Generally, I write about exhibitions and events that I have the opportunity to attend. But today I wanted to let WT readers know about a show that I have been working on, and extend an invitation to all who are going to be in the NYC vicinity to come check it out! The opening is this evening from 6-8 p.m. Details below:
Over the course of my recent holiday travels I was pleased to finally make it to the Bata Shoe Museum in Toronto. This institution, as you may have already surmised, is completely devoted to the history of footwear. The museum is comprised of four floors, each which house separate exhibitions and I was thrilled to take the time to wander through all of them.
The lower level of the museum contains a semi-permanent exhibition that provides an overview of footwear through time and geography. While this exhibit was the most straightforward, arranged in a chronological time-line sort of layout in comparison to the more aesthetically considered special exhibitions on display throughout the other floors of the museum– I found this installation to be the most compelling. After years of looking at footwear in painting and illustration, film and photography, and in bits and pieces in other museum shows, it was extremely gratifying to walk the perimeter of the room and examine physical specimens of centuries of footwear in this manner. I am a huge proponent of object-based study, and the Bata Shoe Museum made a strong case for the merits of this approach time and time again.
The timeline begins with the Anthropologist Mary Leakey’s discovery of human footprints in Laetoli Tanzania in volcanic ash in the year 1976, addressing the significance of upright walking for human development, and ends in the 21st century with the largest pair of sneakers that I have ever seen. In between were examples of Etruscan footwear, bejeweled Indian Mojaris and Padukas, Renaissance velvet Chopines, Turkish Nalins with bells around the perimeter, and examples of the Islamic Babouche to name a few. While I have seen many examples of small silk-embroidered gin lien shoes from China designed to accommodate bound feet, it was fascinating to see heavily treaded black leather boots of this size meant for women from lower socio-economic classes who were required to do manual labor, exemplifying the far reach of foot-binding practices in early China. Another pair from the early 20th century when the custom had become outlawed incorporated ‘western-style’ elements into Chinese women’s shoes as a way of accommodating this transitionary time when many women still had modified feet from earlier years of binding. A personal favorite from western fashion was a pair of teal, navy, and silver shoes produced by André Perugia c. 1937-38 for Elsa Schiaparelli’s Circus Collection that were previously owned by la Spinelli.
Other floors included a small exhibition: Footprints on the World Stage, which contained an eclectic assortment of ‘celebrity’ footwear that ranged from shoes worn by Justin Bieber to the socks that Napoleon Bonaparte wore during his exile to St. Helen in 1821. There was a charming pair of crocheted peacock feather shoes worn by Margaret Atwood and a mid-1980s pair of Halston-designed pumps that were worn by Elizabeth Taylor. This portion of the museum was the most hit or miss. While certain items, such as a black leather “Beatle boot” worn by John Lennon create a historical link between popular historical footwear styles and the influence that celebrity can maintain within fashion– as much as I was intrigued to find a pair of socks worn by Napoleon Bonaparte, I’m not sure what their presentation in this context really said about the history of footwear.
Beauty, Identity, Pride: Native North American Footwear, showcased the strength of the museum’s collection, and provided inspiring examples of fringing, beadwork, and other forms of embellishment while revealing interesting information about natural dyes and traditional Native American design. The top floor of the museum has an exhibition titled Art in Shoes ~ Shoes in Art, which included a fascinating mix of caricature and illustration juxtaposed with fine-art and decorative arts objects that approached footwear from a variety of perspectives.
The Roaring Twenties: Heels, Hemlines, and High Spirits was a perfect balance between aesthetics and history. Examining the tenets of modernism in a post-war society, this exhibition did an excellent job of illustrating the significance that societal change inflicted on footwear. Through themes like the women’s suffrage movement and speakeasy culture, social convention was shown to influence ideas about the symbolic nature of dress and footwear. Via technological changes such as the growth of the automobile industry and increasing industrialization, practicality concerns about the very shapes of shoes as well as appreciation for certain methods of hand-embellishment verse machine made production were addressed. The significance of lifestyle activity, such as the growth of jazz culture in an era when dancing was a considerable form of entertainment for many was exemplified through an emphasis on the decorative and dynamic nature of 1920s footwear. As a supplement to the striking shoes on display that included items like a jewel encrusted pair of André Pérugia shoes, there were also some hats, a pair of dresses, and many fashion illustrations that provided context for the many cases of footwear. Additionally, there were areas where 1920s film clips were projected, which contributed to the overall milieu and provided the necessary motion that is tantamount to footwear.
Overall, I found the Bata Shoe Museum to be a fun and engaging visit. The museum offers a variety of events and educational programming that encourages all ages and interest levels, and the programming seemed to balance the diversity of their audience in a skillful way. For those who will not be in the Toronto area anytime soon, the museum also hosts online exhibitions that can be found here.
All images are from the Roaring Twenties exhibition taken during my visit to the museum. Click here for more information about the Bata Shoe Museum.
In December 2010, Lisa ntroduced us to Barbette, aerialist phenomenon of the 1920s and 1930s famous for his high wire and trapeze stunts dressed as a woman.
“He walked with a tightrope high above the audience without falling, above incongruity, death, bad taste, indecency, indignation.”
—Jean Cocteau
We suspect that Barbette, aerialist phenomenon of the 1920s and 1930s, might disagree with being categorized as an “Anarchist of Style.” Anarchy can be, well, so disruptive. In his heyday, his closest were tout Paris; in 1969 this “spare and very erect man,” cringed as a waitress lay down a spoon with a tad too much noise. “Since those years in Paris,” he told a journalist, “I’ve never been able to readjust to crudity.” [1]
Nonetheless, Barbette came to fame doing high wire and trapeze stunts dressed as a woman. His performances were, in his words, “not just an imitation of a women’s trapeze act, but, rather a mystification and a play on masculine-feminine contrast.” [2] Mirroring the enthusiasm of elite Parisian fans such as Jean Cocteau, Janet Flanner, in a 1930 correspondence for The New Yorker, described a chute d’ange fall as taking on “mythical quality of a new Phaethon deserting the sky.” Jean Cocteau, who considered Barbette a muse, called him “an angel, a flower, a bird.”
His Persona: While clothed as man in daily life, Barbette’s extravagant onstage costumes included a sequined cape and a dress adorned with 50 pounds of white ostrich plumes.
Cocteau described Barbette’s presence on stage as “a real masterpiece of pantomime, summing up in parody all the women he has ever studied, becoming himself the woman—so much so as the eclipse the prettiest girls who proceed and follow him on the program.”[3]
“On stage, against black velvet curtains appeared a young woman in a silvery-gold wig topped with plumes and feathers, with a train of rich lamé and silver lace, undressing on a couch of rich oriental carpets,” wrote author Jacque Damase in his history of the Paris music-hall.
“The woman then rose, naked except for the gems on her breast and belly, and began walking a [low] steel tight-rope. Her eyes shaded green, like some mysterious Asiatic jewel, she walked backwards and forwards along the tight-rope, dispensed with her balancing-pole, and contorted her thin, nervous body as the entire audience held its breath… Then Barbette leapt down on to the stage, gave a bow, tore off her wig and revealed a bony Ango-Saxon acrobat’s head: gasps from the astonished audience, shattered by the sudden brutality of the action.” [4]
His Story: Born Vander Clyde in 1904 in Rolling Rock, Texas, Barbette’s mother changed his life. “The first time she took me to a circus in Austin,” he said, “I knew I’d be a performer, and from then on I’d work in the fields during cotton picking season in order to go to the circus as often as possible.” [5]
After graduating high school, he joined the sister-act, the World Famous Ariel Queens in San Antonio. His first act of gender-bending was pure business. In his interview, one of the sisters explained that “women’s clothes always make a wire act more impressive—the plunging and gyrating are more impressive,” Barbette recalled. “She asked if I’d mind dressing as a girl. I didn’t and that’s how it began.”
As Barbette began to develop his own act, the gender bending took on a more intellectual inspiration. “I’d always read a lot of Shakespeare, and thinking that the marvelous heroines of his plays were played by men and boys made me feel like I could turn my specialty into something unique. I wanted an act that would be a thing of beauty—of course it would have to be a strange beauty.”
After performing across the United States, Barbette traveled to Paris in 1923. He was soon taken up by society and the avante guard. He was cast in Cocteau’s first film, Le Sang d’un Poete (The Blood of a Poet), as one of a group of Chanel-clad theater-goers giving a standing ovation after the suicide of a card player. (He was “absolutely dismayed” upon seeing the film.)
In 1938, after performing at Loew’s State in New York, he was stricken by pneumonia and “a sudden crippling affliction of the bones and joints.” Hospitalized for 18 months, the great performer had to learn to walk again. He continued in the theater, although backstage as a trainer. But it seemed he missed the refinement of the good old Paris days. “I know I’ll be lucky” he told a reporter in 1969, “ if in return for my very handsome salary I succeed in persuading a few young trapezists just not to chew gum during the act. Imagine!”
Barbette committed suicide in 1973.
(Lisa and Monica collaborated on this post.)
For further discussion see:
Cocteau, J and Man Ray. Barbette, 1989
Goldbarth, A. Different Fleshes. Hobart & William Smith, 1979.
Tait, P. Circus Bodies: Cultural Identity in Aerial Performance. Routledge, New York. 2005.
Notes:
[1-3, 5] Steegmuller, Francis. “An Angel, A Flower, A Bird.” The New Yorker, September 27, 1969.
[4] Damase, J Les Folies du Music-Hall; A History of the Paris Music-Hall from 1914 to the Present Day, English translation of the original 1960 French edition, Anthony Blond Ltd, London, 1962.
A while ago a volunteer asked how to identify the difference between little girls and little boys dresses from the 19th Century. She had an example from her museum collection and wanted me to confirm whether a girl or a boy wore it. It is confronting when you get asked something like this, there are so many nuances in fashion that it is not always easy to identify dress as something in particular. Brenna wrote a post about the use of colour in gender stereotyping for children in the United States during the post World War 2 period. In this post, I want to look at some of the complexities of identifying boys and girls dresses from the 19th Century.
Before the early 20th Century small boys and girls both wore dresses up until boys were breeched. Breeching is the occasion when young boys, between the ages of six and eight were first dressed in breeches or trousers. Popular in Western Europe, it was common up until the early 20th Century. It was the outward demonstration of his passage from the care and guidance of a woman, his mother or nurse, to preparation for his future as a man in the world. When in their mothers care they wore dresses, and once in the care of men, whether father or tutor, they wore breeches. For girls, on the other hand, there was no break with childhood clothes; they moved slowly into adult dress. Breeching clearly expressed the separation between the educations of young girls and boys.
It can be difficult to determine the difference between dresses worn by little girls and boys during the 19th Century. There are, however some subtle differences that can help differentiate. These include the use of slightly simpler embellishment and fabrics in boys dress. This little boys dress from the early 20th Century illustrates this. It is made of cotton velvet; it has a round neckline and square sailor collar at front and back with 6 mother of pearl buttons down the front
Dress, boy's, cotton velvet / silk / mother-of-pearl, maker unknown, made in Australia, 1900-1901, Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney
Girl's dress, shot striped silk, frills & fringed. c. 1880 Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney
This little girls dress, although of a slightly earlier period (c. 1880) demonstrates the use of embellishments in little girls dress. It is made of silk, has a full flounced skirt with lace edging around the neckline and cuffs. This dress is similar in style to fashionable women’s dress of the same period. Some of the differences between these two dresses include the use of lace and silk on the little girl’s dress as opposed to the plainer use of brown velvet and no frills on the boy’s. The boy’s dress also uses a sturdier fabric and is simpler in style.
Dress, boy's wool, late 19th century, early 20th century, Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney
On the other hand, this little boys dress from the late 19th Century uses lace decoration at the neckline and around the sleeves. These embellishments are similar to the little girls dress above.
Dress, boy's, burgundy silk velvet, embroidered trim, 1875-1899, Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney
Similarly, this boy’s dress, dating from between 1875 and 1899 is made of burgundy silk velvet with a gold coloured embroidered trim. It is also an example of an embellished boy’s dress.
Boy's dress, wool flannel, trimmed with cerise velvet tabs and small pearl buttons, England, c. 1860 Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney
Lastly, this boy’s dress dates from the 1860s, made of wool flannel; it is trimmed with velvet tabs and small pearl buttons. It has a full skirt similar to the 1880s girls dress.
Looking at these examples of boy’s dresses it is easy to see how it can be difficult to determine the differences between boys and girls dresses from the 19th and early 20th Century. Although, as a general rule, boys wore plainer dresses to girls before breeching, there are some examples of embellished boys dresses. This is a reminder that it can be difficult to identify dress. Without provenance you cannot be sure if something is one thing or the other, especially with something as tricky as boys and girls dress in the 19th Century.
For more information on 19th Century children’s clothing, I recommend the following publications:
-Buck, Anne, ‘Clothes and the Child: A handbook of Children’s Dress in England 1500-1900′, Ruth Bean Publishing, Carlton, 1996
-Rose, Clare, ‘Children’s Clothes’, B.T Batsford Limited, London, 1989
-Ewing, Elizabeth, ‘History of Children’s Costume’, B.T Batsford Ltd, London, 1977
“Sweden has long been known for its beautiful women, but its reputation for clothes has been popularly based on wearing none at all.” LIFE Magazine, October 6, 1958 (1)
With the increasing global visibility of Swedish labels from Cheap Monday to Ann-Sofie Back, the concept of “Scandinavian Design”–so rooted in interiors of the mid-twentieth century–is slowly expanding to include clothing and fashion. (2) Perhaps in light of this, many costume curators are looking back through Sweden’s fashion design history and have found exciting new topics in this well-researched era. Blogs and boutiques here are overflowing with mid-century dress, but often they are inspired by French or American images from the time. Instead, museum curators seem eager to concentrate on Swedish subjects, highlighting and rediscovering designers and fashion houses all but forgotten in the twenty-first century.
As Karin Falk notes in her new book, Det svenska modeundret [The Swedish Fashion Miracle], “Sweden exporting both style and lifestyle internationally is nothing new. The elegant and functional ‘everyday’ products of the 1950s won world recognition as ‘Scandinavian Modern.’” According to Falk, fashion designers such as Mah-Jong and Katja of Sweden were able to develop and export functional, forward-thinking, political clothing in the 1960s and 1970s. (3) Swedish community ideals and Social Democratic leanings jibed well with burgeoning ideologies and youth movements worldwide, and their expression found in the wildly colorful, comfortable outfits from Mah-Jong were certainly something to wear to the next protest against Suits–or just against wearing a suit. (4)
Katja of Sweden was a hit in America, and is arguably the most famous name in Swedish vintage. However, the exhibition “Vävda Modedrömmar: från Ripsa till New York” [Woven Dreams of Fashion: from Ripsa to New York] at Hallwylska museet seeks to give recognition to a forgotten contemporary who balanced the color of Mah-Jong with the traditional textiles and shapes associated with Scandinavian dress, and exported a more conservative side of Sweden.
Set in three rooms of the von Hallwyl mansion in the center of Stockholm, this straightforward exhibition features the textile and clothing design of one woman, Countess Ebba von Eckermann, through the personal collection of another, Ann Forsberg, wife of the former American ambassador. I found the flow of this exhibition to be palpable and well thought-out, and the narrow scope satisfying and inspiring.
The Countess Ebba von Eckermann in the "Ripsa Skirt" of her own design, c.1955. Photograph: Ebba von Eckermann.
This is an interesting exploration of the role of weaving in fashion; even though in Sweden weaving was still an art and a pastime in the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s, the awareness of the average clothing consumer was shifting away from process and technique.
"In the Weaving Studio 1961." Inga-Lill Andersson warping a loom. There were seven looms in the workshop. Published in Den glömda kjolen.
As the fashion industry explored the futures of synthetics and electronic machinery, weaving woolen cloth on a human-powered machine must have seemed a bit quaint. One contemporary writer lamented,
“‘Handwoven’–that might sound a little outdated to many ears in these automated times. No-one has very sentimental views on hand-weaving nowadays. That which people presently demand shall first and foremost be practical, correspond to their needs, preferably be beautiful and furthermore be reasonably priced.” (5)
However, that Ebba The Countess had woven many of the textiles herself in the Swedish countryside played to the pastoral fantasies of her clients, and her stylish eye translated these traditional-looking fabrics into fashionable, if conservative, dresses and gowns. (6)
The first room of this exhibit was set in the ladies’ drawing room of the Hallywyl house. The visitor is introduced to the designer’s most well-known garments, heavy woven skirts with wide elastic waistbands, and short coats that–with a little Swedish ingenuity–are simply blankets, folded and buttoned:
Directions on how to assemble a Ripsa "pläd", published in Den glömda kjolen.
Dior was enchanted by the countess’ ingenuity, and offered both garments in his Paris boutiques in the 1950s, introducing the small Swedish brand to the global fashion market. But this is the first and last we hear of him: this exhibition is about Ebba. Seventeenth century tapestries hanging on the wall remind the visitor of the long history of textile construction, and sounds of shifting heddles and rolling shuttles transports the visitor to the weaving rooms at Ripsa, the idyllic countryside town in the Södermanland region of Sweden where these fabrics and garments were produced.
Model in "Marg" Ripsa Jacket (named after the Countess' mother), 1952. Modern photograph recreating contemporary outfit. Photograph: Jens Mohr.
Contemporary photograph of model Erika Sundt in "Marg" Ripsa Jacket, 1952. Photograph: KW Gullers. Published in Den glömda kjolen.
These workaday noises gave way in the next room to tinkling laughter and clinking glasses, overlaid with slow jazz. In concert with the grand piano and the chandelier in the von Hallwyls’ grand ballroom, this soundtrack set the scene for more than twenty colorful, woven dresses and gowns for day and evening, some with matching coats. These were garments aimed at women such as Mrs. Forsberg, who worked as hard as they played, balancing traditional ideals and national identity (here represented through weaving) with contemporary silhouettes and color palettes.
Colorful wovens in the ballroom. Photograph: Erik Lernestål, LSH.
The first word I thought when I walked in was, färgstarka!: literally, “color-strong”. Sure enough, that’s how the curators describe Ebba’s typical customers: färgstarka kvinnor, colorful women. These complex textiles were crafted into simple silhouettes–“basplagg” in Swedish–common to the 1960s or 1970s, especially smart for showing off the expert weaving that was central to the Ripsa name. And the sparkle! Metallic fibers woven into garments displayed a modern attitude toward the ancient craft.
Woven dress and coat, 1960s. Photograph: Erik Lernestål, LSH.
The strength of this exhibition was that the emphasis was on the objects. Much of the accompanying text is available only through printed handouts (in six different languages), giving the audience the choice to engage further with the objects–or just be present. There is plenty of background on the designer in the attendant book (available in the gift shop!) and perhaps the idea is that this information is better consumed at home, along with a cup of tea and a kanelbulle, after you’ve had the chance to see these garments up (relatively) close and personally.
I find this material-cultural approach exciting. Of course I also value well-researched text-rich exhibitions, but the apparent simplicity and near uniformity of these garments is enhanced by the pared-down presentation. This telescopic view of seemingly omnipresent mid-century fashions is valuable for a more complex understanding of these decades. The exhibition offers a local counterpoint to the clothing the visitor sees on TV while maintaining the glamour that draws people in. I think there’s something to be learned here about the breadth that can be found in a narrow focus.
(1) I assume this is referring to notorious Swedish pornography, famously “exposed” in the article “Sweden & Sin” from TIME Magazine, April 25, 1955.
(2) “To many people, the link between Scandinavia and design is still a familiar story of functionalism and the social democratic welfare states of the twentieth century. But until recently, the Scandinavian countries–Denmark, Norway, and Sweden–had not sought to connect themselves with fashion design. This, however, has changed since the turn of the millennium.” Melchior, 2011, 177.
(3) Falk, 31
(4) For more on Mah-Jong, please see Eldvik, 101-120, and Söderholm, 99-125 [Swedish].
(5) Lundbäck, 21, my translation. A more nostalgic view can be found in Henschen’s Handcraft in Sweden, where the authors long for pre-industrial handweaving done in the home. [Swedish and English]
(6) Lewenhaupt, 7
Works cited/Further Reading:
Eldvik, Berit. “Mah Jong: Mode och livsstil” Fataburen: Kläder. Stockholm: Nordiska Museet, 1988.
Falk, Karin. Det svenska modeundret. Stockholm: Norstedts, 2011. My translation.
Henschen, Ingegerd et.al. Handcraft in Sweden. Stockholm: Svenska Hemslöjdsföreningarnas Riksförbund, 1951.
Lewenhaupt, Lotta. Den glömda kjolen: Ebba von Eckermann textilier 1950-1980. Stockholm: Bokförlaget Signum, 2011.
Lundbäck, Maja, “Handvävt Tradition i Modern Stil” Våra Textilier, Kristina Lindstrand, ed. Stockholm: Sohlmans, 1957.
Melchior, Marie Riegels. “From Design Nations to Fashion Nations? Unpacking Contemporary Fashion Dreams.” Fashion Theory 15 (2011): 177-200.
Söderholm, Carolina. Svenska Formrebeller: 1960- och -70-tal. Lund: Historiska Media, 2008.
This past weekend, December 8-10, 2001, The University of Brighton hosted a conference entitled Developments in Dress History, in tribute to the significant contributions of Professor Lou Taylor to the field of dress studies. I was fortunate enough to have had Lou Taylor as a guest lecturer during my MA in Fashion Curation at the London College of Fashion, and it was her writings and lectures which in part inspired me to begin my research into 20th century fashion cartoons.
I was pleased and honoured to be among those presenting papers, and to meet fellow Worn Through contributor and conference speaker Brenna at the event! We had ample opportunity to catch up, discuss our work and research and also to introduce each other to colleagues and associates. Although the experience of addressing the conference, and meeting Brenna as well as many other distinguished and interesting people were the highlights for me, I also include this week brief synopses of some of the presentations I attended.
The conference presented papers from over 80 speakers, from all over the globe and from different points in their academic careers. With six sessions composed of four simultaneous panels it was only possible to see one quarter of the work being presented. While this may seem a bit disappointing, it did make for very lively conversation and sharing of experiences during the tea and lunch breaks, and at the highly enjoyable conference dinner.
Tim Walker editorial published in Vogue Uk 2007, which featured in Sarah Cheang's paper on dress and ethnicity.
The conference began with a series of introductory papers that highlighted key themes of the overall programme, but the organisers pointed out that these were not deemed “keynote” speakers in order to place all the presenters on an equal ground and to foster the exchange of ideas amongst scholars of all levels. The first session began with a survey of Sarah Cheang’s ongoing research into fashion and ethnicity via a study of portrayals of the “ethnic other” in Western fashion editorial photographs. Sally Helveston Gray, of the Michigan State University Museum presented her extensive object and document based study of the mother Hubbard dress, as it was widely known in 19th century in North America.
Tahitian women wearing versions of the Mother Hubbard dress, 19th c, wikipedia commons
The material culture aspects of dress research were further explored in Lesley Miller’s presentation of her lifelong and ongoing research on Lyons silks. Miller is currently a curator at the V&A, and gave a preview of how 18th century Lyons silks will figure in the forthcoming Fashioning Europe 1600-1800 galleries, opening in 2014. The introductory session finished up with an eye-opening talk by Sharon Peoples about the collection and presentation of convicts dress and histories at the Narynna Heritage Museum in Tasmania.
Fashion engraving of a 1680s evening gown
The morning session, in which I presented my MA and ongoing research Satirical Sartorial: Fashion Cartoons from the New Yorker, was themed around images in fashion.
Image from my preseantation of an exhibition concept for Satirical Sartorial: Fashion Cartoons of the New Yorker
I was delighted to be presenting alongside Elizabeth Davis who examined 17th century fashion engravings as documents of fashion history, and Rachel Ritchie’s survey of fashion marketing to rural women in post-war Britain. The session finished up with an highly engaging and well researched analysis of the use of museum and gallery settings in fashion photographs in the decade following the end of World War 2, by Felice McDowell, currently a researcher at London College of Fashion.
A panel on collecting and collections was comprised of talks by curators and collectors and provided insights into the collections and collection histories of the V&A and the Museum of Costume at Bath. I particularly enjoyed curator Rosemary Harden’s look at the life and work of Doris Langley Moore, and her legacy on the field of fashion curation.
Fashion historian and curator Doris Langley Moore - what a gorgeous lady!
The role of the personal enthusiast/collector was addressed by Lewis Orchard, who presented a wealth of material derived from his collection of garments, ephemera and documents relating to the designer Lucile, also known as Lady Duff Gordon. Lucile is well noted in fashion history for her opulent belle epoque designs, is credited with staging the first live fashion shows, and is a notable historical figure for being a Titanic survivor. Orchard has liberally collected material related to Lucile for over 20 years, and his collection reveals new information abotut the designer, her life, clients and milieu.
Lucile, Lady Duff Gordon
The Study of Dress History was a conference theme running across four panels, which were mainly devoted to material and archival dress history research. The session I attended looked at artefacts as diverse as diverse as 19th century dresses with toxic dyes, to boys’ sailor suits to the rare examples if Aesthetic dress in museum collections. The former presentation, by Alison Mathews David, on arsenical dyes and their impact on health in the 19th century and beyond in contemporary museum collection, will be a chapter in her forthcoming Berg publication Fashion and Health. Her book promises to re-assess the view of fashion’s impact on physical health and to delve deeper than the usual discussions of corsets and foot-binding as fashion’s cruellest enemies of well-being.
Arsenical green dress, Collection of the Museum at FIT
On the second day of the conference, I attended two panels on Displaying Dress, among which were the papers on curating and exhibition design I was most highly anticipating. With papers that examined the innovations, traditions and questions around the discipline of fashion curation, I was extremely satisfied and engaged by all the presentations. Highlights were Christine Guth’s study of The Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum as a space fashionably dressed by its founder, as well as Claire Wilcox’s insightful talk on displaying dress at the V&A past, present and into the future. Marie Reigels Melchior gave a thorough and though provoking historigoraphy of fashion in museums; research she is undertaking in order to devise a collecting and display policy for fashion at the Design Museum Denmark.
Interior view of the Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum including display of her dress silk
I was also honoured to be invited by Amy de la Haye to particpate in her presentation of Cecil Beaton’s Fashion: An Anthology Exhibition which took place at the V&A in 1971. I have been working with Amy and curator Judith Clark to recreate a physical model of the exhibition from surviving documents, and commented on the experience and challenges of the process to the conference delegates.
I left the conference with a greater awareness of the diversity and intensity of the field of dress history, and a clear affirmation that the collective and individual work of those who pioneered the field as well as those just entering it, is significant and sure to engender more such research in the future.
proposed (Photoshopped) APEC outfits in Hawaii, 2011
I read with some interest the Times article Obama Says Forum’s Costume Photo Is Unnecessary. This refers to the tradition of the 21 members of the annual APEC (Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation) forum participating in what has unfortunately been dubbed “the silly shirts photo.” Past photo-ops “have included ponchos and what looked like gowns for pregnant bridesmaids,” Jackie Calmes wrote. Frankly, I’m surprised by Calmes’ snarkiness.
At the first meeting in Seattle in 1993, then-President Bill Clinton outfitted the leaders in leather bombardier flight jackets. This fun photo-op idea subsequently became a tradition to don the national dress of APEC’s revolving host country; leaders wore the outfits for the photo and the rest of the day. Let’s take a look at past ensembles and judge for ourselves, shall we?
1994 Indonesia, Batik shirts
Batik is a wax-dying technique that, in certain regions, can takes inspiration from everyday life like flowers, people, Arabic calligraphy, European bouquets, Chinese phoenixes, or Indian peacocks, marvelously illustrating the influences upon Indonesia as a land. There are many batiks specific to momentus occasions (weddings, funerals, births), and batik is often an integrated part of such ceremonies. During an expectant first pregnancy, mother-to-be is wrapped in seven layers of batik while being wished well (“naloni mitoni”); and batik is incorporated into another ritual when a baby touches the earth for the first time (I just like the very existence of such a ceremony!). Though I don’t have expertise enough to name the batik prints worn by esteemed APEC leaders below, it is easy to see the variety, and fun to imagine the rich history that produced such “classic” motifs.
APEC in Indonesia, 1994
1995 Japan (Business suits)
It was decided that the familiar kimono was too restrictive to be worn comfortably by APEC members, so they all wore suits. Not only disappointing, this excuse is curious to me, as Samurai wore kimonos and had notoriously physically active lifestyles.
APEC in Japan, 1995
1996 Philippines (Barong shirts)
Barongs are very lightweight and white (speaking to the climate of the Philippines), common formal attire for men and sometimes women. The barong was popularized by Ramon Magsaysay when he wore it to his inauguration as president in 1950, and most formal affairs afterwards (reminds me of Josephine popularizing the “Empire” gown at Napoleon’s coronation.) Dubious legend has it that the invading Spaniards forced Filipinos to wear their barongs untucked (Spaniards would wear them tucked) for easy class distinction, and they allegedly took advantage of the barong’s translucency to see if Filipinos were attempting to conceal weapons. Accurate or not, it’s telling that these possible myths about the national garb being used to control the native people endure.
APEC in Philippines, 1996
1997 Canada (Leather jackets)
I must admit, bomber jackets don’t really scream “Canada” to me, but feel free to offer hypotheses of relevant history!
APEC in Canada, 1997
1998 Malaysia (Batik shirts)
Though a similar wax-removal dying technique is used in Malaysia as in Indonesia, there are some major differences. First, depictions of humans or animals are rare because such images for decoration are forbidden in Islam (the butterfly is an exception, for some reason). Malaysian batiks are highly vivid, unlike the earthy Indonesian tones. The Malaysian government has been heavily promoting the adoption of batik as a national outfit, even encouraging civil servants wear it on the 1st and 15th of every month.
APEC in Malaysia, 1998
1999 New Zealand (Sailing jackets)
As an island New Zealand clearly has an oceanic ties, solidified far before the British colonialists arrived by the indigenous and ingenious Maori. When I myself sailed there in 1997 as a high school student aboard the now sunk (!!) Concordia, New Zealand had just won back the America’s Cup sailing prize, and goddamn, the whole country was abuzz with pride. I enjoy the outdoorsy look the weatherproof jackets give the dignitaries, though I’m disappointed they obliterate any reference to the native peoples who sailed around the island first.
APEC in New Zealand, 1999
2000 Brunei Darussalam (Kain Tenunan shirts)
Southeast Asia has developed its textiles over centuries (the earliest recorded mention of cloth-weaving in Brunei Darussalam can be traced to the turn of the 16th century), and motifs include leaves, local flowers, and Islamic patterns. A sad consequence of modernism has been a drop-off in interest in this labor-intensive art. Since 1975, the Brunei Arts and Handicrafts Training Centre (BAHTC) has been apprenticing small batches of trainees in traditional handicrafts such as weaving, but it might be relegated to a curiosity in the not-too-distant future. I wish I could better see the embroidery on the APEC shirts to discern a pattern or significance.
APEC in Brunei Darussalam, 2000
2001 People’s Republic of China (Tangzhuang shirts)
The Tangzhuang is a jacket that originated at the end of the Qing Dynasty (1644–1911), modified from the Manchu clothing Magua. Typical colors are red, dark blue, gold and black, and Chinese monograms with good wishes are a common motif (lovely sentiment, right?). Initially it was only worn by the elite classes, though it has trickled down to be worn by all in modern times (even women, if you can believe it!).
APEC in People's Republic of China, 2001
2002 Mexico (Guayabera shirts for men/Huipíles for women)
The origins of the Guayabera shirt is actually hotly contested — most Latin American countries, Cuba (which declared it its national garment in 2010), and even the Philippines claim it as their invention. There is a Cuban legend that a poor seamstress sewed large pockets on her farmer husband’s shirt so he could carry guavas home. Guayabera shirts are traditionally white or very pale, with 2 -4 large pockets, side slits, and vertical rows of tiny pleats. They’re worn for special and casual occasions all over the Caribbean. A huipil is a tunic / blouse worn by the indigenous women of Mexico, Central America, and northern South America (and by men in Guatemala). The elaborate decorative embroidery may convey the wearer’s village, marital status, and personal beliefs. (I wish we could see more detail in the APEC photo.)
APEC in Mexico, 2002
2003 Thailand (Brocade shirts for men/Brocade shawls for women)
Richly embroidered brocade — material with raised texture — is the most expensive type of silk and was only worn during ceremonial occasions like weddings. This clearly speaks to the natural resources (mulberry trees, food of silk worms) and accompanying silk industry, to say nothing of the Silk Road relationships. To even untangle silk from woven cocoon to useable thread is an absurdly time and labor intensive process, and silk has always been a luxury fabric, worn by the royal court, favored by the Prime Minister’s wife, and often given to visiting dignitaries. Ironically it was an American — Jim Thompson — who revitalized Thailand’s declining silk industry in the 1950s and ’60s.
APEC in Thailand, 2003
2004 Chile (Chamantos)
Similar to a poncho (but apparently not exactly the same), chamantos are decorative garments from central Chili woven from silk and wool, with ribbon edging. Each side of a chamanto is fully finished, and one side is lighter colored than the other for variety; the dark side is typically worn during the day (perhaps when it would absorb the most of the sun’s rays in the chilly mountains). Common motifs depict local flora and fauna such as copihues —Chile’s national flower— and various birds.
APEC in Chile, 2004
2005 Republic of Korea (Hanboks)
Hanboks, colorful, pocket-less garments with sleek lines, are the traditional costume of Korea; it literally translates as “Korean clothing.” Though historically commoners wore hanbok and rulers and aristocrats wore more foreign-influenced designs, they have always been worn ceremonially. Hanboks were designed to facilitate ease of movement and also incorporated many shamanistic motifs, indicative of their nomadic northern Asian origins.
APEC in Korea, 2005
2006 Vietnam (Áo dài)
As opposed to the A-line looseness of the hanbok, the áo dài is a closer fitting silk tunic worn over pantaloons. Originally an 18th century court dress, over centuries it evolved. In the 1920s and ’30s, artists modernized it as a female dress, and in the 1950s the waist was tightened to produce today’s silhouette (men’s fit is still un-cinched). Typically a female dress, the áo dài is imbued with feminine and nationalistic symbolism (interesting, given the unfortunately typical male-dominated politicians in APEC).
APEC in Vietnam, 2006
2007 Australia (Driza-Bones and Akubra Hats)
“Driza-Bone” (“dry as a bone”) is an Australian company specializing in foul weather gear, established in 1898 by a Scottish immigrant. Initially developed to protect horse riders from the rain, they were originally made of oiled sail boat sails. With some irony, the company moved back from an extended international hiatus to Australia a year after APEC gathered; but perhaps the “silly photo” garnered enough attention to spur the return? Unfortunately this photo doesn’t show the akubra hats, but they’re the typical wide-brimmed hats of the Australian bushmen, not dissimilar from functional American cowboy hats which protected the wearer from harsh wind and sun.
APEC in Australia, 2007
2008 Peru (Ponchos)
Protective woolen ponchos have been worn by the peoples of the Andes since pre-Hispanic times. A gorgeously simple and un-wasteful design, they are constructed from a single square of woven fabric with a center hole cutout for the head; waterproof versions may have fasteners to close holes and hoods to protect from heavy weather. Though this is inevitably one of the APEC outfits that’s the butt of many jokes, latex-coated military ponchos have been worn by Americans since the 1850s and were used in the American Civil War as a multipurpose jacket, tent, or ground-covering sheet for sleeping. They have consistently been a part of American military accoutrements ever since, albeit in technologically edgy textiles. Peru had the original!
APEC in Peru, 2008
2009 Singapore (Peranakan-inspired designer shirts)
Peranakens are the descendants of late 15th and 16th-century Chinese immigrants to Indonesia; they clung to many of their traditional ways of life such as ancestor worship, but assimilated with the culture and language of their new land. Traditional designs often incorporate Chinese symbols, and shoes often have European flowers, but depicted in local bright palettes.
APEC in Singapore, 2009
2010 Japan (Smart casual)
Prime Minster Naoto Kan cops out of kimonos once again. (I’m not going to get into the history of the dark business suit at the moment, but frankly, I associate it more with English / American history than with that of the Japanese, yet in light of all the other foreign influences present in previously mentioned national costumes, it should not be so surprising that the two-piece suit has become ubiquitous for businessmen / politicians everywhere.)
APEC in Japan, 2010
2011 United States (Business suits)
APEC in United States, 2011
I really love seeing familiar leaders in the colorful, unfamiliar dress of these countries. It makes me question (again) the prejudices the western world has against color, decoration, and unisex clothing on men — this of course taps into ideas of masculine identity and classicism. It also strikes me that from a distance, when the members are in a line in the same outfits, they look like they’re unified. They look like they’re working together. Whatever differences they may have in skin tone or hair styling or ideology fades to the background, and they appear to be a unified body. And shouldn’t they?
It was especially interesting to me that Obama chose to dissolve the tradition in his own home state, where presumably he feels the most comfortable in the local garb. Chilean President Piñera Echenique was said to have asked, disappointed, during this year’s APEC meeting, “Where are the Hawaiian shirts?” It has been speculated that Obama deemed the bright floral inappropriate for these austere economic times, but I would argue that’s exactly when color and patterns and art and fun are the most needed — to lift our spirits. I recently had a discussion with an activist friend of mine who has deliberately been toning down her wardrobe as she becomes more involved in radical organizing because she fears colors and patterns or anything “fashionable” would be considered bourgeois in her line of work. I pointed out that the most ostentatious dressers I know are typically artists — a group famous for its financial struggles and radical alliances. This may be so, my friend conceded, but within Marxist ideology, there is a long history of vilifying fashion as a non-useful and therefore frivolous waste of energy and resources. <sigh>
But to return to the topic: if the impetus for abolishing the APEC costume tradition is so-called lack of dignity or a fear of appearing foolish, I must protest on three counts. First, politicians are known to be stuffy, conservative (i.e. “boring”) dressers, and it might actually do some good for their public images (and their cause with APEC) to be seen as real people who actually get silly and have fun — like us norms. Second, and this is a greater problem in my mind, this discomfort in native dress, even for a “silly picture,” highlights the prejudices of one culture towards others. “Ponchos and batik shirts might be fine for the locals, but that ridiculous look is normalized where they live!”
Lastly, as a fashion culturalist, I emphatically believe that clothes are imbued with socio-cultural significance. When you stop to ask why the national dress of various countries, even within a relatively small geographical area, are different (and also how they overlap), you are forced to confront the histories of those countries, their natural resources (silk production of Thailand), their climates (heat of Mexico), their wealth distribution (Thai brocade silks), their political systems (Shanghai Mao collars), what kind of work and activities the populations engage in (Peruvian / Chilean ponchos facilitate movement; New Zealand and Australia’s stave off extreme wet weather). Empathize with another man by walking in his shoes? Why not pose for one so-called “silly picture” in another man’s whole outfit? I dare you to not get a new perspective on your own ethnocentricity.
This post is mostly based on a tour I gave of the fashion collection at the Powerhouse Museum for a group of NIDA costume students. It is also inspired by my work on the Australian Dress Register. I am a strong believer that dress and fashion research should include close examination of actual examples of dress. Through my work at the Museum and for the ADR I have learnt much about Australian dress through examining actual examples of dress from the past.
For many people outside of Australia, the image of Australian dress is based largely on ‘bush’ stereotypes such as Crocodile Dundee or the swag man described in the famous song ‘Waltzing Matilda’ . Contrary to these stereotypes, Europeans in Colonial Australia attempted to dress in very fashionable styles.
When the British settled Sydney as a penal colony in 1788 they initially only intended to create a prison for criminals on the other side of the world. The result was a country that in many ways resembled Britain. With dress there was a general adherence to British and European styles.
In this post, I will have a look at some of my favourite examples of early Colonial Australian dress before 1850.
Anna King's Evening dress, c. 1805. Collection: National Trust of New South Wales, Photo: Brenton McGeachie
Anna Josepha King wore this dress from 1805, most probably for evening wear and formal events in Sydney. She was the wife of Philip Gidley King, Governor of New South Wales, was born in 1765 in England and had three children.
Detail, Anna King's Evening dress, c. 1805. Collection: National Trust of New South Wales, Photo: Brenton McGeachie
The Colony had only been settled 17 years when this dress was worn. It is a fashionable style of dress for the period, which saw a move away from the elaborate styles of the 18th Century to a more classical mode. This dress with its luxurious muslin and fashionable cut would have stood in contrast to the worn and frayed working class clothing of the convict population. In the newly created society of Sydney with a large number of convicts, it was important for those in positions of power to demonstrate their authority. The distance between England and Sydney at that period would have made it desirable and even necessary for those in positions of power in the colony to keep up with English fashions.
Ball gown thought to have been worn by Ann Marsden Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney. Photo: Penelope Clay
Cotton was not only a fashionable choice of fabric but was a suitable choice of fabric for the warm climate of Australia during the early years of the Colony. Ann Marsden, the member of another significant colonial family, wore this dress during the early 1820s and may have been worn to a ball at Government house in Parramatta in 1822. Ann was the first daughter of clergyman Samuel Marsden a prominent figure in the Colony of New South Wales. There are two things that I find interesting about this dress. Firstly, unlike Anna King’s dress, this gown was little less fashionable for the period in which it was worn. By the 1820s Romantic styles began to influence European fashions. Although this dress is quite plain and discreet in style by contemporary standards it would have been suitable for the daughter of a clergyman. Perhaps this dress demonstrates conservatism and piousness instead of wealth and power like Anna King’s dress.
The other interesting thing about this dress is the embroidery at the hem and cuff. The embroidery features a ‘boteh’ motif with a scalloped edge and small-stylized circular flower motifs. This design is Indian in style and may have been added by the maker of the gown. Another dress from the same period provenanced to Ireland also uses a very similar style of embroidery in the hem and cuff of the dress.
Dress, cotton / muslin / lace, maker unknown, Ireland 1815-1825 Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney.
Detail, dress, cotton / muslin / lace, maker unknown, Ireland 1815-1825 Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney. Photo: Rebecca Evans
Detail of hem, ball gown thought to have been worn by Ann Marsden Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney. Photo: Penelope Clay
Ackermann's Repository of Arts, 1818. Photo: Rebecca Evans
A9762 Jacket, men's, convict period, felted wool, maker unknown [War Department
Convicts were often issued with jackets such as this rare surviving example. It is made of rough woollen fabric and was designed to be uncomfortable while the miss-matched colours were made to humiliate and punish the wearer.This jacket stands in contrast to the muslin dresses worn by Anna King and Ann Marsden. Instead of demonstrating wealth, this jacket was designed to maintain social order through humiliating the wearer and making them obvious.
Check taffeta skirt worn by Sarah Thomas, c. 1839 Collection: Tongarra Museum, Photo: Rebecca Evans
Looking at a slightly later example, this check silk taffeta skirt is believed to have been made and worn by Sarah Thomas, the wife of a farmer en route to Australia from England in the late 1830s. I talked a bit about this skirt a few years back when I wrote a guest blog post for Worn Through. I believe this dress had a bodice, something like the bodice of this similar dress from the mid-1840s.
Womens day dress, 1840 - 1850 Collection: Powerhouse Museum, Sydney. Photo: Sue Stafford
What strikes me as interesting about this check skirt is that it is a very stylish example of English dress for the late 1830s. This dress was chosen by Sarah Thomas, a member of the working class, to start a new life in Australia. It represents the desire and need to re-create British society on the other side of the world.
Dress during the early Colonial period in Australia was used as a means to re-create British society and to differentiate between those in positions of power and wealth and those who were convicts and of the working class. Rather than creating a disinvite individual style, much early dress in the 19th Century was very European in style.
One of the best parts about working in a Museum is sharing the collection with the public and one of my favourite ways to do this through collection tours. They give curators the opportunity to chat with a wide range of people about collections and visitors often provide more information on objects. Tours are always great fun, the only worry is losing visitors in the stores!
References:
http://www.australiandressregister.org/
http://www.powerhousemuseum.com/collection/database/
Alexandra Joel, ‘Parade: The story of fashion in Australia’, Harper Collins, Sydney, 1998
Alexandra Joel, ‘Best dressed: 200 years of fashion in Australia’, Harper Collins, Sydney, 1984
Margaret Maynard, ‘Fashioned from penury: Dress as cultural practice in Colonial Australia’, Cambridge University Press, 1994
Amy Winehouse's dress worn on the cover of Back to Black. Photo: Kerry Taylor Auctions
Last week, on November 29th, Kerry Taylor Auctions sold the dress worn by the late Amy Winehouse on the cover of her album Back to Black for £43,200 ($68,000). The dress, designed by British boutique label Disaya, was donated by the designer to Amy’s father, and all the profits from the sale will aid the establishment of The Amy Winehouse Foundation, to aid young people struggling with health, addiction and social problems.
The dress as (just barely!) seen on the cover of Back to Black
The auction catalog description of the dress reveals both its details of design, and the story behind its coming to grace the cover of Winehouse’s successful album:
Sold in aid of the Amy Winehouse Foundation The Disaya printed chiffon dress worn by Amy Winehouse for the cover of `Back to Black’, 2006, with engraved gilt metal Disaya label, the short dress printed with bands of graduated dark-red polka dots, the corset-like bodice with under-wiring and central lace bow insertion and waistband, elasticated puff-ball skirt, UK size 8, bust approx 82-86cm, 32-34in, the high waist 71cm, 28in; together with a letter of authenticity signed by the designer – Disaya, (2) Provenance: In 2006, the young St Martins trained, Thai based designer Disaya was approached by her British PR agent with a request for the loan of a dress for Miss Winehouse’s photo-shoot. This request came via his friend – Louise Winwood who was Amy’s stylist at the time and was working on the album cover project for Universal Island Records. Although this was Amy Winehouse’s second album (she was re-launching her career after a break) there was reluctance on the part of many of the leading fashion designers initially approached to assist. However, Disaya was happy to help as she was launching her new label in the UK and felt that the young, innovative designs would be a good match. The photo-shoot took place in the photographer Mischa Richter’s house. Louise took over a selection of clothes for Amy to try, and they both agreed that this dress suited her best. After the photo-shoot the dress was returned to the designer and carefully stored in the Disaya archive. The album went on to sell over 3.2 million copies. In the light of Amy’s untimely death Disaya has decided that rather than keep the dress stored away, that it should be sold and the money raised used by the Amy Winehouse Foundation to benefit young people in need in the UK and overseas. The image of Amy Winehouse is copyrighted to Mischa Richter/Universal Island Records.
Jorge Yarur Bascunan, Director of the Museo de la Moda Chile, photo NY Times
The winning bidder was the Museo de la Moda in Chile, whose director Jorge Yarur Bascunan, has previously purchased other high profile celebrity and designer garments for the museum’s collection. Most sensationally, in June 2010, the Museo de la Moda purchased Princess Diana’s black taffeta engagement dress designed by Emanuel for a record £192,000. The museum, who paid far above the auctioneer’s estimate of £50,000, has announced that thy intend to return the dress to the UK after the death of founder Bascunan. In March 2011, just prior to the Royal Wedding, the auction house sold the transparent dress worn by Kate Middleton at a charity fashion show, where she was “noticed” by future husband Prince William. While the dress itself would not necessarily be lauded for its design or craftsmanship, the value of the story behind it and its future importance as a piece of Royal history, caused it to fetch £65,000 to an anonymous private buyer.
The dress worn by Princess Diana on her engagement day with designer Emanuel
Like many aspirant fashion historians and curators here in London, I have worked as an intern for Kerry Taylor, and relished the opportunity to see and feel some of the fabulous and iconic garments that go up for sale in her auction room. In addition to the seemingly unattainable and expensive pieces, Taylor regularly offers lots of vintage clothes that are affordable even to those who may incorporate such garments in their daily wardrobes, or use them for design research.
The sale of Amy Winehouse’s dress follows in a tradition of clothing belonging to celebrities and performers as valuable, desirable and expensive artefacts. Amy’s recent untimely death, and the fact of proceeds going to a highly publicised charity endeavor surely raised the hammer price, and will ensure that the dress, if it goes on display at the Museo de la Moda will attract droves of visitors and raise the profile of both the museum and Kerry Taylor’s auction house.
In a few weeks, I will be visiting the Museo de la Moda for the second time, and hope to find out more about the museum’s plans for the dress – and even perhaps to have a peek at it in storage! In the meantime, please share your thoughts about this topic here as well as noting any other significant instances of celebrity clothing at auction.
Photo Credit ted.com
The notion of a fashion anarchist in the U.S. government sounds like an oxymoron, but that’s precisely what makes Secretary of State Madeline Albright stand out, the fact she did maintain a distinct fashion signature throughout her time in Washington. The variety and flair in her array of brooches became legendary, and even generated a museum exhibit showcasing more than 200 of her pieces!
Check out the details in the book Read My Pins: Stories from a Diplomat’s Jewel Box
