but it’s still earth-shattering and mind-blowing. I cannot even begin to think about caring for anything else at all if I don't care for myself. If we don't care for ourselves. 

Buy The Slow Grind: Finding Our Way Back to Creative Balance here.