Spring/Summer ‘25 Editorial ”Cinderella" Pt. 05

No results found for "".

Aeyde Anemoia Ch. 05
  “Cinderella” by Durga Chew-Bose

Images: Dor Edrie
Words: Durga Chew-Bose
Date: 17.04.2025

This season, we invite guest editor Durga Chew-Bose to reimagine six Grimm Brothers’ tales that inspired the Aeyde SS25 collection. In Chapter 05, Chew-Bose brings “Cinderella” into contemporary realms, offering a fresh perspective on the traditional storyline. The editorial marks the fifth in a series of commissions exploring German folklore and mythology, rooted in the seasonal concept of “Aeyde Anemoia.”

Listen to "Cinderella"
By Durga Chew-Bose

0:00

It was billed as the last show. The artist known as Cindy was to perform her final concert, a farewell to her devoted fans, following a decades-long career. No reason was given for Cindy’s retreat; there was no formal press release, no rumours, no clear motivation. Just a…shoe. A shoe?

Because word of mouth had always been the artist’s preferred form of communication, she intimated that something was brewing by posting an image of a shoe. It was up to her fans to sort out the rest. Though she was confident they would, Cindy did offer some help: she captioned the image “Stroke of Midnight.”

Because little was known about the show (if there was an official date, if she might do multiple performances, if she might invite guests on stage, if there was even going to be a stage, if she might disclose her decision to leave, if she would play her whole discography, if, if, if, and so on…) anticipation and speculation seemed to multiply, feverishly. What did the shoe mean? Was it referencing a song? An album? A past love? Maybe Cindy wasn’t “leaving” so much as choosing to reinvent herself? Maybe Cindy had run her course as Cindy? It’s very possible. Many artists experience the same itch. Many artists daydream of a way out in order to dig further. Many artists wish to start new, even for a night.

Her fans, as ever, were resolute. They went in search of clues, piecing together possible signs that might reveal (most importantly) where Cindy would perform her send-off. Her shows had previously ranged from sold-out stadiums to intimate, stealthy appearances on rooftops, in churches, even once at a children’s birthday party. Famously, many years ago, Cindy had performed on a staircase in the city square. It was an impromptu show with a shoestring budget. The production was, simply put, the stairs and Cindy’s voice. Another time, she went live from her bedroom, recording herself performing new songs. There she was, sitting on a pillow, a bow in her hair, working through the kinks of new material. It was the most vulnerable she’d ever seemed. The songs were confessional in tone, she spoke of her sisters, her stepmother, loneliness.

Cindy’s voice was meant for closeness, but she always drew a crowd. Call it magic, but Cindy’s voice had the power to shrink the largest venues into quiet, breathing sites of wonder. Her voice was enchanting, if not a little crackly and sooty, as though she’d forgotten to clear her throat. It was charming, like a blemish. Beautiful, like a blemish.

Cindy had remained fairly anonymous for most of her career, avoiding press and rarely agreeing to participate in magazine profiles. She’d once mentioned her distrust in artists who explained their own work, who felt the need to clarify their art. When she was photographed, she would often cover her face. Obscurity allowed for deeper connection with her fans. Her lyrics were often studied, again for clues, but also, as a means for reaching through the music and finding other “Cindy’s.” Her songs were sometimes interwoven like a never-ending story, even across albums.

It was clear that wherever Cindy chose to perform her final show, her fans—dedicated and versed in the artist’s way—would find out, unaided. They were sleuths, ever respectful of Cindy’s privacy, but sleuths, nonetheless.

A fan living in Paris made the breakthrough. It was the birds that gave it away. She had remembered a Cindy lyric from the song “Midnight with Ella.” The song referenced a flurry of birds, a whole commotion beating their wings, mimicking the feeling of falling in love, according to Cindy. For whatever reason the fan felt this image was the key. Birds were a big deal for Cindy. Her goodbye would, and probably should, feel like taking flight. The fan remembered a spot, not far actually from where Cindy had performed on the steps. It was a gathering space for birds, slightly sheltered for warmth, but open enough to encourage the sun, and invite passersby. It was perfect, the fan thought. It just…fit!

So, around midnight one evening, people (and birds) gathered. Word of mouth travelled fast. That her fans knew where to find her was a very moving gesture. She was touched. She played song after song, as if the night was infinite. Everyone there felt it: a connection beyond goodbye was formed, something closer to forever. For ever after.