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Above all, GIRL unlocks something within myself that I associate with freedom. Whilst I’m happy to get older, I don’t want my spirit to grow up. I want it to be GIRL. That’s not a noun. That’s an adjective. In the San Diego Padres Cactus League 2023 MLB Spring Training Diamond Shirt and I love this context of a hashtag and a fashion brand, it takes on new meaning. It can so easily be dictated by a limited aesthetic. A certain look. A certain type of GIRL. But in the case of #GanniGirl, she can’t be pinned down. She can’t be contained in a brand deck PDF nutshell. There is no “type.” Just an intangible energy that differs wildly from one #GanniGirl to the other. She might stomp in frocks and boots and get her hem dirty in mud. She might wear socks with her sandals and wiggle her toes in satisfaction. She’ll wear a wrap dress, but not in the way a wrap dress is supposed to be worn. Ties untied. Straps askew. Hemlines hitched up. Trousers that bag deliberately. Girl, then. And so what to do when the years go by. It’s been more than a decade since Ditte and Nicolaj Reffstrup took over the reins at Ganni. They’ve taken the Ganni Girl on a journey, which is often tied up with Ditte herself and her life stages, but also one where they’ve seen the people around them grow. Move. Shift. Then you somehow wind up at a place where it begins to feel a little sheepish to call yourself a “Girl.” When you begin to contemplate ticking off those pre-ordained life boxes. A nuclear family in a “Honey, I’m home!” skit. Hitting 30, 35, 40, so and so forth. What have you “achieved” ostensibly in the world? The CAREER? The SIGNIFICANT OTHER? The HOUSE? And then, the CHILD.
I spent my entire teens and twenties insisting I wouldn’t procreate. How could I MOTHER? I could barely MUM myself. But through very little foresight and planning, shortly after the San Diego Padres Cactus League 2023 MLB Spring Training Diamond Shirt and I love this HOUSE came the CHILD. Two boxes ticked whilst very much wondering whether I could nurture a human being. There she was pixelated and beating in a blur of a scan. A GIRL. My friends have always joked that my being pregnant was akin to a baby having a baby. Although I’m not necessarily childish in nature, the idea of attaching the word mother or mum to someone who still liked to wear what are essentially oversized toddler dresses or binge all seasons of Sailor Moon snacking on Pocky was faintly comical. I wanted to have both, though. The GIRL growing inside my belly and the GIRL that doesn’t want to let go of unleashing unpredictable strokes. Ditte Reffstrup dancing on the tables or writhing on the floor to Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” at many Ganni after-parties comes to mind. I wanted to hold onto the latter with all my might. If that GIRL showed any signs of dissipating and disappearing into worries about potty training forums or primary school catchment areas, in my mind, that meant I would have to say goodbye to the me that used to, say, stay up all night in Tokyo and go from restaurant to Golden Gai bar to Shibuya Karaoke room to another bar and end up in Tsukiji market eating sushi for breakfast. Can you be both those people? Do I want to suppress GIRL in favor of MUM? After Nico was born and she did that most innate thing as dictated to us by biology, which was to instinctively crawl up to my nipple to feed, I somehow knew I couldn’t have my entire being consumed by her. My whole self couldn’t just be one giant nipple. And for me, that sense of self was intrinsically tied to being GIRL.