The Central Saint Martins graduate fashion show in London – an annual hot ticket thanks to alumni such as Alexander McQueen and John Galliano – was fraught with tension this year. Sponsored by L’Oréal, whose links to Israel have drawn criticism, the show attracted protests outside the venue.
Inside, Palestinian student Ayham Hassan sent out his graduation collection, Im-Mortal Magenta: The colour that doesn’t exist. Exploring the reality of being a Palestinian under occupation, the looks were bound by a punchy magenta tone, with patterns and motifs from traditional tatreez, hand-embroidered by women in the West Bank.
Speaking by phone from London weeks later, he explains the title. “Magenta is a very happy colour. It’s a colour our mind makes up. It literally doesn’t exist.” A light wavelength anomaly, according to The Royal Institution, magenta appears when red and blue cones fire, but green does not.
For Hassan, this peculiarity felt like an apt metaphor for the Palestinian state, existing yet denied. “For me, [magenta] became like a shield, a protection or a second skin, and these beautiful embroideries and motifs are a second skin to protect you in this horrible war.”
Born in Ramallah, Hassan says his path to London had a touch of kismet. His flair was spotted by a tutor at Birzeit University, who urged him to apply to Central Saint Martins. Despite the odds – only 50 students chosen from more than 3,000 – he won a place.
Then came the battle to raise the fees. A crowdfunding plea was reshared by model Bella Hadid, picked up by Dazed magazine, and drew a brand sponsor to cover part of his costs. Grateful for the kindness of strangers, Hassan is also painfully aware of the disconnect between studying fashion amid Israeli violence.
“How can I talk about a genocide in a fashion collection? How can I approach such a thing? You can imagine how frustrating and sad it is to be a Palestinian experiencing it in London. I could not be creative. We all thought it would finish after three months,” he says. Only by channelling his fury and helplessness into design did something shift. “I realised that history repeats itself, and I need to look at the past and address it in reality, as well as this whole concept of modern displacement.”
His work became a broadcast of “our reality as Palestinians, the genocide and ethnic cleansing, as well as the horrific things that happen to us on a daily basis”. Strong silhouettes mixed with vibrant pink became metaphors for hope. “I don’t need to do claustrophobic clothes, I don’t need to do sad things,” he says. “I need to show the beauty of Gaza, of Palestinians, and the beauty of just the fact that we are resilient and resistant to this horrific thing.”
Raw and powerful, his final collection tackled identity head-on. A lightweight magenta top with extra-long sleeves is knotted at the sternum, paired with a full skirt layered under gossamer netting and finished with a head covering banded in pink – inspired by lost Palestinian majdal silk, its know-how erased by the Nakba. Protective motifs, hand-embroidered by women in Ramallah, edge the scarf.
Elsewhere, a glossy cerise dress ties at the hip, its stiff collar covered in geometric designs. A chunky pink and grey scarf knitted by Hassan’s mother carries motifs of bullets and flowers, worn over a shredded, shroud-like dress.
Another knitted piece is made of 500,000 rubber bands, nodding to slingshots once used by Palestinian children against tanks. An oversized quilted jacket covered in tatreez patterns offers both armour and embrace, paired with an asymmetric crinolined skirt that keeps the viewer literally and figuratively at arm’s length.
This final look was chosen for Thread Memory: Embroidery from Palestine at the V&A Dundee, curated by Rachel Dedman to mark Dundee’s 45-year twinning with Nablus. Hassan’s graduation show went viral, covered by British versions of i-D and Vogue.
The buzz endures. “It was a beautiful way for me to end this journey, and it was incredible to see British Vogue unapologetically mention Palestine and genocide without censoring. It’s just a huge, huge achievement for me as a designer.”
Now seeking investors, Hassan also won the British Fashion Council x Net-a-Porter and Mr Porter Education Fund award, which he hopes will help him establish a London studio and create more work for women in the West Bank.
He was also awarded the L’Oréal Prize, but declined it on moral grounds. “I cannot have this on my conscience,” he says. It was bittersweet. “Do you know who was picking the people? Daniel Lee, creative director of Burberry. So it was incredible to be recognised.”
His collection, Hassan hopes, reframes a wider narrative. “It was questioning the whole fashion education system. It was questioning everything. I mean, I was the only Arab, Muslim and Palestinian student in the whole year of 140 students. It was very major to get accepted, but it has been a really, really difficult journey.”
At the degree show, as protests raged outside, Hassan’s models – many from the Palestinian diaspora – spontaneously wrote “Free Palestine” and “Divest Now” on their hands, raising them as they walked the runway. “It wasn’t planned,” Hassan says. “It was something they wanted to do. That moment turned the show into something far bigger than fashion.”
FOLLOW TN MAGAZINE