Sixpack's latest men's range has us howling at the moon. Their lookbook is a geometric cosmos full of exquisitely designed graphic t-shirts, powder blue oval eyes, and that certain je ne sais quoi
only the French can emit.
It is no coincidence that they have monikered the new range Peyote Poem
; both the clothes and their description are languishing in poetry. I wouldn't normally do this, but I know that I literally couldn't say this better myself. I don't know who has written Sixpack's biography (in English
, no less), but it's like Hunter S. and Donald Barthelme somehow had a lovechild that was then raised by Ezra Pound. Here's an excerpt:
"It was better before. Nostalgia, melancholy, mummies taking an eternal rest. Sixpack, faithful to its epigraph - we'll sleep when we're dead
- simply turns this hourglass around eager to see the next episodes. But while they do that, let's stop. Pause. Remembering the madness of the early days, the first raves and the silliness of old. It was a time without high speed internet, with only one international news dealer where you had to rummage through the magazines to find The Face, and especially NME or Melody Maker.
In 1998, they know they're avant-garde, that one day everyone will understand ; and in 2008, everyone does. They soon appear trendy, but it's just a peeps thing. Exhibitions and articles in magazines, art and business, success and misunderstandings...
Suckers and haters.
They don't give a fuck, continue on their merry way, faithful to the cornerstones of the house... Acid, visions, revelations. Everything is connected : Crumb's comics, Can's sleeve designs, Ferrara movies, the Twin Peaks series; amphetamine jazz, psychedelic funk, junky punk, cocaine disco, they understood it all. Nineties ecstasy."
Damn French. Always one-upping us Anglos. In both design and word.
More clothes at sixpack.fr
, and you can read their inexplicably eloquent full profile here