Fashion Feature: Roi Hernandez of Elysium has vision for large sized men’s styles with House of 1912
The best kind of influence always bubbles up from the unknown. It’s always the outsiders who go on to define ideas of “what is” but also “why not?” Joy Division didn’t arise from a wellspring of cool in Manchester, a working-class English town and not chic London. Nor did The Ramones, who, despite coming from New York, didn’t do it during a time when New York was fancy coffee shops serving ten-dollar lattes, but instead were these pack of dudes from Queens who wanted to make stripped-down rock and roll songs, not the bloated radio rock of Styx and Emerson, Lake, and Palmer.
Because art moves with the flow of the thoughts of outsiders looking inward, it’s no surprise that Austin-based designer Roi Hernandez’s House of 1912 is getting acclaim around Texas fashion circles. On Nov 13. fashion and music fans will be able to view the new collection in a video presentation hosted exclusively on this site. It will not be a shocker when he gets his due credit in bigger fashion circles. Roi doesn’t come from a fashion background; he came from the music industry. Hernandez is key leadership staff at Red River club, Elysium. He decided to make clothes for more prominent men because he wanted to see them dressed better than boxy nightmares with Hawaiian print or corny t-shirts splashed with faded X-Men comic book covers or a Mountain Dew logo. Instead, he’s reclaiming what goth is, which is something that’s not whatever Hot Topic is peddling – a reflection that even though clothing may be considered “goth,” everything doesn’t have to always be black and spooky.
Seated at a booth at Austin’s The Roosevelt Room, Hernandez explained his thought process, dipping into the things that move him and excite him, two thoughts that don’t have to be mutually exclusive. “My friend Luann Williams once called me a renaissance man because I venture in multi-disciplined creativity. It was extremely flattering coming from an Austin legend. This comes from me trying to find solutions to problems. I learned how to edit video because MTV wouldn’t play a Hollywood Undead video in its original form. When I needed some music for my first runway show, I knew I wanted the music to reflect the idea of challenging masculinity. So I took a song by Whitesnake and remixed it into a Pet Shop Boys-esque house track. I needed a song. So I made it.”
When you’re speaking with Hernandez, it’s evident he’s steeped in the DIY culture. It’s also evident that when a door is not open to him, he’ll kick the wall in. He’s influenced by artists like Peter Saville, who worked with Joy Division and New Order. Or by the music of Depeche Mode – artists willing to do something unique because they wanted to experience it, not because a scene was already built around a fully formed thought.
“If I need something, I find a way to do it. It’s The Want to do it. In most things, when I create, what motivates me, like any artist, is to create change and stir up emotions. I come from a marketing world, so it’s a mix of art and commerce. When it comes to fashion, bigger men are excluded. That’s a problem.” And with all this information in mind, it makes sense. Hernandez isn’t just one thing. He’s complex. He collaborates with bands around Austin, San Francisco, and New York to dig in, to discover themselves top to bottom, from how they market themselves, but also to keep a curated look on what they release. The same goes for the legendary goth clubhouse, Elysium, which has served as a meeting point for various subcultures in Austin for over 22 years. Hernandez is the creative director, photographer, and talent buyer helping keep the town’s industrial and goth scene thriving on Red River Street.
Coming off rave reviews at Texas Fashion Week, many people in the stitch and show ecosystem agree with what Hernandez says. Inclusivity is a significant initiative of the fashion world, and Hernandez is doing the work that few are actively participating in. For all the people claiming to be “body positive,” there are fewer bigger guys appearing in Instagram stories, reels, and posters than you’d hope.
Like many creatives, Hernandez needed to escape the place that raised him – to take the path of being from a small town but needing to hear your voice through a cultural microphone.
Hernandez, is from one of the gems of Texas, the Rio Grande Valley. Yes, the Valley doesn’t get the hype of the major cities of Texas; what makes the tapestry alluring is the sense of tradition that extends into the fashion, food, and solid familial bonds shared across generations. Is Edinburg serving haute cuisine? No, but you can bet the house that whatever you’re eating is better than what’s slung out of just about anywhere in Dallas. Is it a border community with its definitive ups and downs? Totally. But it is interesting to look at it from a social and cultural flashpoint lens. No matter who breaks out from this part of the state, their influences are inherently different than say someone who came up from Austin or Houston.
When asked why he left, Hernandez was candid, “Why didn’t I leave? The want to get out of a place that doesn’t understand you is a part of the reason you grow. I often hear about why more bands don’t break out of Austin. It’s because it’s so comfortable here. It’s nice. There’s a lake, tacos, and cool venues. There’s nothing to break out of; it’s a lovely place. I left the Valley because there wasn’t anything for me there – as a musician or an artist. No one understood what I was trying to do.” So, he came to Austin briefly but then cranked everything up to the highest level: he moved to New York. And with that area code change, Hernandez worked with artists like Kat Graham, Hollywood Undead, Maroon 5, and even the Almighty Prince during his record label days.
The answer was more Zen than one would anticipate about his move from New York back to Austin: “For me, there is no wrong or right move; it’s just, the move. It was my choice. There are no good or bad choices; there are just choices. And those choices lead you down a path. If you don’t like the path you’re on, then you choose a different one, but you need to take the blinders off to see the broader picture.” That thought leads into the broader scope of personal acumen, about his inspiration to view how men dress with an eye for how they can do it better. “I get inspired by handsome men dressed in flip-flops, cargo shorts, and a Target graphic tee. You can do better. When I see bands on stage that look like they just mowed my lawn… you’re a band on stage! When I saw Freddie Mercury, David Bowie, or even KISS, I didn’t look at them like I related to them. I wanted to be them. They made life extravagant, where here in Austin, a band can look like they just got done with goat yoga.”
On fashion, Hernandez has a take that centers on the viability of clothes, not as a utilitarian necessity, but as a piece of investment over the long run of something that makes you feel good and look your best. “I want to make stuff for big guys that anyone can buy.” And with a collection that has attitude, that’s bold but approachable, these kinds of statements don’t feel far off – there are a lot of big guys who don’t want to be stuck in a hoodie or a basic button-down collared shirt; they want the option to express themselves just like other people are allowed.
When asked about his grand goals down the road, Hernandez paused and gave his fast-moving mind a moment to consider the question. “It’s like that scene in The Dark Knight where The Joker sits with Harvey Dent. Harvey is all blown out. He’s like, “I’m a dog chasing cars. I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it.” I don’t know what will happen later. Ideally, I hope to shift the narrative of how media and fashion see guys of a larger stature. I think it’s great that we live in a world that celebrates Ashley Graham and Lizzo, and when you watch Project Runway, they have all sizes represented. But when they do a menswear challenge, it’s all skinny, nice-looking guys. I love that we’re celebrating bigger girls, but we don’t do that for bigger guys. We’re treated as an afterthought. We have stores like XLT, and it’s the shittiest cuts of fabric, the shittiest prints, shirts that look like tents; who wants to wear that?”
Taking a sip of his fancy cocktail, (a Hotel Nacional with mezcal instead of rum) the bar hummed. As the low, soft lights near the patrons around us gave an aura of solitude to their conversations, the designer’s thought continued, “I hate how bigger guys are portrayed in the media. We’re always the weirdo, the wacky roommate, the sidekick, or the stoner guy. It’s like in The Hangover, when Zach Galifianakis trips, Mr. Chow says, ‘It’s funny because he’s fat.’ Why does everyone big have to be a stupid cop? There’s a show called Wolf Like Me, and they rarely mention [the protagonist’s] weight or size. No one is like, ‘Oh, you’re too fat, you’ll never get her.’ And I’m so proud of that. It normalizes men of different sizes. This is America. Most guys are big.” And it’s those kinds of thoughts that make House of 1912 purposeful and powerful, that bigger guys can rock high fashion and look nicer without making it a whole thing. “In my show, I have a tall, skinny guy. I also have a girl. But, without making too much of a statement, it’s about seeing ourselves on the runway. I wanted to see myself in that these models are regular people. I want the guy who wears the Target Nintendo shirt to see someone like him in my clothes, that he can come to my show, and maybe be like, ‘that guy looks dope, maybe I can, too.”
All photos by Corey Lane
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