Fashion Bytes — The Return of Haute Couture

By Brenna, January 31st, 2012 at 5:00 am (International Fashion)

Image via Juno Says Hello

As many already know, last week was the week for Paris haute couture fashion. The week opened not only with the surprising news that Versace was returning to haute couture after an eight-year absence, but also that apparently couture sales are up — in some cases by 50%. The Guardian piece reporting this second occurance pointed out that this is more due to the growing schism between the very rich and, well, the rest of us, than due to any increase in investment dressing due to hard times.

There were the usual warring opinions as to the clothes shown, none more controversial than Dior with the spectre of John Galliano not-so-subtly haunting every report. The Wall Street Journal was bored by Bill Gaytten’s looking to the archives for his collection, which was clearly inspired by the New Look, while the New York Times was pleased with the general ‘less is more’ feel of the collection, but lamenting the lack of a designer with true ‘imagination’.

It was the Financial Times who had the most scathing reports, remarking that all the collections were too ‘weighed down by history’.

Holly Brubach commented in 1992 that couture ‘which was once the vanguard of fashion, now finds itself bringing up the rear’. It seems that twenty years later, the journalists and critics are still largely disappointed by what they are seeing on the runway. So why have sales increased? Is this an example of a complete disconnect between those covering the shows as journalists and those watching them as consumers?

What are your opinions about the recent haute couture week? Do you think that the rise in sales is at all connected to the return to the archives and the designers’ taking inspiration from couture’s past? Are the vintage-inspired designs proof of a demand within society for a return to glamour and elegance? Do you think couture still has relevance in society and in history of dress if it is no longer dictating what people wear every day? What are your thoughts on the Guardian’s suggestion that the rise in couture sales is proof of the widening of the economic gap? Did any of you see the pieces first hand?

Please share your thoughts.

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Source Material: Trade Cards

By Arianna, January 26th, 2012 at 5:00 am (Academic Research & Related, History of Dress, International Fashion)

About a week ago, I experienced research serendipity: while sitting in front of my computer in Sweden, searching the archives of Baker Business Library at Harvard University, I came across this little number:

Two women from Dalarna, from a Singer Manufacturing Co. trade card, 1892. From the Baker Business Library at Harvard University. Photo: uncredited.

I was looking for Boston dressmakers and tailors in business in the 1890s (harder than you’d think), and this popped up! My unofficial interest sneaking into my “official” research.

I’d know that dress anywhere: she is a woman in traditional folk dress (folkdräkt in Swedish) from the town of Rättvik, in Dalarna county, Sweden. This place is close to my heart and the dress is familiar to my eye, since my boyfriend’s family comes from the neighboring town of Boda. Dalarna is also famous for a lot of non-Ikea Swedish things you’ve heard of:

Dalahästar:

Dalahäst (Dalecarlian Horse) from 90-year-old Dalarna company Grannas. From Grannas' website. Photo: uncredited.

Knäckebröd:

Knäckebröd, or "really huge round cracker" as they are called in English. Here with the very Swedish topping of eggs, red onion, and Kalles Kaviar. From the Leksands Bakery website. Photo: uncredited.

And now: Rättvikdräkt!

What is interesting to me is that this sweet girl, in this same traditional dress, is always the visual chosen to represent the region of Dalarna, although each of the small towns has its own very specific system of folkdräkt. For example, see this tablecloth I picked up at a second-hand store:

Traditional folk dress from "Dalarna" (more precisely, Rättvik, in Dalarna) from a tablecloth. Other counties are represented similarly. c. 1940-60. From author's personal collection. Photo: Arianna E. Funk

Definitely a fun 1940s/-50s take on the same outfit!

On the Singer card, she also represents all of Sweden. Like the Dalahäst.

Here’s another example of of a Singer trade card from the Baker collection:

Trade Card for Singer Manufacturing Co., 1892. From Baker Business Library at Harvard University.

These guys are described on the back of the card as being from the “Extensive Empire of the British Crown “. Interestingly, cards featuring women show them in the act of sewing, or at least with a project in progress. These guys, on the other hand, are “native employees” of Singer in India in their “usual costume”.

I just love finding new sources. Trade cards are hardly a stretch as a costume source, but it was certainly a treat and a surprise to see her peeking out among the Corsets and the Emporiums and the Gentleman’s Hats. I especially appreciate any glimpses into the history of the history and documentation of costume.

Have you found any surprising or unexpected sources recently? Share them below!

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Joaquín Sorolla and the Glory of Spanish Dress

By Mellissa, January 19th, 2012 at 5:00 am (Exhibitions, History of Dress, International Fashion)

After the success of Balenciaga: Spanish Master, it should come as no surprise that the Queen Sophia Spanish Institute was enthusiastic to present another exhibition that focuses on clothing.  Joaquín Sorolla and the Glory of Spanish Dress contains a gratifying combination of painting and traditional Spanish attire that simultaneously works to showcase the vision of a talented artist and the richness of Spanish dress.

The exhibition is divided between three floors of the institution.  Beginning at the basement level, the first portion of the show contains the greatest quantity of large paintings, and the bright colors splashed across the walls pick up on the intensity of the hues that are synonymous with the Spanish sun and which pop from areas of Sorolla’s dynamic plein air canvases.   Paintings are juxtaposed with glass cases of costume, many pieces of which, derive from Sorrolla’s private collection–acquired during his travels and in some cases directly from his models– adding a documentary dimension to the exhibition and creating a fascinating interplay between the art and costume on display.

While the paintings are breathtaking on their own, the ability to examine the intricate embellishment that adorns some of these costumes highlights the appeal of Spanish regional dress as a significant part of the Sorolla works on display.  Many of the garments included were worn as a part of custom and ritual, and thus are imbued with layers of symbolism.  The jewelry in particular, was piled atop several of the women’s ensembles, and it was a great decision to include a separate case of jewelry in one area that isolated the individual pieces that comprise the heavy bibs of necklaces seen on the mannequins.  Materials included stones like tourmaline, garnet, coral, and mother of pearl among others.  Each bead, cameo, locket, and amulet seems to tell their own story, often serving auspicious or apotropaic purposes for the wearer such as the corazón de novia or bride’s heart.  Additionally, the multiple layers of jewels and garments were a means of establishing wealth and class while also functioning as a portable asset.

There is also a case of garments that include sumptuous brocaded silk textiles such as a Valencian ensemble from the first half of the 20^th century that is referential to 18^th century fashion and the robe à l’anglaise.  Among these is a dress that was worn by the Baroness of Alucuás during the floral games of Valencia in 2006.

A 20^th century women’s ensemble from Extremadura includes a montehermoso cap, which houses a small circular mirror at the center top of the item.  Single women would wear these mirrored hats that served a functional purpose when they could be utilized to check ones appearance before meeting a potential suitor, simultaneously signaling the marital status of the wearer.  Once married, the mirror is removed.

The show continues on the ground floor of the institution.  A Nicolas Ghesquiere for Balenciaga coat from Fall 2006 in the lobby was inspired by Basque fisherman–muses for both Ghesquiere and Sorolla–and ushers viewers into the second room where the archetypes of the Flamenco dancer and the Bullfighter are addressed with splendor.

A 1980s cotton broderie anglaise bata de cola flamenco dress that was designed by Lina, and featured in a Lord Snowdon photograph for Vanity Fair in 1987, worn by Naty Abascal, mirrors the exuberance of Sorolla’s Flamenco Dancer from 1914.  The pairing underscores the integrality of movement to both dance costume and the interplay of light that characterizes Sorolla’s impressionistic work.

There is also a cluster of lavishly embroidered and embellished bullfighter’s ensembles comprised from a range of pieces from the 1920s through 2011 that utilize new montera, bullfighters hats.  The work that goes into the capes in particular is stunning, and even the shocking pink hosiery that swathes the legs of the figures cannot detract from the colorful appeal of these garments.

The topmost floor of the show continues with video footage of Jacqueline Kennedy at Seville’s Feria with the Duchess of Alba in 1966, reproductions of Sorolla’s murals that adorn the walls of the Hispanic Society of America, and a grouping of periodical spreads and mannequins that feature contemporary fashion influenced by traditional Spanish dress.

While I’m never unhappy to come across fashion in a museum exhibition, I must confess that in some ways I felt that the inclusion of the contemporary Spanish-inspired design pieces detracted from the show somewhat for me.  The essence of the exhibition, and the strength of it in my opinion, was the documented relationship between the many garments that were collected by the artist and their significant contribution to his work and ideas about national identity in general.  In some ways, it felt as if the inclusion of items, like a Karl Lagerfeld 2005 dress for Chanel, almost undermined the standalone power that the assemblage of traditional Spanish garments and accessories held on their own.  Understandably, the inclusion of more contemporary fashion demonstrates the prevailing influence of more traditional forms of dress and culture on a more global scale today–while also making the exhibition appealing to a larger demographic–but I found the basic story of Sorrolla’s use and acquisition of Spanish dress as an important tool in his painting to be a compelling enough thesis on its own.  It would have been nice to see it shine without the pervasive hegemony of haute couture intruding on this vision.

With this in mind, some of the contemporary fashion designs on display are particularly wonderful.   There’s a gorgeous Carolina Herrera black velvet gown from Fall 1991 with an asymetrical one-shoulder sleeve and tiers of golden-yellow silk that cascade from one hip with a matching black lace and yellow silk chiffon veil.  There is a Stefano Pilati for Yves Saint Laurent evening suit from Spring 2006 with impeccable tailoring, and the Christain Lacroix wedding ensemble from his Fall 2009 couture show that was inspired by the Virgin del Rocío, the patron saint of Almonte, makes a strong case for a future fashion exhibition that focuses solely on the influence of saints and religious icons on contemporary fashion.  (I would love to see that piece next to a Gaultier! Any takers?)

All in all, Joaquín Sorolla and the Glory of Spanish Dress is a captivating exhibition and I highly recommend devoting an afternoon to viewing the show.  I couldn’t resist picking up a catalog on the spot, which includes essays by Oscar de la Renta, André Leon Talley, Harold Koda from the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Mitchell A. Codding, Covadonga Pitarch Angulo from the Museo Sorolla, Irene Seco Serra from the Museo del Traje, and an essay on Spanish regional jewelry by Maria Antonia Herradón Figueroa.  Molly Sorkin and Jennifer Park are also editors for the catalog, and I strongly suspect, the women behind the informative and illustrated label copy throughout the exhibition.  You can find more on the catalog here.

Joaquín Sorolla and the Glory of Spanish Dress will be on view at the Queen Sophia Spanish Institute through March 10^th, 2012.  For more info, please reference their website.

* All images are published in the exhibition catalog Joaquín Sorolla & the Glory of Spanish Dress *

————————————————————————————————————————————————————

IMAGE DETAILS

Joaquín Sorolla, Flamenco Dancer, March 20-May 2, 1914

Oil on canvas, 160 x 109 cm

Museo Sorolla, Madrid

[1044]

 

Traje de vistas (woman’s festive ensemble) from Castile and León

Early 20^th century

Wool, silk, embroidered linen, embroidered cotton

Museo del Traje, CIPE, Madrid

[MT064676, MT064685, MT002409] [MT064402-MT064408]

 

José Ortiz Echagüe

Charra from La Alberca, c. 1930

Photograph.

Fondo Fotográfico Universidad

de Navarra, Pamplona

 

Woman’s ensemble from Aragon

Early 20^th century

Wool, cotton, linen, silk

Museo del Traje, CIPE, Madrid

[MT018527-MT018530, MT018532, MT018535-MT018537]

 

Joaquín Sorolla, Characters from the Ansó Valley, 1914

Oil on canvas, 206 x 150.5 cm

Museo Sorolla, Madrid

[1047]

 

Woman’s ensemble from Aragon

Early 20^th century

Wool, cotton, silk ribbon, metal charms

Museo Sorolla, Madrid

[123]

 

José Ortiz Echagüe

Woman from Montehermoso, 1931

Photograph

Fondo Fotográfico Universidad

de Navarra, Pamplona

 

Joaquín Sorolla, Characters from Lagartera or Lagartera Bride,

Spring 1912

Oil on canvas, 200 x 206.5 cm

Musee Sorolla, Madrid

[957]

 

“The Flame in Spain”

Naty Abascal dances Flamenco in her red bate de cola

Vanity Fair, April 1987

 

Joaquín Sorolla

Bride, Ansó, 1912-1914

Pencil on paper, 33.6 x 23 cm

Museo Sorolla, Madrid

[11590]

 

Joaquín Sorolla

Bride, Ansó (rear view), 1912-1914

Pencil on paper, 33.6 x 23 cm

Museo Sorolla, Madrid

[11591]

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Book Review: Japanese Fashion Designers

By Tove Hermanson, January 17th, 2012 at 5:23 am (Book Reviews, International Fashion)

Japanese Fashion Designers: The Work and Influence of Issey Miyake, Yohji Yamamoto and Rei Kawakubo

by Bonnie English

Berg Publishers (2011)

Soon to delve into research of my own in the area of Japanese fashion (specifically deconstructed styles), I was delighted to sink my teeth into Bonnie English’s Japanese Fashion Designers: The Work and Influence of Issey Miyake, Yohji Yamamoto and Rei Kawakubo. English’s writing style was concise, with fun extra Notes and a thorough Index for quick lookups. The first half covers the Big Three designers listed in the title, plus the “next wave” including Naoki Takizawa, Dai Fujiwara, Junya Watanabe, Tao Kurihara, and Jun Takahashi, all of whom lean heavily upon technological textile development and textile collaborations. The second half covers textile artists who dabble in or collaborate with fashion designers.

English offers 1970 as the jumping off year when Japanese fashion infiltrated Western dress, initiated by Issey Miyake, but she highlights an inherent and long-standing Japanese dual interest in tradition and progress. In fact, Western clothes like bowlers and high-collared shirts infiltrated wealthy Japanese society in the 1890s, and in the 1930s Japanese businessmen adopted the Western suit for the office, reserving the casual summer yukata kimono for home wear. In the print below you can see Empress Shōken dressed in black (a repeating Japanese fashion theme as you’ll see) in the Western style of dress; this print was actually promoting the wide but temporary adoption of Western dress, including written instructions and illustrations on Western dress construction (for details, see an informative blurb on Lina’s Lookbook).

Empress Shoken promoting western dress, 1887 (click to enlarge)

Japan adopted Western items (again) in the 1940s in part, I’m sure, due to the lingering post-WWII U.S. occupation, but in the 1960s there was a reversal and a re-embracing of traditional Japanese culture. Though Western dress certainly influenced them, most of the contemporary Japanese designers’ inspiration was somehow rooted in the oh-so-Japanese kimono, Samurais, paper arts, the tea ceremony, and Buddhist concepts.

kimono construction

"ma" of the kimono

A recognizable image connecting Japan to its heritage, the kimono has been essential to all these Japanese designers. Its simple construction (8 rectangles connected by straight seams) has helped make it accessible to every social strata of Japan. Boxy as it is when flat, the kimono nonetheless drapes pleasing layers around the human body loosely, with ample space between the body and cloth (called “ma“), as opposed to the Western standard of tailoring closely to the contours of the body. The kimono embodies the Japanese preoccupation with anti-structural layers, allowing freedom of movement with a simplicity of cut. Issey Miyake acknowledged the influence of French couturier Madeleine Vionnet on him, who minimized cutting, abandoned tailor fits, and created patterns and texture with pleats of the fabric itself. Paper arts have a religious significance in Japan, and Miyake experimented with paper-like pleating in linen crêpe, woven cotton, polyester, and jersey, seeking functionality with interesting texture. In his “Pleats, Please” collection of 1993, he revised Fortuny’s Delphos and Peplos gowns of the 1930s, incorporating more sculptural origami pleating effects to Fortuny’s distinctly Grecian versions. To illustrate how freely a body could move in them, dancers modeled the collection rather than professional models.

draped Madeleine Vionnet gown with rough hem, 1917

Fortuny "Delphos" gown, c. 1930

"Pleats Please" collection, Miyake

The major Japanese designers discussed all create clothes with many flowing layers and with a dominance of the color black, a shocking counterpoint to colorful Western collections. But to the Japanese, black is not drab but rather indicative of restraint and dignity. Samurai were highly respected, fierce and skilled (male) warriors, and in the late 17th century their role changed from military to bureaucratic. Accordingly, their luxurious custom kimonos morphed into darker palettes — black was associated with self-discipline — and with expensive elements hidden, such as decorated silk linings. Subtle — or even private — luxury became preferable to typical Western in-your-face glamor. Ms. English astutely points out that dressing down to dress up, as these understated Japanese textiles and clothes aim to accomplish, was seen in late 18th century England when the landed gentry imitated workers’ dress; the same comparison could be made to pre-revolutionary France when it was actually dangerous for the aristocracy to flaunt their wealth sartorially.

black kimono with discreet red lining, early 20th century

This preference for subtlety is rooted in Buddhism which emphasizes the appreciation of poverty, simplicity, and acceptance of imperfection. Challenging the Western artistic conventions of attempting perfection (symmetry, hemmed edges, corsetry to mold an “ideal” figure, etc.), the Japanese typically encourage the (human and therefore fallible) hand of the artist to peek through. Simplicity and perishability are echoed in the Japanese tea ceremony, an everyday task that became an artistic ritual, symbolic of the import of simplicity and the appreciation of perishable goods (as evidenced by the kimono detail below, literally depicting tea ceremony objects).

kimono detail with tea ceremony utensils, 19th century

Issey Miyake was one of the first post-WWII Asian designers to infiltrate the French fashion system, working in Paris in the late ’60s. Sometimes called “anti-fashion,” his clothes favored asymmetry, folds and pleats, exposed stitches, “found” objects, accidents — Kawakubo worked with textile artists to create such “accidents” by loosening bolts on looms, deliberately dropping stitches in knits and other strategies to create irregularities in the industrially produced goods:

deliberately unravelled sweater, Comme des Garcons

Along these lines, Comme des Garçons, founded by Rei Kawakubo in 1969 with Yohji Yamamoto collaborating shortly afterwards, presented “shrouds” at Paris  Fashion Week in 1981. Unprepared Westerners dubbed the distressed look the “aesthetics of poverty.” Tellingly, Yamamoto and Kawakubo both grew up in the poverty of post-WWII Japan and perhaps saw beauty in that poverty, because as designers, both favored black, irregular shapes, hugely bulky, layered, torn, uneven and un-stitched hems. This style was later called “deconstructed” and fashion theorists have alternately claimed it represents post-WWII Japan, homelessness, or is a reaction to contemporary global recessions. A perceived affront to the existing ostentatiously glamorous and feminine Paris fashions, it was icily received by the press with harsh headlines smacking of racism, like “Fashion’s Pearl Harbour.” This anti-fashion — asexual and loosely fitting with signals of status overturned — was clearly hard for European audiences to appreciate, but “hifu” is a familiar concept of anti-style, confusion and disarray to the Japanese. Select European artists have, however, experimented with this concept as well. Yamamoto has sited as an influence photographer August Sander and his project of documenting the poor everyman; the Arte Povera art movement of the 1960s also embraced the art of everyday living and the rejection of everything shiny and new as representative of The Establishment.

Comme des Garçons “bag lady post-Hiroshima” look, 1982

As kimonos are worn by the wealthy and the masses alike, so are they worn by both men and women, and the discussed Japanese designers all played with concepts of gender roles in their contemporary designs. Kawakubo, having experienced a surge in Japan’s feminist movement firsthand (Japanese women were only granted suffrage in 1946, in part due to pressure from the occupying forces of the United States), often questions Western body ideals, beauty in simplicity vs. over-the-top European glamor. Kawakubo and Yamamoto don’t rely on the body shape as the focal point of attraction, breaking from young models in favor of unconventional beauties, non-professional models, and mature women. Kawakubo’s “Bump” collection (Spring/Summer 1997) showcased garments with oddly padded lumps, effectively critiquing the idealized feminine shape. Yamamoto frequently deconstructs the Western business suit, removing the padded shoulders, lining, expanding the armholes, or making it asymmetrical. In his 2002 collection, draped skirts with frayed threads replaced pants, crossing gender barriers. His softer shapes and deconstructed techniques questioned the ideal masculine angularity; his skirts for men questioned the Western sexual silhouettes.

Textiles, as the building block of all garments, are central to these Japanese designers, resulting in collaborative experiments with textile artists. (I actually wish Ms. English had opened the book with the textile artists, as it seems all the fashion designers themselves approach their clothes by addressing textiles first.) Miyake, for example, frequently works with Makiko Minagawa, a textile “artist-engineer.” Miyake has been known to give Minagawa such obtuse and deliberately vague instructions as “Make me a fabric that looks like poison.” While traditional Japanese clothes have been made of natural fibers such as cotton, silk, and paper (for warm linings), Miyake emphasizes the ancient interest and import of industrially produced clothes with synthetic materials, effectively harnessing the past, present and future with such textile breakthroughs as multi-directional pleating , metallic skin encasement, collaged crazy quilt material, and inflatable trousers. Kawakubo, too, is known for her laissez faire collaborative methods and cryptic instructions, like providing a textile designer with a crumpled a piece of paper for inspiration (!!), encouraging others to contribute to her initial concepts.

Another trademark of Japanese fashion seems to be a conceptual approach (as evidenced by obscure textile inspiration), and a questioning of the Western fashion system. Miyake broke boundaries of season-driven conventional fashion and the cult of the young, using older and non-professional models, as in his 1995 “Beautiful Ladies” collection where models were between 62 and 92 years old. Yamamoto’s 2008 collection (the first year of the US depression/recession) included “gauzy rags sewn together with simple white stitches” as though for a funeral procession, according to Eric Wilson of the NYTimes. Comme des Garçons’ Spring/Summer 2002 collection involved models with helmets made of Le Monde newspapers with Taliban war headlines. In spite of the overt political references, Kawakubo claimed it was a last minute decision with no political meaning; she could not protest as strongly in 2003 when her clothes were emblazoned with slogans like “the majority is always wrong,” and “long last the 1 percent.”

"gauzy rags" in Yamamoto's Spring/Summer '09

newspaper hats in Comme des Garçons SS02 collection

You might also remember the controversial photographs taken by Yuriko Takagi of Miyake’s pleated clothes taken in a remote Indian village where locals who could not actually afford such garments modeled them, which could be commentary on the artificiality of traditional studio fashion photo sessions, but was widely lambasted for exploiting the poor to attract publicity for designer garments. Whatever your feeling on that example, editors have widely attributed socio-political commentary to the clothes of Miyake, Yamamoto, and Kawakubo with those designers’ consistent breaking of barriers between sexes, high and low culture, and Eastern vs. Western ideologies. Interestingly, the designers inevitably deny such deliberate signification, but fashion, as art, may be the receptacle upon which viewers project their own ideologies or questions, and designers’ intent is perhaps only partially relevant.

Yuriko Takagi photos of "Pleats Please" collection

All in all, I learned a great deal from Japanese Fashion Designers. This book is not — as the title misleadingly suggests — an in-depth exploration merely of Miyake, Yamamoto and Kawakubo, but is rather much broader in scope. I do wish Ms. English had provided a summary of Japan’s history of textile development and followed the strands of current practitioners from there — Kyoto was the ancient center for textile experimentation and that more recently Tokyo has caught up, but why or how that happened is not elaborated on, nor is the interesting topic of why Eastern fashion has infiltrated the Western world, and vice versa. To eliminate some redundancy, I might have divided the subject matter thematically rather than by designer (as I did for this review); I suspect a stronger narrative thread with less repetition of material might have developed, but I realize this is my own style to which I am obviously partial. The actual organization will, however, be helpful for anyone looking to hone in on one specific designer rather than the Japanese fashion/textile movement as a whole. I did crave more color photos — I know they’re expensive to produce, but when you’re looking at textiles with subtle mottling, irregular patterns, translucence and iridescent sheen, black-and-white images leave something to be desired. There were, however, exhaustive lists of museum exhibitions and gallery installations including these designers’ works (implicitly contradicting the designers’ protests in having their works compared to “art”) which would be incredibly helpful to any scholar wanting to compile images and investigate further. Japanese Fashion Designers was much wider in scope than I anticipated, well researched with complex concepts broken down, and it would certainly be a helpful reference book for anyone remotely interested in Japanese fashion and/or textile technology.

Related WornThrough entries:

• Jenna’s “Future Beauty: 30 Years of Japanese Fashion” part 1 and part 2
• Jenna’s “Yohji Yamamoto at the V&A”

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Sapmí Dreams, Nordic Themes

By Arianna, January 12th, 2012 at 5:00 am (International Fashion)

Appropriation into the Western fashion system of themes, designs and even whole objects from cultures widely perceived to be “authentic“, “original” and “provincial” has inspired ongoing discussion in our field. For example, readers living in America will be familiar with objects featuring geometric, colorful patterns erroneously sold under the name “Navajo”, and the general and more insidious misunderstanding and loss of nation- and tribe-specific adornment traditions.

"Sami Woman from Sweden", 1870-1898. Photo: Hélène Edlund. From the collections at Nordiska Museet.

A similar situation stands here in Sweden, where the crafts and dress of the Sámi people have been romanticized and introduced to the larger market as “trend”. Many of these families have lived for centuries in a large area called Sapmí, in the northern reaches of Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia, and have exclusive rights to the herding and husbandry of reindeer. Their relationship with these animals influences much of their craft.

Man in Karesuando kirtle, c. 2011. Photo copyright Leila Durán. From her Folklore Fashion blog.

The bright costume identified with Sámi peoples are, of course, as varied as the men and women themselves, as well as distinctly regional. Many parts of Sweden are committed to continuing their specific dress traditions, and this work is supported by local and federal governments. Stockholm’s Nordiska Museet, founded at the turn of the twentieth century to celebrate and preserve all aspects of Nordic life, is invested in the Sámi aesthetic, featuring a permanent exhibit of clothing, objects and oral histories.

It is rare that the skirted kirtles and distinctive hats are worn by a larger public. However, certain objects have come (back?) into the general consciousness in the past few years, such as “Sámi bracelets” and “Sámi boots”. I happen to own both! I was given the bracelet as a graduation present in May, and we saw them everywhere here this summer. They were even abundant at the Christmas market at the Falun Copper Mine in mid-December as well, and can be found on Etsy.

Sami bracelet, c.2010. Photo: Arianna E. Funk.

They are of a “traditional” design, the more accurate featuring various braids of silver wire over a reindeer-leather band, with a reindeer-antler button closure. Apparently, everyone from Sheryl Crow to Steven Tyler (and probably some famous Swedes too) have been seen wearing them.

Sámi boots from "Lappland" (the former name for the Sapmí region), no date. Accessioned 1979. Photo: Nordiska Museet. From their collections.

My “beak boots” were a recent purchase from a second-hand store. I believe they are 1970s approximations, with a tiny “beak” at the toe and subtle embossing of a generic-looking design. I think it’s the yellow rubber soles that give them away as “inspired-by”.

"Sámi"-inspired boots, probably Docksta Sko, c. 1970-89. Photo: Arianna E. Funk.

In fact, I think they might be a vintage version of the models available from Docksta Sko, who have been around since 1923, and apparently sold many beak boots in the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s.

Detail, "Sámi"-inspired boots, probably Docksta Sko, c. 1970-89. Photo: Arianna E. Funk.

Here are a pair presented as “street style”:

"Vintage Jacket, Diana Orving dress, and Sami boots from her mother." February 2010. Photo: Gunnar at StyleClicker.

Lovikka mittens, also from “way up north” in the town of Lovikka, Norrbotten county, have also experienced a resurgence in interest. The first pair was knitted by Erika Aittamaa, in 1892, who worked various handcrafts to make extra money for her very poor family. She stitched the unique pattern in traditional Sámi colors and “felted” the outside to make them softer after a customer complained that they were too stiff.

"Lovikka"-pattern mittens, from the town of Lovikka in Norrbotten, Sweden, no date. Accessioned 1976. Photo: Nordiska Museet. From their collections.

Although the local company that used to produce them has gone bankrupt, the pattern is iconic and highly recognizable here. The theme of a white background with red, blue and yellow “x”es has been translated into a bikini, an ice scraper for the car, and in an especially zeitgeisty move, even a limited-edition pair of Converse:

Collaboration between Swedish brand Sneakersnstuff and Converse, "Lovikka"-style sneaker from December 2010. They sold out quickly, and ironically Converse says they might offer them again...in "other color combinations". From Hypebeast website.

The leather items seem to be at least close to their “original form” (in materiality if not use), but the Lovikka theme has been more extensively “translated”, and Chinese companies have been producing the mittens for tourist shops in Stockholm.

Some suggest that the interest in Sámi objects is a reaction against overconsumption and mass production, and the production processes (and prices) quoted at Docksta Sko and Kero reflect that idea. The boots and some of the bracelets are made in various parts of Sapmí by Swedes, many of whom appear to have Sámi ancestors.

But what of the Chinese-made mittens, supposed by visitors to be representative of Swedish handcraft? Is it problematic for the mittens to be considered emblematic of Sweden, when they are from what could be considered a separate nation, the way we recognize Native American Nations in the US? Or is it good advertising? Interestingly, the newspaper we read every morning picks up (late, of course) on these trends, and chooses to publish an abbreviated history of these traditional items, including their various incarnations in the world of fashion. Is this helpful, seeing as these objects seem to be taken up regardless–even if it’s only available to those who read Swedish?

Photograph of "Eva Brita Mulka (née Granström, 28 years old, from the town of Tuorpen (?) in Lule Lapmark, 1873". Photo: Lotten von Düren. From the collections of Nordiska Museet.

This brings to mind portraits of Sámi peoples taken by eugenics practitioners in the late nineteenth century, on view at Nordiska Museet. These photographs were not taken with positive or purely anthropological mindsets, but they have become rich and beautiful source material for the study of the history of Sámi appearances and aesthetics. Does the continued manufacture of objects like these bracelets and boots–even if not precisely accurate or with the preservation of the culture in mind–help preserve objects and traditions that might otherwise be lost?

What kind of appropriations do you see in your area? Do you see local adornment (not just of native peoples) becoming national symbolism, especially in the ever-more-global world of clothing and fashion? Do you think it’s inappropriate for me to own and/or wear the bracelet and boots? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments section below.

Further Reading:

Sapmí Homesite [English]

The Sámi Blog [English and Norwegian]

Leila Durán’s Folklore Fashion Blog [English]

“Samefolket: The Sámi Culture and Community Magazine” [Swedish]

Åhrén, Mattias. The saami traditional dress and beauty pageants: indigenous peoples’ rights of ownership and self-determination over their cultures. Tromsø, Norway: Universitet I Tromsø, 2010. [English]

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Fashion Bytes — Art, Fashion, and Copyrights

By Brenna, January 10th, 2012 at 5:00 am (International Fashion)

'Inquisition' by Richard Prince, using the copyrighted images under discussion. Image via the New York Times

Last week the New York Times reported on the recent New York ruling on the work of modern artist Richard Prince, which has sent a wave of nervousness and uncertainty through the artistic community, as well as through the contemporary museums and galleries which showcase their work. The judge in this particular case ruled that Prince, by using photographs of Rastafarians without consent of the original photographers or their publishers in his paintings and collages, had infringed on their copyrights and plagiarized their intellectual property. Prince — or more specifically, his legal team — contends that the works are usable in his work under the fair use clause, because he alters them and enhances their value through the sale of his works (one of which sold for $2.5 million).

David LaChapelle recently sued pop singer Rihanna, claiming that she had copied his work no fewer than eight times in the video for her song ‘S&M’. The matter was settled out of court. Fashion is not immune to such situations, either. The ‘theft’ by the Harry Potter film franchise of Alexander McQueen’s Peacock Dress was widely reported on, and the McQueen label was itself sued by Hell’s Angels over the late designer’s winged skull jewellery. More recently, Christian Louboutin sued Yves St Laurent for manufacturing shoes with a red sole, a trait Louboutin had trademarked in 2006; and Louis Vuitton is suing Warner Brothers Studios over the fake Louis Vuitton bag in ‘The Hangover Part II’.

In the United States it is extremely difficult to patent a garment, leaving designers and design houses only their trademarks protected. Johanna Blakley argued at TEDxUSC in April 2010 that this actually fostered innovation and creativity through sharing within the fashion industry, however she also mentions that Diane von Furstenberg and the CFDA are trying to reverse this litigation to enable them to protect their designs from piracy.

The Richard Prince article asks the important question: how much appropriation of imagery is too much? When does sharing become stealing? With so many museums beginning to show more fashion, and so many designers beginning to create pieces exclusively for museum collections, what is the level of responsibility to be expected from the galleries and museums which show modern art or fashion? Should they be held accountable for whether or not a particular design or artwork infringes on the work of another artist or designer, or should that be handled within the fields themselves? As teachers of fashion design, history, or theory, do you find copyrights regarding images and designs to be an impediment to the teaching process, or an important way to teach your students about intellectual property rights?

Please share your thoughts.

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Museum life: When exhibitions travel

By Rebecca, January 6th, 2012 at 5:00 am (Exhibitions, International Fashion, Museum Life)

In 2010 I worked on Frock Stars, an exhibition celebrating 15 years of Australian Fashion Week. A collaboration with IMG Fashion and industry leaders, the exhibition explored the history, highlights, scandals and sensations of Australian Fashion Week between 1995 and 2010.  The exhibition design and content of Frock Stars gave the visitor an interactive experience of the different aspects that make up Australian Fashion Week. There was a catwalk with 15 garments, a front row with ‘front rower’ interviews, a backstage area, a VIP bar for visitors to relax in and a replica of fashion designer, Nicola Finetti’s studio. A behind-the-scenes look at Fashion Week, Frock Stars allowed visitors to explore and experience aspects of this industry only, closed-to-the public event.

Front row, Frock stars- Inside Australian Fashion Week Photo: Geoff Friend, Powerhouse Museum

Backstage, Frock stars- Inside Australian Fashion Week Photo: Geoff Friend, Powerhouse Museum

Due to interactive nature of this exhibition, it was designed for a specific space. When it was decided that Frock Stars would travel to regional and interstate venues in Australia there were many questions as to how the exhibition would translate into a touring exhibition. How would the exhibition fit into multiple venues? How can fewer staff install the exhibition? Will the content make sense if reduced? How can audiovisuals be included with limited technical assistance during installation? What about showcases and equipment which, are being used for other exhibitions? Can loan and licensing agreements be extended?

Not everything can travel and it was up to the exhibition team including curators, registrars and designers to work through and find solutions for these issues. There were also some key parts to the exhibition that had to be retained to keep the integrity of the original curatorial concept. This included the front row and back stage spaces which, gave visitors an experience of the entire production of fashion week. These parts of the exhibition however were bulky and unable to travel. The exhibition team had previously talked about different ways that this part of the exhibition could still travel but it wasn’t until the designers came on board that solutions were devised. There can sometimes be natural conflict between the curatorial and design departments when putting together an exhibition. Designers can be focused on the ‘look’ of an exhibition while curators focus on the content. Luckily with this exhibition, on both the original and the traveling versions, the designers understood the importance of the different aspects of the curatorial content and sort solutions to make them work within the exhibition space.

The result for the touring Frock Stars is a slightly smaller exhibition with key components included, but reduced in size. For example the catwalk and front row have become one aspect of the exhibition rather than separate in the original plans. Some of the audiovisual footage will be made into large printed images and the exhibition structure is compact and light. I am constantly amazed by the solutions designers come up to tricky problems and I think that those who see the traveling version of the exhibition will get a similar experience to the original.

Frock Stars will go on the road shortly and it will be a fantastic exhibition to have in regional and interstate Australia, showing how far the Australian fashion industry has come over the last 15 years. Travelling this exhibition has also been a test for the exhibition team, working out how to travel a complex exhibition to fit multiple spaces and equipment. It will be fascinating to see the exhibition as it travels to different venues.

First image: Entrance, Frock stars- Inside Australian Fashion Week Photo: Geoff Friend, Powerhouse Museum

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Conference Report: Fashion in Translation

By Arianna, December 29th, 2011 at 5:00 am (Academic Research & Related, Conferences and Calls for Papers, International Fashion)

Early this month, I went to my first conference here in Stockholm. Although I am now confident in Swedish, I was glad to learn that most of the faculty at the Centre for Fashion Studies at Stockholm University hail from countries worldwide, and thus English is the diplomatic language for most of the Centre’s courses and events.

In light of this international faculty and student body, it was appropriate that this year’s conference was: Fashion in Translation. The idea of openness and accessibility was evident in the lack of entry fee and choice of venue, the community center ABF House on Sveavägen in Central Stockholm, to encourage a wider audience for this international conference.

Despite the use of English, conference organizers Peter McNeil and Dr. Louise Wallenberg sought to challenge the “Anglophone dominance of fashion scholarship” through the inclusion of geographic areas less often seen in the field. Each speaker took a different and complex angle on the idea of “translation”, working toward answering the directors’ question: Is fashion truly global?

Not apparently seeking a definitive answer, the topics presented demonstrated instead the need for broadening discourse across media, cultures and geographies.

"Portrait of Countess Livia da Porto Thiene and her Daughter Portia", c. 1551, Paolo Veronese. The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore. Used by Professor Welch in her presentation.

Professor Evelyn Welch, of Queen Mary University of London, presented her research on “holding things in Early Modern hands”, an exploration of zibellini and feathered or folded fans in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century European portraiture. Although the emphasis was on the pictorial portrayal of these objects, I was galvanized by her concentration on the action of holding–instead of simply the objects themselves–and the significance this held with regards to gendered rights and ownership in this period. Here, translation is not only from 2D representation to imagining the reality of 3D objects and practices, but also from natural world to cultural construct, and is used as a warning against modern interpretations of early modern portraiture.

I first saw the next speaker, Dr. Djurdja Bartlett of the London College of Fashion, when she presented her book, Fashion East, at FIT last February (reviewed on WT). Here in Stockholm, she spoke about her current work on the Russian fashion legacy, “Russian Sartorial Heritage in Translation and Auto-Translation.” Dr. Bartlett explored a triad of issues surrounding the use of what are seen as “traditional” Russian patterns and dress.

Fancy Dress Costume, 1911, Paul Poiret. A classic example of Poiret's fluid use of "the Orient" in his designs. From the Costume Institute at the Met.

First, Western designers from Poiret to Gucci and Chanel to Lagerfeld have romanticized “vernacular and primitive” Russian themes in a search for “authentic culture“. Secondly, newly (incredibly) wealthy Russian consumers “return the gaze”, buying into Western styles and fetishizing local dress–but only through “high fashion-ethnic” Western interpretations. The third group are young Russian designers such as Denis Simachev, Alena Akhmadullina and Igor Chapurin, who use national heritage and nostalgia as well as a personal experience of the West to “translate” Russian tradition in ironic, mocking, exaggerated ways. Dr. Bartlett creates strong vocabularies in her work, with which she elaborates on the discussion of East-West appropriation.

Ready-to-Wear from Denis Simachev, Fall 2009, shown by Dr. Bartlett in her presentation. Soviet themes, characters, icons. From The Fashionisto and Simachev's website.

This familiar issue was picked up after lunch by Professor Peter McNeil, prolific author and professor at Stockholm University and the University of Technology, Sydney. He spoke about his experience writing texts for an exhibition on Australian design company Easton Pearson, for which he explored the designers’ relationship with “authenticity, intervention and revival”. The company often reprints old fabrics and modifies styles from a perceived “provincial Australia”.

"Campfire Calling" textile, designed by "Aboriginal urban designer" Bronwyn Bancroft 1989, printed by Ersatz Sydney 1993. From the Powerhouse Museum, Sydney.

Much like the Ripsa textiles I wrote about earlier, most of the Easton Pearson product is consumed outside of Australia, and the designers become ambassadors for their country. Are they thus more responsible for their design choices? Another layer of exploitation lies in the use of poor Indian textile artists, and translation becomes manifold as “traditional” designs are interpreted by designers and then worked by foreigners, with impressive skill but no vernacular knowledge.

Easton Pearson "Quista Dress", S/S 2011. From Australian Vogue website.

A further discussion of artistic depictions of dress and drapery was given by Swedish professor Margaretha Rossholm-Lagerlöf of Stockholm University . She spoke about the signs inherent in the wearing of dress, which indicates social status, as opposed to drapery, showing an interest in timelessness, as seen in Early Modern painting. Focusing then on the technical aspects, she also discussed techniques artists used to “translate” the cloth into painted form. In this work were threads from that of Professor Welch, warning of modern interpretation: Professor Rossholm-Lagerlöf cited Ter Borch’s The Gallant Conversation, assumed to be a customer propositioning a prostitute in a brothel.

"The Gallant Conversation/Paternal Admonition" by Gerard ter Borch, 1654. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

In a late eighteenth century French print, it was given the name Paternal Admonition, a (possibly intentional) mis-”translation” of the scene which persisted into the early twentieth century. How do we interpret the woman’s unchanging dress in light of the dual titles?

Professor Patrizia Calefato of Bari University rounded out this largely visual discussion with a presentation on semiotics: “Fashion as Cultural Translation” as relates to war, revolution and resistance. She spoke about the Arab Spring and Autumn, and the clothing systems in three spaces related to these revolutions: street (everyman), square (Tahrir), and (inter)net. In these public spaces, how do Middle Eastern clothing traditions mix with street-and protest-styles, which are so often Western? When do  When does fashion become a fashion system, what are the signs of the Arab Spring?

Presentations wrapped up with work-in-progress reports from Paula von Wachenfeldt on Fashion as the Art of Observation, Andrea Kollnitz on Frenchness in German and Swedish Caricature (1880-1930), and Patrick Steorn on Swedish 1960s Fashion in the United States. Such interesting topics–ten minutes of each was such a tease!

Fantastic Sighsten Herrgårdh photo shoot: his signature unisex jumpsuits. Here, he has put his extended family in matching black and white versions, to fit in with the penguins! From LIFE Magazine, Sept. 27, 1968.

With presenters from East and West, Northern and Southern Hemispheres, a lot of geographical area was covered. It would have been maybe even stronger to hear from presenters and/or areas less often represented, although this conference was a good reminder that issues of translation and appropriation are not limited to the more easily identifiable binaries of white/non-white, West/East, colonizer/colonized, etc.

I enjoyed the focus on two major topics, media/art and interpretation/appropriation, and I came away from this conference with an understanding of, among other things, a new approach (actions vs. objects), a new region (Russia circa now), and a wider global view. While the conference far from answered the question, “Is fashion truly global?” (a topic as huge and spherical as the planet itself), I was inspired by the questions raised by the research as well as by the strong, effective, and enjoyable presentations: one of the most difficult acts of translation.

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From the Archive: Anarchists of Style: Barbette

By Tanya Wilson, December 26th, 2011 at 5:00 am (Academic Research & Related, History of Dress, International Fashion, Uncategorized)

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.

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APEC “Silly Shirts” – Inappropriate or Awesome?

By Tove Hermanson, December 13th, 2011 at 9:25 am (Academic Research & Related, History of Dress, International Fashion)

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.

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