Los Angeles Moving

“What is salad? Is making a salad music?” Christopher Rountree wonders. The leader of the local experimental music ensemble wild Up is talking specifically about visual artist Alison Knowles’ very literal 1962 performance art/music piece Proposition #2: Make a Salad, but he also could be describing the Fluxus Festival that he’s curating for L.A. Philharmonic over the next eight months.

The festival, which occurs primarily at Disney Hall and runs through June, celebrates the madcap collision of art, music, words and ideas from the contrarian group of multidisciplinary artists who composed the Fluxus scene in the 1960s and ’70s. Fluxus — whose name evokes Henry Miller’s autobiographical trilogy of novels Sexus, Plexus and Nexus — was actually a movement that celebrated the process of creation over the finished work and raised numerous questions about the definitions of, and barriers between, art and music.

“Our bent is focusing on sound, but all this work lives within the art world,” Rountree, 35, explains in a phone interview while parked on a Silver Lake street. “It just happens to be in a music building.” He surmises that L.A. Phil’s Fluxus Festival might be the biggest and most ambitious homage to Fluxus yet.

“I think it’s a fair statement,” concurs Nancy Perloff, curator of the modern and contemporary collection at the Getty Research Institute, which has a large collection of Fluxus material and is assisting Rountree and L.A. Phil with the festival. “I personally have never seen anything on this scale.”

EXPAND

Ragnar Kjartansson

Elisabet Davids

The festival, which commenced with a provocative participatory workshop at the Getty Center on Oct. 14, and a barely noticed performance-art action that was hidden among the thousands of bicyclists pedaling along the streets of Los Angeles during the orchestra’s CicLAvia party on Sept. 30, will total 16 events across L.A. Phil’s 100th-anniversary season. The next Fluxus-related concert occurs on Tuesday, Nov. 6, when visually inventive director Yuval Sharon stages a new interpretation of composer John Cage’s Europeras amid the imposing backdrop of film sets at Sony Pictures Studios in Culver City.

But the most ambitious part of the festival will occur on Saturday, Nov. 17, when conductor-curator Rountree and director R.B. Schlather present Fluxconcert, a massive tribute involving works by artist-composers La Monte Young, Yoko Ono, Nam June Paik, Ken Friedman, Knowles, Cage and others, which will occur both inside and outside Disney Hall.

“He’s kind of the master of ceremonies,” Rountree says about Schlather, half-jokingly describing the director’s piece Karaoke as “mandatory karaoke [by the audience before being allowed] to find their seats.”

Fluxconcert is so big, it will be delivered in three separate parts on Nov. 17. The first section centers on a slowly unwinding, two-hour extract from Young and light artist Marian Zazeela’s The Second Dream of the High-Tension Line Stepdown Transformer, which is part of Young’s sprawling and hypnotic The Four Dreams of China. The second part includes pieces by Pauline Oliveros, George Maciunas, Ono, Friedman and Knowles that blur the line between performance art and avant-garde music. The third section encompasses more works by art-musical adventurists Luciano Berio, Dick Higgins, Paik, Ono, Cage and Young alongside the world premiere of Steven Takasugi’s Howl, a piece commissioned by L.A. Phil.

“We have 50 pieces happening simultaneously or consecutively all around the hall,” Rountree says about the second portion of Fluxconcert. “There will be a carnival feel; some of these pieces have a madness to them. We want people to be surprised. [These works] are like Einsteinian thought experiments. Some of these pieces, they happen in your brain only,” he adds. “So many of these pieces took six months to work on, and they’re going to be over in a minute.”

One of Ken Friedman’s works, Sonata for Melons and Gravity, involves the sight and sound of watermelons hurled from the roof of Disney Hall down into an amplified trough. Higgins’ The Thousand Symphonies, meanwhile, utilizes two long strips of blank manuscript paper that have been shot up by automatic machine-gun fire and then arranged by Rountree into something resembling a musical score.

Because machine guns are now illegal to own in California, the conductor had to hire shooters who have grandfathered permits to use the weapons. “It’s about chance, but then I start to put some filter to it,” Rountree says about overlaying a kind of musical pattern to the assemblage of holes and torn paper, which will be mounted at Disney Hall on a large wooden sculpture by installation artist Elise McMahon. “Maybe you should shoot a little more over here,” Rountree recalls instructing the shooters as part of his arrangement. The Thousand Symphonies is a three-headed piece that literally blasts away the distinctions between art and music. “You’d have similar patterns that would occur but in different parts of the page. I’m creating a big matrix in addition to what’s on the pages. It will exist as a sculpture that the audience can walk up to, then a video with clips of [the shooting] event, and then the orchestra interprets it.”

EXPAND

Europeras 1 & 2 (Schiller #3) by Beatriz Schiller

Courtesy John Cage Trust

It is one of many Fluxus Festival works that invite questions about “what music is, how much of it overlaps with performance, and how much of it overlaps with ritual,” Rountree proposes. “How are all these pieces music — if they are music? We want people to see them and form an opinion whether it’s music or not. Many of the Fluxus pieces exist as polemics — they make people fall on one side of the fence or the other. Music is a ritual convening around shared sound.”

The rituals at Fluxconcert encompass everything from Knowles’ aptly titled Wounded Furniture, which celebrates the percussive sounds of tables being axed to bits, to the concert’s in-house mixologist, Arley Marks, who will serve specialty cocktails. “One of the tenets of Fluxus is that art is all around you,” Rountree continues. “What do we say when the bar is now a piece? On every side, no matter where everybody looks, they will be besieged by art.”

Christopher Rountree

Rus Anson

Despite all that dizzying and head-spinning activity, the major focus at the Fluxconcert will be on the program’s compositions by La Monte Young and John Cage. “He is absolutely central to all this work, even if he doesn’t think he’s the [Fluxus] type,” Rountree says of Young. “Fluxus is such a strange movement. Many of [the artists] say, ‘I’m not a Fluxus artist.’ La Monte says, ‘I don’t think of myself as Fluxus but I do feel that I’ve birthed the movement.’”

“La Monte is pleased about The Second Dream being performed,” says Perloff, who is working with Getty Research Institute chief curator and associate director Marcia Reed in assisting Rountree and L.A. Phil. (She and Reed have even been enlisted to perform Friedman’s piece Explaining Fluxus at Fluxconcert — “We don’t even know what we’re doing,” Perloff admits.)

“He’s playing a very, very strong role,” Perloff says of Young. Although the composer will be unable to attend Fluxconcert in person, she says that Young is ensuring the work will be “performed in a light and sound environment” designed by his wife, Zazeela. “The work is more about light and sound and duration than about Fluxus. … La Monte has always been interested in duration — ‘How long is it going to be? When do I stop?’” she points out.

“Chris is expanding the definition of Fluxus by including John Cage, David Lang" and other composers who are not technically part of Fluxus, Perloff says, noting Rountree’s “intentionally fluid, spontaneous quality.” Discussing Cage, she says, “With Cage, it becomes a little more complex. Cage is in his own space. I don’t think most Cage scholars would call him a Fluxus composer. Cage didn’t want to be called a Fluxus composer but he was heavily influential on Fluxus. … His method of ‘chance operation’ was very, very influential on Fluxus composers.”

Cage’s Apartment House 1776, written during the U.S. Bicentennial as a celebration of this nation’s multiplicity of voices and beliefs, will be performed at Fluxconcert by an unusual assortment of disparate singers, including R&B/soul stylist Georgia Anne Muldrow, jazz vocalist Dwight Trible, Brazilian performer Rodrigo Amarante, gentle folk singer Mia Doi Todd and even hard-rock party warrior Andrew W.K.

“It’s such a beautiful piece for this time in history,” Rountree says, citing the intersection of history, religion and family relationships that takes place in Apartment House 1776. “Describing these pieces to the performers is also difficult — ‘I can’t control what key it’s in!’”

Despite Cage’s aversion to being lumped in with Fluxus, parts one and two of his late-career 1987 Europeras are being included as part of Fluxus Festival, with performances by L.A. Phil New Music Group and a host of adventurous local opera vocalists at Sony Pictures Studios on Tuesday, Nov. 6; Saturday, Nov. 10; and Sunday, Nov. 11. The work is hardly a traditional opera, and Cage once famously joked, “For 200 years, the Europeans have been sending us their operas. Now I’m sending them back.”

“Europeras fit into Fluxus,” Rountree insists. “This is so in line with the way Cage wanted his work performed,” he adds about the visual presentation from the Industry mastermind Yuval Sharon, who’s in the midst of a three-year residency with L.A. Phil. “Yuval is so brilliant at creating a circumstance and waiting for it to play out. … What happens when we put all sorts of things together that one might think might not work together? We don’t know how they’re going to work,” Rountree admits.

Patricia Kopatchinskaja

Marco Borggreve

Given Fluxus’ original impetus as a multidimensional, multidisciplinary and immediate reaction to the turbulent era of the 1960s and early ’70s, how can the Fluxus Festival avoid coming off as merely nostalgic?

“One of my goals is to not just present the historical hits of Fluxus,” Rountree says. “Performance art and process pieces are a huge part of what contemporary art is made of. The aim of classical music seems to be changing, to be more performative. Classical music is [historically] about definitions of what is music and what is not, but [in the future] classical music will be more about creativity than replication. It’s like we’re making new Fluxus pieces now.”

“I have seen a lot of Fluxus [revival] performances that were bad, trite and just very silly,” Perloff says. “The way Chris directed the performance of Ben Patterson’s Instruction No. 2 (Please Wash Your Face) was serious — a serious activity that he did very carefully and methodically,” she says of the performance by members of L.A. Philharmonic that literally involved washing their faces at the Fluxus workshop at the Getty Center in October. She describes Instruction No. 2 as “a quintessential Fluxus piece … collapsing the distinctions between art and life.”

Many Fluxus pieces challenge traditionally trained classical musicians by utilizing enigmatic “event scores,” such as George Brecht’s Drip Music, which are little more than simple descriptions that are left to open-ended interpretations. The event score for La Monte Young’s Piano Piece for David Tudor No. 1, for instance, says little more than to “Bring a bale of hay and a bucket of water onstage for the piano to eat and drink.” The thrashed piano, stuffed with hay, “is retelling its own story of being destroyed. The thing about Fluxus is that they destroyed a lot of instruments,” says Rountree, who estimates that three pianos and at least one violin will be sacrificed in the name of art during the Fluxus Festival.

The only instruction in Young’s event score for #10, from his Compositions 1960, is “Draw a straight line and follow it,” so L.A. Phil bassist David Allen Moore and wild Up bassoonist Archie Carey dutifully got a dry-line marker (the kind used for marking chalk lines on baseball diamonds) and left a line of blue chalk as they paraded through L.A. Phil’s CicLAvia event in late September. Although L.A. Phil had gotten permission beforehand from the LAPD and L.A.’s Department of Transportation, the duo were only a mile into their route when puzzled cops halted their performance. “To us, it felt innocuous and somewhat meditative. These pieces are a process,” Rountree muses. “Whenever they stop is the right moment.”

Upcoming Fluxus events at Disney Hall include the world premiere of visual artist Ryoji Ikeda’s 100 Cymbals (which will require 60 percussionists) paired with Knowles’ Proposition #2: Make a Salad (Feb. 15); a day celebrating the performance art and music of Yoko Ono (March 22); a solo performance by radical violinist Patricia Kopatchinskaja (April 6); wild Up’s rendition of Ragnar Kjartansson’s Bliss, a maddening repetition of a theme by Mozart (May 25); and David Lang’s Crowd Out, which utilizes the entire audience (June 1). Other Fluxus-style works will be interspersed among L.A. Phil’s more traditional classical-music performances, such as an installation of Young’s Piano Piece for David Tudor No. 1, which will appear during pianist Emanuel Ax’s concert of selections by Beethoven and Mozart (May 2-5).

“Can you repeat something so often past exhaustion and go into bliss?” Rountree wonders about Bliss, which takes two minutes from W.A. Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro and repeats it for 12 (!!) hours. “They will feed and serve drinks to the orchestra onstage. Twice during the piece, there will be a feast,” he adds about wild Up’s only appearance at the Fluxus Festival.

“It’s been an expensive project to make, and I’m proud of L.A. Phil for taking it on,” Rountree says. “I think when you have Alison Knowles as a guest, you have to make a lot of salad.”

More information at laphil.com/fluxus/.

David Tudor performing Water Music, by John Cage, 1958

Courtesy Getty Research Institute

David Tudor performing Water Music, by John Cage, 1958

Courtesy Getty Research Institute

PHOTOS: Jakob Layman

Jakob Layman

As it stands, the city’s hands are somewhat tied, by Geiler’s account. Civic San Diego and the city are currently in private negotiations around the project, presumably discussing what to do about Horton-related agreements, including a land entitlement that requires a minimum of 600,000 square feet of the site be used for retail. Stockdale hasn’t detailed the exact square footage for its office and retail components, but its campus vision falls well short of the 600,000 square-foot retail threshold.

NOVEMBER 30, 2018

A CENTURY BEFORE Mark Zuckerberg introduced the “like” button, E. M. Forster envisioned the Facebook age in 1909 with a dystopian story called “The Machine Stops.” The story locates its protagonist in an empty room, its walls covered in electric buttons.

When pushed, the buttons produced instant food, music, clothing, literature. “[A]nd there were of course the buttons by which she communicated with her friends,” writes Forster. “The room, though it contained nothing, was in touch with all that she cared for in the world.”

Forster put his finger on it. Push buttons are everywhere, dotting our walls and phones and dashboards — even our metaphors. You can set someone off by pushing her buttons. You can raise a hot-button issue. You can get what you want if you know how to press all the right buttons. You can push the reset button or the panic button or the Easy Button™. Pentagon nuclear strategists have theorized for decades about a “push-button” war in which the ultimate symbol of apocalypse is the big red button on a leader’s desk.

How should we account for the push button’s pull on our imagination? In Power Button: A History of Pleasure, Panic, and the Politics of Pushing, media studies professor Rachel Plotnick examines the first generation of button-pushing Americans who were introduced to doorbells, electric lights, and other early finger-triggered technologies at the turn of the 20th century. Her insightful and meticulous history depicts an industrializing America “enamored with the ‘digital’ — the finger — as a source of tactile input for machines.” For Plotnick’s readers, who on average touch and tap their cell phones 2,617 times each day, her take on the compulsion to push should be of keen interest. [1]

Push buttons, Plotnick explains, were introduced to American households to solve a problem. Electrification presented something of a metaphysical challenge to its users: its intangibility and immateriality conflicted with the notion of touch as our primary means of encountering the world (consider our haptic metaphors: one is “in touch” or “out of touch” with reality). Nineteenth-century electricians experimented with buttons as a strategy to make electricity “simultaneously real and yet magically and safely concealed.” The button emerged as “a coping mechanism to make the untouchable touchable”; it served as the clean and simple “face” of electricity behind which hid a messy, confusing, and possibly dangerous technical apparatus.

To control electricity with the touch of a finger was to keep electrical technologies at arm’s length. By concealing the causal processes underlying electrical devices, the button at once granted the pusher miraculous power and estranged her from the mechanism itself. Popular depictions of the push button captured this contradiction. On the one hand, button pushers frequently evoked the finger of God: the poet George Woodward Warder wrote in 1901 that “[God] touched the electric button that gave impulse to all atoms, created all suns, evolved all worlds.” On the other, companies often portrayed electricity in advertisements as a genie conjured by the button, ready to grant the user’s every wish by some unknown magic.

The low-effort, high-impact ethos of the button was consistent with a broader push by the scientific management movement to make human bodies more efficient. Single-touch tasks appealed to Taylorists “intent on eliminating bodily effort from technical experiences,” while advertisers encouraged users to install buttons on bedposts to maximize reachability and comfort.

Achieving outsized effects with a touch constituted a “reversal of forces,” an industrialist ideal whereby much could be done without much doing. The concentration of power in the fingertip not only induced existential worry among craftsmen and physical laborers, but also raised concerns among pushers about sedentarism and detachment. Couch potatoes and armchair generals emerged as bugbears of push-button culture long before the invention of the TV remote or the unmanned drone.

The ease with which button pushers could exert electrical force across massive distances also elicited fears of moral hazard. Americans were particularly unsettled by button-activated executions by electric chair, a practice begun in the United States in 1890. While some observers celebrated the method of “gentle pressure on the button” in contrast to more gruesome techniques, others were disturbed by the dissonance of soft touch and violent shock; one critic decried the electric death penalty as a “cold blooded proposition for the degradation of a noble science.” “By transforming violent physical actions into mere touch,” Plotnick writes, “push buttons stripped physical force from the death penalty act while leaving the forceful impact of death in its wake.”

For Plotnick, this push-button paradox — effortless force — made the button a “disciplinary device” that policed turn-of-the-century social hierarchies. In the industrial workplace, supervisors retreated to private offices away from the factory floor, necessitating buttons to direct their employees from a distance. Think of the factory boss who conveys orders via control panel in Chaplin’s Modern Times. Taking this dynamic to its absurd extreme is the supervillain — Stromberg in The Spy Who Loved Me, Mr. Burns in The Simpsons — who sends minions to their deaths through a button-triggered trapdoor. The button renders old, frail Mr. Burns disproportionately powerful, and therefore cruel.

Likewise, as buttons replaced call bells in wealthy households, push-button service contributed to an idealized understanding of domestic workers as parts in a machine, as invisible and instantaneously responsive as electricity. The “essential dynamic between the person pushing and the person or mechanism ‘pushed’ into motion,” Plotnick observes, “reflects the forceful and commanding nature of the act.”

Even as metaphor, the push button conferred strength on some and subordinated others. In the 1890s, prominent physicians described the clitoris as “a little electric button” that, when pressed, “rings up the whole nervous system.” The association of female arousal with the button, Plotnick argues, “suggests specifically how physicians imagined women’s bodies as controllable and buttons as dangerous sources of activation.”

Power Button offers a rich analysis, touching on everything from buttons as tools of self-service consumption to the aesthetic considerations that governed button design. Yet for all its detailed evidence, the book misses some the major political and economic events of the period. Plotnick makes no mention of Henry Ford’s moving assembly line, for example, debuted in 1913. “Let me remind you that I have a row of electric buttons in my office,” Ford told critics who derided him for lacking a secondary education. “All I have to do is press one of them to call the person who can answer any question on any subject I wish to know relative to the business at hand.” Nor does Plotnick discuss World War I, despite the critical role that wireless communication played in its conduct. [2]

Still, Power Button is loaded with sharp observations and prescient pronouncements about how pushing (and clicking, tapping, and swiping) became our way of life. “Electric buttons have become the masters of the world, overcoming distance, doing away with the necessity for forethought, and for that matter, for thought at all,” proclaimed a critic in the Detroit Free Press in 1903. Push-button communication enabled users to “keep in touch” even as it eroded physical proximity as a condition of human relationships. “Our fingers have grown immensely longer,” observed an author in 1899. And now they are long enough now to “poke” our Facebook friends across cyberspace.

Much of our experience in the internet age seems a natural progression from the early years of American button-pushing society. Evoking the dual meaning of the “digital” — relating to the finger or to the representation of data using 0s and 1s — Plotnick suggests that buttons contributed to the conditions of mind that made possible the computer and internet. “The ethos of the internet as a whole,” Plotnick argues, is “tied to expectations of consumption, gratification, and access to information at a touch.” Buttons not only structure the digital interface (mouse clicks, screen taps); they accustom us to self-service models of work and play. Siri and Alexa enact the fantasy of effortless, instantaneous command over unseen servants who never take vacation. Amazon’s Dash Button, which allows one to order toilet paper without the hassle of walking over to the computer, posits a seamless cascade between desire and consumption: want, push, purchase.

Even as analog buttons have given way to digital icons, pushing still connotes authority and domination (“pushy” people, Plotnick notes, are those who appear “forceful despite a lack of force”). We continue to fear “men in positions of power, sitting behind their desks, carrying out dangerous and irreparable actions with a simple push.” She cites two examples: Matt Lauer, who reportedly installed a button under his desk to lock his office door when meeting with female co-workers; and Donald Trump, who threatened to show Kim Jong Un whose nuclear button was biggest.

“Simply put, pushing never occurs without politics,” writes Plotnick. Last month, an organization called Best for Britain ran an ad campaign that features a massive red button labeled “STOP” settled atop the white cliffs of Dover. “Imagine a button that could fix Brexit,” the ad implores. Such a button would be, indeed, the perfect political weapon: it threatens to reset reality, to wipe away the histories forged by political foes.

But if pushing is political, it is also personal. We buttonize our likes and dislikes — “one can express a feeling much as they might choose a snack from a vending machine,” Plotnick observes — and sign over our privacy rights with a click of the “Accept Terms and Conditions” button. Buttons have invaded the most intimate spaces of daily life, such that much of what we care for in the world, as Forster predicted in 1909, is merely a push away.

¤

Anna Feuer is a PhD candidate in Political Science at Yale University studying political violence, counterinsurgency, and environmental history.

¤

[1] According to a 2016 study by the research firm Dscout. Julia Naftulin, “Here’s how many times we touch our phones every day,” Business Insider, 13 July 2016, https://www.businessinsider.com/dscout-research-people-touch-cell-phones-2617-times-a-day-2016-7.  

[2] Stephen Kern advances this thesis in The Culture of Time and Space: 1880-1918 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003).

Baker Mayfield believes it is important to have the same mentality as Kobe Bryant when playing on the road after the Los Angeles Lakers legend visited the Cleveland Browns ahead of their away win over the Denver Broncos.

The five-time NBA champion was a guest at the Browns' team meeting on Friday and provided the players with motivation going into Saturday's clash with the Broncos.

Cleveland subsequently claimed a narrow 17-16 victory to keep their playoff hopes alive and, though rookie quarterback Mayfield was unsure whether Bryant's visit had an impact, he was full of praise for the 18-time All-Star.

"I have a tremendous amount of respect for Kobe, he's just one of those guys attitude-wise, there's nobody else in the world like him," Mayfield told a post-game media conference. 

"He's unbelievable, he was one of my idols growing up, I'm not good at basketball but just mentality-wise, work ethic, determination, will to win.

"It was so awesome getting to hear from him, and he was so honest about everything and you normally don't get to hear that from somebody who's a legend like that. It was good for us to hear that and I really enjoyed it."

Asked if Bryant's pep talk had an influence on the hard-fought triumph, Mayfield replied: "Getting our guys to believe in it and do their job, that was one thing he kept harping on [about].

"It doesn't matter what anybody else does, you've got to do your job first and foremost, after that you can start worrying about the big picture. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't [have an impact], I definitely enjoyed it, though. Mentality-wise going on the road, having his mentality is pretty important."

On the Browns' performance, he added: "Definitely wasn't our best game by any means but a win's a win. Coming out on the road, it's hard, and we did that.

"Our guys scrapped until the clock hit zero, we found a way to win, doesn't matter how it happened. It obviously wasn't very pretty, that's why we get to watch film and learn from it. We won and we get to learn from it."

New York-based designer label 3.1 Phillip Lim is the latest fashion brand to announce that it will be dropping fur from its collections from autumn/winter 2019.

In a statement the designer has stated that he will ban fur and exotic skins, such as fox, mink, lynx, chinchilla, astrakhan/karakul lamb and exotic skins including python, alligator, crocodile and lizard, from the labels ready-to-wear and accessory collections, effective immediately.

However, he added that the label will still continue to use leathers and shearling that are understood to be a by-product of the meat trade.

The move is part of the label’s “journey to become more environmentally conscious and sustainable”.

“The philosophy is simple – make less, mean more. Live with intention. Champion community,” said Phillip Lim. “Acknowledge that we can’t change the world overnight, but we can take small, pragmatic, purposeful steps that ultimately add up. We can keep the human touch, the beauty and artistry of irreplaceable craft, in everything we do. Balance is key – recognising that we will always have a footprint but offsetting it with small gestures that eventually amount to a grand shift.”

Lim added: “The decision to ban fur – from an ethical and environmental perspective – speaks to our commitment to remain true to this ethos and listen to our customers: environmentally conscious, global citizens who shop with their values top of mind.”

The move was welcomed by the Humane Society of the United States, which has been at the forefront in recent years lobbying designers to drop real fur from their collections.

PJ Smith, director of fashion policy at the Humane Society of the United States, said: “We applaud 3.1 Phillip Lim for banning the use of fur and exotic skins in its collections. Today’s modern consumer aligns their wardrobe with their values more than ever, and 3.1 Phillip Lim’s new animal welfare policy taps into that growing consciousness. Added to this, the brand is one of the first to commit to removing exotic skins from its range, following Chanel, Diane von Furstenberg and St. John, making them a leader in the growing movement towards a more humane fashion industry.”

3.1 Phillip Lim joins other big designer brands and retailers including Yoox Net-a-Porter Group, Gucci, Michael Kors, Versace, Burberry, Donna Karan, Coach, Chanel, Jean Paul Gautier, Jimmy Choo and Farfetch who have all recently banned fur from their collections.

Image: via 3.1 Phillip Lim website