There’s a delicate art that humans have perfected over thousands of years, an art that can be powerful and commanding and make headlines around the globe, and yet goes wholly uncelebrated: the art of fucking up.
This, of course, is just a little bit topical, given PwC’s incredible fuck-up at the Oscars in accidentally awarding Best Picture to La La Land, before a disgruntled producer pointed out that the actual winner was Moonlight. Aside from being bone-achingly hilarious, and allowing us to witness, as he stood in his hideous Viennetta-pattern tuxedo, the ecstasy in Ryan Gosling’s eyes fade beautifully into agony. A monumental mistake as this, on such a huge stage, demonstrated that human error is still rife pretty much everywhere. And this, in an overwhelmingly technological age, is weirdly comforting.
Film and TV gives a nod to the aforementioned faux-pas, alongside our cover feature that sees Izzy Moore explore the limitations of the Bechdel Test as a measurement of female participation in cinema, and lament the relative lack of female directors in the industry; something of an institutional fuck-up.
In fact, this issue does carry this as something of a theme. Harriet Clifford’s feature on dropping out of uni gives the heartening message that, while you may initially appear to have fucked up, you’ve actually just found a new, and, as seen in the article, better path in life. Similarly, in Food and Drink, Mustafa Chaudhry’s interview with revolutionary chocolatier Azra Sadiq demonstrates how it’ll take you a multitude of fuck-ups before you even start to near your ultimate goal.
Look closely for the meaning (I promise I’m not clutching at straws), and you’ll see that even Fashion’s shoot on charity shop style has this mantra at its core – I mean, just look at how good they’ve made those clothes you shipped off to the British Heart Foundation shop look. You’ve really fucked up there.
Oh shit, I almost forgot, speaking of fashion, there’s a beautiful 16-page London Fashion Week supplement at the centre of this wonderful publication that our team have put blood, sweat and tears into over recent weeks, with reviews of some of the biggest and quirkiest shows of LFW, accompanied by some stunning photos of the collections to boot (phew, glad I mentioned that, nearly fucked up there).
In many ways, even this note may prove one monumental fuck-up, as the sub-editors tear it limb from limb demanding synonyms for the phrase ‘fuck-up’. Fuck. Alternately, it might add a little humour to their endless night checking over this paper.
Just remember, fuck-ups can be beautiful.