Thread for Thought

I’m gearing up to present at CUNY’s upcoming interdisciplinary conference “Jesters and Gestures: Irony at a Crossroads” (February 24 – 25), and as I was brainstorming what I might be able to bring to the table, Surrealist fashion just screamed at me. Here’s a teaser of what I’ll be speaking on:

Irony is typically associated with the literary and oral; I intend to explore visual irony, specifically within Surrealist fashion, where puns are conceived and presented as optical double entendres, adding layers of meaning to deceptively simple forms. Inconsistencies between expectations and realizations of fashion are often humorously absurd– but what initially seems silly can effectively question functionality, gender, art history, politics and social standards. The Surrealists were, after all, affiliated with the French Communist Party (before they were kicked out!), but their focus was on an emotional revolution that they believed would achieve the same ends as a strictly economic one would.

Elsa Schiaparelli was the first and arguably the most influential designer to explore irony in dress, collaborating frequently with fellow Surrealists Jean Cocteau, Salvador Dali, and Man Ray. Following the tenets of Surrealism such as the banishment of false rationality and restrictive customs and structures, she conflated tropes of music,

Music Gloves, Elsa Schiaparelli, c 1939

optical illusion,

Schiaparelli jacket with Cocteau embroidery, 1937

classic statuary and traditional fashion,

Schiaparelli Shoe hat with mannequin, 1937

deliberately presenting incongruity and discordance. Riffing off fine art history, she employed painterly trompe l’oeil to give the illusion a 1938 evening dress was inside-out and had tears in the fabric, revealing glimpses of the “right” side (meanwhile, the matching veil had three-dimensional “tear” flaps, further disorienting the viewer):

Schiaparelli "Tear Dress," 1939

This simulation of a ravaged frock was silly (who would wear a dress inside-out?) but also bitingly sarcastic,  contrasting Great Depression poverty and pre-WWII fears with the escapist American films in which women could still afford luxurious evening gowns.

Schiaparelli set the stage for subsequent designers like Martin Margiela to present social and economic contradictions, examining themes of dystopia, discord, and discontentment in unexpected sartorial forms. Exaggerated silhouettes or familiar motifs are amplified to ridiculous extremes in Surrealist– and now “deconstructed”– fashion, or with some “essential” element mutated or missing entirely. Surrealist and deconstructed fashion frequently compares humans to inanimate objects like furniture,

Schiaparelli Desk Suit, 1936 (hard to see, but those are actual hardware knobs on the false pockets)

internal anatomy,

Schiaparelli skeleton dress, 1939

and displaces body parts, indicative of dismemberment or ferocious self-protection:

Schiaparelli gold clawed gloves, 1938

While fashions making these analogies may seem whimsical (a hat that covers one’s eye while creating another, larger eye is ridiculous after all),

Schiaparelli eye hat, 1950

they nonetheless question the ideal body form, gender norms, and can express unease, uncertainty, inequality, and the political unrest pervasive in the years leading up to WWII.

If anyone’s planning on attending (and you should, I’ll have a lot more to share and show!!), do drop a line and introduce yourself!

Graffiti makeup bag, Marc by Marc Jacobs

Coming from an Art History background with all its unfortunate snooty and consumerist associations (fashion shares these themes, I’m afraid), I’ve recently become obsessed with its subculture offshoot, the publicly accessible graffiti (or “street art”) movement. Long fascinated by graffiti, I’ve recently gone on a binge, going out of my way to walk around Pilsen while visiting my friend in Chicago (it’s known for its street art; you can see my photos here), thumbing through my Banksy book, and watching documentaries like Exit Through the Gift Shop (2010) and Beautiful Losers (2008). I was especially captivated by the “Underbelly Project,” a unidentified underground “gallery” created in an abandoned New York subway station whose “curators” asked dozens of guest graffiti artists to creatively deface walls. You’ll thank me for recommending the slideshow of this installation-specific “exhibit.”

Most graffiti is site-specific, incorporating unique aspects of a location right into the art; this lends it to the use of trompe l’oeil, blurring the lines of the environment and the art (Marcel Duchamp, of course, pioneered this technique in the early 20th century). Graffiti artist Banksy in particular employs trompe l’oeil in many of his works. For example, the maid below is “sweeping” on a chalky wall in Chalk Farm (a London neighborhood, not an actual chalk farm), riffing on the location in multiple ways:

Chalk Farm, London, 2006

And the following, more bitterly ironic example, painted directly onto the wall built by Israel which separates the occupied Palestine territories from Israel (see more of Banksy’s Palestine wall murals here), drawing attention to the oppressive concrete barrier but also hinting at the potential for its destruction:

Bethlehem, 2005

The Ancient Greeks, and painters in the Baroque and Renaissance periods also loved to trick viewers, and they often incorporated “fabric” into part of the illusion:

trompe l'oeil letterboard by Cornelis Gijbrechts, 17th c

Elsa Schiaparelli famously adopted the trompe l’oeil technique and created optical illusions of fashion embellishments, without actually attaching embellishments, as in this knit sweater with “bow” and “cuffs”:

trompe l'oeil bow sweater by Elsa Schiaparelli, 1927

This is comically jarring — we often take our expectations for granted (in this case, we expect multiple layers of different materials) — and we only realize we had assumptions when they prove to be inaccurate. In most cases of trompe l’oeil this is meant to be an amusing realization, but much graffiti art is designed to be more confrontational. As the antithesis of “high art” — produced for wealthy private and corporate patrons — graffiti bears distinctly seedier, subversive connotations. It’s frequently associated with (and often indistinguishable from) out-and-out vandalism, gang tags, and is often linked in people’s minds to the perpetuation of a cycle of low-income and high-crime neighborhoods.

These sinister connotations are conveyed in Alexander McQueen’s Spring/Summer 1999 fashion show, in which a windswept and vulnerable Shalom Harlow is seemingly attacked by mechanical spraypaint robots. Oh yeah.

Like trompe l’oeil that brings to light one’s own unconscious expectations, the negative and violent connotations of graffiti are exposed when you simply modify the vocabulary: call a graffitied wall a “mural,” and the sinister overtones are eradicated, but why? Because murals are legal? What, besides red tape, is the difference between graffiti and murals? Perhaps to combat the negative stereotypes (perhaps not),  “graffiti” is increasingly dubbed “street art” which not only makes it more palatable for general consumption (“street art” is actually appearing in some galleries now), but it more easily encompasses spray painting and wall collage, such as Shepard Fairey creates. Fairey has had a significant hand in “legitimizing” graffiti as he mimics political propaganda posters in a Dada-esque manner, with trompe l’oeil layers of “torn” “posters,” some of which are modeled on actual posters he has already created as solo pieces. Indeed, most of his graffiti is overtly political (as is Banksy’s), urging citizen activism, and inherent in his chosen medium, civil disobedience. (He is perhaps best known these days for his iconic “Hope” Obama posters; but this has not shielded him from vandalism convictions.) In the snapshot below, Fairey’s familiar Andre the Giant “Obey” posters appear to be under / over other crumbling posters and wallpaper / textile illusions, the “layers” drawing attention to the mutable impermanence of his own art (and by extension, political regimes):

Shepard Fairey, Spring St

Part of what many graffiti artists are commenting on with their acts of guerrilla public art is the lack of choice the population has in ingesting the images that bombard our senses. Billboards on the roads, commercials in elevators, propaganda posters along sidewalks, these all assault us in public places legally, though their purpose is not the egalitarian sharing of public art so much as it is to compel us to consume products for someone else’s personal/ corporate profit. Many graffiti artists question authority at large, and the commercial art scene. Transgressive in its subversive messages and technical vandalism, most graffiti artists produce works of art at their own expense for free public enjoyment, or perhaps public awareness of social issues. The NYTimes article on the Underbelly Project points out that if the artists had been caught, they could’ve be charged with trespassing and possibly terrorism. Workhorse, one of the project organizers said, “There is a certain type of person that the urban art movement has bred that enjoys the adventure as much as the art. Where else do you see a creative person risking themselves legally, financially, physically and creatively?” And often knowing the fruits of their risky labor will be removed / painted over! You gotta respect the commitment.

I thoroughly enjoy the temporary nature of graffiti. Anything that can be painted can be painted over — and if its message is provocative and in an especially visible locale, it’s especially likely to be speedily removed. Something that’s fun about Banksy’s book Wall and Piece is that there are multiple photos of the same wall with timestamps. Bansky favors this approach with projects in which his graffiti invites more graffiti, as with this faux-official stamp that subverts the very concept that graffiti is illegal by making it appear legally sanctioned:

close-up

Here is one of the walls with this stencil, on Day 1, Day 9, and Day 15:

Banksy Designated Graffiti Site timeline

Graffiti walls have limited shelf lives, being exposed to the harsh natural elements and graffiti-removal campaigns. This mimics the impermanent nature of fabric which, textile conservators will tell you, is startlingly fragile. The conceptual fashion house Maison Martin Margiela is known for embracing fabric decay, exaggerating the telltale signs of the passage of time rather than suppressing them. Many of their pieces are painted white: this isn’t traditional “whitewashing” to cover up imperfections, but rather to emphasize the wrinkle fault lines and chips of exposed contrasting color underneath, as the items are broken in. The example below is painted dark, but achieves the same aging effect:

painted pants, Martin Margiela Men Fall/Winter 04

Here’s a closeup of the pants where the belt and knees have already worn away some of the dark paint:

There has been increasing cross-over between fashion and graffiti in the last couple of decades. New York graffiti artist Erni Vales collaborated on the design of limited-edition handbags for Aleya NY. And Apparel Search noted “…[Marc] Ecko won a court battle with New York City when he set out to launch a graffiti fest in New York City several years ago. Ecko, who built a successful apparel company that was founded in 1993, began with just six t-shirts and a can of spray paint. His empire now has approximately six brands under its fashion umbrella, and includes a range of fashions from contemporary styles to t-shirts, denim, fleece, and beyond.”

Marc Ecko graffiti sneakers

And I recently stumbled upon this Protacico bespoke hand painted graffiti suit that I rather fancy:

It reminds me just a little of that admittedly terrible Mentos commercial from the ’90s… (you know you want to watch it again):

The haphazard, distinctly urban effect of the neon graffiti print belies the demure cut of this Moschino summer dress in an interesting contradiction:

Graffiti print dress by Moschino

Jay-Z was recently on The Daily Show wearing a more restrained Marc Jacobs‘ painted mohair sweater:

Jay-Z on The Daily Show, December 2010

I love the single stripe that wraps around the back, as though it were a drive-by person-painting:

And speaking of person-painting, take a gander at the Louis Vuitton ad from a couple years ago….

Marc Jacobs posing for Stephen Sprouse "Graffiti" collection, 2008

If you look at the bag itself (ignore the smiling naked man for a sec), it’s more in the style of graffiti tagging, where the artist writes his name (in this case, Stephen Sprouse’s sponsoring company’s name) over and over. While I myself don’t care for this product, I appreciate the translation of a sprayed tag indicating turf property, and painted (albeit designer) moniker indicating product design property:

Louis Vuitton monogram "Graffiti" bag

As graffiti is adopted by the commercial world, it is slowly gaining (corporate) credibility, which has pros and cons for a subversive movement. Distinctly mainstream Women’s Wear Daily informed me that Dude’s Factory in Berlin “asks a different artist or artistic team to redesign the streetwear brands’ entire visuals for its collection of T-shirts, sweaters and hoodies” each month, incorporating site-specific graffiti art to create a backdrop for items for sale.

Dudes Factory mural, Berlin

If you can’t tell, I have mixed feelings about the appropriation of graffiti by corporate ventures: on one hand, I genuinely like the graphic style of street art, so products incorporating it appeal to me; on the other hand, it seems antithetical to the free, urban art movement to participate in collaborations with high end designers and boutiques. But an inherent trait of graffiti that I think will preserve its subversive, edgy, anti-consumerist roots is that it will remain a DIY art that anyone with a sharpie / paint can / printer / glue could imitate. I just might paint my own damn clothes Mr. Jacobs, thank you very much!

For excellent DIY fashion blogs, check these out (and share, if you know some more!):

• OutsaPop Trashion
• A Pair and a Spare
• P.S. I Made This
• (In)Decorous Taste

Marilyn Monroe by Richard Avedon, 1957

I have had Marilyn Monroe on the brain recently due to two rather under-publicized tidbits:

1. Michelle Williams (1980 – ) will be playing Marilyn in an upcoming movie My Week With Marilyn, about the tense filming of The Prince and the Showgirl (1957) with Laurence Olivier; and
2. WWD recently informed me that Authentic Brands Group, LLC has bought the “intellectual property” of Marilyn Monroe — that is, the rights to use her name and image for advertising any product they see fit.

Now I understand that celebrities have been an integral part of marketing products they may or may not actually use themselves for decades, if not hundreds of years. But the Marilyn obsession, like Cleopatra, has been particularly enduring. Droves of women, beautiful in their own rights, have latched onto literal comparisons between themselves and Marilyn. Madonna (1958 – ) was particularly Marilyn-like in her late ’80s, early ’90s incarnations of herself:

Madonna vs Marilyn Monroe in white dress

And she created a video homage to Ms. Monroe by recreating her own version of “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend” from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953):

in her “Material Girl” (1985) video:

Madonna’s video not only aped the pink evening gown and the dancing chorus boys, but also addressed the same stereotype of beautiful women assumed to be gold diggers — though both blondes are singing about wanting money with their men, in fact their characters are both invested in love. And the public loves to believe stunningly gorgeous women are really down to earth, don’t we?

Lindsay Lohan (1986 – ) and photographer Bert Stern (1929 – ) likewise recreated the famous “Last Sitting” photo shoot Stern himself took of Marilyn just weeks before Marilyn’s premature death, practically shot-for-shot for 2008 New York Magazine (see all photos here):

Lindsay Lohan for New York Magazine, 2008

Compare to the original:

Marilyn Monroe shot by Bert Stern in Last Sitting, 1962

I find the following photo from the Lohan shoot especially interesting, in that she is looking at herself in the process of being made to resemble a dead woman idolized for her body and face, who turned to alcohol and pills to cope with the pressure of being the woman “every woman wants to be and every man wants.” This might be especially poignant for Lohan, as another young pop culture figure whose substance abuse was probably fueled and certainly facilitated by her celebrity. Lohan so identifies with Marilyn that her clothing line 6126 (best known for its leggings) references Marilyn’s birth date.

Lindsay Lohan being made up as Marilyn Monroe, shot by Bert Stern, 2008

It’s become a familiar formula that women assume Marilyn’s iconic style, implicitly comparing themselves to her: attempting to appropriate her beauty, her sexual power, and perhaps her emotional vulnerability in an attempt to capture for themselves some of the public’s adoration. It’s also interesting that for all Marilyn’s legendary beauty, almost no one remembers who helped create her image. Her trademark sleepy bedroom-eyes was in great part due to winged liquid liner and false eyelashes that drooped down rather than fanning upwards — Kevyn Aucoin proved in his book Making Faces that someone as dissimilar-looking as Lisa Marie Presley…

Lisa Marie Presley

…could look exactly like Marilyn.  Shocking, right??

Lisa Marie Presley as Marilyn Monroe, makeup by Kevyn Aucoin

All you need is obscene amounts of makeup and step-by-step instructions:

In the introduction, Aucoin writes that he threw out all the rules of makeup — don’t lipstick outside your natural lip lines, for example. Looking back on his radical technique now, I realize he was doing precisely what the makeup artists and wardrobe stylists of the Hollywood studios were doing in the early 20th century: taking a slightly better-than-average-looking woman and turning her into a star (see this website for some fun before-and-afters of stars who went through this process). It was no secret Marilyn was not a natural blonde, but when she went from “Norma Jean Baker” to “Marilyn Monroe,” she lost the wide-eyed innocent look with freckles too, which makes her look like a completely different person:

Norma Jean Baker

I don’t know who was responsible for the original transformation, but Travilla (a.k.a. William Travilla, 1920 – 1990) dressed Marilyn in eight of her most well-known films including Gentlemen Prefer Blondes,

How to Marry a Millionaire (1953),

and The Seven Year Itch (1955) with its iconic white pleated halter dress and subway grate scene (which, by the by, you see far more of — that is, far more leg — in the publicity photos than you do in the movie). (Amazing photo stills of many other test costume shots here.)

It was a challenge to design clothes that showcased Marilyn’s bitchin’ bod while conforming to the highly restrictive Hays Production Code that strictly defined and prohibited obscenity in films for the greater part of the 20th century (as opposed to the more mysterious current system of film rating with anonymous rule-makers… but that’s another story). Travilla dressed Marilyn off-screen as well, yet so dazzled are we by the myth we’ve built up about Marilyn that most people are unaware of Travilla’s significant contribution to the creation of her public image, which rode the line between glamorous and down-to-earth, slinky but covered up (hello illusion netting!), unselfconscious but vulnerable. You can see how this image is twisted in the hands of, say Britney Spears (1981 – ) who posed for an Esquire cover reminiscent of Marilyn’s subway vent breeze:

Britney Spears for Esquire cover, 2003

Compare to this more playful sweater pic of Marilyn, with less skin exposed and bare feet,

or to this racier “Lolita” sweater clip from Let’s Make Love (1960):

What this very long series of examples serves to demonstrate is there is no end to the appropriation of Marilyn Monroe’s style by celebrities already, to glom onto her success, her beauty, her adoration, and perhaps also the infamy of her tragic demise — which, I might point out, was in large part due to the pressure exerted by an over-enthusiastic public that pinned unrealistic expectations of smoldering looks and bubbly personality on a woman who struggled to maintain relationships and was terrified of aging. Marilyn died almost 50 years ago now (in 1962), and yet “Over the past 20 years, 1,975 deals for Marilyn Monroe have been signed, ranging from intimate apparel to wine, and, in the past year alone, some 140 deals have been signed.” Gina Bellefante wrote of Lindsay Lohan’s “Last Sitting” redux, “No matter Ms. Lohan’s protestations, the pictures ask viewers to engage in a kind of mock necrophilia. They are sexual, funereal images.” I couldn’t agree more. Other living celebrities who were just as famous in their heydays — Elizabeth Taylor, “the most beautiful woman in the world” comes to mind — have not lasted in the public image as Marilyn or James Dean have. America just loves a beautiful train wreck.

To return (at long last) to the Authentic Brands Group marketing deal, “there will be three ways in which Marilyn Monroe licensing will operate: One is to borrow the name and likeness for ad campaigns; the second is to use the Marilyn Monroe likeness, via computer-generated technology, in films, and the third is through traditional licensing.” With so many wanna-be Marilyns flooding the celeb rags already with their transparent aspirations and insecurities, we really need her virtual likeness to be inserted into whatever games or movies a corporation deems profitable?? It’s just too much for me. With increasingly brief expiration dates on celebrity longevity, it’s somewhat ironic that people — celebrities and corporations alike — want to cling ever-harder to what was actually a very brief life (Monroe died at age 36) by recycling those finite original images and duplicating them almost verbatim with new people styled to look exactly like Marilyn, with little-to-no commentary. Hoping that by comparing themselves to Marilyn, their fame will have the same endurance, but for me, the comparisons inevitably fall flat.

Paris Hilton for 2008 premiere

American flag costume c. 1889 and contemporary Flag Dress by Catherine Malandrino

As a native Cantabrigian, I read with interest and delight the NYTimes review of the newly opened, newly expanded American Wing of Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, a museum I practically grew up in (my father still lectures there). I was especially intrigued by the following statement:

“One can imagine arguments growing sharp in the present political climate, when opinions about what America was, is and should be are so polarized and proprietorial. And maybe this is where art itself comes to the rescue…. Usually we get North America, meaning Euro-America, over here; America Indian and Mesoamerica over there, with African and Oceanic; and South America almost nowhere…. But what if you bring them together, hook them up, seat them as equals at a hemispheric table? Intriguing things can happen. Boston homeboys like Paul Revere begin to look, in their great harbor city, unexpectedly cosmopolitan. Sophisticated civilizations like Olmec and Maya break free of the “primitive” slot. South America, that grand ballerina en pointe, starts to look like the big global deal it, of course, is.”

The Triumvirate “American” Fashion Exhibits

The definition of “American” has been on my mind too: aside from Obama’s supposed non-citizenship (Hawaii is, to my knowledge a U.S. state) and the latest war against immigrants, not one but three New York museums tackled American fashion within the past two years. FIT presented “American Beauty: Aesthetics and Innovation in Fashion,” and the Met and Brooklyn Museum concurrently displayed “American Woman: Fashioning a National Identity” and “American High Style: Fashioning a National Collection,” respectively.

While I generally look for geographic indicators in garments that could include politics, economics, wars, etc., I somehow feel that this rash of exhibitions has a subtle consumerist agenda — as Anna Wintour’s “Fashion’s Night Out” shopping night series is — an attempt to revive the American fashion industry that has been floundering since the Great Recession (or whatever we’re calling it). This is not bad per se, it’s simply something to take into consideration when thinking about the purpose or necessity of three institutions defining our supposed national style one after the other. Isolating American-specific style, no matter what the motivation, is problematic from a conceptual perspective as well. The United States was founded by colonists and continues to be built upon waves of immigrants, and the arts have been inextricably influenced by these immigrant cultures (even as we inevitably resist being “taken over” by too many). All the American fashion exhibitions included some designers who were born in other countries; the example of Dior below was not only created by a French couturier, but worn by Eva Peron (1919 – 1952), the First Lady of Argentina, and evens riffs off a Spanish theme with beaded trompe l’oeil “ruffles” on the skirt. I mean, it’s gorgeous, but it may be a stretch for an “American” exhibit:

Dior evening ensemble, 1952, worn by Eva Peron

I myself have been battling this problematic nation-specific framing, as I’m writing several fashion articles for an upcoming Encyclopedia of Women and American Pop Culture. It’s been a real challenge to extricate American-specific fashion trends and icons from international ones, especially French and English. At times I’ve felt like I’m trying to explain Vietnamese cuisine without mentioning the French occupation of that country (mmmmm, makes me want a Vietnamese sandwich — on the requisite baguette — riiiiight now). Robin Givhan voiced similar perplexity in her article “Single definition of American Woman proves elusive at Costume Institute.” And this type of nation-defining exercise grows more difficult  — perhaps even futile — as one explores more recent decades in which images, information, and trends pass effortlessly, inexpensively, and instantly across continents via TV and the internet. (As a side note, I would love to see a project similar to the Electronic Enlightenment Correspondence Visualization, but tailored to fashion samples, color cards, textile production, etc. to more concretely trace paths of influence.)

The good news is that the specific missions and personalities of FIT, the Met, and the BMA are all called into sharp relief when they tackle the same challenging subject. FIT is, after all, a technical fashion school that focuses on design and construction elements and generally lets the gowns speak for themselves, going light on historical context. In the photo below, you can see that gowns that resemble each other’s shapes, palettes, and materials are grouped together, something that’s particularly helpful to people studying fashion design:

American Beauty: Aesthetics and Innovation in Fashion set

The Met has a ridiculous budget and blockbuster-style  annual gala associated with its spring Costume Institute show so there’s more emphasis on creating high-class period atmosphere, with elaborate sectional murals and plentiful props (this is noted in Roberta Smith’s article The Art of Style, and the Style of Art). Additionally, Curator in Charge Harold Koda treats fashion as “high art,” and therefore favors extraordinary (i.e. couture) garments over more common (ready-to-wear) ones though the latter may be more characteristic of what the general population wore; this approach seemed especially problematic to me because historically speaking, American designers have generally been more sleek and restrained than their flamboyant European contemporaries (this is due in large part to our somber religious forebearers and democratic political system that explicitly rejected the caste system of England).

American Woman: Fashioning a National Identity set

The BMA tends to emphasize historical conditions that are generally provided in explanatory signage contextualizing costumes within local, national and global circumstances (this is my personal favored approach, if you didn’t know!). Compare the BMA’s minimalistic installation and wider represented economic range (like the ready-to-wear Claire McCardell bikini top and romper shorts in far center) to the Met’s above; likewise, compare the range of styles, colors and materials grouped together (probably because of subject theme) to FIT’s more visually cohesive design:

American High Style: Fashioning a National Collection set

The Difficulty of Defining “American”

The Whitney Museum, which I used to work for, had similar difficulty pinning down a definition for “American,” and this was a larger issue than a single exhibition: the full name is The Whitney Museum of American Art. Gloria Vanderbilt Whitney established the institution in 1930 with the explicit intention of supporting living, American artists. The difficulty arose however, that with ever-easier, affordable transportation options (not to mention America’s well documented appeal to immigrants), people don’t necessarily live and die in one country. Artists especially (this very much includes writers, as the Ex-Pats of US / Paris) seem to thrive on changing locals for fresh inspiration. The definition of “American” thus becomes increasingly nebulous.

What the Times article reminded me was that America is even larger than these institutions and exhibits acknowledge — North America is a continent, after all, and the United States is one single country among 22 represented nations. I hope that, with the MFA’s lead, people will start to include and compare / contrast American art and American fashion while acknowledging the influence of our geographical neighbors, also American.

And with that, I’ll leave you with one of my favorite pieces from the BMA’s exhibition, one that I not only think is beautiful, but thoroughly American by any definition: designer Elizabeth Hawes (1903 – 1971) was American, and the dress exemplifies the traditional, somewhat plain silhouette of early WWII years in America. But my favorite aspect is the simple-but-bold shiny red graphic, an inverted pelvic-like triangle with abstracted vaginal slit running between the modestly covered legs is wonderfully subversive when you consider America’s ingrained Puritan roots and complicated relationship with displayed female sexuality (and if you think this interpretation is a stretch, consider the title of the dress):

"The Tarts" dress by Elizabeth Hawes, 1937

Ah America, land of expression!

Further Reading:

• “The Art of Style, and the Style of Art” NYTimes, Roberta Smith May 6, 2010
• photos and catalog listing of all garments in BMA exhibit
• photos of the Met’s installation
• FIT’s online American Beauty exhibition

Recommend this Post:

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Beach Scene: Woman Wearing Striped Hat and Dark Jacket, Coney Island, New York, 1960s

A few months ago I had the delight of popping into the Met’s modestly-sized exhibition “Hipsters, Hustlers, and Handball Players: Leon Levinstein’s New York Photographs, 1950–1980.” From the Met’s website description: “Leon Levinstein (1910–1988), an unheralded master of street photography, is best known for his candid and unsentimental black-and-white figure studies made in New York City neighborhoods from Times Square and the Lower East Side to Coney Island…. In 1975, Levinstein received a grant from the Guggenheim Foundation to ‘photograph as wide a spectrum of the American scene as my experience and vision will allow….I want my photographs to be spontaneous rather than contrived.’ ” Though I found some of the date estimations of the photos in the exhibition to be suspect (Levinstein didn’t date them himself), I fell in love with Levinstein’s distinctly unglamorous work in those few rooms.

Street Scene: Two Men Wearing Hats and Plaid Jackets, New York City, 1970s

He probably would not have said he was a “fashion photographer,” but Levinstein most certainly would’ve achieved more fame if he’d lived in this age of street fashion blogs; as it was, he had difficulty transitioning from amateur to professional assignments, which is why he’s not very well-known. He favored low-to-the-ground camera angles that often cropped the heads of his subjects or caught them walking away from him, focusing on their bodies, postures, clothes, and interaction with their environments while running errands, adjusting themselves, preening, and relaxing / passing out. His photography style feels covert and dynamic, you get the idea he may have been like a flasher — skulking about the streets, exposing his camera in a sudden gesture so hurried he barely had time to aim properly before dashing away.

Street Scene: Woman with White Purse, New York City, 1960s

Unlike many street fashion photographers, Levinstein didn’t discriminate against unattractive, strange-looking, or vaguely desperate people — in fact, he favored them. Overweight housewives, semi-homeless junkies, hippies and hoodlums captured his attention (a man after my own heart!).

Street Scene: Portly Man Holding Belt, New York City, 1970s

Street Scene: Exhausted Woman Seated on Stoop, New York City, 1970s

There’s a distinct grittiness of New York of of the late-mid 20th century that Levinstein depicts with aplomb, both in his human subjects and their dirty, grimy, trashy environments (sometimes literally):

Some of them reminded me of John Water’s portrayal of Baltimore in the ’60s (I adore the crazy looks this woman — if she is actually a woman — is getting from the onlookers!):

Street Scene: Woman in Blonde Wig and Tight Dress, New York City, 1960s

I love to watch my DVD of Hairspray (the original 1988 version, certainly not the remake) with John Waters’ commentary. He’s constantly giggling at his own film, saying things like, “You might think Divine looks ridiculous as a rotund drag queen haus frau, but housewives in Baltimore really looked like that in the ’60s!!”

Divine and Ricki Lake as Edna and Tracy Turnblad in Hairspray

Atypical for portraits in their unflattering realism, I think Levinstein imbued quite a bit of dignity into many of his down-and-out subjects. Emaciated and somewhat weather-worn in his rumpled shirt, this man is nonetheless portrayed somewhat heroically, with a majestic low-to-high camera angle and a bust that commands the whole frame:

Man, Mill's Hotel, 1951

Even if dignity was not exactly conveyed, maybe just a lack of judgment? For example, the title of this one could’ve been far more condemning: “Hooker Exposing Her T&A to Potential Customer” instead of the more ambiguous “Woman in Shorts Leaning into Window of Parked Car.”

Street Scene: Woman in Shorts Leaning into Window of Parked Car, New York City, 1970s

As in Kirchner’s Berlin Street Scenes (see my earlier article), prostitutes and Johns were just part of the city landscape, with no moral denouncement:

The Red Cocotte, 1914-15

What was unique about Levinstein was that he portrayed of a range of ethnicities and ages, and he focused both on people who clearly took time with their self-presentation (in many cases this was because they were hustlers and hookers),

Street Scene: Two Young Men on Street, One Wearing Stars and Stripes Outfit, New York City, 1970s

as well as those who didn’t seem to care (yes, that is a paper bag over what must be extremely high hair).

Beach Scene: Woman Wearing Paper Bag Hat, Coney Island, New York, 1950s

I have to say that this image reminds me of another John Water’s movie, the distinctly un-family-friendly Pink Flamingos (1972), with Edie the Egg Lady, with their similar un self-conscious sprawls and high hair:

Edith Massey as Edie the Egg Lady in Pink Flamingos

Most of the world wears somewhat generic clothing that blends more than it stands out, vaguely dictated by the decade’s trends. And yet street fashion blogs often concentrate on extraordinary sidewalk specimens, and while that’s fun to browse through, it’s not really an accurate representation of what street culture is/was like. Levinstein unflinchingly portrayed a rough economic patch in New York City’s history that’s often glossed over, as reflected through people’s clothes, attitudes, and distinctly urban (a.k.a. downtrodden) settings. He didn’t romanticize poverty or desperation, he merely recorded it, something few portrait photographers tackle (Jacob A. Riis’ incredible How the Other Half Lives of 1890, and to some extent August Sander’s People of the 20th Century of the ’20s – ’40s, and Irving Penn’s Small Trades of the ’50s accomplished this too). In an age where the most popular street fashion blogs (The Sartorialist, Stylites in Beijing, Bill Cunningham’s photos for the Times, etc.) are about the beautiful, creative, hip, fashion-conscious metropolitan youth, it’s downright refreshing to see portrait photography that imbues street style with social commentary, capturing inequality, imperfections, and the struggle for existence into the street fashion.

Further Reading:

• “Met’s collection database of Levinstein’s work
• How the Other Half Lives by Jacob A. Riis
• Small Trades by Irving Penn

Recommend this Post:

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A few months ago I discovered a video of 8 and 9 year-old girls in a national dance contest, athletically gyrating to the Beyoncé hit “Single Ladies” (a.k.a.”Put a Ring on It”). Prepare yourself:

I am anything but a prude, but there was something distinctly unsettling in watching prepubescent girls dance around in fringed burlesque underwear, however talented they are. And I started thinking, as I’m wont to do, about preconceptions of sexuality and age and how our changing concepts on these subjects has affected the clothes we put our children in.

These days there are a number of clothes with sexual connotations marketed towards young people — often girls. Included in the sidelines of a NY Times article about the video above is a NPD Group stat that $1.6 million was spent on thong underwear for tweens (ages 7-12) in 2003. Now thong underwear is a great solution for women who wear slinky, sheer, and/or tight dresses because they’re less likely to show the dreaded Visible Pantie Line — so in this way, they actually preserve modesty — but one must wonder how tight and slinky the clothes are that tweens are wearing, that such protection is required in the first place…. And you might be familiar with Heelarious, a company questionably devoted to supplying babies with “her first high heels,” considerately made of stuffed fabric rather than metal spikes:

Though I myself find these heels ridiculous and mildly upsetting — I certainly condone games of dress-up as an exercise of adulthood, but those role-playing games are to be played by the child, not for parents to impose their own expectations. But I should not be surprised, really; humans have been trying to assign “normal” sexuality and gender roles in children for centuries, often employing sartorial techniques. Glossing over the wonderful ancient and medieval cultures in which men and women wore similar flowing frocks into adulthood, for much of European history, infants and toddlers were dressed in (unisex) dresses. The detail below depicts a child of one or two years whose parents have slapped a rather silly hat on him, most probably to advertise his masculinity in spite of his dress, just as the girl in heels above wears a feminine flower band on her indeterminate-sexed bald head:

detail of The Van Moerkerken Family by Gerard ter Borch, c. 1653-54

The gift of his first pair of pants marked a boy’s transition to manhood. “Breeching” was a milestone on par with bar mitzvahs for 17th century boys between ages 4 and 7; the minimum age decreased with the centuries until dresses were abandoned for boys altogether in the early 20th century. Tweens of the past were dressed as little adults, girls’ ensembles complete with wee little corsets. In the detail below, there is little difference in the appearances of the adults and children, save the miniature scale (it even took me a second look to notice the young man):

detail of The Strong Family by Charles Philips, 1732

During the Age of Enlightenment of the 18th century, ideas of child rearing and youth in general starting changing. Rousseau (1712-1778) encouraged “natural” youth and child rearing which included developmentally appropriate child education. Jay Mechling’s article on the history of child rearing advice and manuals noted:

“[the] conceptualization of childhood [was distinguished] as a distinct and separate stage in life. The material culture of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in the American colonies, for example, supports the account from written evidence of the historical transition from viewing the child as a little adult to the Enlightenment portrait of the child as an innocent creature with unique needs for nurturance and guidance. Children began to have their own rooms in houses, their own dishes and chamber pots, and more durable toys. The invention of childhood in this period in many ways required the parallel invention of motherhood and fatherhood.” [My italics].

The MFA site notes on the Copley family portrait below: “The children wear frocks tied loosely with sashes. Such dresses were not scaled-down versions of adult attire but were designed especially for children, allowing freedom of movement.” [My italics]

The Copley Family, c 1788, by John Singleton Copley

A century later, the works of G. Stanley Hall (1844-1924) swayed the public’s concept of childhood. As an educator and the founder of the American Journal of Psychology, Hall’s work explored the controversial and dubious properties of gender distinctions (also offensive racial eugenics, but that’s another story). Unlike Rousseau, he believed that even as adults humans are not rational, and must be herded by capable leaders. He wrote that gender distinctions were a hallmark of modern Western society and parents should teach their children appropriate gender roles. In spite of his dubious data, parenting publications of the time recommended parents clothe their boy toddlers in pants to help them identify with male adult role models. Hall was a key inventor of the idea of adolescence as a period of life distinct from both childhood and adulthood, as is generally accepted today. He was succeeded by behaviorist John B. Watson and Freud in the 1920s, who preached that the first few years of life are critical in child rearing. These men undoubtedly influenced the eventual abandonment of dressing boys and girls in identical dresses in the early 20th century; children are especially impressionable, and susceptible to gender confusion (which was, and remains, generally undesirable).

Pink and blue experienced gender confusion too. In many Western European countries, pink was the dominant color for swaddling boys (a derivative of bold, virile red), and blue was for girls (the Virgin Mary’s color — no expectation pressure, right?!). The Ladies Home Journal advised mothers of 1918,

“There has been a great diversity of opinion on the subject, but the generally accepted rule is pink for the boy and blue for the girl. The reason is that pink being a more decided and stronger color is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.”

Below, we see the children of Charles I of England where the girls are swathed in pale blue and the boy in bold pink:

The Children of Charles I by Sir Anthony van Dyck, 1637

It wasn’t until well into the 20th century that the color associations switched. It has been postulated that the Nazi system of badges branding the homosexual population with pink triangles, linking the color pink with (distasteful) effeminacy, contributed to this recasting of gendered colors which occurred around World War II.

Color coding and gender distinction in children’s dress took a brief hiatus in the 1970s. The women’s movement, the back-to-nature aspect of the hippies, and the sexual revolution all contributed to a mini resurgence of unisex children’s clothing, which typically took the form of identical pants for boys and girls:

Simplicity pattern #7629, Toddler Poncho, Pants and Vest, 1976

The 1972 album and accompanying children’s book Free to Be… You and Me challenged gender roles. An afterschool special in 1974 included such skits as “Boy Meets Girl,” in which two identically dressed infant puppets (the distinctive voice of one being Mel Brooks) try to figure out their respective sexes:

I especially enjoyed the fact that they use career aspirations as (ultimately inaccurate) determining sex factors — my own feminist, former hippie mother kept a running baby/childhood book for my sister’s and my youths, and each year we would have to check the boxes next to the careers we wanted, which were presumptuously segregated by sex (I’m sure this was not my mother’s preference). In reviewing my book many years later I noticed with amusement (and not a little pride) that I inevitably chose from both columns: actress, model, mother, teacher, and fireman, astronaut, actor. But I digress….

The sexual fluidity of the ’70s was short lived and today, surprisingly narrow gender constructions exist and are imposed upon children. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s daughter Shiloh has been noticed by the media for wearing “boys” clothes like ties, jackets and hats. Below we see her next to her “girlier” sister Zahara. One has to wonder why this is fodder for the paparazzi at all:

Though I readily admit physical gender and sexuality are two distinct (if related) concepts, I think the impetus of parents and societies at large to advertise genders in infancy indicates our eagerness to assign “normal” gender roles, which is generally limited to patriarchal heterosexual behavior that inevitably subjugates homosexuals and women. Today it is common for parents slap bows around their bald daughter’s head, girlie pink dresses, and (fake) heels to ensure no one <gasp> mistakes her for a boy. What may seem like an innocent game of dress-up for the parent might very well perpetuate gender stereotypes and ultimately gender/sexuality discrimination.

Further Reading:

• Brian Palmer’s article for Slate on the history of child rearing

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As a young woman who has atypically looked forward to turning shocking silver (I’ve even promised myself to grow my pixie haircut at that time to accentuate it), I’ve read with some curiosity but ultimate skepticism, the rash of articles and blog posts about the supposed trend of women embracing grey hair. The most recent that I read, in UK Telegraph, was one of the more thoughtful ones; it concentrated on 46-year-old ’90s supermodel Kristin McMenamy’s latest photo shoot for Dazed and Confused magazine. Having always been a rather startling-looking woman with Tilda Swinton-like pallor and a broad sneer of a mouth, the shock of flowing, natural grey tresses doesn’t seem so out of place on McMenamy. “You can get older and still be rock’n'roll,” she told the magazine. “I thought all that grey hair would make a beautiful picture.” Below are two photos (neither from the D&C shoot) that exemplify how grey can be romantic…

in Vogue, August 2010

sleek…

in Calvin Klein RTW F2010

or totally fucking fierce:

on the Givenchy runway, S2008

This is not the first time grey hair has been in style; compared to the 18th century, this current fad is a drop in the pan. Men and women alike oiled and powdered their hair shades of grey and white starting in the mid-1700s. Oil was necessary to make the powder stick, and yes, oil and powder was unavoidably shed with movement; you can see Charles-Alexandre de Calonne, below, is leaking powder on his shoulder, like dandruff, where his ponytail rubs:

detail of Charles-Alexandre de Calonne by Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun, 1784

Below Madame Grand (later Madame Talleyrand-Périgord, Princesse de Bénévent) models the bouffant du jour in the late 18th century:

Madame Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, later Princesse de Bénévent, by Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun, 1783

Mature as her dusty locks make her to our 21st century eyes, this is only a 22 year-old woman; you can see her cheeks are still youthfully plump and rosy (though blush undoubtedly assisted). Here is the same woman — approximately 25 years later:

detail of Madame Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, later Princesse de Bénévent by François Gérard, c. 1808

In addition to the change of hair color and style, it is obvious by this comparison that there was a radical change of silhouette in the costume of the mid-late-18th century and that of the early 19th century. As with the turn of the 20th century, a great deal of bulk and fussiness was discarded in favor of a sleeker and ultimately more youthful, modern look in hair and costume. I don’t think it’s the powdered grey hair alone that ages our subject, but rather the compilation of big, fussy, surreal hair with busy bows and lace and volume in the dress and accessories. In my humble opinion, the neo-Classical look of the early 19th century just feels more modern. But I digress.

Marie Antoinette (1755 – 1793) was both early champion and ultimate victim of powdered coiffures. The Flour War of 1775, caused by the de-regulation of wheat prices by the government, lead to hoarding, gouging, and the inability of lower classes to afford simple bread, and was the ominous precursor to the crescendo of the French Revolution. Wig powder, a product of finely ground starch (a.k.a. flour), was used liberally by the naive queen in her legendary towering bouffants, casting her and her fashion statements in a distinctly unflattering, frivolous light.  French historian Caroline Weber observed,

“…although historians have established that Marie Antoinette never uttered the legendary remark “Let them eat cake,” it is not implausible that the lasting association between her callousness and baked edibles in fact originated with her habit of parading her powdered, wedding-cake hairstyles before a bread-starved nation.”

Here is Marie Antoinette in the very year of the Flour War, seemingly flaunting her willful ignorance of the economic struggles of her country, and all to achieve that trendy grey hair:

Marie Antoinette by Jacques-Fabien Gautier D'Agoty, 1775

With no small irony, according to legend, Marie Antoinette’s hair turned grey with stress and fear the night before her execution; grey hair as fashion statement had clearly run its course as it became associated with the demonized, decapitated monarch. Two years later the English government levied a tax on hair powder, the last coffin nail of that grey-haired trend… until today?

Granite hair was on the 2010 runways shows of playful Giles Deacon and goth Gareth Pugh, and the Telegraph article quoted high end hairdressers claiming to have more young clients who want grey, like Peaches Geldof, Kelly Osbourne, Kate Moss and Victoria Beckham. This kind of minimal evidence has prompted sites like trendhunter.com to prematurely declare “For decades men and women have been trying to mask signs of aging, but a new wave fashionable gray hair is reflecting a shifting attitude regarding the physical effects of getting older.” A more tempered NYTimes article quoted colorist Sharon Dorram, “who said that among her downtown New York patrons, it is mostly younger women, renegade types, who request gray. Not lost on Ms. Dorram is the irony that their older, more conventional counterparts spent $1.3 billion to cover their grays last year, according to Nielsen.”

I don’t think gunmetal tresses were a sign of the fetishization, or even simple respect, of mature women in the 18th century, and I don’t think that’s the case in 2010 either. It’s an unusual, edgy color precisely because so many women with natural grey hair darken it, so it really pops when a woman such as Kristin McMenamy rocks it. I think that even if more grey hair dye is being sold, it is unfortunately not a sign that older women — specifically, naturally mature women — are all of a sudden welcomed back into the fold for the general, fashionable, youth-obsessed public. Pixie Geldof, for example, I don’t think could be said to be furthering the cause of women aging gracefully, though her hair is certainly grey:

Pixie Geldof

Along a similar line, premature articles claiming the emergence of older models on runways and magazine spreads as being indicative of older women being accepted as beautiful and sexual are, I think, overlooking that those older models might be over-the-hill 30+, but they are recognizable and have proven themselves exceptionally good at selling products — hence their previous successes. In economically strapped times I think we all return to the familiar, tried-and-true methods of existence, and I believe designers are returning to supermodels of yesteryear because they have the most experience and accomplishments, and fame/notoriety that can only come with age — also, they are still smokin’ hot. Kate Moss is still landing covers at age 36 (which is, by the way, close to the height of a woman’s biological peak of personal sexuality), and 37 year-old Heidi Klum is even modeling in Victoria Secret lingerie shows (after having popped out 4 children). This is evidence that magazines and designers don’t want to take as many risks these days, when merchandise is harder to move off shelves. They know Moss and Klum, they know their scopes, their talent, and the sales they still consistently generate. After all, you don’t hear about a surge of random, unknown older women taking up the runways — that would demonstrate real progress in my eyes.

A TIME article from a few years ago astutely pointed out the frustrating correlation between the success of the feminism movement and women’s increased use of hair dye. The very same Baby Boomers who fought to enter the workplace are the same who feel compelled to color their hair, to appear more youthful, energetic, or conservative (grey-haired women can appear alternative or hippy-like, often to their detriment in the workplace). The TIME article quotes some shocking statistics about female politicians, for whom it could be argued the physical manifestation of age and experience should be an asset:

“…of the 16 female U.S. Senators — the highest number ever — who range in age from 46 to 74, not a single one has visible gray hair. Of the 70 female members of the House, only seven have gray hair. Political professionals say that the double standard is a great unspoken inequity but that candidates and officeholders don’t dare publicly discuss it for fear of seeming trivial. In an interview before her death last year, Ann Richards, the famously white-haired former Governor of Texas, told me, ‘You can’t appear to be too flashy because it will send the wrong message, but at the same time, you need to appear energetic. The issue is much more significant for women because the hurdle is higher in our society. We’re not sure what we want our [female] elected officials to be — mother, mistress or caretaker.’”

female US senators, 2007 -- not a grey hair in the joint

As evidenced by the world’s obsession with Michelle Obama’s style, politicians’ wives face intense scrutiny too, and most of them color their hair. I wonder if Nancy Reagan would have received the same childish sniggering that Barbara Bush endured for supposedly looking so much older than her hubby, if she had not concealed her own grey hair with that frosted brown. It might come as a surprise to learn Barbara and Nancy were the same age — 64 — when their respective husbands became the President, and though I admit that from a distance Babs looks older, I frankly like the luminescent white she has going on, and I don’t think it diminishes her stature or poise:

Ronald and Nancy Reagan, inauguration, 1985

George and Barbara Bush, inauguration, 1989

Lord knows I’m not against experimentation with appearance. But I sincerely hope women start challenging the gender bias we perpetuate against ourselves and fellow women by playing into the same limiting roles we’ve fought so hard to break out of. Going grey naturally may seem like a small step for Feminism (and the closely linked Ageism), but having grown up in Cambridge, MA, where there are many vibrant, intelligent, artistic women who let their grey show, it becomes suspicious and puzzling that other cities that are diverse in many ways, including appearance, are not like that. Let this so-called trend of grey hair chic be inspiration for actual grey-haired women to embrace their ages, their accomplishments, their strengths, and know they can do so stylishly.

May I suggest some role models?

Susan Songtag, writer

Jamie Lee Curtis, actress

Gloria Steinem, activist writer

Helen Mirren, actress

Annie Leibovitz, photographer

Diane Keaton, actress

Emmylou Harris, singer

Judi Dench

Further Reading:

• Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette Wore to the Revolution, by Caroline Weber

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Coney Island by Weegee, 1938

In weather like this (namely, 90+ degrees, little-to-no wind, and me without air conditioning), beachy escapes are on everyone’s mind. Following is a rough timeline of how women have historically bared their flesh — or not — to enjoy the sand and sun.

Classical Times

In Classical antiquity swimming and bathing was most often done nude; only sometimes were there were coverings. Murals at Pompeii and ancient mosaics show women wearing two-piece wrap-around garments that resemble bikinis; these were worn for athletic pursuits as on the woman below, who wears the crown and cradles the frond of athletic victory.

woman in athletic bikini, 4th century CE Roman mosaic

19th century

But alas, western society did not long embrace the celebrated nude of the Greco-Roman era, and for many centuries afterwards, beachwear mimicked streetwear, and submerging oneself in water was generally limited to private experiences. It wasn’t until the middle of the 19th century when water sports, sun bathing, and swimming gained momentum again. Starting around 1830, a series of changes eventually led to the participation of women in sports and in specialized clothing being developed for those sports. The Industrial Revolution hearkened an age of train travel, the invention of the sewing machine and mass-produced fabrics enabled clothing in lower price ranges, and household machines and the development of labor unions gave the working classes more leisure time to indulge in travel, sports, and sun worship in exotic locales. The Dress Reform Movement (see my earlier post on Women, Pants, & Politics) advocated shorter dresses worn over loose harem trousers (the Bloomer Costume) that allowed women greater freedom of movement, as was needed for sports and swimwear. Exercise was increasingly prescribed by doctors and advocated by writers to maintain healthfulness; exercise programs even became an integral part of women’s college curriculums.

The typical 19th century “bather” wore black, knee-length, puffed-sleeve wool dresses, often featuring sailor collars for extra-special nautical costume effect (I say this somewhat facetiously, but it was probably used as a deliberate visual device to distinguish proper day wear from risqué sportswear), and worn over bloomers (derived from the Bloomer Costume) or drawers trimmed with ribbons and bows. Accouterments included long black stockings, lace-up bathing slippers that resembled ballerina slippers, and caps. As the 19th century progressed, bloomers and dress hemlines slowly but surely crept higher. Foundation garments being the basic (however questionable) mark of sartorial respectability, it wasn’t until the 20th century that women stopped wearing corsets underneath their bathing suits. Men had swim suits so closely resembling their undergarments that they made the distinction by wearing either black wool or black-with-stripes. You can see where how term bathing suit applied — the bathing costumes were made up of many layers that were worn as a cohesive ensemble.

Bathing dress, 1858

Beaches typically segregated the sexes, either with portions of the beach or different hours of operation. “Bathing machines” were used for additional modesty: they were dressing rooms on wheels in which women could change into their swimmies, were then wheeled out into the water by horses or people, and then were lifted out into the water to bathe. Below is an amusing cartoon from an 1870 edition of Punch:

Modest Old Gentleman (who has swum out to sea and whose bathing-machine has, in the meanwhile, been walked off by mistake). “Ahem! Pray Excuse me, Madam My Bathing-Machine I think.”

And another cartoon from a postcard, closer to the end of the 19th century, showing the hilarious efforts men might exert to catch of glimpse of the women exiting the bathing machine:

1900s

By the turn of the century, bathing suits underwent a revolutionary change in styles as they ceased to be patterned after street wear and began to show a little more of the human form.

bathing costumes c. 1900

bathers by Georges Marchand, published by A. Bettembos, Dieppe, France, 1904

More athletic (and risqué) women pared down the bathing costume to be as form fitting as possible while still covering their bodies. In 1907 the Australian swimmer Annette Kellerman (1887-1975) visited the United States as an “underwater ballerina,” a version of synchronized swimming involving diving into glass tanks. She was arrested in Boston (my hometown is always Puritanical!) for indecent exposure because her swimsuit showed arms, legs and the neck. Kellerman changed the suit to have long arms and legs and a collar, still keeping the close fit that revealed the shapes underneath:

Annette Kellerman in "one piece all-over Black Diving Suit", 1906

Laughable as this costume might be to our unshockable eyes, compare this to the body stockings worn by the prostitutes photographed by E.J. Bellocq (1873 – 1949) in Storyville, New Orleans’ Red Light district circa 1912. It’s hard to see, but this woman is wearing a full white unitard of the variety worn by burlesque performers (it’s important to note that only dark colors were used in early bathing costumes exactly because they were to be visible, and not to even give the illusion of nudity as this one does):

E J Bellocqs Storyville prostitute in body stocking, c 1912

1920s

The swimwear industry took off in the ’20s. As athleticism and slimmer figures gained increasing fashionableness (see my post on Bicycle Chic and Athletic Aesthetic), knitwear companies expanded their market from sweaters and underwear to include swimwear. With its beautiful beaches and warm waters, it’s unsurprising that the West Coast emerged at this time as a hotbed of swimsuit manufacturers with Catlina, Cole of California, and Jantzen all setting up shop there. The West Coast was not coincidentally the home of burgeoning Hollywood, and this proximity led to the early adoption and wide dissemination of new bathing suit styles in popular films and publicity photographs. Mack Sennett (1880-1960) was a slapstick comedy director whose films frequently featured his titillating “Bathing Beauties,” pictured below:

Mack Sennett's Bathing Beauties eating apples, 1922

The boyish figure favored in the 1920s affected the style of the bathings suits, which were shorter and very much mimicked men’s bathing trunks. (Note also how these bathing suits resembled the mod miniskirts of the ’60s, yet to come.) As ever, when hemlines are raised and garments tightened, modesty becomes a priority for moralists. Below is a 1922 photo of Washington policeman Bill Norton measuring the distance between knee and suit at the Tidal Basin bathing beach after Col. Sherrell, Superintendent of Public Buildings and Grounds, issued an order that suits not be over six inches above the knee (it looks like someone might be in trouble!):

1930s

Knit wool swimsuits, though infinitely more practical than the bathing costume of the 19th century, were still imperfect. They became waterlogged, droopy, and heavy when wet, weighing an average of 20 pounds (owning a vintage wool bathing suit, I can attest that the sagginess is both uncomely and uncomfortable). Technology development stepped in, and the elastic rubber fiber Lastex was invented in 1934. This new material, with natural fibers surrounding a rubber core thread, was used in undergarment corsetry and swimsuits.

The close proximity between the swimsuit manufacturers and Hollywood continued to influence each other. As Lizzie writes in her excellent piece on swimsuits, “Stars and Hollywood designers were used to advertise and promote the latest in swimwear.” Below is Carole Lombard, brash comedienne and lucky wife of Clark Gable. You can see the swimsuits are tighter, shorter, and introduce glamor to what had been previously been somewhat clunky sportswear:

Carole Lombard

Though Jean Harlowe’s white number is even skimpier (and plays with the suggestion of nudity with its white fabric on white skin), note that it is only the necklines and silhouettes that are played with — the leg hemlines remain solidly and straightly at crotch level, no higher.

Jean Harlow

1940s:

Esther Williams (1921-), who had made a somewhat oxy-moronic career for herself as a soloist synchronized swimmer in film musicals, signed a modeling contract with Cole of California in 1947 which also included an annual swimsuit design named for her. Here is a nice montage (feel free to turn the sound off) where she actually pretends to be the aforementioned Australian swimmer Annette Kellerman, among others, in The Million Dollar Mermaid (1952).

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: war affects fashion. U.S. factories are often commandeered by the military during wars, using their existing facilities to produce supplies for the war effort; this was true of the swimwear industry during World War II, as well. Fabric rationing led to sleeker, more closely tailored silhouettes in day wear, and sanctioned increasingly skimpy swimwear: as Lizzie points out, “The US government actually mandated that bathing suits were to be made with at least 10% less fabric, and so the midsection was eliminated” (keeping that scandalous orifice, the navel covered!). French engineer-turned-swimsuit-designer Louis Reard created the “bikini” in 1946, macabrely named after the concurrent nuclear bomb test site on the Bikini Atoll, though some say it was an allusion to the explosive effect the midriff-baring bikiniwould have on viewers. A year after it was released in France, Reard’s bikini was released in America, though its sales were not so great, and was even outlawed in some states as a result of its scantiness.

Louis Reard's bikini, 1945

More popular in the colonies were slightly more modest bikini tops with shorts, which actually crossed the line into non-swimming casual wear.

two-piece swimsuits, 1945

1950s

Post WWII, there was a so-called return to femininity with Dior’s “New Look,” emphasizing curves with yards of skirt fabric, torpedo bras and stiff bodice corsetry. Swimsuits conformed to this ideal too, often with stiff strapless bodices, cinched waists, and apron-like skirts that fell over an invisible skimpier under-layer. More colors than ever were incorporated into swimwear, too, with the return of all America’s factory and supply resources.

apron style swimsuits of 1950s

On the flip side, pin up girls were regularly drawn and photographed in swimsuits, as cousin of the negligee. Below, Bettie Page models some racier swimwear, always designed by herself:

Bettie Page in animal print bikini

1960s

The 1960s heralded the dawn of the Sexual Revolution, the generation that rejected their parents’ prudish impact in the ’50s (Bettie Page very much excepted). This was the first time the female bathing suit moved its hemline above the crotch to encircle the legs rather than square them off. Bond Girl Ursula Andress became an iconic figure (literally and figuratively) in this bikini from Dr. No (1962):

Ursula Andress in white bikini in Dr No, 1962

Below is the publicity shot for Rudy Gernreich’s infamous topless “monokini:”

Peggy Moffitt in monokini by Rudi Gernreich, 1964

Even as it created a fashion sensation, it’s unclear how many women actually bought and wore this number, scandalous even today. Compare the artsy studio photo above to a photo of a model in public (with a billboard man leering at her no less!):

woman wearing Rudi Gernreich's monokini on beach, by Paul Schutzer for Time magazine, 1964

1970s, ’80s, & ’90s

The 1970s embraced less structured clothes and swimsuits, exchanging the stiff elastic ruching and bullet-bra cones for simpler, softer patterns that conformed to the wearer’s body rather than the other way around. The waistline was lowered to hover at the widest point of the hips, rather than at the thinnest point of the waist. The fabric was often unlined, exposing the outlines of nipples (see this hilarious ad for nipple enhancing bras from that period!), as can be seen in the iconic poster of Farrah Fawcett:

Farrah Fawcett photo by Bruce McBroom, 1976 LIFE photo shoot

The ’80s embraced exaggeration in all fashion: huge shoulders, tiny waists, big hair, polychromatic, etc. Bathing suits took on a distinctly geometric feel, often with strategic cutouts for some interesting looks that must’ve created creative tan lines.

Baywatch reigned the small screen in the 1990s. Everyone remembers the Baywatch babes running in slow motion in their bright red, high-cut, low-cut lifeguard swimsuits:

Pam Anderson and Yasmine Bleeth in Baywatch

1990s to now

Since the 1990s, bathing suits have more or less leveled out. Leg holes have generally lowered to a less crotch-pulling height, but we’re in the throws of a nouveau ’80s, so I’ve seen a resurgence of those cutout bathers.

Bathing suit technology has been in the headlines in the past decade due in great part to the press everything Olympics-related generates. Though it’s too expensive to be used for leisure beach activity, Speedo’s LZR swimsuit, invented in 2008, has caused much ruckus among competitive swimmers in recent years. Its corset-like sleek design (it’s said to necessitate 3 people to help a swimmer get into it!) and lasered seams eliminated so much water drag and shaved precious milliseconds off speeders’ times that it was ultimately banned as a kind of performance enhancer that competitors who had non-Speedo sponsors could not wear.

And on that note, I’m off to my local pool to escape this cursed heat, in my Esther Williams vintage-style swimsuit.

Further Reading:

• The Shifting Tides of Seaside Posdtcards – bathing suits as seen in vintage postcards (you need to scroll halfway down the long page to find the right post)
• The California Swimsuit

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I recently watched the video presentation of Johanna Blakley who is involved with TED (a non-profit whose conferences unite the worlds of technology, entertainment, and design), and  UCLA’s Norman Lear Center, which utilizes Entertainment as a lens through which to read world events and ideas, much as I use Fashion to do the same. I recommend you take a gander (it’s relatively short):

Blakley delves into a bit of the history of copyrights, but here is an excerpt directly from the official US Copyright website:

Copyright is a form of protection provided by the laws of the United States (title 17, U. S. Code) to the authors of “original works of authorship,” including literary, dramatic, musical, artistic, and certain other intellectual works. This protection is available to both published and unpublished works. Section 106 of the 1976 Copyright Act generally gives the owner of copyright the exclusive right to do and to authorize others to do the following:
•     To reproduce the work in copies or phonorecords;
•     To prepare derivative works based upon the work;
•     To distribute copies or phonorecords of the work to the public by sale or other transfer of ownership, or by rental, lease, or lending;
•     To perform the work publicly, in the case of literary, musical, dramatic, and choreographic works, pantomimes, and motion pictures and other audio­ visual works;
•     To display the work publicly, in the case of literary, musical, dramatic, and choreographic works, pantomimes, and pictorial, graphic, or sculptural works, including the individual images of a motion picture or other audio­ visual work; and
•     In the case of sound recordings, to perform the work publicly by means of a digital audio transmission.
In addition, certain authors of works of visual art have the rights of attribu­tion and integrity as described in section 106A of the 1976 Copyright Act.

You might note that last sentence sounds like it might include fashion… but it doesn’t. Blakley explains that copyright protection is not afforded to a wide array of creative industries including food, perfume, hairstyling, furniture, and cars, among others. The reason for this oversight is that

…copyright protection for the designs of useful articles is extremely limited. The design of a useful article is protected under copyright “only if, and only to the extent that, such design incorporates pictorial, graphic, or sculptural features that can be identified separately from, and are capable of existing independently of, the utilitarian aspects of the article.”

(Incidentally, that same page includes a somewhat odd but interesting, lengthy comparison between fashion design and boat building.)

So useful, functional articles may not be copyrighted. Blakely paraphrases more helpfully to call the excluded group utilitarian. Fashion is too utilitarian to be copyrighted, because everyone should have access to clothes. While in abstract theory that makes sense to me, this distinguishes fashion from art, a nebulous line. A notable exception is the zipper, the failed copyrighting of which you can read about here. What the article doesn’t mention is that patenting the zipper was only possible at all because it’s technically a machine and not strictly an article of clothing.  The placement and artistic design incorporating zippers are another matter.

1917 Sundback patent for the "Separable Fastener"

And yet there are growing (though still alternative) factions within other industries that are technically applicable for copyright protection, but that choose to publicize and gift their ideas. My computer-saavy partner convinced me to give open source Ubuntu a try, and once installed on my little laptop (wiping out the familiar PC interface with more than a little trepidation), I admit I soon took pride in joining the freeware community and the cache it gave me among tech-savvy folk. There are extensive online forums with a never-ending supply of techies willing to sooth my freeware freakouts.  Though Open Office is undeniably, perhaps irretrievably inferior to the Microsoft original, I find it inspiring that computer programmers are willing to invest their personal time and energy in developing these systems (most of which are far better than the Office knockoff).

The DIY movement shares this free information standpoint, in that sites like Instructables and Make Magazine offer step-by-step tutorials on how to build relatively complex-looking items your very own self, ranging from lights to tables to computers, to upholstery. Part of the appeal is that it’s anti-establishment, anti-consumerist (which the Fashion Industry is certainly not) ; part of the appeal is that you have more opportunities to customize your software / shelving unit / whatever. While these movements deliberately reject copyrights for their own projects, this returns me to the  question: why should fashion design be copyrighted when it seems other creative industries can manage without?

Diane Von Furstenberg, president of the Council of Fashion Designers of America, wrote an impassioned editorial response to an LA Times opinion piece entitled “Fashion copyrights cut creativity: Trying to protect fashion designers from knockoffs would only harm the industry” in which the author postulates that “applying copyrights to apparel design would discourage the copying that actually promotes the sale of designer clothing.”

Part of the difficulty in determining whether fashion designers should be allowed to patent their designs is that the original purpose of U.S. government copyrighting is not to willfully deprive inventors of fame and money for their inventions, but to encourage innovation within the U.S. market. Chia-Yu Chang writes:

Innovation in the fashion designs has not suffered for 2 reasons: One, innovative fashion designs still commands very high premiums in the high-end market; and two, a design’s value drops precipitously after just one season. So, high-fashion designers can bring in sufficient profit from one design, but only for a very short period of time. They must continue to innovate to sustain the business. Protecting the less-valuable older designs is relatively unimportant.

She tempers this assertion by asking, but “what about protections for the young designer dreaming about establishing herself by innovating for the mid-end market, which commands lower premiums? What about the need of mid-end and low-end markets for innovative designs?”

The music industry’s battle with copyrighting has been in the spotlight ever since the internet was used in conjunction with programs like Napster, iTunes, and the soon to be defunct Songza that allow the instantaneous sharing/copying of music files. Blakley mentions that Charlie Parker invented beebop because he didn’t think it could be mimicked (or stolen) by white musicians. While I strongly believe artists should be compensated for their time, effort, and talent, I do think there’s something valuable in being able to test, sample, and share music without the fear of prosecution. The fashion industry somehow doesn’t get as much press (or respect) in its similar struggle, though it’s been an issue to those directly involved for decades. Way back in 1977, former Register of Copyrights Barbara Ringer stated that the issue of design protection was “one of the most significant and pressing items of unfinished business.” And the issue is still open.

From her own open source platform of complete internet lecture video footage, Johanna Blakey suggests using fashion as a model for an inter-disciplinary discussion about what needs protection, what needs to be in the public domain, and what will lead to the most innovative ideas. I still don’t have a clear answer. Do you?

Further Reading:

• Here is an impressive breakdown of the issues involved in fashion copyright law by Jennifer Mencken.
• detractors
• Fashion the Ownership of Creativity project
• NYTimes Freakanomics “Should Fashion be Protected by Copyright Laws?”
• NPR “Fashion Industry Copes with Designer Knockoffs“
• Kriztina Holly, Vice Provost for Innovation at UCLA wrote an interesting response to  Blakely’s lecture
  

A long standing fan of director / writer John Waters, I am delighted that the Pope of Trash is appearing with greater frequency in periodicals these days due to his new book Role Models. I’m going to brush aside the content of the book (though it looks awesome!) to concentrate on the style of Mr. Waters and his aesthetic philosophy. In his Flavorwire list of advice for “functional freaks” he dispensed some wonderful fashion advice:

“You don’t need fashion designers when you are young. Have faith in your own bad taste. Buy the cheapest thing in your local thrift shop — the clothes that are freshly out of style with even the hippest people a few years older than you. Get on the fashion nerves of your peers, not your parents — that is the key to fashion leadership. Ill-fitting is always stylish. But be more creative — wear your clothes inside out, backward, upside down. Throw bleach in a load of colored laundry. Follow the exact opposite of the dry cleaning instructions inside the clothes that cost the most in your thrift shop. Don’t wear jewelry — stick Band-Aids on your wrists or make a necklace out of them. Wear Scotch tape on the side of your face like a bad face-life attempt. Mismatch your shoes. Best yet, do as Mink Stole used to do: go to the thrift store the day after Halloween, when the children’s trick-or-treat costumes are on sale, buy one, and wear it as your uniform of defiance.”

I love this whole thing. Every sentence. Every suggestion. (Well, I might question “ill-fitting is always stylish.” Though a great fan of belting things too big for me, I strongly believe that tailoring to fit your body makes everything look good. We’ll let that one pass, John.) The suggestion of wearing band-aids as jewelry reminded me of rather trashy D-actress Bai Ling, a regular fashion victim/goddess of Go Fug Yourself. In addition to favoring dresses that reveal her nipples, Bai also regularly sports what the Go Fug Yourself ladies refer to as her “Band-Aids of Truth” that have various nonsensical phrases scrawled on them with permanent marker:

"The Hit Song" on the left, "China Girl" on the right. What? Exactly.

They’re delightful in their ridiculous whimsy, non? I think John would approve of her nipple and band-aid antics.

I myself have been experimenting with turning clothes inside-out, upside-down, and backwards. I love to reveal the normally hidden construction of garments — stitches are so cool looking, why would you hide them?! I also like the connection to the fashion sustainability movement. By the simple act of pinning or rotating a skirt, one can create a fresh “new” skirt without spending a dime and without discarding a perfectly functional garment. For her recently completed Uniform Project sustainable fashion experiment, Sheena Matheiken wore her one dress (same style, 7 copies for laundering) in infinite permutations by alternating creative and colorful accessories. She collaborated with her designer friend to create the staple dress “so it can be worn both ways, front and back, and also as an open tunic.” I don’t believe it can be worn upside-down, but it’s a pretty good start:

I very much enjoy John’s suggestion to raid thrift stores for costumes. While I don’t generally seek out Halloween costumes like Mink Stole, I absolutely raid the prom / bridesmaids section of Goodwills. Like costumes they have generally been worn only once, and I firmly believe one can never be too fancy (and therefore one can never have too many fancy frocks). I literally wear some of these prom dresses as nightgowns and I recommend it. Um, I also realize that I totally have a homemade blue gingham dress that I am positive was made for a high school production of either Oklahoma! or The Wizard of Oz. Jealous much?

<Ahem.>

Back to John. On his own style icons: “Rufus Wainwright always has a look. Joan Kennedy always looks startling. Kate Moss has never looked bad in her life. And the Jackass boys. If ever there was a gang of boys I could hang out and get fashion lessons from, it’s them. And, oh! Kitty Carlisle Hart.”

Rufus Wainwright & Johnny Knoxville of Jackass, fashion icons?

When asked about his preference for the Three Stooges over Charlie Chaplin in a recent Salon interview, Waters said,

“They’re more fun, and they have a better fashion sense. I hate people who wear top hats, they look like assholes, but Moe with his bangs? He inspired the shoe-bomber fashion. The shoe bomber looked exactly like him. Imagine if you got on the plane, and he sat down next to you with Moe Howard’s haircut and shoes with big fuses sticking out of them and dynamite. Trying to light the match and it wouldn’t go off.”

I respectfully disagree with this one. While I do think people in top hats can look like bourgeois assholes, Chaplin wore a bowler — which was a democratizing sartorial symbol that actually blurred class lines, and which looked and looks phenomenal, in my opinion. And while I can get behind a lot of questionable fashion, I’m not really feeling the Moe / shoe bomber haircut, hilarious as it may be. Call me fickle.

Moe Howard and shoe bomber Richard Reid, questionable fashion inspiration and typical John Waters non-sequitur comparison.

Waters is an avid contemporary art lover. “Good contemporary art makes people angry,” he has said, and “the art I like is always what at first makes me angry” (he sites the messy Cy Twombly and Mike Kelley as favorites). I think he’d agree an element of outrage is true of good cutting edge fashion, too. In his NY Magazine interview from November 19, 2006 he said, “My whole look is ‘disaster at the dry cleaner.’ Usually it’s Japanese.” For his plein air interview for NYPL in Bryant Park last night he wore slim, short Comme des Garçons tuxedo slacks, a black Junya Watanabe jacket with a bold blue black and grey geometric pattern, pointy orange Paul Smith shoes and socks, and GAP boxers — which was pretty much what he said he was wearing for the NY Mag interview 4 years ago. Even if you don’t care for his style, the man has consistency, and though I’m originally a vintage purist, I’ve grown to appreciate — nay, love — fashion that infuriates and confounds. I’d add Netherlandish Viktor & Rolf to his Japanese designers who consistently deconstruct and shock. Waters loves that he can wear a costly designer shirt to Baltimore a bar and have people pity him that he can’t afford a shirt without oil stains and tears, and he always has difficulty explaining to his dry cleaners to leave untouched his uneven hems and holes. Though he can afford to pay retail, he recommends you stain and rip your own clothes for the same look. This dovetails with Waters’ distinctly anti-snob , anti “high” culture philosophy, I think.

Junya Watanabe S2007, Viktor & Rolf S2010RTW, Comme des Garcons F2007

As genuinely enthusiastic as I am about John’s fashion advice, I suspect most find it more humorous than words to actually live by. This is confirmed by the well documented numbers of actors who have literally cried when they’ve been introduced to their wardrobes for Waters’ movies.

So I’ll leave you with John Waters’ most deliciously smarmy trademark, his Little Richard-stolen mustache (which, he claimed, is the reason he doesn’t want to have an open casket funeral — he doesn’t trust anyone else to draw it on just right):

Enjoy.

More John Waters publications:

• Shock Value: A Tasteful Book About Bad Taste
• Crackpot: the Obsessions of John Waters
• Art: A Sex Book

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