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!

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

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

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One of my favorite blogs ColourLovers brought to my attention a new cookbook. I have no idea the quality of the recipes in Homemade is Best, but what interested me was that each recipe has a double-page spread of photos of the ingredients, piles neatly arranged in graphic formation.  It might make more sense when you learn that Ikea– brand of (often impossible) assemble-it-yourself furniture projects– published it. Take a gander:

In the review Margot Harrington wrote, “Sure, I still want a fat slice of the cake, but now I have so much more appreciation for what goes into it. Makes it seems so much more simple to make, no?” It immediately reminded me of  minimalistic and architectural fashion, much of which emphasizes simplicity of pattern. I thought I might be making that now-familiar leap from Everything Random to Fashion (because that’s what I do), and then it turned out that was exactly what had inspired the Ikea project (I won’t let it go to my head):

Ikea on Homemade Is Best “We let ourselves be inspired by high fashion and japanese minimalism. The idea of the book became to tone down the actual cake and put the ingredients in focus. The recipes are presented as graphic still-life portraits on a warm and colourful stage. And when you turn the page you see the fantastic result.”

Probably best known these days for her lemongrass coat-and-dress ensemble worn by Michelle Obama Inauguration day, Isabel Toledo’s designs are highly informed by origami, and a similarly Japanese penchant for loose and drapey forms rather than American body-hugging fashions. Toledo’s designs seem to originate with flat patterns of simple geometric shapes and they become draped clothes only later in the process. For this reason, her works  are often more interesting to me when seen flat, as FIT did in last year’s “Isabel Toledo, Fashion From the Inside Out” exhibition, revealing the simplicity of pattern and complexity of resulting form on body.

The “Packing Dress” is simply two circles of fabric sewn together with leg, arm, and head holes. Because the pattern is so unstructured, it can be worn front or back, as seen below:

Packing Dress, Spring/Summer 98

The Packing Dress reminds me of Martin Margiela’s more aggressive circular jacket which is far more structured when made of leather, perhaps a bit harder for the average person to wear on the street, but it’s no less delightful:

circle jacket, Spring/Summer 09

Oftentimes the final results of Toledo’s garments on human forms bely the clarity of their pattern shapes; when draped on bodies they bulk up, drape and pucker in complex and interesting ways. Toledo’s Tube Jacket looks completely different on a form:

Tube jacket, Spring/Summer 95

… than when folded flat; the origami influence becomes clear, non?

portrait in a garden by Franz Antoine, 1850s-60s

knitting detail

kimono pattern

Though I don’t love everything Toledo has designed, I do respect her commitment to creative design that is ecologically responsible in its simplicity.

I am thrilled to be participating in Drexel University’s upcoming [the Dark Side of] Fashion in Fiction conference. If anyone will be in Philadelphia October 8 – 10 and is interested in introducing yourself, please get in touch! Here is a taste of what I will be presenting:

Anais Nin grappled with complex self-identity issues that were revealed in her sartorial selections as much as her overtly philosophical prose. It’s unclear if Nin herself realized the extent to which she used fashion to act out her desires: to glamorize herself and seduce, and alternately to conceal and protect herself. But her numerous and detailed descriptions of her own outfits, how she believed others saw her, how she consistently compared her so-called inferior body to other women’s idealized ones all contribute greatly to the reader’s understanding of this complex woman. She attempted to literally cloak her dark side: her jealousy, imperfections, anger, (bi)sexuality, and fear of abandonment.

Nin struggled with dysmorphia of her physical body and the “multiplicity” of her emotional and intellectual selves. These fragments were often expressed through Nin’s unusual sartorial style, illuminating her hidden fragility, her insecurities, her self-consciousness, but also her bolder sexual desires and her pride. She was preoccupied by her prepubescent-seeming body, even as her numerous lovers expressed no dissatisfaction. Anais used her clothes to exoticize herself, to beautify the unusual looks she perceived as ugly. Inversely, when she met a friend with the intention of deflecting his advances, she dressed “like a warrior, to defend myself against possession.” She admitted, through therapy and written self reflection, she was afraid of being hurt. It follows that the high collars, long skirts, and layers became her armor, protecting her from everything that might penetrate or harm her body, and by extension, her ego.

Nin used the exchanging and gifting of garments– often overstepping her budget to do so– to initiate intimacy and display tenderness. Nin gave June Miller her own sandals, perfume, and handkerchief, metaphorically handing her own identity to her rival (as Henry Miller’s legitimate wife), and as her own future lover. Dressing June satisfied Nin’s desire to feel useful, wanted, loved, and understood (literally walking in the same shoes), but this also highlighted the numerous remaining differences between the women, contributing to Nin’s confused perceptions of self image, self worth, and sexual identity.

Nin also used fashion as a method of distancing herself, as with her superficial, absentee father. During their reunion he told Nin she had become “beautiful by suffering.” He took perverse pleasure in having contributed to the suffering that transformed her. Nin noted with annoyance and confusion that as they became closer he wanted “me to dress conventionally and discreetly… completely artificial, insincere, snobbish…. My artist friends like slovenliness, even shabbiness…. Somewhere in between lies Anais, who wants a free life but not a shabby one.” Once again, clothes and appearance were at the heart of her identity crisis, but perhaps also of her breakthrough. “Once the deforming mirror is smashed, there is a possibility of wholeness; there is a possibility of joy.” There is a possibility of light illuminating the shadows of Anais’ psyche.

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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I just read a fun list on Flavorwire of their 10 favorite fashionable literary characters. Allow me to summarize:

1. Lily Bart in Edith Wharton’s House of Mirth
2. Dorian Gray in Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray
3. Holly Golightly in Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s
4. Orlando in Virginia Woolf’s Orlando
5. Scarlett O’Hara in Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind
6. Jay Gatsby in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
7. Dorian Gray in Gustave Flaubert’s The Picture of Dorian Gray
8. Rupert Psmith in the novels of P.G. Wodehouse
9. Lady Brett Ashley in Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises
10. Darling Daintyfoot in Jean Genet’s Our Lady of the Flowers

A wonderful property of literature and other art forms is that textiles — fragile under the best of circumstances — may be preserved in alternate mediums. Greek, Roman, and Ancient Egyptian statues may be studied for information on what people wore in eras almost impossible to find fragmented remains of clothes, much less full ensembles, as can paintings and literature. Though literature removes the visual aspect of fashion, it can supplement readers with information not gleaned from sculptures and pictures: how fabric moved; how heavy and cumbersome (or light and airy) it was; what necessary undergarments created the ultimate silhouettes. Most valuable, perhaps, is that literature is able to synthesize the mise en scène of a particular country, era, class, time of day, and personal circumstance, explicitly emphasizing the relationship of fashion with these other variables. Though not impossible, conveying this complex set of relationships is more challenging in fine arts, where the visual language may be forced to reduce information to simplified symbols, to be absorbed and interpreted by a viewer in a moment.

Within a written narrative, an author has space to develop characters and settings: personality, gender roles (how constrictive / seductive women’s gowns were communicates volumes), class (fabrics vary according to a person’s wealth), aspirations (class deception is commonly exploited with the use of clothes), sexual preference (homosexuals are often marked as such by a flamboyance of appearance that’s slightly out of step with current fashion)…. Though fashion historians often concentrate on the nitty-gritty details of garment descriptions — which is absolutely valuable — this information should contribute to the overall character development and plot structure of a novel as well. In the hands of a competent writer, dress details will not distract a non-fashion reader, but only add depth to what is already taking place.

The course of events in Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind, for example — war, displacement, poverty, the helpless role of women — lead directly and naturally to the memorable scene where Scarlett converts her destroyed mansion’s drapes into a fashionable dress and hat with which to impress and seduce Rhett Butler (thereby securing new wealth). (The dress from the original film, by the way, is in dire need of restoring.)

Scarlett O'Hara in drape dress, Gone with the Wind

This dress has become so iconic that costume designer Bob Mackie specifically spoofed it, within Carol Burnett’s 1976 general farce “Went with the Wind” (which I strongly encourage you to watch in its entirety):

Carol Burnett Show, Went with the Wind

As I hope you can see, Mackie left the curtain rod in, used drape ties with tassels for a belt, and left the contrasting fringe exactly where it would’ve been on the curtain, drawing attention to Scarlett’s desperation and deception sooner rather than later — taking Margaret Mitchell’s initial use of fashion one step further.

Presenters will be dissecting the relationship between fashion and literature in an upcoming Drexel University conference (at which I will be presenting): Fashion in Fiction: The Dark Side of Fashion. If you will be in Philadelphia October 8-10, please drop me a line (see my Profile for email address)!

Feel free to add your own best-dressed characters in fiction in the Comments….

Further Reading:

• Fashion in Fiction: Text and Clothing in Literature, Film and Television, edited by Peter McNeil, Vicki Karaminas, and Catherine Cole
• Fashion and Fiction: Dress in Art and Literature in Stuart England by Aileen Ribeiro

Recommend this Post:

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A friend of mine sent me a link to Janelle Monáe’s “Tightrope” video earlier this summer, and I have been obsessed with the dame ever since (I give you permission to play it when you want to cheer yourself up, and/or have an impromptu dance party, as I do). Not only are her pipes amazing (her concept CDs Metropolis: the Chase Suite, and the sequel The ArchAndroid, are testament to her vocal and style range), but her look! — it’s quirky, fun, formal, and has a healthy dash of what I must assume are her professional singer / performer icons, who mostly appear to be men (James Brown and Michael Jackson high up there). Metropolis is obviously an homage to Fritz Lang’s 1927 classic, and both Lang’s and Monáe’s are futuristic tales of class struggle and oppression; in Monáe’s case, it’s more explicitly about race, with a healthy smattering of gender twisting in there.

Janelle’s first video “Many Moons” depicts an android auction of Janelles, each robot primped and dressed and coiffed for different personalities; bidding wars take place among the underworld elite members of the audience as they compete for the Janelle version they desire, while the prototype Janelle performs live while her sisters are sold off.

The Chicago Tribune wrote of the sequel album (which can just as easily be applied to the premier):

“‘The ArchAndroid’ has ambition to burn. It’s a self-empowerment manifesto couched inside a futuristic “emotion-picture” about an android’s battle to overcome oppression. The notion of space travel and “new worlds” becomes a metaphor for breaking out of the oppression that enslaves minorities of all types in the present one — a theme that has a long tradition in African-American music, from Sun Ra and Parliament-Funkadelic to Cannibal Ox and OutKast.”

What I couldn’t help noticing was an uncomfortable similarity to modern-day fashion shows the auction block was. The chic foreign announcer, Lady Maxxa, introduces auction show with live performer Cindy Mayweather (Janelle), who is the prototype of the Alpha Platinum 9000 droid line. Cindy Mayweather performs the song we’re listening to, to the enthusiastic concert-like crowd’s cheers, dressed in Janelle’s staple white dinner jacket with black silk ribbon tie and nouveau saddle shoes shown to their advantage by highwater tuxedo pants, topped by Janelle’s ever-amazing pompadour.

The introductory celebrity shots of crowd members in the video mimic the paparazzi shots of the front rows at runway shows (which actually have their own photo section on Style.com), giving perhaps undeserved clout and prestige to the designer who snags A-listers attendees, regardless of the strength of the collection on display. The photo below of Jennifer Lopez and Eva Longoria literally cuts off the actual model in favor of the famous attendees:

When Cindy Mayweather throws her jacket off in a burst of enthusiastic performing (2:06), revealing her cinched cummerbund, girls in the mosh pit shriek in ecstasy, upsetting the typical gender divide of girls shrieking for male sex symbols. This is only mildly surprising, since the outfit, high hair, and energetic mic moves are very much in the vein of James Brown (whom Janelle readily claims as a primary inspiration):

Over the years, fashion shows have moved from private parlors of the fashion house to larger and more ornate venues, often bombarding the larger audiences with light shows, video installments (Alexander McQueen famously used a hologram one year), and live musical performers, increasing the fashion spectacle to performance art highs. Below is the delightfully quirky Tori Amos performing for one of my favorite Viktor & Rolf runway shows, Autumn/Winter 05:

The theme of multiplicity and interchangeability of non-Caucasian ethnicities (“they all look the same”) is explored too (see my earlier post on multiplicity in Coraline). All androids, including the performer Cindy Mayweather, are part of the same line of androids, but are dressed up differently. Their shared roots are only made explicit in shots of the chorus backstage, when they’re all wearing identical tuxes (but different from Cindy Mayweather’s tux):

Monae has turned the fashion industry’s standard of racial desirability on its head here, since in our world, models of color are notoriously overlooked and under-employed. In a rather shocking NYTimes article about model scouts who seek recessive white gene pools in Brazil it was noted, “The goal, he and other model scouts say, is to find the right genetic cocktail of German and Italian ancestry, perhaps with some Russian or other Slavic blood thrown in. Such a mix, they say, helps produce the tall, thin girls with straight hair, fair skin and light eyes that Brazil exports to the runways of New York, Milan and Paris with stunning success.” Janelle has tipped the scales so in her futuristic world there is the unapologetic presentation of beautiful women of color on the runway, but with the uneasy narrative of an android (slave) sale. Below is an etching of an actual slave auction; you can see there is the auctioneer (not a stunning, fashionable black woman but a white man), the dapper white men looking to buy a human being (some of whom have switches in their hands already), and an upsettingly orderly clump of black men, women and children behind the stage awaiting their turn to be put on the auction block:

The advertised prices of the androids could just as easily be pricetags of designer clothes…

and Monae’s androids aren’t so meek. The fierce faces the various androids make are taken directly from the fashion runways: no smiles allowed, just sexy, defiant snarls.

And traditional gender and racial stereotypes are questioned subtly again in the backstage primping, when a white male adjusts the corset and hair of one of the androids;

The image most common in European and American art is that of a black servant or maid doting on his/her alabaster employer. One of the most famous is that classic depiction of enslaved Mammy from Gone with the Wind (1939), lacing Scarlett’s stays for a picnic she herself will not attend:

Interestingly, the costumes the various androids parade in aren’t typical slave rags, but are archetypes of wealthy white men pastimes. The jockey,

The gentleman hunter,

The slick banker,

and the flaneur dandy.

The exception is a clear homage to Amelia Earhart –  who excelled in a male-dominated profession in male clothes (see my post on Women, Pants & Politics) — and whose photo is actually projected behind the android who wears a similar pilot jumpsuit and goggles. Distinctly not glamorous, with a clomping booted gait, the low camera angle emphasizes the android’s strength, stature and importance:

All told, I’m not sure that Janelle Monáe intended this to be commentary on the fashion industry per se, but it’s undeniable that she took heavy inspiration from designer runways to develop her racial / social / gender agenda with these concept albums. Deliberate or not, it’s frankly a bit disturbing to me that the fashion runway format lends itself so perfectly to this tale of oppression, the stink of slavery and continued female oppression in a glossy, modern, eerily familiar context.

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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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