The SS21
Loewe Clothing
Residency

Decoy: An Exclusive Story From Jia Tolentino & Marcelo Gomes

Text: Jia Tolentino
Photography: Marcelo Gomes

In “Decoy,” her original short story for SSENSE, Jia Tolentino tells of a group collectively haunted by the loss of an unnamed woman, inspired by Marcelo Gomes’ accompanying photographs.

The series of images is tender and romantic, as committed to the way light changes the mood of a room as they are to the way colors evoke our personal nostalgias.

The images reveal the intricacies and intimacies of LOEWE’s SS21 collection, crafted by creative director Jonathan Anderson. By playing with elements of size and shape, this season gives drama through volume: the sweater shapes the body, the immaculate tailoring lending itself to an extreme and beautiful form.

The sculpture, performance, and installation artist Anthea Hamilton is a frequent collaborator with LOEWE, and here her unexpected and surreal collisions of form and material are used as a wallpaper and textile design: “Sr Jeanne Wavy Boots w. Gazanias and Snails (2020),” the collage of boot and flower motif, is a constant of her practice and an integral part of LOEWE’s current season.

We missed her, and so we began behaving superstitiously, leaving the sweater as bait, in places and positions we thought she might want to return. We worried that we had not made things look sufficiently welcoming, but we had faith that she would recognize our invitation nonetheless. Here, we whispered—you forgot this…here, we think you would like the room at this hour, with this light; no one will bother you with questions, you will feel as private and calm as an egg.

We regret, now, certain actions that appear to be errors. It is possible that we should not have hidden from her so often, giggling and waiting. It is possible that when we recoiled from her she thought it was because of her face, crumpled with weariness, and not because of our own shock at being seen. Absolutely everything has changed since then: this is the message we are trying to send with the sweater. We have cleaned it gently, we have given it sunshine, we have stitched the kind of flowers onto it that we remember her admiring at the park.

In her absence we have maintained the routines we think would please her. We bring in the occasional packages and pile lemon-scented bubbles up in the sink. We are careful to spend time outside, as to give her the opportunity to rejoin us more casually. We thought we saw her the day we walked to the water and rubbed our eyes in sadness; when she vanished, we rubbed our eyes harder, attempting to bring her back. We felt briefly ashamed of each other. Don’t cry, please, like a child who no one could stand to care for. We walked home, hoping that she might take note of the peaceful way we clasped our hands. When we returned we remained still for hours, listening through the open window for tires scrunching gravel, footsteps pausing at the door.

It has been difficult, we sometimes admit to each other—only at night, and out of sight of the sweater—to maintain our faith that this is a simple misunderstanding. Our minds naturally return to a set of worries and suspicions: that we did not treat her like the most expensive jewel, that we gave off signs of being untrustworthy, that behind our eyes yawns something hideous, that inside our bodies there is a clock whose ticking grows louder every day. We wish she could see what we’ve done in her absence. We would like to take care of her—that is the message we are sending. The wind is gossamer, the silence is pristine and dazzling. We plan to walk to the water tomorrow and send another signal. We hope she will grasp that we are ready to require nothing, to dissolve into the air like angels, to acquiesce quietly to anything by her side.