Faced with an oppressive government, international sanctions on his country, and a global pandemic, Iranian fashion designer and artist Salar Bil is making his creative statement any way he can. From Mission’s Human Issue.
Tehran-based Salar Bil is a young, queer, nonbinary Iranian designer who has been making waves in the country’s mostly underground and unsupported fashion scene for years, cited by the national press as a transgressive and a threat to the state. Nevertheless, their contrasting, luxurious fabrics and smartly layered designs have been profiled in Time and the UK’s Guardian and procured by the likes of Boy George, Róisín Murphy, Christina Aguilera, Grimes, and Erykah Badu. Now, though, with extended lockdowns and the global economic downturn, plus the mounting economic sanctions being imposed by the US, UK, and other nations on Iran, being a successful designer has never been harder.
But let’s back up a bit for a moment… Prior to the 1979 Iranian Revolution—when the country was still ruled by a shah—the country previously known as Persia had a relaxed, fashionable, creative population. During the 1960s the kingdom enjoyed an economic boom: Tehran, its capital, was known as a major international city, flush with cash from massive oil reserves and renewed interest from foreign businesses. Iran was enjoying a new role on the world stage as the face of the modern Middle East. The shah, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, was a true fan of Western cultures, particularly French fashion and customs. He advocated for education and creative industries, and promoted Western-style living. He married three times, and all of his wives were fashion icons in their own right, but none more so than Soraya Esfandiary-Bakhtiary, his second wife, who regularly traveled to France and Italy for custom-made gowns, and whose wedding dress was made by Christian Dior.
In those days, Iranians favored trends like corduroy miniskirts, tight henley shirts, bell-bottom jeans, and brightly colored jumpers. Hijabs were worn but not compulsory. Makeup was popular, especially deep red lipsticks and intense dark eyeliner, as were hair salons and mani-pedi shops. High platform shoes and revealing leather sandals were prevalent, and both men and women often showed enough skin on hot days that one could have mistaken Tehran for Ipanema. In 1969, Vogue came to Iran for a Henry Clarke shoot, entitled “Fashion in the Persian-Blue Gardens of the Sun.” Persian people considered themselves a chic set, and so did the rest of the world.
However, by the late 1970s, the shah had become paranoid, relying on his brutal secret police to control opposition movements. Although a Muslim, his liberal policies were considered egregious by a powerful minority of Islamic clergy, while his increasingly authoritarian style of ruling had resulted in riots and demonstrations from intellectuals and university students. In early 1979, as the political situation deteriorated further and violent mobs took to the streets of Tehran, the shah and his family went into exile. It was then that the Islamic clerical opposition leader Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini returned from exile in Paris, seizing control. That April, the Persian kingdom was proclaimed the Islamic Republic of Iran.
The decades since have been hard for Iranians. For many years, women were forced to wear the chādor—a full head and body cloak—in public, and Western fashions were shunned. Even with more-relaxed, 21st-century mindsets, women are still required to wear head coverings in public, and immodest dress—visible skin below and above certain areas of the body—is not acceptable for a person of any gender. Fashion, as a concept, is generally looked down on, and to reflect that, the Iranian government does not consider the fashion industry to be an industry. Not only that, artists in Iran often live precarious existences under the extremist regime, fighting every day—sometimes literally—for their lives. Yet Iranians, proud descendants of an ancient culture, have persisted, and the country has produced talented young creatives, even during these times of repression.
Most regular forms of communication with the outside world are difficult to access in Iran, including phone calls. So for this interview, Bil spoke to MISSION via WhatsApp to discuss their career so far, their experience as a queer person in Iran, and their most recent collection, created as a meditation on the effects of appropriation in art.
Alex Blynn: Did you attend fashion school in Iran?
Salar Bil: I studied cinema at Princess Nourah Bint Abdul Rahman University, but I didn’t continue cinema and instead studied textile design for my BA. But when I was a child, I gave my peers advice all the time on what they should or should not wear. I’ve always been fashionable!
AB: How has it been being a designer in Iran over these past years?
SB: My first collection debuted in 2012, but in 2014 I launched my “bionic” collection, which brought me success and fame in the industry globally. Here in Iran, we don’t exactly have a fashion industry. Most “designers” just try to reproduce an already-popular design from somewhere else, but I’m the weirdo who makes most of my dresses haute couture. Fashion is not something that the Iranian cultural authority wants to understand, and they do not see it as a necessity of life. And since the economic situation has not been very good, especially with the pandemic, fashion is definitely unnecessary for the moment.
AB: How were you doing before the pandemic hit?
SB: Before sanctions began and Covid, I had a good professional life. I could make my line. I could order the fabric from all over the world. I designed clothes for Boy George, Róisín Murphy, and my idol, Christina Aguilera. But with sanctions on Iran, little by little, I face obstacles. I didn’t quit, like other designers, and wait for a more stable situation. I worked through 2020. But for Christmas 2020, I made my last collection, entitled, “Exit, Voice, and Loyalty,” based on the novel by the philosopher Albert O. Hirschman, which hinges on a conceptual ultimatum that confronts consumers in the face of deteriorating quality of goods—either exit or voice. So 2020 was a departure point for me.
AB: In Iran, being queer can be punishable by death, not to mention the public humiliation, family estrangement, and so on, that can occur. What have your experiences as an LGBTQ person living in modern-day Iran been like?
SB: I am actually non-binary. It does not matter that I am a boy or a girl. There is no difference between the sexes, I feel. But the situation in Iran is quite complex. We live under a sexual apartheid. Girls and boys go to separate schools, and there are separate rules for men and women. Iran’s society is based on patriarchal ideology and does not tolerate any queerness, so being queer myself in this situation is not an easy thing. I face bullying—people call me a girl because I wear my clothing and hair differently. On television, an Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting reporter called me a pervert and a person who prompts corrupt, feminist ideas. They even threatened to send me to jail. But at the end of the day, I must stand tall and keep going.
AB: Back in 2015, Iran’s fashion world got a boost because, after years of operating under the radar as a stealth industry, newly passed religious edicts said that fashion and modeling were now permissible under Islamic law. Is that still the case today?
SB: First of all, under Islamic law, there is no such thing as fashion or modeling. There are also no runways like there are in the West. Here there are stages to show the ready-made dresses. Back in 2005, I launched “Seven Winds” at Tehran Fashion Week. But the thing is, under Islamic law, men are not allowed to watch women on the runway, so I made unisex dresses for my male models. After only two editions, Tehran Fashion Week was canceled because it cannot be adopted by Islamic law. There is an agency for Islamic modeling, but it is all about promoting the dominant ideology. So really, it was not a big boost for fashion culture, just simply a boost for the production of clothes.
AB: Hirschman’s “Exit, Voice, and Loyalty” points out that people ultimately have two choices—they can withdraw or they can attempt to improve their situation. For example, the citizens of a country respond to increasing political and social repression in two ways—they emigrate or protest. In that light, do you think Iran may be on the brink of a wave of new revolutionary protest?
SB: I’ve seen Iran’s society face sanctions that get worse and worse every day. “Exit, Voice, and Loyalty” is a collection about the status quo. People’s livelihoods are becoming more difficult to sustain, the poverty gap has widened. Western media has also exacerbated the situation. So, logically, people are facing two choices—emigrate or protest. When you look back at the most recent decade, the Iranian people rose many times against tyranny and oppression, and every time the fire of protest is extinguished. As a fashion designer, I cannot say that Iran is on the brink of another revolution or not, but I do reflect the status quo in my collection. Right now I cannot make regular collections because of market fluctuations and economic sanctions. But at the end of the day, it is the people who will choose their way. And I am doing my job, which is fashion.
AB: You are also focused on the concept of cultural and artistic appropriation, especially in the art world. Are you skeptical of our modern-day focus on the workings of appropriation, cultural and otherwise?
SB: Today we live in a world saturated with images. The 20th century showcased the power of images and how appropriation can be art. Just look at works by artists like Sherrie Levine—that is appropriation, not plagiarism. If we want to know why there is skepticism around appropriation, we need to seek out originality. Westerners appropriate my culture and somehow that idea becomes their original. But for minority cultures, that puts them at a huge disadvantage. We see this kind of appropriation among the modernists in art nouveau and jugendstil. But appropriation for people who are not from the West is totally different. Through my collages, I constantly ask the question, is my work appropriation or plagiarism? To answer that, you need to define your point of view. If you are from the West definitely it is an appropriation, but for someone like me, it could be plagiarism. In the end, for someone like me who lives under economic sanctions, appropriation is the exit away from the stagnation of creativity. I cannot imagine myself not working, and right now appropriation is the way I can express my being.
AB: What are your plans for the future?
SB: I want to do visual merchandising, take photos, make more collages, and write about the social context of fashion. It seems so easy to forget what we’re all looking for in life, so I live in the moment and work. For now, I don’t have any specific plans for the future but am continuing on what I am doing right now. I hope the situation will get better so that I can do more ambitious projects.
