In the 1920s, “Businesswomen” were advised to pay careful attention to the difference between social and working dress. According to Vogue:
“We must stoutly protest that the sport, garden party or reception dress is out of place in the shop or office. Short sleeves do not look well for such wear, ever. Elbow-length is permissible, but the really short sleeve is bad form and the sleeveless street gown is unspeakably vulgar.” [1]
Muted colors and simple fabrics were also advised. Generally, businesswear walked a line between formal social attire and at home “work” wear, combining simplicity and functionality with chicness.
Where dresses were appropriate, they resembled women’s morning or house-dresses. In the early 1920s, these work dresses had waist yoke’s and raglan sleeves. Overskirts created an apron effect and pockets were a must for practicality. Similarly ¾ length sleeves were useful. These dresses were made of serge, tricotine, or gabardine. Though satin was sometimes used, trimming was kept to a minimum, so as not to appear “fussy”.[2]
Comptometer Bureau, Armour & Co., Chicago, 1926. Armour & Co. was a meat business. (Early Office Museum)
The 1920s saw the rise in the popularity of the suit, consisting of a dress and matching jacket, or of the more familiar three-piece variety (with a skirt, blouse and jacket). Throughout the decade, the skirts of the ensembles were slender and had knife or inverted pleats (Laubner 1996).
During the first few years of the 1920s, wool suits were the most popular and consisted of a calf-length tunic-like dress or skirt worn with a thigh-length unfitted jacket. Decoration on these early suits usually included Chelsea and notched collars and a number of belts, crisscrossing over the jacket (Laubner 1996).
Between 1923 and 1924, hem lengths dropped all the way to the ankles and hip length boxy suit jackets followed the general trend towards a lowered waistline (Laubner 1996). Also during this time, Coco Chanel introduced her most well known suit. It consisted of a collarless, square-cut jacket trimmed in contrasting braid, paired with a matching straight skirt. The quilted silk lining of the jacket was meant to match the blouse. Chanel’s signature suit also contained a chain inside the hem of the jacket for weight (Laubner 1996).
1929 Suit by Coco Chanel, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Costume Institute (1984.154.1a–c)
From 1925 until the end of the decade, both single and double breasted square suit jackets were the norm, although jackets that met at the center front, held together by a toggle were also popular. Jackets were paired with straight cut, knee-length skirts (Laubner 1996).
In general, cardigan suits of knitted jersey were a staple in women’s closets (Mendes & De La Haye 1999). Typically, suits of the 1920s were made in subdued colors such as navy, tan, brown, and black. White pin stripes were frequently seen as well. Trimming was minimal, though in the latter half of the decade, fur pieces sometimes adorned shoulders for added glitz (Laubner 1996).
[1] Watson, Linda. 20th Century Fashion. Buffalo: Firefly, 2004. 44.
[2] “Of Interest to women,” Washington Post, Jan 12, 1920; pg. 8.
After reading the recent NYTimes article highlighting Eddie Feibusch’s zipper business in New York’s Lower East Side, I was reminded of — what else? — the history of the not-so-humble zipper. This now-ubiquitous device that fastens and unfastens our pants, dresses, and bags, is a relatively recent invention, as far as the history of fashion goes, and also had more trouble taking off than you might imagine.
Elias Howe (inventor of the sewing machine) patented an “automatic, continuous clothing closure” in 1851, and Whitcomb Judson and Lewis Walker marketed the “Clasp Locker” in 1893, which was presented but largely ignored at the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair:
Whitcomb Judson's clasp locker, a hook-and-eye zipper created to replace shoe laces
It wasn’t until Gideon Sundback increased the number of teeth per inch, joined and separated them with a slider, and built a machine to manufacture continuous chains of the “separable fastener” (patented in 1917), that the zip started to take off. One of its first big customers was the US Army which applied time-saving separable fasteners to the clothing and gear of the troops of World War I. This was not, however, widely adopted by the general public.
It was next incorporated into B. F. Goodrich’s 1925 rubber “Zipper Boots” (named for the “zip” sound they made), but it still struggled with mass marketing. In the 1930s a sales campaign suggested that buttons were hard for children to manage and the zipper made it easier for them to dress themselves. Using modern-day infomercial creativity, the zipper industry alerted people to problems they didn’t know they had — namely “gaposis,” gaping holes between ill-fitting buttons and clasps that exposed drafts and prying eyes to the body underneath. The solution? Spray on hair! — I mean, zippers! Exciting yes, but reliable? Not entirely. A certain amount of trial and excruciating error was enough to dissuade tailors from suggesting their clients adopt the zip (think There’s Something About Mary bathroom scene).
A well-appointed proponent of the zipper assisted its limping acceptance. The Duke of Windsor (1894 – 1972), in addition to abdicating this throne in favor of marrying the trollop — I mean divorcée — Mrs. Wallis Simpson, made a(nother) scandal by advertising his adoption of trouser flies. Known for his daring but impeccable fashion taste (mixing patterns, cuffing pants, etc.), his vocal adoption of the zip fly did much for the device. (For more on the Duke’s influence on fashion see this article.) I like the following picture of him because, though I imagine he is not actually lifting his jacket for us to inspect his fly, I like to pretend he is:
Most fashion designers only began to see the myriad of possibilities after after the zipper beat the button in the amusing “Battle of the Fly” in 1937 (I imagine an Iron Chef-like competition, though I could be wrong); Esquire magazine concluded the “new” zippered fly would end “the possibility of unintentional and embarrassing disarray,” tapping into that somewhat imagined “gaposis” crisis of the ’20s. Conservative tailors who disdained zipper flies as vulgar but who couldn’t argue with its ultimate popularity created a fold of cloth to conceal the zipper, which is, of course, the standard in flies today.
But to backtrack just a titch, the biggest breakthrough came when Hoboken zipper factories amped up the erotic associations of the zipper, capitalizing on the alluring promise of “a quick and effortless disrobing.” It was the very vulgar, potentially lewd quality of the zipper that tailors resisted but that the public loved. Synchronized dance musical director extraordinaire Busby Berkeley (1895 – 1976) tapped into the suggestive and tantalizingly promiscuous possibilities of the zipper by featuring one made of women (it didn’t hurt that they were all scantily clothed and splashing about in water). Here is “By a Waterfall” from Footlight Parade (1933) (fast forward to 3:35 – 4:18):
A whole seduction is played out with the zipper: a triangular pubis is formed by the bodies, which dissolves into the neat formation of a closed, modest zipper which a lone swimmer (the seducer) voyeuristically observes (like watching a woman dress). The zip is then ripped open by this peeping Tom who somewhat violently breaks the links. An attempt to stave off the sexual advance and reclaim self-decency is made by immediately re-zipping the zipper, and the vignette is concluded ambiguously with an underwater shot of an orgiastic flurry of confused legs and feet and not-unhappy faces. I realize this might seem like a bit of stretch in this day and age of explicit sexual scenes, but the erotic message was not lost on 1930′s audiences. I love that Busby B.!
Elsa Schiaparelli (1890–1973) was the first couturier to feature zippers as a style element. She first used brightly colored zippers on sportswear in 1930, and her 1935 collection of evening dresses were dripping in colored, oversized, decorative and nonfunctional zippers. While other designers were using zippers simply as a fastener (and trying to hide them), Schiaparelli was using them to create visual interest in garments (and maybe a little scandal too). This dress has a prominently displayed front-of-torso zipper closure that is functional and artistic, and gives the witty, Surrealist suggestion that the dress is being worn backwards:
Schiaparelli's Fall/Winter 1939 collection, worn by Millicent Rogers
Since Elsa, other designers have used the zipper as adornment. The corset onesie Jean-Paul Gaultier designed for Madonna’s 1990 “Blond Ambition” tour had a zipper running from breasts to crotch, merging the fetish aspects of pre-20th century underwear with that of modern-day ease of disrobing:
And Victoria Beckham’s fledgling fashion line often features deliberately visible zippers. Below Ms. Beckham and Jennifer Lopez are modeling former Posh Spice’s own line, with modest hemlines but body hugging silhouettes and partially un-zipped full-length zippers, hinting at impropriety without actually showing a lot of flesh:
While visible zippers lend an air of daring sexual prowess and vulnerability, so do invisible zippers that allow modern women to don boots that have 15 inches of prominent but superficial decorative lacings that fetishize the corset lacing while utilizing the practicality of the zipper:
Fluevog Sugar boots with invisible inner zippers
After the initial slow adoption of the gadget, the zipper has even infiltrated our civilian vocabulary now: to “unzip” is literally to open, but also to reveal a truth, as the zipper reveals the body underneath. The hilaaaarious 1995 documentary about manic designer Isaac Mizrahi is aptly called “Unzipped,” playfully using the clasp’s undoing action to imply that the normally hidden, backstage part of the design process will be exposed. (Is it ever!)
Finally, though the zipper has come so very far from its humble origin and initial ineffectual marketing, to now being the current standard in clasps more than the exception, there remains an un-solvable problem. Easy and quick as the zipper is to close, it is equally easy to forget:
I used to dream of some day collecting enough antique clothing and textiles to fill a small museum. If a person wanted to do so, this Wednesday’s Augusta Auctions sale would be the place to go to acquire that inventory. In case you have not heard, Augusta Auctions is having an enormous Fashion and Textile Sale in Sturbridge, Massachusetts during Brimfield Antique Week this Wednesday.
The location is the Host Hotel Ballroom, Route 20, Sturbridge, Mass. The auction starts at 4:00, preceded by the preview from 1:00-4:00. The auction, comprising 257 lots, is expected to end at 6:30, and be followed by a “discovery sale” (see the Augusta Auctions web site for a description of the sale of those 100+ additional lots).
This auction, geared to collectors and the trade, totals nearly 10,000 items grouped in lots, with no minimum bids, no reserves, no internet bidding, no phone bidding, and no absentee bidding.
Up for auction are garments, textiles, and accessories from the Brooklyn Museum Costume Collection, Chrysler Museum, Columbus Museum, American Heritage Museum, Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising, and “select private estates, including 19th C. World Tour Objects from a Main Line Philadelphia Family.”
Highlights of the sale include:
100’s of Victorian & Edwardian Clothing items
Boxes of handmade & machine made lace
19th C. Military Uniforms
American & European Designer clothing
Shawls & Clothing from the 20’s & 30’s
Lingerie, whites & undergarments
Early Oriental rugs & tapestries
Paisley & Export Shawls
100’s of pairs of 18th – 20th C. Shoes
Asian & Middle Eastern garments & textiles
17th -20th C silk brocades, fabrics & embroideries
18th -20th C. Beaded and other bags
Ecclesiastical textiles & brocade
The auction catalog is now available at Augusta’s web site, plus photos of some of the lots. For detailed information on select items, visit assistant Ginnie Beattie’s blog, Auction Fashionista.
Captain Edward Molyneux was a British born Parisian haute couture designer best known for his work in the 1920s and 1930s. He trained under Lucile/Lady Duff Gordon before opening his first shop in 1919. Pierre Balmain and Marc Bohan are among those who worked under him. His designs were considered conservative, but not matronly — comparable to other 1920s and 1930s designers such as Mainbocher, Vionnet and Chanel. The rich, thin, society women of Europe; actresses; and celebrities worldwide coveted his clothes. One would think of him as having had a full career when he retired in late 1950/ early 1951, making it all the more surprising when Molyneux returned to the world of couture in early 1965 at the age of 70. (Click here for an image of Molyneux as pictured in Life Magazine 1965).
After more than ten years of retirement ( to paint and grow flowers on a 70 acre farm) Molyneux wanted to come back to the fashion lime-light. According to the New York Times announcement in January of 1964, he was coming back because “I just don’t have enough to do.”(1) – but I suspect he was inspired by Chanel’s recent and lucrative return to couture.
When Molyneux retired in the early 1950s, it was because an old World War I injury was threatening his eyesight (he did end up loosing sight in one eye). His comeback was initially with a collection of “50 models for spring, [that] can only be described as ready-to-wear,”(2) Though later fashion journalists referred to it as “semi-couture.” He seems to have had no desire to open up a fashion house – that task seemed too daunting for a man of his years: “Life is too short” (3)
1965: “A Spring dress with an elongated princess line.” (The London College of Fashion Collection)
Given the styles and designers popular in Paris at the time (specifically, the sleek lines of Madame Gres and the resurgence of sculptural qualities of YSL) it makes sense that his design philosophy could fit within the contemporary aesthetic. And so, on February 1, 1965, Edward Molyneux re-entered the world of high fashion with a collection of, as the New York Times put it, “tailored suits with custom details and easy, bias-cut dresses.”(4) It seemed a welcome return – Chanel sent him tulips, former muses and clients attended the show with excitement. The hope was that if enough foreign buyers bought the line, he would return to full couture. (Sketches and photos of this fashion show can be seen here: Givenchy returns to fashion February 1, 1965).
1965: “This suit is designed by Edward Molyneux for his ‘return’ collection is in Bernat Klein’s greeny brown light weight wool which has a slight slub texture.” (London College of Fashion Collection)
By April of 1965, the truth about that first show had become clear: “the general unspoken decision was that the Captain had been away too long.” (5) That said, his next collection, for fall/winter 1965, was much more warmly received - sending “pleasant shock waves up and down the Rue Royale.” (6)
It was this second show seemed to solidify his return. Most notably, it presented an opposing version of the ubiquitous Chanel suit (in black) a welcome change by those who saw it. The bulk of the design work here, however, was executed by his nephew, with Captain Molyneux only acting in a supervisory role and may have been key to the success of this collection.
1965: “The new classical suit as seen at Molyneux is designed in a grey pure wool flannel by Dormeuil. Fashion focus: the long jacket with its curved hipline widened shoulders and slanted fastening. The narrow skirt stops almost at mid-calf”. (London College of Fashion Collection)
In later collections, his work would be compared with other re-emergent designers of the 1930s, Chanel and Gres: a trifecta of influence. Molyneux Studio, his label, would continue until his death in March of 1974 at the age of 82.
1965: “The ultra-feminine fitted coat makes a striking return with this model in orange wool facecloth by Nattier, The bust and waist are tightly fitted with two long seams and the flap pockets emphasize the full skirt which flares to the hem.” (London College of Fashion Collection)
As I alluded in previous posts, adopting aspects of menswear had a direct relationship with the Women’s Movement, socially and politically. For hundreds of years wealthy and impoverished women alike had worn heavy floor length dresses, even as unsanitary street filth dragged in the long skirts, even as the simple negotiation of stairs became arduous (and potentially dangerous), and even as a woman’s ability to move freely and comfortably was hampered. Despite widespread discussion of the physical harm caused by corseting, women of society and women of the streets tightly laced their bodies into undergarments that constricted their waists to produce the exaggerated silhouette au currant. Women were even killed and disfigured by voluminous skirts catching aflame without their notice. Dress reformers in the 19th century tackled this issue of female oppression by fashion by promoting social improvement in practicality over trends, for health and comfort over convention, and rationality over conformity.
18th century society was highly influenced by the popular writings of Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712 – 1778) who used the “State of Nature” as a normative guide in dress, child rearing, and more. Though female dress reform was not specifically addressed at this time (children’s dress was), this Age of Enlightenment planted the seeds for the women’s suffrage movement of the 19th century. The work of Elizabeth Cady Stanton (1815 – 1902) and Lucretia Mott (1793 – 1880) who produced the Seneca Falls Declaration of Sentiments in 1848 which demanded equal citizenship and equal political rights for women. A few short years afterwards in 1851, abolitionist and social reformer Amelia Bloomer (1818 – 1894) appeared in oriental trousers with a short skirt. This radical bloomer costume provided an obvious source of activewear for women by covering their legs while allowing them the freedom of a bifurcated garment:
Bloomer costume, 1851
However it had only ever been adopted by fringe Victorian dress reformers who were ridiculed by the press as radical feminists with silly, indecent (still!) sartorial selections, and it never achieved widespread acceptance in this form — a woman would commit social suicide by marring her reputation in such suggestive garments. The bloomer costume was ridiculed for looking silly, even as men enjoyed the daring short skirts with distinguishable legs, discouraging even politically minded women from adopting dress reform. The associations of pants with Calamity Jane (1852 – 1903) did not help: though she was a strong, fierce, accomplished woman, her behavior was distinctly manly and she prostituted herself to boot: embodying all the fears of dress reform detractors (except perhaps lesbianism).
Calamity Jane, by H. R. Locke in 1895
Interestingly, the bicycle fad of the 1890s broke the social stigma of women wearing bifurcated garments and “bicycle costumes” were actually lauded as preserving modesty while preserving health (see this post for more on athleticism’s influence on fashion). These outfits bore suspicious (and unacknowledged) resemblance to the disparaged bloomer costume by alleviating some of the major fashion impediments with narrower skirts, fewer under-layers, and (minimally) raised hemlines. A description of an acceptable female riding outfit from 1895:
“A combination garment was worn next [to] the skin – all wool in cold weather and cotton in warm. Over this she wore no corset, but a patent waist without bones, to which were buttoned the circular bands of drawers and petticoats. It will be seen that the waist escaped much of the pressure and dragging incident to the old style of dressing, as the only bands were of the least trying shape. Her dress skirts and waists were hooked to each other all around, thus insuring their staying together, while they were loose enough for comfort.”
woman cycling costume, 1895
By the early 20th century, the female bicycling outfit had become more risqué, with visible legs. (Note that corsets are worn):
detail of "The Cycle Hut in the Bois de Boulogne" by Jean Beraud, c. 1901-10
In preparation for the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893, a federation of several women’s societies organized the National Council of Women who wanted to improve the political and social climate of the country and to overthrow the “ignorance and injustice” of women’s clothing; that is, to tackle dress form once again. They attempted to outfit prominent women reformers (Clara Barton, Harriet Beecher Stowe, etc.) and ordinary businesswomen and college girls in the reformed outfits, but the clothes could not gain traction when explicitly paired with a women’s movement.
Fabulously influential designer Paul Poiret (1879 – 1944) discarded corsets and successfully disseminated an exotic Middle Eastern look including Turkish harem pants (that again, resembled the Bloomer costume silhouette) in 1911. This was purely an aesthetic choice and not a political statement on his part (he was also the inventor of the distinctly impractical hobble skirt), but it was threatening to social and religious conservatives nonetheless and that same year the Vatican campaigned against the “harem trousers” as morally objectionable, even while women’s legs were still completely obscured. While popular in wealthy fashionable society, Poiret’s exotic styles were not worn by lower or middle class women or dress reformers — but I believe the Parisian interpretation of oriental styles hastened the ultimate acceptance of trousers for women, since it removed the politically radical (and implied lesbian) stigma.
Paul Poiret harem pants, 1911
I cannot overemphasize how wars affect fashion and this was especially true of bending gender codes in clothes, as men allow women to take on “male” work and also functional dress out of pure necessity. Aptly named “slack girls” of WWI operated machinery for war plants in full knickers, a variation on the bloomers, to avoid factory accidents:
Women working in a factory producing airplane engine parts for the WWI effort, 1918
However, this kind of outfit was purely occupation-driven and women would absolutely not wear it outside the work environment.
The Women’s Suffrage movement gained its greatest victory in 1920 when the 19th Amendment prohibited gender discrimination in the voting polls. This political gain opened a decade of many radical changes in the perception and presentation of women. While this progressive step was taken, the repressive prohibition of alcohol entered legislation in the 18th Amendment. Ironically (or not?) these Amendments hearkened a particularly hedonistic decade, and the new American jazz music invited a radically new, athletic dance style to accompany the illegal but widespread speakeasies. Many modern young women bobbed their hair in variations of gender-bending pageboy styles, the corset-less look that Poiret popularized and increasing female recreational athletic activity hastened a fad for flat chested, hipless, boyish female figures, and the garçonne became synonymous with the stylish flappers. Many of the ’20s fashions were made with the explicit intention of allowing easy movement and looking good in motion to cater to exuberant dance crazes like the Charleston, with ropes of fringe, tassels, asymmetrical and much shorter hemlines that made visible the actual leg in transparent stockings.
The clip below is from the awesomely hilarious (that is, kind of bad) Julie Andrews / Mary Tyler Moore musical Thoroughly Modern Millie (1967). In the opening credits you see Millie (Andrews) transforming herself from a nineteen-teens woman to the radically modern 1920s flapper:
Even while women had short androgynous haircuts and manipulated their figures to be flat and boyish as well (though the corset was abandoned, stretchy tubular shapers were adopted to minimize feminine curves — used as a sight gag in the video above), increased use of makeup counteracted the masculine look. This was the first time since the flamboyant 18th century when makeup was applied so un-subtly so as to leave no doubt a woman wore it. Black kohl eyeshadow, spidery mascara and bright red lipstick would have been reserved for women of the theater or women of the streets in previous eras. This change was documented in magazines like Photoplay:
Similarly freckled and slender Katharine Hepburn (1907 – 2003) flouted feminine styles in favor of pants, but hers was more leisure-based than professional. Known for her athleticism, Hepburn was an avid tennis player, swimmer, and golfer, and she chose to adopt menswear (that is, pants) to enjoy these activities. She carried this casual, cross-dressing style to the RKO studio lot where her pants were once stolen… until she threatened to walk around in her underwear if the slacks were not returned.
Open bisexual Marlene Dietrich wore pants and full men’s style suits (in direct defiance of Paramount executives). As an eccentric European, she was perhaps given a smidge more leeway than Amelia and Katharine, but the fact that her manly ensembles were in no way related to a specific athletic activity made them that much more radical and liberating. She balanced the masculine tailoring with highly stylized, feminine makeup, appealing to men and women alike.
Marlene Dietrich
Another war was necessary to push pants from movie star aberration to clothes of the common woman. WWII saw record numbers of women in factories and men’s denim overalls became typical work wear for them. Again, it’s important to remember this was only appropriate during work hours; women would change into more feminine clothes to perform their feminine duties.
Women welders on the way to their job at the Todd Erie Basin drydock, c. 1943
However, even feminine styles started showing (masculine) military influence with sharply squared shoulders and slim, suit-like tailored (skirt) suits, as can be seen in this still from Casablanca (1942). If you squint, Ingrid Bergman is hardly distinguishable from the men in her jaunty brimmed hat and tailored jacket with large, practical cargo pockets:
In England during WWII, many women actually wore their husbands’ civilian clothes to work in and to save money. As the clothes wore out, pants made to fit women became increasingly popular so that by 1944 it was reported that five times more women’s trousers were sold than in 1943.
Unfortunately, the return of the “boys” after the war heralded the ’50s as the age of Dior’s “New Look:” hyperfeminine with its wasp waist, “bullet bras” (a sneaky connection to war) and voluminous skirts. Stars like Mary Tyler Moore in the Dick Van Dyke Show and Lucille Ball in I Love Lucy sneaked pants into their wardrobes even while they performed traditional familial obligations in the home (they would always change into dresses and skirts to go out). Incidentally, it was extremely difficult to find an image of Lucy wearing pants, I assume because the studio did not want to use them in publicity shots.
Jacqueline Onasis Kennedy (1929 – 1994), as a woman of accepted impeccable style and also in the political eye, did wonders for popularizing casual clothes. Though she was occasionally criticized for dressing down in pants, the Kennedy’s chic outdoorsy lifestyle, their political clout, and Jackie’s undeniable femininity ultimately contributed to the dissemination and adoption of just that style:
The Sexual Revolution of the 1970s embraced the deliberate confusion of gender codes and sexual mores, and it had become so acceptable for women to wear pants by this time that Diane Keaton’s mannish style — complete with tie!! — in Annie Hall (1977) was actually lauded and imitated (to this day, if I have anything to do with it):
The 1980s saw the advent of the “power suit” by designers like Donna Karan who tapped into the female Baby Boomers who stormed the corporate work force. Coincidentally (or not), Diane Keaton was featured in a film — Baby Boom (1987) — that addressed the aspirations and difficulties of women who want to work and have families. She sports the hugely padded suit shoulders to achieve a masculine broadness that was popular in the middle aged female workforce:
Women’s Movement progress has gradually plateaued in recent decades, with only a few battles fought and won, such as women in the U.S. Senate being allowed to wear pants in the 1990s (can you believe it?). This example highlights once again that women (and especially those in politics) must still ride the impossible line of being feminine (i.e. non-threatening) without being too sexy (i.e. distracting); this was brought to the forefront when Hillary Clinton was lambasted for showing too much cleavage on the Senate floor in 2007, even as she had many detractors for her unflattering pantsuits as well:
Clinton's supposed cleavage
My last picture is on the silly side: Saturday Night Live’s androgynous Pat character befuddles and uneases those s/he come into contact with as they try to figure out his/her sex. I think these sketches are so funny because they speak to a true and pervasive anxiety around indeterminate sex and sexuality. We seem to need to compartmentalize gender, so gender roles may be assigned and expectations set.
SNL's non-determinate sexed Pat
In every major instance of feminist upheaval, women’s clothing has been examined as both a symbolic and literal reflection of women’s inequality in society. An over-arching irony is that fashion is a human construct. The things that we recognize as “feminine” and “masculine” are not inherently so, but have simply been designated as such by early human society, and reinforced in subsequently evolving fashions. The good news is that as attitudes about gender have changed, and as women and homosexuals have won political and social freedoms we should’ve had all along, the rigid distinctions between clothing styles for men and women have blurred. Clothing can make personal statements regarding gender and sexual politics… but it doesn’t have to. However, though women may wear pants and full suits in the Western world now, there are still gender-based expectations in most of the business (specifically corporate) world that demands women wear makeup, skirts, and heels. I think we’ve hit the glass ceiling, but there’s more progress to be made.
“Fashion in Art: Dress in Impressionist/Post-Impressionist Paintings” Art History Lecture, 10:00 AM – 12:00 PM, April 8, 2010, Koret Auditorium, de Young Museum. Lecturer: Melissa Leventon, Principal, Curatrix Group Museum Consultants and Appraisers; Senior Adjunct Professor, Fashion Design and Visual Studies, California College of Arts; and former Curator in Charge of Textiles, FAMSF
“In Pursuit of Style: Shoes in History,” Docent Lecture, 2:15 PM – 3:00 PM, May 1, 2010, Koret Auditorium, de Young Museum. The lecture follows the changes in fashionable footwear—from early Roman sandals, through high button shoes and stiletto heels, to wedgies and platforms—reminding us that, throughout the ages, shoes have always reflected the personality and status of the wearer.
Event:
Ethical Fashion Night hosted by Global Action Through Fashion
Thursday, April 8th, The HUB SoMa at 901 Mission Street (Chronicle Building) 6pm-10pm Attend the “First Bay Area Ethical Fashion Night” to mingle, munch, sip, and learn about Ethical Fashion in the Bay Area and beyond.
Exhibitions:
Shanghai, February 12 – September 5, 2010, Asian Art Museum. “This exhibition features more than 130 oil paintings, Shanghai Deco furniture and rugs, revolutionary posters, works of fashion, movie clips, and contemporary installations. They are significant visual documents of the city’s rich and ever-changing culture.”
Rhythm and Hues: Cloth and Culture of Mali, February 5, 2010—May 2, 2010, Museum of Craft and Folk Art. “Mali’s extraordinary legacy of textile arts, with its vibrant colors and complex graphic statements. In addition to the cloth and clothing, this exhibition showcases other forms of traditional art and craft from Mali, such as wooden puppets, and the life-sized masked and costumed figures called “marionettes” which act out village legends. Unusual calabashes and baskets are also included to show the wide variety of Malian craft and folk art.”
Somethin’s Happening Here: Bay Area Rock ‘n’ Roll 1963-73, September 25, 2009-August 28, 2010. Museum of Performance and Design. “Co-curators Melissa Leventon and Alec Palao evoke this rich era using a wealth of rarely seen footage, posters, images, and costume from private and public collections and from the artists themselves. Visitors are able to sample extremely rare audio and video clips, some of them drawn from the important archive of recordings from San Francisco’s KSAN that are now in MPD’s permanent collection.”
Hollywood Legends: The Barry Barsamian Collection, at the Metreon, 101 4th Street, SF. Open Wednesday through Sunday noon-8pm, now through May. “When in 1976 Barry had the chance to purchase one of the dresses Judy Garland wore in the film, he jumped right on it and he’s been collecting Hollywood memorabilia ever since. Now through May, Barry has opened up his collection of over 100 items for a public exhibit at the Metreon in San Francisco.”
Re-Fashioned: The Origins of Our Clothing, April 2 – May 15, 2010, Oakopolis Creativity Center, Oakland, CA, “Re-Fashioned explores the art of sustainably produced clothing through the display of handmade garments, photos and video. The show illuminates the origins of the textiles, dyes and processes employed by four local clothing designers {and one Australian designer}.”
Night & Day: The World of the Twenties, April 1st – September 1st 2010, Lacis Museum (Berkeley). “This exhibit will explore the spirit of this period through these garments, some touched by the ribbon embroidered flowers and beadwork from Paris, others from the day-dress pages of the Sears and Roebuck catalog.”
This is the second installation of the lecture I recently gave in a gender / sociology class at FIT. The first focused on the adoption of feminine fashion trends by men and the seemingly inevitable moral condemnation / censorship of such implied homosexuality (accurate or not); this one follows the appropriation of menswear by women — at first timidly, but sewing the seeds for the full-blown women’s dress reform in the 19th century.
I’m not pretending this is an all-inclusive history, and so I’ll jump in at the 16th century. With rigid social roles dictated by gender and reinforced by gender-specific clothing, one of the earliest and most consistent ways that women snuck into menswear was with accessories, specifically headgear. Well into the 20th century, millinery was requisite for the completion of any ensemble, male or female (in portraits with bareheaded subjects, the hat is almost always painted nearby). Hats were a subtle-enough portion of an outfit that women were able to dabble in menswear by minimally manipulating the size and scale or adding feminine feathers and furbelows (I love that word, don’t you?) to girlie it up a bit. Here we see Mrs. Henry VIII (wife #6) wearing a small, curved cap with ostrich feather that’s rather similar to her husband’s:
Catherine Parr, unknown artist, c. 1545, wife of Henry VIII
Henry VIII by Hans Holbein the Younger, 1540
In medieval days when fencing was a legitimate form of conflict resolution, slashed rents in a man’s clothing were badges of honor to the living victor of a sworded confrontation. This was appropriated into general men’s fashion in the form of “slashes” which were slits along sleeves or chest that allowed the stark white linen underclothes to “bleed” through. Though this decorative style was firmly rooted in a demonstration of sparring virility, it was soon interpreted in womenswear, muddying the symbology in a delightful manner (says me). Men’s styles at large already had a close relationship to armor with sharp V waistline, and pronounced shoulder and chest seams that impersonated metal rivets and joints:
English armor of George Clifford, Third Earl of Cumberland, c. 1580–1586
Robert Dudley, 1st Earl of Leicester, 1565, by Steven van der Meulen
Queen Elizabeth I was known for her lengthy “virginal” (that is, unmarried) matriarchal reign and, among fashion historians, her calculated use of fashion to assert her dominance within her own court and as a world leader of one of the wealthiest and most powerful countries (an interesting topic for another post). It’s unsurprising then, that she would sport these masculine slashes, pronounced shoulders, deep V corset and phallic sword to signal her capability and equality with male rulers.
detail of Elizabeth I, c. 1560s, with lace ruff
The male-hat-adopted-by-females trend continued in the 17th century, even as the fashionable hat shape changed radically….
detail of Rubens and his wife Isabella Brandt, by Peter Paul Rubens, 1610
Compare to men’s:
detail of Tric-trac players, attributed to Mathieu Le Nain, c. 1650
Though women’s hair was always kept long as a symbol of sexuality, femininity and fertility, it was also always swept away from the face and neck for modesty (because of those sexual connotations). Though Henrietta Maria (below) might look perfectly feminine to modern eyes, her asymmetrical, partially dangling curls were based on men’s hairstyles (as is the hat):
detail Queen Henrietta Maria with Sir Jeffrey Hudson by sir Anthony van Dyck c. 1633
As women gradually (oh so gradually!) branched out into sports and athletic pastimes, the only existing model for sporting attire was that of men’s. Therefore equestrienne gear was one of the first places entire female ensembles were able to mimic entire ensembles of menswear, often incorporating military-inspired embellishment (continuing the theme of war that armor-influence fashion introduced). Below we see Lady Henrietta Cavendish wearing a masculine tri-cornered hat with phallic whip replacing the phallic cane Elizabeth I brandished. The skirt hemline is slightly shorter than would otherwise be acceptable, to allow improved (though still cumbersome) movement. When women were painted in such masculine clothes, the horse is almost always in the background to confirm the outfit is for a specific purpose and not daily wear.
Lady Henrietta Cavendish by Sir Godfrey Kneller, c. 1715
Compare to menswear with full coat skirts, wide cuffs, long (bewigged) hair, and military-style embellishment on the chest:
detail of The Court of Chancery by Benjamin Ferrers, c. 1725
Equestrienne portraiture remained popular through the 19th century, documenting the persisting military / millinery menswear influence in that sport:
Countess Sophia Maria de Voss by Antoine Pesne, 1745
The woman below can clearly be seen wearing a top hat — headgear of the upper class 19th and early 20th century male — and jacket-like bodice with tie:
A Woman Hunting by Alfred De Dreux (1810-1860)
She looks not unlike a flaneur, a 19th century strolling man of leisure (note his female companion does not wear a top hat, as it would be inappropriate in this context):
detail of "Paris, Rainy Weather" by Gustave Caillebotte, 1877
As I suggested in my last post for men adopting female fashions, only women of the privileged upper classes could get away with wearing masculine clothes or accessories. You can see that many of the pictures I culled are royalty (who have a bit more leeway when it comes to forging fashion trends and thumbing convention), and only the wealthy could afford horseback riding as a pastime, much less specific (costly) outfits that could only be worn for that one activity. (Please comment if you know this to be inaccurate; this is my hunch.)
Next week I’ll discuss the specific influence of the Women’s Movement on fashion, and vice versa, as lower class women who simply wanted to be comfortable and hygienic championed dress reform as a movement of its own.
Tille’s Punctured Romance was a Mack Sennett comedy that premiered in New York on Dec. 21, 1914. It stared Charlie Chaplin, Mable Normand and Marie Dressler. Dressler, the real star of the show, was primarily a physical comedienne better known in the legitimate theatre.
This film has been touted by film historians as the first full-length slap-stick comedy (in six reels), but as you might have guessed, my interest lies in the costumes. Tillie’s Punctured Romance began as a stage production in May of 1910, under the name Tillie’s Nightmare. Of the stage costumes Ms. Dressler noted:
“You remember I was ‘broke’ when illness forced me to shake the dust of London from my reluctant feet..I hadn’t any money and I had to have a lot of clothes [for Tillie] There was only one way to get them and that was to make them. This I proceeded to do. I recall one item of what the papers spoke of with proper reverence as ‘Miss Dressler’s gorgeous collection of Paris creations.’ It was a silver coat composed of yards upon yards of silver lace. I wore it over a stage wedding gown of pink velvet. And if I do say so as shouldn’t, Lillian Russell in her palmist days never boasted anything more frou-frou. For years after my dressmaking venture with Tillie, I made all my own clothes and those of my friends. I still like to sew. I never use a pattern. I simply take a squint at my intended victim, squat down on my heels with the material on the floor in front of me and my eager scissors in my good right hand. Once the garment is cut out, I lie down flat on my stomach and stitch her up. From this point on, my conscience is my guide. At that, my things must have turned out pretty well, or else my friends were gluttons for punishment in the old days. They kept right on begging me to sew for them. Even after I was able to afford ‘store bougten’ clothes, I continued to be own designer and dressmaker. Not only do I love to flourish a needle, but I loathe fittings.”[1]
Charlie Chaplin attempts to con his way into the high life by courting Tillie Banks, played by Marie Dressler (BFI)
For the film version, she was paid a salary of $30,000, though it isn’t known if the same costumes were reused, if new ones were created, or if she used her salary to purchase clothes for the film (as was often the case in early film history). [2] In an amusing description of an early scene in the film, a 1999 biographer notes:
“Her costume for the elopement with Chaplin was one of her own creations: a modified adaptation of a clown’s outfit, with low waist, huge buttons, and a hat resembling a chamber pot topped with a flower and bird. . . Later, dressed in her ‘dancing frock’ that resembled a slip over Christmas tree, Tillie gyrated with startling abandon.”[3]
The ‘Clown’ outfit can be seen above – complete with the strange hat. The ‘Christmas tree’ frock refers to the lampshade tunic and harem pants ensemble that Marie wears towards the end of the film, for a tango scene with Charlie Chaplin (pictured below). The ensemble bears a striking resemblance to those designed by french couturier Paul Poiret, especially those created for his extravigant Thousand and Second Night party held in 1911. Lampshade Tunics worn over harem pants or hobble skirts were popular during these years, primarily due to Poiret’s promotion of the ‘oriental’ look.
Tillie Banks (Marie Dressler) and Chaplin attempt to tango in "Tille's Punctured Romance" (1914) BFI.
Marie Dressler on the set of "Tillie's Punctured Romance" (1914)
In 1914, Poiret’s work was illustrated in the Gazette du Bon Ton by ilustrator George Le Pape, showing his continued support for the style. It is possible, given the salary paid to Marie Dressler, that what appears in the film is an actually Paul Poiret tunic ensemble. However, it is also possible that it is the handi-work of the actress herself (given her disdain for fittings, and her own talents). In Tillie’s Puncture Romance, Dressler clearly wears the look to suggest wealth, but also to make fun of “style,” and the rich. (video of that scene here, the entire film can be seen here).
“By the mid-1940s, Jacqueline was arguably the most influential designer of surface pattern in Britain.”
–Book review by Lisa Santandrea
An opening spread in Jacqueline Groag: Textile & Pattern Design: Wiener Werkst,tte to American Modern pictures the designer. White-haired with bangs and a pixie cut, an aquiline face, one graceful hand rests on her chin; the other holds a smoldering cigarette. She looks into the camera; her gaze is direct, yet not quite serious. Although she is in her 50s, her skin is lineless, glowing. The image does not reflect the hardship of her experiences—WWII displacement; a beloved husband later described as a “bad tempered old man.” Instead, what shines through is the pert curiosity of one who claimed her “inner age” to be eight years old. It is the face of a woman you’d hope to sit next to at a dinner party.
Jacqueline Groag, by John Garner, 1957. Design Council archive, University of Brighton Design Archives.
Born in 1903 to Jewish parents in Prague, Jacqueline Groag—born Hilde Pilke —traveled to cosmopolitan Vienna to study textile design at the influential Kunstgerbeschule. At 23 and already a widow, a career in art and design was one of the few avenues acceptable for women at the time. A self-described ‘sophisticated naïf,’ Groag apparently flowered under the tutelage of instructor Franz Cizek, who gave his students colored chalk and drawing pads, and asked them to draw while inspirational music played in the background. Impressed by her progress, Cizek convinced architect Joseph Hoffman, head of the Werkstätte, to waive admission requirements, and she spent the next two years as the architect’s pupil. By 1930, she was already being described in print as a “front runner of the Hoffman school,” and was designing textiles for couturiers including Chanel, Lanvin, Worth and Schiaparelli.
Further accolades followed quickly. In 1931, she won an award for lace design at the Paris Exposition Coloniale International. This was followed by a gold medal for textile design at the Milan Triennial in 1933. Personally life was blossoming as well. At a Werkstätte masked ball in 1930, she met the respected Modernist architect Jacques Groag, who was also a Jew from Czechoslovakia. In 1931, they were engaged, and married in 1937—when she changed her first name from Hilde to Jacqueline. “His wonderful, never aging, youthful enthusiasm took me to spheres so high and unearthly as no man ever did and no man can imagine,” she later wrote. The couple—both shining stars in Vienna’s intellectual circles—is thought to have collaborated on many projects during this time.
But the Nazi threat was looming. When Austria and Germany united in 1938, the couple was forced to relocate to Prague. Just one year later, as Germany occupied their native land, they fled to Britain.
As the home of the Arts and Crafts movement, Britain was considered hallowed refuge for artists. However, by 1939, the reality was different. “On arrival in London they found themselves members of an uprooted group of disoriented and anxious patriots in a country shaken to its roots and preparing to fight for its life.” Nonetheless, Jacqueline soon found work designing textiles for export, as war restrictions resulted in very limited textile printing for the home market. Jacqueline’s designs had a playful eclecticism, often incorporating a “rational underlying grid associated with Joseph Hoffman.” Flipping through the book’s abundant full-page color plates, the essence of the “eternal eight-year-old” is clear. Vivid colors, strong lines, even a certain fearlessness is evident in her work. It provides insight into her personality—insight that is much valued. As much as this book has to offer, the text left me wondering. Just what was the personality behind that face that so compelled me?
The authors, Geoffrey Rayner, Richard Chamberlain and Annamarie Stapleton, clearly know their subject. Yet much of the book reads like an extended resume. The reader learns that Jacqueline received important commissions by the Design Research Unit (DRU) as well as industrial designer Gaby Schrieber. We find that her tulip design for Edward Molyneux made it onto a dress for Princess Elizabeth. We read that she designed interiors for the airline BOAC, greeting cards for Hallmark, textiles for the Associated American Artists, and, eventually, plastic laminates. We note that she became a Royal Designer for Industry, “the ultimate accolade for any designer in Britain,” in 1984.
But her professional achievements seemed in stark contrast to struggles at home. Jacques , whose career floundered in England, had a nervous breakdown, and Jacqueline became the primary breadwinner…how did she feel about that, I wonder.
And that, I realize, says more about me than I should admit to. I wanted a page-turner, a behind-the-scenes US magazine look at a woman working and thriving in WWII and beyond. This was not the authors’ intent. Instead, they provide an excellently researched, beautifully illustrated and clearly written reference, one that honors Jacqueline’s illustrious career by the purity of its focus on her work. Indeed, the straightforward tone of the text drove me to more closely examine her designs for clues. And it is, after all, this work that is being celebrated here. Job well done.
I recently gave a lecture on cross-dressing to a terrific sociology class at FIT (and yes, I wore the outfit above), and I had such ridiculous fun (and stress!) researching it that I thought I’d share with the blogosphere to spread the wealth. You don’t get the pleasure of my witty repartee, but you do get a decent, if slightly inferior, substitute. I do want to give the disclaimer that this is not even close to a comprehensive, in-depth study of cross-dressing, but rather a quickie pictorial romp through the ages. (I am also concentrating on Western fashion, which is, I acknowledge, an additional shortcoming of this essay, with the Eastern cultures embracing bisexual skirts for so long. So be it.) I included examples of both clothing that was actually considered cross-dressing in its own day, and garments that were perfectly hetero-normative then, but appear to be borrowed from the opposite sex to our modern eyes.
I’m not going to spend much time on the ancients, but I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that it took many hundreds of years to develop sex-specific clothing styles, and though the ancient Greeks and Romans from which we came did have differentiation between sexes in their draped garments (the women’s breasts were covered while men’s chests might be exposed, for example), those variations were relatively slight, immediately drawing attention to the fact that sex-specific clothes is a societal construct that was honed — as gender roles and expectations were — over time. Mighty, manly Zeus (below) wears a draped himation that could be just as easily worn by a woman, were the front flap pulled up for modesty:
Zeus marble statue wearing himation
The Medieval houppelande was a loose bodied, floor-length coat with narrow sleeves that became a symbol of gender non-specificity in the late 14th/early 15th centuries:
Les Petites Heures de Jean de Berry Duke Jean de Berry departing on a pilgrimage Bourges, c.1412
Marie de Gueldre depicted as the Virgin Mary (in a houppelande), 1415
Men wore jewelry off and on, and in the mid-16th century, they often wore a single dangling earring along with their wide, padded breeches that resembled puffy skirts. Whatever femininity this might have indicated was counter-balanced with hyper-masculine pointy beards and codpieces (which were not uncommonly erect, in case you had any lingering doubts of a man’s virility). The pointy beard mirrored the triangular waistline, and punctuated by the essential phallic sword accessory, further drawing the eye to the crotch:
"Boy with a Greyhound" by Paolo Veronese, c.1570s
It has been hypothesized that the exaggeratedly stuffed breeches of the 16th century was a sartorial salute to (or at least an acknowledgement of) an age of powerful female monarchs including Elizabeth I (1533-1603); Catherine de’Medici (1519-1589); and Mary, Queen of Scots (1542-1587). In the mid 1580s (just a couple years before the portrait below), Philip Stubbs wrote that apparel is a signifier of biological and social differences between the sexes. I find this somewhat hilarious, given that male clothes had so many feminine features (skirt-like breeches, emphasis on curvy legs, nipped waistline, elaborate embroidery, long hair), and also that King James I of England (1566 – 1625) — who succeeded Queen Elizabeth I — was quite probably homosexual or bisexual and it was known that he bestowed favors upon the male peacocks of the court.
Sir Walter Raleigh by H., 1588
Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, 1594
There was a growing acceptance of licentious aristocratic behavior in the 17th century in which the choice of sexual partner was not necessarily restricted to male or female, but could incorporate relationships with boys alongside mistresses without jeopardizing the ideals of “manliness.” The man below has something of the feminine about him with his loose, baggy pantaloons, festive sash, lace garter bows, and pointed toe pose with fist on hip, but this was nothing out of the ordinary for the time:
Male attire was designed to emphasize the soft, curvy lines of the male physique rather than sharp angles at this time — ironically, women wore corsets that virtually flattened their busts. Both sexes wore lace neck ruffs; lace wrist cuffs; coiffed, longish hair; and high waistlines with short pantaloons which emphasized elongated, shapely legs (hoes were often padded to achieve desired visions of muscularity):
George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham by George Villiers, c. 1616. Archetypal Jacobean dandy
King Louis XIV (1638-1715) was aesthetically extravagant in many regards (the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles is testament to that), and clocking in at only 5′ 4″ tall, he undoubtedly assisted the height of men’s shoes: some of his own were 6 inches high! As modern women know, heels also help produce flexed, shapely calves which were still very much in the style of the Sun King’s time. In 1663 the English court adopted the periwig, further feminizing the men of the time (the pointed toe pose should be familiar):
King Louis XIV, 17th Century
As the century wore on, the periwigs remained, and though men’s legs were increasingly covered, the longer garments that covered them resembled female outerwear, not unlike the unisex Medieval houppelandes, but with modern embellishments like enormous cuffed sleeves:
James Craggs the Elder by John Closterman c. 1710
Post 1700, homosexual behavior was increasingly constructed as a depraved activity associated with a minority of effeminate men; by the 1720s extreme bodily gestures, affected mannerisms in speech and contrived magnificence in costume had come to indicate sexual preference (and perversion). Post-1720, the effeminacy of the previously innocuous “fop” was identified with the effeminacy of the sodomite, adding a significantly more judgmental layer to the language of male attire. The bitter irony is that there was still significant gender crossover in dress. Compare the gentleman below to his female partner: the full skirted frock coat resembles her own skirt; the wide cuffs mimic her lace ones; their gracefully pointed toes meet between them; and the long, coiffed hair is covered for modesty by the woman but styled and flaunted by the man.
detail of The Dancing Lesson by P Longhi, c. 1760
The Macaronies of the latter half of the 18th century were often accused of effeminacy, with their outrageously tall powdered wigs, the rosettes on his shoes, and the teeny-tiny three-cornered hat perched atop his sculptural headdress. Macaronies followed the general styles of the time, but typically with tighter silhouettes, often employing vertical stripes to emphasize sleek lines, as in this man’s tights:
The Macaroni. A Real Character at the Late Masquerade, by Philip Dawe, 1773.
Though the wig in and of itself is deliciously ridiculous, remember that Marie Antoinette (175501793) was commissioning equally tall wigs (for women, it’s true):
The 1830s brought male girdles that created feminine wide hips and nipped waists (again). Dandy Beau Brummell (1778 – 1840) is credited with creating the modern 3-piece suit with full-length trousers replacing shorter breeches, fitted, tailored clothes, and downplaying flamboyant color in favor of more muted, “masculine” tones. With this feat he also accelerated the separation of male and female fashion crossover. Likewise, the implication of caring about appearance now became associated with the “weaker sex,” whereas in previous centuries men were expected to primp and preen — and for the results to look like they did. Flamboyance was now expressed more subtly in brightly patterned accents like neckwear and waistcoats.
dandy, 1822
Dandies c. 1840s
I’m taking a huge leap in time now, assuming that readers are far more familiar with the 19th and early 20th century male fashions and already understand how relatively monochromatic and plain they became after Brummel’s time. With the sexual revolution of the 1960s and Glam Rock of the 1970s, there was a revival in experimentation with sexuality and gender identities. Young men once again wore ornate and ostentatious clothes that often made explicit references to days of yore when the adult population favored the resplendent over the conservative. To wit, Earl Lichfield emulating 18th century male (and yet effeminate with embroidery and ruffles) below:
Thomas Patrick John Anson, Earl of Lichfield, 1968
Open bisexual and hugely influential David Bowie (and other glam rockers) deliberately pushed gender boundaries by applying makeup, lengthening hair in deliberately female styles, and wearing high heels. Though the music movement had (and maintains) an impressive following, the gender role-play was viewed by the general public as subversive act of abnormal sexuality.
David Bowie in The Man Who Sold the World cover, 1970
Allow a detour into Tove’s childhood: at the dentist’s office in the early 1980s, I picked up a small pin of Madonna with ratty, teased bangs, heavy eyeliner and thick eyebrows. I treasured it and wore it on my daily backback. I was absolutely flabbergasted to learn from my best friend (who was a sage 3 years older) that the image was not Madonna at all, but Boy George, a regularly cross-dressing man I hadn’t heard of before!
Boy George, 1980s
Madonna, 1980s. (I know the difference now.)
On the heels of the revolutionary ’70s, the reactionary conservative Regan/Thatcher ’80s gave way to a new generation of cross dressing men, but this was mostlylimited to pop / rock stars like Georgie here, and those associated with the New Romantic music genre including Roxie Music and Adam and the Ants (whose frontman favored an 18th century pirate/aristocrat look with lipgloss and eyeliner):
Adam and the Ants
Current revivals of cross-dressing for men have dwindled again, I’m afraid. Fashion exhibitions like the Met’s “Men in Skirts” (2003-04) confirms that men in skirts are anomalies to be studied behind glass, these days. However, the Utilikilt is a modern-day skirt for the man “man enough” to wear it against gender pressures, with a manifesto including “The Utilikilts Company does not accept preconceived limitations as our own.” Interestingly, it is geared towards men in construction as opposed to gay, fey, or transvestite men, offering comfort, ventilation, cargo pants-like pockets and optional built-in tool belts. Interestingly, it has been adopted by some subcultures like punk and goth kids that are known for experimenting with gender roles in dress:
Um, and also this adorably dorky (but admirably self-possessed) highschooler:
highschooler in utilikilt
These days fashion remains a female preoccupation in the public’s eye; men supposedly dress for fit and comfort rather than style, and women commonly “make over” their men, keeping gender roles solidly separate in philosophy and image. It’s only been in the last few years that male fashion has swung back to embracing decorative, colorful elements (which the Utilikilt does not). However, I see this as a corporate marketing ploy rather than the ideal acceptance of polymorphous sexuality or the understanding of sexism as dictated by fashion. Marketers simply wanted to capitalize on the largely untapped male market (and the higher income-earners to boot) for what have become “female” products: makeup, accessories, hair products, etc. And thus, the metrosexual was born — a term indicating a heterosexual man who nonetheless adorns himself (like gay men or straight women are supposed to do).
metrosexual, 2000s
As a final note, gender flexibility in dress has almost always been more acceptable for the elite classes (this was certainly true of the 17th and 18th centuries, and perhaps today as well), where it might be viewed as “eccentric” rather than “deviant.” For middling classes, clear distinctions between feminine and masculine dress signified precious respectability, so they were therefore more reluctant to adopt gender-ambiguous trends. Though I am sickened by the capitalist manipulation it seemingly took to accept a teeny tiny bit of cross-dressing into mainstream fashion culture in the form of the metrosexual, I hope this small step develops further to legitimize gender blurring in dress (because as you can see, we have a strong history of cross-sex trends), and dissolving ideas of “heterosexual normalcy,” and opening the creative channels of personal adornment to all economic strata.
Next week, I’ll dissect female cross-dressing in history, which, though superficially similar in concept, has had different implications of oppression.
*
*
pictures the designer. White-haired with bangs and a pixie cut, an aquiline face, one graceful hand rests on her chin; the other holds a smoldering cigarette. She looks into the camera; her gaze is direct, yet not quite serious. Although she is in her 50s, her skin is lineless, glowing. The image does not reflect the hardship of her experiences—WWII displacement; a beloved husband later described as a “bad tempered old man.” Instead, what shines through is the pert curiosity of one who claimed her “inner age” to be eight years old. It is the face of a woman you’d hope to sit next to at a dinner party.
