The title of this blog is from The Gettysburg Address, a speech delivered by Abraham Lincoln during the American Civil War at the dedication of the Soldiers' National Cemetery in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, four and a half months after the Union armies defeated the Confederacy at the Battle of Gettysburg.

That little American history lesson was brought to you in honor of the sentiment behind the Brighton and Hove People's Day event at Jubilee Square. Brighton revels in its reputation as a hub of individualism and a haven for the underground. It’s a cosmopolitan, forward-thinking, and socially aware enclave of kindred spirits. This is reflected in its avant-garde sensibility towards arts, lifestyle, music, politics, and social issues. We come in many different stripes here, but one thing we all understand is that we must put aside our differences and band together as one to create the type of city we all crave - a seaside oasis from the storm.

Though Brighton is a town of avowed individuals, there is one part of the "uniform of rebellion", that has, over the years, been a customary mainstay: the Dr Martens boot. In the USA, we called them "Docs", and they were typically worn by middle class Goths and "glamour punks" from the suburbs who could afford a pair of imported shit-kickers. My working class punk brothers and sisters opted for Army Surplus combat boots, and if we were lucky (and if they fit right) we would get used Doc Martens - but those were few and far between, because if you owned and broke in a pair of Dr Martens, they are yours for life. Even though we working class punks were too poor to afford Docs, we got the spirit behind them. Nothing that's worth it comes easily...

"It's a real love affair. You have to break them in. You're going to spend a couple of weeks in a bit of pain. And then once you've reached that point, they are yours for life."

- Kate Maros, Artistic Designer, Doc Martens

Take a look at the video below for the full story of how the real Dr. Martens, who needed a comfortable a pair of boots after a skiing injury, designed the "bouncing sole" and later took the idea to a UK boot making family factory in the Midlands...

As a little punk of 19, I cracked my coccyx from a bad landing stage diving at a Dead Milkmen's concert. The crowd caught me and I surfed successfully, but an ungraceful landing on top of a discarded beer bottle harshed my mellow. Ouch. In homage to my mildly misspent youth, I do my morning yoga routine to the sing-songy tones of the Dead Milkmen's Punk Rock Girl.

I chuckle at that silly little girl, who thought that jumping off a stage was the ultimate two-fingers-up to the establishment. I'm a middle aged parent now, and no one cares about what pisses me off. But I still do like to throw down a little attitude at the school run. I fantasize that my fishnets stockings, tattered jeans mini skirt, black leather jacket, and massive shit-kicking combat boots strikes fear into the hearts of the organically-fed buggy-mums at the gate. Alas, I just scare their little dogs. But the babies love me...

Delia Chandler

Web Editor, Brighton Fashion Week

Back to Blogs & Copy