Cleopatra & Egyptian Fashion in Film
Fashion inevitably looks to history to interpret and re-interpret previous fashion trends. At the recent SAG Awards, I noticed 2 Egyptian-influenced dresses, worn by Toni Collette and Nicole Kidman:
Toni Collette, SAG Awards 2010
Nicole Kidman wearing Oscar de la Renta, SAG Awards 2010
As I’m never content to stay in the current era for long, let’s go back 100 years to trace a century of Egyptomania….
The Egyptian style has been adopted and interpreted by practically every generation. Cleopatra (69BC – 30BC) has always held special fascination for people. Documented by writers Plutarch and Casius Dio, the lady was “a woman of surpassing beauty, and at that time, when she was in the prime of her youth, she was most striking; she also possessed a most charming voice and knowledge of how to make herself agreeable to every one. Being brilliant to look upon and to listen to, with the power to subjugate every one, even a love-sated man already past his prime, she thought that it would be in keeping with her role to meet Caesar, and she reposed in her beauty all her claims to the throne.” The mythology of her man-seducing ways never gets old; she notoriously bedded Julius Caesar and his successor Mark Antony resulting in a Roman-Egyptian political alliance of unsurpassed breadth, and took her own life in a marvelously morbid manner. Having become an almost mythological creature, she’s been depicted in art ever since. With the dawn of the 20th century’s art form — the moving image — a new crop of Cleopatras have been etched into our collective consciousness. With each Cleopatra film, a new variation of familiar Egyptian themes rears its head. In spite of the common subject, virtually none of these films used historically accurate costumes. As always, the ideal female form, makeup techniques, and hairstyles are more indicative of the decade of film production rather than the period depicted.
THEDA BARA
The 1917 version of Cleopatra with the marvelously eccentric Theda Bara (see my post on Vamps for more on Theda) demonstrates how aesthetics were ripe for incorporating Egyptian motifs. Though it’s the earliest film I’ll discuss, in many ways it’s the most scandelous, with Bara wearing sheer, gauzy skirts and teeny, ornate bras that barely conceal her naughty bits (this was only legal pre- and post-Hays Production Code, 1934 – 1968). Fashion was just starting to move away from the corseted figure and Theda embraced the freedom in her Nile goddess:
Theda Bara as Cleopatra, 1917
Theda Bara as Cleopatra in transparant dress, 1917
Theda Bara as Cleopatra as firebird, 1917
This last one reminds me of “The Last Sitting” of Marilyn Monroe, photographed by Bert Stern in 1962 (Marilyn is clearly far more playful than Theda):
Marilyn Monroe, "the Last Sitting" by Bert Stern, 1962
The khol-rimmed eyes already popular in the 1910s and 20s were easily adapted to more accurate heavy Egyptian makeup:
Clara Bow in 1920s
In this outfit, the mythology of the Egyptian firebird and immortal Phoenix are translated into a more general symbol of Far East exoticism, the peacock:
Theda Bara as Cleopatra as peacock, 1917
The 1922 discovery of King Tut’s intact tomb of lost treasures rocked the world. The angularity of the Egyptian depictions of their garments played right into the visual fractures of the Futurism and Art Deco movements.
Here is one of my favorite Futurist paintings:
Duchamp's "Nude Descending a Staircase," 1912
Here is an elevator door from the Chrysler Building (built 1929-1930), monument of Art Deco architecture:
Chrylser Building, Egyptian elevator doors
CLAUDETTE COLBERT
By the time Cecil B. DeMille’s Cleopatra (1934) starring Claudette Colbert was made, the bold Art Deco lines of the ’20s were starting to give way to the softer drapes of the ’30s. Colbert’s Cleopatra is a bit more smug, a bit cuter, a bit less vampy than others, as seen in her rather benevolent expressions. The first ensemble is one of the only film costumes I found that actually incorporated pleating:
Claudette Colbert and Henry Wilcoxon
The simple geometry is complimented by the extravagant gold lame skirt here:
Claudette Colbert as Cleopatra on throne, 1934
Again, with vaguely exotic peacock imagery:
Claudette Colbert as Cleopatra as peacock, 1934
The red lips and drawn on, razor-thin eyebrows were typical of the ’30s:
Marlene Dietrich, 1930s
Claudette Colbert as Cleopatra, 1934
LIZ TAYLOR
Though the movie was a box office flop — at least compared to its exorbitant, record breaking budget — Elizabeth Taylor as the 1963 version of Cleopatra is perhaps the best remembered today. They used the still-young Technicolor technology to great effect in her eye-popping monochrome outfits. While black and white certainly contributes to the bygone times feeling of the other films, color symbolism was important to the Egyptians. Taylor’s wigs are probably the most blatant of the 3 Cleopatras — no effort is made to maintain consistent hair length, texture or style. This is actually accurate; wealthy Egyptians had shorn heads and wore wigs to avoid lice and to be cooler (sans wig) in private.
Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra in gold, 1963
Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra in blue, 1963
Liz Taylor as Cleopatra in red, 1963
The liquid-liner experiments of the mod 1960s and the geometric Vidal Sassoon hairdos come through in Liz:
Liz Taylor as mod Cleopatra
Peggy Moffitt with Vidal Sassoon haircut, 1960s
Interestingly, the cinched waists of the of the ’50s are still evident:
- Liz Taylor as Cleopatra in yellow, 1963
These films have melded a generic Egyptian look, as recognizable by the general public, with fashions of the periods during which they were created. Critical as I may be in matters regarding historical accuracy, this liberty doesn’t actually bother me. The costume designers needed to convey the allure, sexiness, and unquestionable power Cleopatra commanded with her physical presence to modern audiences, and inaccurate as the garments are, I think all were successfully interpreted through modern lenses to further the plots using visuals viewers would implicitly understand.
We’re about due for another incarnation of Egyptomania, don’t you agree?
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Topics: Color, Film, Fine Arts, Pop Culture, Social Commentary | 1 Comment »
Paper as Textile
I stumbled upon the contest Cheap-ChicWeddings.com sponsored for the most impressive wedding gowns made of — wait for it — toilet paper! Yes, this humble stuff is the focus of an annual challenge to use as the sole fabric of a wedding dress. I’m always interested to learn how technology affects textiles and by extension, fashion, but it’s equally interesting to be confronted with garments made of material whose primary function is not the building block of a dress (some will recall my earlier post on a similar duct tape prom dress competition). Yet another difficulty was probably disguising the “fabric” so it concealed its bathroom origins.
Though I myself have never tackled such a garment, challenges working with this particular paper would, I imagine, include transparency and flimsiness. But like all materials, I suspect experimenting with various brands would be part of the process, finding the texture, weight, stiffness, etc., that best suited various parts of the garment. Frankly, the whole contest reminds me a bit of the Charmin “quilted” toilet paper ads of bears and things sewing toilet paper for a supposedly softer, quilted product. It strikes me as hilarious that non-cartoon animals tackle this task… and in the form of wedding dresses, no less! Following are 2009’s winners.
First place winner:
Ann Kagawa Lee's toilet paper wedding dress
Ann Kagawa Lee's dress from the back
Ann Kagawa Lee's matching wedding hat
Though this contest is on the alternative side of crafty fashion, paper dresses are not actually new. The 1950s paved the way for this temporary and flimsy fashion by integrating more and more rapid obsolescence in products, from seasonal cars models to kitchen appliances, aggressively marketed as lifestyle essentials. Many historians attribute the ready acceptance of these sped-up trends to a pervasive feeling of impermanence, due in no small part to the fear and doom of nuclear war. It is with some irony that the government itself looked to paper as an alternative to cloth.
In the 1960s the government began experimenting with paper textiles. Paper’s light weight, insulating qualities, and cheapness made it an attractive choice for disposable combat garments, parachutes, and pup tents. The idea went viral when a corporation adopted the idea: in 1966 the Scott Paper Company used a paper dress as a gimmicky marketing ploy where for $1 women could buy a rather shapeless paper dress and get Scott coupons. To the surprise of many (including Scott Paper), women actually loved the dresses (though the color apparently rubbed off easily) and Scott sold half a million of them in 8 months. Fashion designers jumped on the bandwagon soon afterwards, and the paper dress craze lasted for the next few years.
Scott Paper dress, 1966
Here is perhaps the most recognizable paper dress, the 1960’s Campbell’s Soup dress that was inspired by the work of Andy Warhol — expendability and easy reproduction was central to the Pop Art movement, after all. These were produced by Campbell’s Soup as an advertising campaign (see the ad here). It’s a classic example of how fashion intersects art and industry:
Warhol's Campbell's Soup dress of the '60s
The infatuation with paper clothes didn’t last long. They tore easily, were highly flammable, and a bit too fad-ish to last past 1969. Though the full-blown craze died out decades ago, there are still those who use paper as a deliberately challenging material:
phonebook paper dress by Jolis Paons, 2008
And a 1960s version of similar concept:
phonebook paper dress by Waste Basket Boutique by Mars of Asheville
Hussein Chalayn constructed a paper airmail dress that you could write on, fold up and send, and finally wear, humorously playing with ideas of original textile function, disposability, and usefulness:
Hussein Chalayn paper airmail dress, 1999
Designer James Rosenquist created a papery suit out of Tyvek®, a nonwoven fabric made from spun-bonded olefin, adding gender to the mix of concepts (why weren’t paper clothes made for men in the 60s?):
Hugo Boss, designed by James Rosenquist, spring 1998
Leona Scull-Hons had a performance art piece where she wore an elaborate paper dress throughout the day and then sat in a chair in the gallery every evening to sew all the tears. Though I didn’t see the piece myself, I love how she incorporated the female-dominated tradition of sewing and mending, utilizing the frailty of paper to accelorate the breakdown process of clothes.
Leona Scull-Hons, "Mend," 2002
I thought I’d leave off with the paper gown we are probably most familiar with today, though it was invented in the mid 20th century alongside the obsolete paper dresses. Keeping in mind how awful these feel, can you imagine purchasing one to wear in public??
paper hospital gown
Further Reading:
- “Fashion: Real Live Paper Dolls,” Time Life article, March 1967
- Fear and Fashion in the Cold War, by Jane Pavitt
- DIY paper dresses
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Topics: Crafts, Pop Culture, Technology, Uncategorized, War | 1 Comment »
Anatomical Fashion & Lady Gaga
As friends and family already know, I love me some anatomical charts, grotesque dissections of the intricate layers of the human body, old-timey skeletons and medical charts of muscle groups and the nervous system, etc. It appeals to my love of dissection in general, I think: peeling away layers of a body — or a topic (i.e. fashion) — in order to better understand the interconnectivity between seemingly disparate systems and subjects. It has therefore been will great relish that I’ve explored the blog Street Anatomy which collects art, design, and fashion, as related to anatomy (check out the Fashion and Products + Apparel categories). Here are some of my favorites:
"Vertebrae" necklace c. 2002 by Molly Epstein, Temple student. Glass-filled nylon.
And I was blown away at the hand-bleached skeleton hoodie:
by Derek "Bones" Bo, using bleach like fabric paint
Another, more shameful, addiction I’ve indulged lately is Lady Gaga videos. Lady Gaga shares my fascination with anatomy, often merging the robotic and mechanical with flesh and blood in her always deliciously ridiculous outfits. Several of her videos feature men with metal prostheses — a jaw, an eye patch — and she herself assumes a kind of crippled robot appearance after falling from a balcony during a lovers’ scuffle:
"Paparazzi" video
This photo is terrible quality, but it still gives the full package of this awesomely crazy ensemble — and yes, those are braces she’s clutching (while in stilettos, no less!):
"Paparazzi" video
Though it’s more of a brace gone awry, the costume very much reminds me of the robot woman in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927), playing with the idea of anatomy that mimics humans’ but is actually android:
Fritz Lang's Metroplis robot
I love this double bustier, which highlights how somewhat arbitrarily the corset (an exoskeleton if ever there was one) has dictated where breasts fall –
"Paparazzi" video
sometimes pushed flat (as in the 16th century),
Hans Holbein's "Jane Seymour," 1536
sometimes hoisted up to the collarbone.
David's "Comtesse Daru," 1810
And while this exaggerated, padded ribcage / spine seems edgy in 2009…
"Bad Romance" video
it was downright scandalous in 1938 when Elsa Schiaparelli designed the dress version (which I want sooooo bad, by the way):
Elsa Schiaparelli's skeleton dress, 1938
Even when her costumes don’t mimic metal armor, Lady Gaga favors clothes that are extremely restrictive, and hard or voluminous to the point of hilarious and delightful impracticality: essentially sartorial exoskeletons that often cover her very head and face. I highly recommend youtubing her full videos even if you don’t like her music, but beware: they are highly addictive and you too might end up loving her somewhat against your will.
Like every so-called cutting edge, influential trend setter, Lady Gaga is not without her influences. I see a lot of Helmut Newton (possibly my favorite fashion photographer) in Lady G’s style:
Helmut Newton's "Jassara," 1977
Helmut Newton's "Jane Kirby," 1977
Newton had a series juxtaposing live models with identical mannequins, as on the cover of his fantastically awesome book:
Helmut Newton's "Berlin," 1994
He also had an usual series of ads that were actually x-rays of the products (jewelry, shoes), directly comparing and contrasting the metal prongs and hinges to the bones and joints of the women wearing the baubles:
Helmut Newton's X-Ray, ad for boot by Karl Lagerfeld
Helmut Newton's "X-Ray," Van Cleef and Arpels ad, 1979
As much as I myself love adorning my body with beautiful underwear and clothes and jewelry and hats, there’s something beautiful, raw and powerful in the brutal functionality of human anatomy. Being somewhat of a prude in terms of body coverage, the idea of wearing modest layers that suggest the stripping away of clothes (and skin) appeals to me greatly, also satisfying my penchant for the grotesque. It’s not such a leap to see the relationship between structural skeletons, supportive braces / prosthetics, and protective armor, right? But what is it about these hard bodies that make them so repulsive, and yet enticing? The frailty and strength of the human form? Could it be related to our growing obsession with (corporate) transparency, coupled with a need for structure? It’s an idea, anyway.
See my post on Vamps for more on skeletons, sex, and death.
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Topics: Music, Pop Culture, Sexuality / Gender, Technology | 2 Comments »
Sandra Backlund: Knit Designer Extraordinaire
I recently happened upon a photo of Tilda Swinton, that delicious quirky fashion muse to Viktor & Rolf, wearing an intense layered dress whose filigreed crocheted bodice resembled a crocheted corset, and whose skirt dissolved into something resembling bulky sweaters piled on a floor:
A knitter and crocheter myself, it has always frustrated me the lack of avant garde fashion patterns for yarn crafts, which often seem to be marketed to middle-aged mid-westerners and not so much to quirky, experimental fashionistas. It was therefore with extra relish that I explored the web and Sandra Backlund’’s own site for more knit fashion inspiration. She tends to favor super-bulky yarns that really show off stitches in high relief, taming the yarn to create bold geometric shapes. It’s truly incredible how she creates such stiff, specific shapes and structures out of stretchy, soft yarn.
Here are my favorites:
Pool Position collection
In No Time collection
In No Time collection
Last Breath Bruises collection
Blank Page collection
Body Skin and Hair collection
Now, if only someone would publish the patterns, I could get started on my own Sandra Backlund/Tove creations!
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Topics: Uncategorized | 2 Comments »
Silk Stockings & Russian Communism
Over the summer I watched about half an hour of Silk Stockings (1957), a cheesy musical remake of the Greta Garbo classic Ninotchka (1939) where the cool, efficient, and distinctly anti-fashion Soviet agent Cyd Charisse falls in love with (capitalist) Fred Astaire’s flamboyant American producer character while on a government mission in couture capital Paris. Even with my passion for cheesy musicals I could not wade through the entire film, so bad was the dialogue and music, but the on-screen mingling of economic systems and fashion appealed to me greatly. Before turning it off, I did have the pleasure of seeing the namesake silk stocking dance solo performed by Ms. Charisse, a signal of her having fallen in love with Astaire and — not coincidentally — (capitalist) high fashion:
You can see she’s hidden various luxurious items — most of which are silky intimates — around her room, so ashamed is she of having been seduced by luxury goods. It’s a wistful number reminiscent of other more famous musical movies scenes like frumpy Audrey Hepburn singing “How Long Has This Been Going On?” while dreamily dancing around in an ostentatious hat left over by the fashion photo shoot in which she’d been forced to participate in Funny Face (from 1957 as well):
Or Anne Margaret’s “How Lovely to be a Woman” in Bye Bye Birdie (1963):
Or Natalie Wood in West Side Story (1961) singing “I Feel Pretty” and dancing in the dress shop where she works:
You’ll notice that all these were filmed in the late 1950s — the decade of hyper femininity in silhouettes — and early 1960s — the decade when sexuality and gender roles were being questioned more openly. What differentiates Silk Stockings from the other scenes I’ve grouped here (perhaps excepting Funny Face) is the heavy political overtones emphasized over a simple coming-of-age-as-a-woman, though all involve dress-up as experimentation. Though a love story, it’s also about a Commie Russian woman resisting capitalistic inclinations who is ultimately seduced by the capitalist-produced clothes (the relationship with Fred Astaire is curiously tepid, further shifting the emphasis away from the human relationship). What the clip unfortunately omitted was Cyd Charisse seated next to a framed Lenin photo which she puts down to slowly discard her drab green dress (it’s supposed to be drab, though I think it’s quite lovely in its simplicity), black tights and sensible shoes for silk stockings, lace negligee and white sparkly mules.
I too struggle with my collector’s urges to accumulate (not the least of my obsessions is clothes), and my political / social ideology, which is opposed the stockpiling and hoarding tendencies Americans are told is our right — and more than that, a measure of success in obtaining the capitalist dream. Following this train of thought leads to even larger questions concerning labor rights and ethical practices within the fashion industry which has, as Silk Stockings exemplifies, been a symbol of tremendous creative and technological achievements as well as a hideous exploitative industry ever since the Industrial Revolution and the concurrent birth of Marxism.
I have an article examining the relationship of Communism, capitalism, fashion and film in far more depth in an upcoming edition of Worn Fashion Journal.
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Topics: Class, Economics, Film, Politics, Sexuality / Gender | No Comments »
School Dress Codes Target Gender
tuxedoed Ceara Sturgis in her (banned) class photo
After reading the New York Times article “Can a Boy Wear a Skirt to School?,” exasperation and a wee bit of fury rumbled in my belly. As presented by Jan Hoffman, increasing numbers of school children are pushing the boundaries of so-called acceptable attire by cross dressing– a term used quite loosely here. “Cross dressing” could mean a boy wearing a bit of eyeliner or all-out lip gloss, dress and purse, or a girl in a tuxedo. Immediately obvious is a discrepancy between acceptable cross dressing for girls and for boys: girls may wear pants and button-down jackets or cut their hair short without having a finger pointed at them, but boys in a blouse are unacceptable.
Comprehensive dress rules are typically segmented by gender, revealing in and of itself. Girls may not wear midriff-baring blouses, stiletto heels, or miniskirts; boys may not wear sagging pants, tank tops, or hair longer than their shoulders. Dress codes in the office are an attempt to present a uniform level of professionalism, simultaneously curtailing skimpy clothes (generally targeted at women) that are deemed potentially distracting to coworkers and clients. In educational environments, they are supposed to improve academic and social behavior. Dress codes in schools have an additional moral argument: that of almighty child safety.
Hoffman sensationally mentions Lawrence King “who occasionally wore high-heeled boots and makeup” and who was murdered by one of his 8th grade classmates. Proponents of gender-specific dress codes claim they want to protect students who might attract assaults based on their garments, insinuating that the clothes themselves provoke violence, without actually addressing the root of the hate crimes and the subsequent pressure to outlaw gender bending in school dress codes. If a child or teenager has the desire to cross-dress in whatever subtle or loud form, I think that should be applauded. Thinking outside gender boxes and expressing creativity and originality should be integrated in every school curriculum– and dress is a wonderful, harmless playground in which to experiment with these concepts.
Though the article does not once mention homophobia, that is clearly at the crux of the anxiety surrounding cross dressing. It was instead pointed out that many so-called cross dressers are emo or punk kids whose boys may wear eyeliner and lipstick but who are staunchly straight, pointing to pictures of themselves with their girlfriends. While I agree that wearing makeup does not a fag make, the latent and pervasive fear of gays is undoubtedly the reason for people’s reluctance to accept even small gestures of cross dressing without trying to stamp it out under the guise of “safety” and learning without “distractions.” These anti-cross dressing codes are acts of willful, repressive ignorance. Hoffman mentions those who believe “high school should not be a public stage to work out private identity issues. School, they say, is a rigorous academic and social training ground for the world of adults and employment.” If unusual or gender bending clothes cause a dreaded disruption in class, banning the clothes is still not going to address the core problem: that gayness is considered an undesirable aberration, and adopting aspects of the opposite sex is interpreted (or misinterpreted) as a flaunting of gayness, which is inherently distracting. The feared (and yet misleading) link between gender ambiguity, cross dressing, and homosexuality should be confronted and addressed intellectually, ideally in an open health and sexuality class (and yes, I am woefully aware of the non-existent or inadequate health classes in schools).
Sexual self-discovery is an important and unavoidable part of puberty, and I can think of no redeeming argument to suppress this exploration– most especially in that playground of self adornment. The world is full of different people who dress is vastly different ways based on age, culture, personal taste, gender, sexuality, and more. By prohibiting creative or atypical dress in classrooms, are we teaching students that there is an inherent inferiority or unnaturalness in those who dress outside the “normal” dress codes they’ve been exposed to? If a youth in his awkward teenage years has the self possession to cross dress — in whatever form that takes — only hateful detractors should be afraid of reprimands. Think of the hypocritical disgust the Western world directs at the Muslim world for enforcing total body concealment and banning pants for women, circa 2009…. Uncomfortably similar, non?
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Topics: Age, Sexuality / Gender | 1 Comment »
The Original Vamps: Silent, Deadly, & Stylish
The vamp image, incorporating the requisite sex and death themes.
Occasionally fancying myself an exotic woman of mystery too, I have a special place in my heart for that early 20th century icon, The Vamp. When my friend (whose intelligent and fun horror blog And Now the Screaming Starts this is cross-posted on) suggested I write about them, I welcomed the opportunity to revisit some silent films when this aesthetic was solidified in concept and look.
THEDA BARA & THE LURE OF THE EXOTIC
Though Theda Bara (1890 – 1955) enshrouded her adult life in mystery, she was born plain old Theodosia Goodman in Cincinnati, OH. Hollywood producers gave her the anagram of “Arab death,” on the one hand cultivating her image of smoky, exotic sensualism — claiming she lit incense on her sets and swathed herself in tiger pelts — and on the other hand, hyping the macabre and frightening side of her.
Most recognize the term “vamp” to mean a femme fatale — an irresistible woman who leads to the destruction of those who surround her, typically men. But the term was initially coined only after the success of Theda Bara’s single surviving film, A Fool There Was (1915), in which her gleefully man-destroying character is listed in the credits simply as “The Vampire.” Based on Rudyard Kipling’s poem “The Vampire” (1897) and Sir Edward Burne-Jones’ painting of the same name (1897); the visual inspiration is obvious:
Sir Edward Burne-Jones' "The Vampire"
In A Fool There Was, The Vampire is seen in her nightgown several times, casting a spectral quality over her. Opaque and voluminous, this is not lingerie we are accustomed to today, but was risqué for the time, obviously derived from Burne-Jones’ sex-laden picture.
The Vampire grinning over her dead lover.
When wearing outerwear, The Vampire wore the amusingly impractical (and thankfully short-lived) hobble skirt, topped with exotic turbans and heavily kohled eyes. To seduce her victim she drops a flower and lifts her skirt to reveal her ankle — she is unashamed to show blatantly erotic skin.
What differentiated Theda from other actresses of her time was her other-worldliness, which she cultivated with her Oriental aesthetics. The horror genre is filled with tales of distant or remote lands; the audience’s presumed unfamiliarity with the locale makes the fantastic tales slightly more plausible; the storyteller prays on the public’s inherent mistrust and simultaneous attraction to the exotic, The Other. Though the most exotic location in A Fool There Was was Italy (puzzlingly portrayed as a palm tree paradise more suggestive of the Far East), The Vampire produces a non-specific and highly erotic exoticism. Not a tremendous actor, it was largely Theda’s unusual costumes and makeup on and off-screen that enshrouded her in Oriental mystique and secured her notoriety.
Theda Bara in hobble skirt and turban ensemble
Promises of harem girls with all the connotations of master / slave dynamics and orgies have been irrevocably linked to soft, sheer, feminine fabrics that simultaneously cover and reveal forbidden flesh (see my post on Innerwear as Outerwear for more on this subject). Seemingly anticipating the Egyptian madness that occurred after the 1922 discovery of King Tutankhamun’s tomb, the Far East captivated the imagination of the Western world. Designer Paul Poiret (1879 – 1944) made his mark on the fashion world by morphing the 19th century S-shape corset silhouette into un-corseted, athletic figures, and he incorporated many loose-fitting, Oriental-inspired designs to this end including harem pants, “formal” silk pajamas, and turbans. Poiret designed extravagant costumes for stage productions, hosted legendary Arabian-themed costume parties, his fondness for theatrical-scale dress-up evident in the fashions he produced for general consumption.
Paul Poiret, harem ensemble, 1911
Even earlier was Emilienne d’Alençon (1869 – 1946) who performed at the Folies Bergères in the 1890s (with trained rabbits!) and was just as famous a courtesan, who wore Art Nouveau inspired Salome costumes:
The Ballet Russes’ performance of “Schéhérazade” in 1910 was enormously successful, due in large part to the extravagant costumes of vague Eastern inspiration:
Ida Rubinstein in Ballet Russe "Scheherazade," 1910
Erte, who worked with Poiret and with whom I am obsessed, was yet another costume designer who marketed sensual Oriental decadence for lavish stage productions.
Erte Fashion Sketch with turban and harem pants
Mata Hari (1876 – 1917), the exotic Orientalist dancer of Dutch descent who posed as princess from Java while acting as courtesan and spy (try fitting that on your business card), was executed by firing squad just 2 years after A Fool There Was. Legend has it that she blew a kiss to her executioners.
Mata Hari
Her unusual headdress is strikingly similar to our Theda Bara’s, non?
Theda Bara publicity shot for Cleopatra (1917)
Theda tapped into a cultural obsession with styles of the Far East, while exploiting the unease and xenophobia that often accompanies our regard of The Other, rolling it all into a destructive, man-eating “vampire” character. The Vamp concept was to evolve, though never to shake the ruinous qualities Theda imbued in her.
LOUISE BROOKS & MODERN ADVANCEMENTS
As Theda’s star waned, a new vamp talent stepped up: Louise Brooks (1906 – 1985). If Theda was the vaguely ancient, exotic vamp, Louise was her modern flapper vamp successor. As women’s rights gained momentum in America a powerful new woman emerged, wearing visible makeup as she walked to the voting polls, smoking and drinking and dancing in shift dresses that bared shins (oh my!). Even as many women embraced this freedom, societal concerns of propriety remained and moralist detractors prophesized hedonistic anarchy. Dress also changed radically in the nineteen-teens, with fewer layers that a woman could slip into (and out of!), exposing more skin than ever. And so Louise Brooks was a very different looking vamp from Theda, even while her characters carried the torch of man destroyers.
More often than not Louise Brooks smiles, a departure from Theda Bara's vamp image. Here she sweetly pours a drink for her stressed out lover.
Pandora’s Box (1929) was adapted from 2 erotic plays written in the 1890s by Frank Wedekind, but updated to then-modern times. As many young women cut their cumbersome long hair, Brooks as the Lulu character sports her own iconic, modern bob and wears clothes un-constrictive enough that she can do light gymnastics (like swing from a strongman’s biceps), hinting at the newly acceptable athleticism for women (see my post on Athletic Aesthetics). The erotic zones had shifted and multiplied since Theda Bara’s time, moving from the ankle to the shoulders, back, legs, and breasts which were often displayed braless.
Lulu appears practically naked in this Y backstrap dress, with a touch of rope bondage metaphor to boot.
Having become a somewhat accidental murderess, Lulu goes into hiding and curls the famous hair, sweeping it off her forehead. Ridiculous as it sounds, Brooks’ hairstyle was so recognizable that this shoddy disguise actually succeeds in confusing the audience a little, though Lulu is discovered anyway.
Lulu is a dangerous vamp not because she’s controlling and malicious, but because she’s a beautiful young woman whose very power is derived from her lack of pretension and seeming ignorance of her own desirability, her delicious un-self-conciousness. One-upping Bara’s Vampire, Lulu was a double threat desired by both men and women, so potent was her sexual power. The Pandora of the Greek myth was not an inherently evil woman either, just one whose curiosity got the better of her, with unfortunately dire consequences. Lulu is not even interested in money or advancing her social status — she shows equal preference for newspaper moguls and paupers, all of whom are trying to exploit her. However, she shares with other vamps her unrepentantance for acts that inconvenience or even destroy others and herself — all vamps are animalistic, with no regrets (as a side note, non-moral tales like these were only possible to portray in American cinema pre-1934, before the Hays Code was enacted).
She’s an unusual vamp fatale because she doesn’t have malicious intent. “Money, they all want money!” she complains of her blackmailers and suitors alike. She’s not a gold-digger, she’s simply a careless and carefree pleasure-seeker — exactly what conservatives feared about real-life flappers and, by extension, the women’s movement.
RESURRECTION OF THE VAMP
Since these early 20th century beginnings, the vamp has been resurrected in film and fashion many times. Blood sucking, literal and figurative, has unavoidably sexual connotations, and fetish gear and goth style has both influenced and been influenced by vamp(ire) lore. Fashion photographer Helmut Newton channels the sexy and macabre themes of bondage and female sexual power regularly. Even as women expose themselves in his photos, they seem to retain absolute authority over their settings:
Helmut Newton photo, c. 1990s
And Uma Thurman seemed to channel a bit of Louise Brooks herself with her portrayal of modern-day Mia Wallace, another beautiful, hedonistic woman whose pursuit of carnal pleasures (leading to the infamous drug overdose) jeopardizes all the men around her in Pulp Fiction (1994).
Impulse control is often explored in times of economic or political turmoil. True to point, there has been a rash of vampire productions recently including Twilight and the True Blood HBO series, but truth be told, I much prefer the original vamps!
Further Reading:
- Fashion, Desire and Anxiety, Rebecca Arnold
- Fashion Fetishism, David Kunzle
- Fetish: Fashion, Sex & Power, Valerie Steele
- Seduction: A Celebration of Sensual Style, Caroline Cox
- “The Girl in the Black Helmut,” Kenneth Tynan
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Topics: Ethnicity / Race, Film, Marketing, Politics, Pop Culture, Sexuality / Gender, Social Commentary | 3 Comments »
Innerwear as Outerwear Pt 1 – Mid-Century and Today
Balmain dress and petticoat, circa 1950
Though I love me some fashion, I confess I do not keep up with every single fashion collection that graces the runways (is it even possible, I sometimes wonder?). However, I happened to catch Dior’s Fall 09 collection recently and fell in love — both in the playful I-want-to-wear-that way and also the that-epitomizes-such-an-interesting-historical-trend way, leading to the inevitable I-must-blog-about-that-now conclusion. And so here we are.
For the couture Fall 09 collection of the Christian Dior label, designer John Galliano has played with the staples of ’50s innerwear and supporting garments by revealing them, eliminating portions of the outerwear and exposing the skeleton of what actually creates those feminine curves a la Dior’s own post WWII “New Look.” Galliano admitted that he’d been inspired by photos of Dior himself dressing his models before one of his salon shows in the 1950s. Galliano took the state of semi-dress and moved it from behind the curtain to in front of it, going one step further in his homage by presenting his 2009 collection in an intimate salon-esque setting rather than the modern blockbuster runway format. Here are a couple of my favorite items from the series:
The skirt is pared down to the stiff, transparent structural garment necessary to create the "naturally" feminine looks of the 1950s.
She appears fully dressed... except the outer skirt we expect is missing.
This has a modest silhouette but is obviously completely gauzy, ironically revealing "proper" 1950s understructures.
Let’s take a closer look at the fashions of the mid-20th century from which Galliano derived inspiration, shall we?
A tremendously successful Maidenform bra ad campaign in the ’50s and ’60s featured models in ordinary situations, dressed traditionally from the waist down, but swathed only in Maidenform bras above the waist.
"I dreamed I lived like a queen in my Maidenform bra,"1953 ad
It’s incredible how like Dior’s collection these ads are, non?
World War II necessitated rationing of all kinds: gasoline, metal, fabric, chemical dyes, and more. When the war concluded, droves of young military men returned to the States, hungry for women in all their stereotypically soft, curvy, feminine glory. Post-war women wanted to mimic glamorous actresses they’d been seeing in escapist movies all along, to replace the utilitarian suits and pencil skirts they’d adopted out of patriotic wartime necessity. Fashion responded to these desires and took advantage of the lifted restrictions to create voluminous skirts with yards of fabric, cinched waists and uplifted, pointy breasts to exaggerate the idealized curvy feminine body. And, as always, structural undergarments had tremendous import in realizing that ever-morphing, ever-exaggerated, idealized shape.
Undergarment retailers capitalized on the lifted restrictions by experimenting with color, sheer fabrics, lace and printed patterns, new fabrics like Dacron, nylon, Spandex, and rayon. These synthetic materials (several originating in government and military labs) provided durable, stretchy, lightweight alternatives to stiffer, heavier undergarments made of natural fibers like cotton and linen which needed boning for support, shape, and structure. Pantyhose were introduced in 1959, combining panties and “hose” or stockings, a mini revolution in underwear. Stockings even as late as the early 20th century were not terribly stretchy. Romanticized today (not least of all by Yours Truly), the pesky back seams had to be manually straightened and their leg shapes were predetermined. So if your legs didn’t conform, you were left with distinctly un-sexy, ill-fitting stockings with loose knees and saggy fabric wrinkles:
In the late 1940s, designers like Jacques Fath incorporated corset lacings into evening wear, a risqué reference that also reflected the fashion for hourglass figures and the return of conventional notions of femininity post-WWII. While the glamorous films of the ’40s (which generally depicted wealthy society folk whose extravagant lifestyles were left suspiciously unaffected by the war raging in the real world) were the inspiration in the early 1950s, films of that mid-century decade placed their own indelible stamp upon the collective fashion ideals, shifting the trends from genteel aristocrat to slightly bawdy Everyman (or Everywoman as the case often was), creeping toward the sexual revolution of the 1960s. Marilyn Monroe simultaneously shocked and delighted audiences by going braless on and off sets, a kind of prelude to the feminist-organized bra burning episodes of the ’60s without the overt politics. Elizabeth Taylor wore a custom made slip for much of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958), and the sizzling posters of her call girl character in BUtterfield 8 (1960) depicted her with a heavy fur coat draped over her body-hugging slip, heightening the impact of her near-nakedness:
Liz Taylor in BUtterfield 8 poster. Note the "suitable only for adults" disclaimer!
Galliano similarly pairs outdoor coats with slips:
In Anatomy of a Murder (1959) attorney James Stewart is forced to request his client’s wife wear a girdle in court to make her appear respectable and decent — though he admits with embarrassment that the young woman doesn’t need one to control her “jiggle” (more to the audience’s discomfort than to the precocious sex kitten character to whom he is speaking).
BEFORE: Lee Remick in sandellous pants early in Anatomy of a Murder
AFTER: Lee Remick deliberately dowdy in courtroom in Anatomy of a Murder. Though unseen, she presumably wears a girdle under her deliberately dowdy tweed skirt.
Here we see the girdle on the model, who, like Lee Resnick above, does not actually require such a supportive garment to mold her shape:
In Rear Window (1954), Costume Designer Edith Head ensconces Grace Kelly’s socialite character in a dress of layered tulle, a transparent material that is traditionally used as an underlayer to provide volume to outerskirts. While this dress hardly screams “vulgar,” it’s definitely a wee bit risqué:
The see-through wrap Grace Kelly dangles is just one layer of the same material used for her skirt, typifying the deliberately impractical, beautiful glamour popular post-WWII (a transparent wrap not only doesn't assist modesty, it doesn't shield from the cold either).
And here is a Dior creation:
This skirt has fewer layers of tulle than the example above, drawing attention to the sheerness of the material which is more commonly used in lingerie.
The steamy Streetcar Named Desire (1951) is set in humid New Orleans where characters languor in states of semi-dress. In a poignant-though-subtle twist, Kim Hunter’s ferociously monogamous character Stella walks around the apartment in a slip, in stark contrast to the false prudery of Vivien Leigh’s Blanche DuBois whose extreme, inconvenient modesty (three adults are living in a tiny one bedroom apartment) belies her previous promiscuity. Marlon Brando’s T-shirts are downright mundane to us now, but at that time T-shirts were strictly male underwear and Brando’s brutish, uncouth character was conveyed in part by the absence of a proper button-down shirt over his. He compounds his simmering sexuality by changing shirts in front of the camera, and in the famous “Stella!” scene, his shredded T-shirt actually peels off him lewdly, testament to the fragility of the undergarment:
In Rebel Without a Cause (1955), James Dean and his gang flouted conventions and, like Brando’s character, used dress (or rather, the state of near undress) to signal their outsider, somewhat misfit communal status, with all the sexy implications the forbidden carries.
As the posters for Liz Taylor in BUtterfield 8 did, the T-shirt or undershirt is paired with an outdoor coat for heightened impact.
Even in recent years, there is an increasing backlash to men displaying their underwear. This latest effort by some citizens and politicians to enact laws forbidding sagging jeans that expose boxers is tinged with a distinctly racial tone, as it’s primarily young black men who follow this trend (conceived in minority-heavy prisons where inmates may not wear belts) and who are therefore targeted with the desired sartorial censorship.
Obviously the idea of the forbidden, the secret, the hidden, still offends and titillates today, and Galliano’s collection is testament to this enduring tension. With a self-conscious nod to vintage lingerie, the prominently featured seamed stockings are an erotic, romantic reference to outdated style. No longer deemed essential for respectability, girdles, garters, and conical bullet bras are relegated to pure camp and arousal, which some women choose to wear as a provocative statement that we all understand to be vintage. Dior’s collection reclaims the dampened vulgarity by exposing the contraptions that hold stockings up, that support and distort the body for added curious eroticism, and perhaps even a sense of uncomfortable indecency, a feat in this desensitized age of exposed bra straps, halter tops and micro miniskirts. Though there are grumbles relating to the appropriation of underwear worn as outerwear even today, this is not a new phenomenon by any stretch. Attitudes toward the naked body and sexuality, notions of privacy, discretion and sexual identification are constantly changing and fashion changes with them. Return for Part Deux next week for more on underwear as outerwear, this time as a political statement….
FURTHER READING:
- “Are Your Jeans Sagging? Go Directly to Jail.” NY Times, 8/30/07
- 20th century silhouette and support timeline
- Fashion, Desire and Anxiety, by Rebecca Arnold
- 1950s underwear and ads at Fashion-era.com
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Topics: Ethnicity / Race, Fashion Show, Film, Marketing, Sexuality / Gender, Technology, War | 5 Comments »
Kennedy Fashion
John, Robert and Edward Kennedy, 1960
With the recent passing of Edward “Teddy” Kennedy, I wanted to write something about Kennedy fashion but for better or worse, I read “The Look of Rich Tradition” article by Robin Givhan that pretty much sums up anything I would’ve said:
“their attire so perfectly captures a not-so-distant era in the culture. Those images of the Kennedy clan — so steeped in mythology — speak of a particular kind of subtly sporty American style that the fashion industry has devalued. It also calls to mind a brand of noblesse oblige politics that our culture now regards with suspicion.”
Read the full Washington Post article here.
And then read the awesome Ad Busters’ rebuttal here.
Topics: Class, Politics | No Comments »
Craftiness in Coraline & Domestic Sewing Traditions
Last week I watched the movie Coraline (2009), directed by the stop-motion animator master Henry Selick who achieved recognition for his collaboration with Tim Burton in The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993). I was kind of blown away by his latest effort; it succeeded on many levels, but for the sake of this blog I’ll limit my enthusiasm to the crafty parts.
The loving attention to hand crafts — and needlework in particular — starts immediately with the opening credits which are done in a font that mimics embroidery, complete with visible stitches and deliberate loose threads dangling off the names:
The next 1 ½ minutes of credits include careful closeups of a doll being undone, unraveled, un-stuffed, taken apart stitch by stitch, and then reassembled (note the creator’s hands are composed of needles themselves):
There’s a lovely shot of a button drawer being pulled out and poured over,
a needle poking through rough cloth (you can see every fibre in 3-D!) and sewing the selected button on,
reusing the limp burlap chassis to meticulously create another doll with variations that make it resemble Coraline, down to her raincoat:
REPETITION. REPETITION.
Just as puppet masters created Coraline puppets in multiples with slight clothing, expression, hair and rumpled variations to make the movie, duplication and cloning are visual motifs within the movie. Coraline’s mother picks out a mass-produced gray school uniform among a rack of identical uniforms,
all the neighbors have collections of identical animals: the burlesque sisters with their Scottie dogs (3 living, many more stuffed on shelves),
and the Amazing Bobinski with his circus mice:
And when Coraline’s parents go missing, she touchingly tucks herself into bed with crudely handmade dolls of them, formed out of pillows with dad’s glasses and mom’s neck brace (a doll making dolls of other dolls):
Looking at the plot, we see this theme of multiplicity is a satisfyingly consistent one: the neighbor kid Wybee’s grandma has a(n evil) twin sister; the entire concept of the Other Mother and Other World with nearly identical houses, and gardens and neighbors echo and compliment each other within the framework of the story. These devices create an eerie mirrored alternate world like those in a Borges story, but also relate to the duplicate film sets (which were actually constructed by set builders, not created digitally), dolls, clothes, etc., behind-the-scenes. The evil twin / menacing other world is not exactly original subject matter for suspense-horror films which often tap into fears of duplicitousness and two-facedness, but I particularly love how the duplication appears in front of the camera and behind it in Coraline.
CRAFTINESS
Crafty, homemade objects are featured prominently. Coraline’s Other Mother cooks homemade meals, creates hand-sewn outfits for her, etc. Coraline (and the viewer, by extension) recognizes these as signs of affection. Interpreted as labors of feminine love at first, they are revealed to be sinister, employed as a trap. When the Other Mother reveals her true physical form as a terrifying spider with needle hands (the same needle hands that seemed to lovingly craft the doll in the film’s opening sequence), it calls to mind the sculptures of Louise Bourgeois. In her “Cell” series, Bourgeois created mini houses out of found objects like discarded doors and grating and filled them with objects related to feminine domestic stereotypes like sewing supplies, clothes, etc.:
Louise Bourgeois, interior of "Cell VII" (1998). Note the eerie hanging undergarments and miniature house.
Another Bourgeois recurring visual motif is spiders, representing her own mother and universal stereotypes of mothers (one is actually entitle “Maman“) and exploring their creepiness and yet comfortable familiarity and harmlessness:
Louise Bourseois, "Spider" (1997). Note the cage / house enveloped by the enormous arachnid, and scraps of fabric clinging to the sides contribute to the mother / domicile theme.
Compare Bourgeois’ large but protective Spider to Coraline’s Other Mother as a distinctly evil spider who deploys a web not to catch pesky insects but to entrap Coraline herself:
In the final scene of Coraline, domestic bliss is achieved by unifying her family and the previously indifferent neighbors in the act of planting tulips, a pared-down version of domesticity, handiness, and community. They’re not perfect — Coraline’s mother complains about the dirt, Bobinski pulls out tulips bulbs to replace them with beets, and the end result is not the stunning spectacle of the Other World’s garden — but it is a more realistic picture of imperfect homeyness.
Now allow me to lay some incredible fun facts on you about the meticulous crafty creation of this film:
- To construct 1 puppet, 10 individuals had to work 3-4 months.
- About 45 of Coraline’s pajamas were screen painted with printed patterns where every dot had to line up along the seams of every frock in precisely the same place for consistency.
- For the character of Coraline, there were 28 different puppets of varying sizes; the main Coraline puppet stands 9.5 inches high.
- All fabric was hand woven or hand knit to achieve the correct scale.
- The only leather the production could find that was thin enough to make the doll shoes and Mr. Bobinsky’s boots came from antique Victorian gloves.
- Buttons and zippers were also handmade for the film to suit the scale.
- Costumers used pins, surgical tools and tweezers to construct the garments.
- Each of Coraline’s star sweaters took 6 weeks to 6 months to design and knit on knitting needles like toothpicks. (On the website in Coraline’s room there is a film short on miniature knits. It will blow your mind a little.)
HISTORY OF SEWING IN THE HOME
Coraline tapped into the familiarity we have with women performing acts like cooking, cleaning, and sewing: the audience presumably watches the film with knowing amusement as Coraline’s father makes a dinner which resembles the gelatinous, sludgy meals from Better Off Dead (1985). We learn that Coraline’s mother is a good cook but has prioritized professional work and has relegated the dinner chore to the inept (though good-intentioned) father. The Other Mother then lures Coraline with elaborate, beautifully presented meals and a homemade sweater ensemble.
There is a rich history binding women to sewing. “A woman who does not know how to sew is as deficient in her education as a man who cannot write,” Eliza Farrar wrote in The Young Lady’s Friend (1838). Creating, altering and mending the family’s clothing and household textiles were domestic duties that kept most 18th and 19th-century women tethered to their sewing baskets; until the late 19th century nearly all clothing was made in the home. According to Godey’s Lady’s Book, it took about 14 hours to make a man’s dress shirt and at least 10 for a simple dress. A middle-class housewife spent several days a month making and mending her family’s clothes even with the help of a hired seamstress.
Sewing wasn’t all drudgery, though. Needlework served utilitarian purposes in the home, but also allowed women to communicate and assert their individual identities, beliefs, and aspirations with creativity and skill. The anticipation of weddings and births fueled creative energy and inspired impressive handiwork which was often functional — but not always — as in samplers which showcased a woman’s cross-stitching dexterity by forming alphabets in varying typefaces, geometric borders, and picture scenes. Linens, blankets and other handmade textiles made up the bulk of a girl’s hope chest (a.k.a. “marriage chest”), preparing her for her household duties as a wife and serving as advance proof of her sewing skill and worth as a woman and future matriarch.
Early 19th century sewing sampler stitched by Elizabeth Lyle when a young girl. The text in the center reads,"Elizabeth Lyle worked this in the eleventh year of my age. In the morning think what you have to do. And at night ask yourself what you have done."
Sewing circles were commonly formed by women, comprised of neighbors and relatives who would gather at a house and work on their sewing chores together. Women would sometimes swap portions of their own work with their friends who were particularly adept at a specific tasks. This happily merged what could be lonely drudgery with pleasurable socializing and political discussion (though the latter is rarely acknowledged).
"Sewing Circle" by Louis Henry Charles Moeller (1855 - 1930)
Sadly, sewing was often taken for granted as a skill — seamstresses were perceived as unimaginative lackeys who just followed instructions that any person might perform, and not as visionaries who could conceptualize how to take two-dimensional materials and connect them to form three-dimensional structures that envelope a body and yet can be gotten into easily, who possessed the skill to adapt techniques to various textures and weights, to say nothing of the artistic choices of color, style, and fit. Appreciation aside, there was a drastic interruption of this centuries-old tradition in the mid 19th century.
It wasn’t until the House of Worth (founded in 1858) when a man took the reigns of dressmaking, removed it from the home and created a pampered, decadent purchasing experience, that sewing took on any cachet or respect as a profession (see my earlier post on The Tea Gown in Fashion and Art for more on the House of Worth). The Industrial Revolution heralded the invention of the sewing machine (patented by Elias Howe in 1845), cheap labor and the growing factory system, standardization of sizes, and outcropping of distribution methods like apparel and department stores, all of which contributed to an increase in demand of ready-to-wear garments. This was the beginning of consumers’ expectations for hyper-accelerated turnaround of new styles, necessitating ever-briefer time between designers’ visions, prototype creations, and mass market availability. It could be argued that the sewing machine eased women of much of the time consuming burden of clothing their families, but a contrary view is that the sewing machine snatched a labor of love, pride, and skill from women, not to mention the social community bonding. And though it’s distasteful to many modern women to think of being trapped in their houses all day, it was a small leap from the workrooms of House of Worth to the factories and notoriously dangerous conditions of garment factories (like the infamous Triangle Factory), exploiting the poor. Though sweatshops certainly exist in America today, many more are in developing countries with desperate-and-therefore-cheap labor forces, doubly exploited by consumer-hungry countries abroad and their own government systems which do not protect them with worker’s rights addressing age minimums, hour maximums, safety standards, etc.
Jacob Riis, Necktie workshop in Division Street tenement (1889)
In terms of household implications, the sewing machine was only the first of many labor-saving devices for the home (partially by altering sewing from a home activity to a factory one); washing machines, dryers, dishwashers and vacuum cleaners all made housekeeping easier and cut down the work time required. An important consequence of all this labor saving has been the diminished woman’s role as household manager. This gradual loss of status helped undermine the satisfaction many women formerly found in the homemaking role and encouraged them to seek more demanding employment in other places, as we see Coraline’s mother has chosen her profession over domestic work. In most industrialized countries these days, sewing, needlework, knitting, crocheting, quilting, etc. have been relegated to niche markets (still mostly women) who have self-consciously resurrected the skills for hobby, not generally necessity. This is why we all understand how Coraline is taken in by her Other Mother’s handmade overtures.
I loved Coraline not only because it was a good, creepy story, but because its meticulous production methods showcased the hand-made theme present in the narrative, a far cry from the digitally created worlds of almost all current animation (which can absolutely be well done too). I like, too, how the simple black button icon of Coraline is a symbol of sewing and domestic familiarity twisted beautifully into a tool of sinister manipulation.
Further Reading:
- “The Culture of Sewing: Gender, Consumption and Home Dressmaking” by Barbara Burman
- “History of Sewing” online study guide
- “Women’s Work: The First 20,000 Years Women, Cloth, and Society in Early Times” by Elizabeth Wayland Barber
- “The Making of Coraline” in Extra Features on Coraline DVD
- “How the Other Half Lives” Jacob Riis photographs of exploited poor Lower East Siders, NY
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Topics: Crafts, Economics, Film, Fine Arts, Sexuality / Gender, Size / Weight, Social Commentary, Technology | No Comments »
