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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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.

Due to a coveted invitation to my friend’s tea party this weekend, I have that genteel social event on my mind. And since I always have costume on my mind as well, it’s only natural that I should want to dissect a portrait of a young woman enjoying the same activity that I shortly will.

Mary Cassatt’s “The Cup of Tea” is a portrait of Cassatt’s sister, Lydia Simpson, wearing a pink gown, circa 1879 (among other date indicators, Lydia’s flat-lying skirt suggests horsehair crinolines underneath, which made a brief return to fashion between 1876 and 1882 before being replaced by the bulkier bustle). “Tea gowns,” essential garments of the late 19th and early 20th century wardrobes and invented by the tea obsessed English, are frilly, decorative, and also comfortable, often achieved by a looser fit uncommon in other dresses of the 19th century. Though Lydia’s dress appears rather fitted — you can clearly see the outline of her corset at her tiny waist and gently bulging belly — it’s possible that her arm is blocking our view of a looser fitting back, allowing her to recline more comfortably. The profile of a stiffer seated subject was famously used to portray an older, darker, more somber portrait: that of “Whistler’s Mother,” officially entitled the more clinical “Arrangement in Grey and Black: The Artist’s Mother” (1871), and I doubt it’s a coincidence that Whistler’s mum was painted just a few years earlier than Cassatt’s sis.

A small enough amount of lace is present in the Lydia’s cuffs so that it’s conceivable that handmade lace — a precious luxury item — was used. However, the appearance of a Great Exhibition in Paris just a year before this portrait helped popularized machine-made lace, making it more accessible and far more affordable, so it is reasonable to think that Lydia wears some. The rich silk-satin fabric advertises Lydia’s wealth, and though it is possible that Lydia’s dress was sewn with the help of the sewing machine (a major asset to the fashion industry since the 1840s), the upper class still preferred the personally designed, tailored and unique looks generated by the haute couture industry.

Charles Frederick Worth (1827-1893) was an Englishman who pioneered the haute couture experience with his House of Worth located in Paris. Founded 1858, his success corresponded with France’s Second Empire which devoted considerable energy to rebuilding the luxury textile / fashion trades Paris had been known for before the French Revolution (1789 – 99), during which all things seen as bourgeois were attacked, very much including high fashion. Worth not only capitalized upon the climbing demand for sumptuous clothes, he absolutely revolutionized the dress purchasing experience, turning it into a social event for the privileged. Instead of being visited by a doting tailor, as in the past, a 19th century woman in need of a new dress would go to her fashion house (others opened after Worth’s, though his remains the most acclaimed to this day). There she would be received in a decadent parlor filled with other wealthy society ladies, and a fashion show would parade before them, to select the styles they desired. Consultations on fabrics and trimmings would follow (these finishing touches would distinguish the same dress style purchased by different women), measurements taken, the final product being a unique work of wearable art. The elegant simplicity of Lydia’s gown makes it a possible product of the House of Worth itself.

Here is a gown from the House of Worth just a few years after Cassatt’s painting:

During the High Victorian Period (1850-1885), a strict regulation of clothes was maintained. According to these laws of dress, Lydia’s high neckline, three-quarter length sleeves and sumptuous fabric show that the portrait captured a moment of the afternoon (as opposed to plunging décolleté with short sleeves which were for fancier evening activities, or if the same dress were made with less refined material like cotton, it would have indicated casual dress for mornings). As the title suggests, the primary purpose of this painting was not portraiture, but the depiction of a popular social ritual. And though Cassatt was American, she frequently depicted bourgeois Parisian society, which, “between 1870 and 1914 was thrown back on its own devices to satisfy its taste for elegance. The Ancien Regime and the Imperial aristocracy, the bourgeoisie enriched by the economic revival, and the spendthrifts, frivolous demi-monde that succeeded to the follies of the Second Empire, all provided an easy prey for the new lords of elegance, the masters of Couture and Fashion,” as Francois Boucher noted.

In John Singer Sargent’s “Madame Edouard Pailleron,” also painted in 1879, a similar look is achieved. A small departure is that Lydia wears a tea gown while Mme Pailleron wears a fashionable dress suitable for outdoor activity, and this is confirmed by her grassy surroundings. The same idealized long-waisted hourglass figure is achieved with the same long corset. She lifts her skirts enough to reveal the crinolines we assumed Lydia wore. Where Lydia’s tea gown of soft silk satin was conducive for casual indoor comfort, Mme Pailleron’s stiff dress is probably silk taffeta and more appropriate for formal public appearances. In contrast to Lydia’s ultra-feminine and youthful pink, Mme Pailleron wears somber black, obviously a fashion choice and not imposed on her by rules of mourning (see my earlier post), as she also has a large white tulle bow around her neck and flamboyant red flowers on her shoulder — unacceptable for mourning. In spite of its conservative color, Mme Pailleron’s dress is highly decorated with short, layered ruffles along the hemline (it must’ve sounded divine, rustling with her movements!), a band of beadwork around the hips and neckline, lace sleeves and lace strips draped around the skirt (machine-made, judging from the length and quantity), and taffeta bows on the cuffs and skirt. Though both women have white tulle around their necks and cuffs, that tulle is Lydia’s only dress ornamentation. As expected, the two women seem to be following the same fashion trends, the major differences only being those that can be attributed to different activities.

Lydia’s light but voluminous collar is similar to Mme Pailleron’s of the same year, and Lydia has taken it to an extreme so that it becomes reminiscent of the standing ruffs of the 16th century, which was a major social status symbol, made of that precious lace, laboriously starched, and difficult to keep clean in its proximity to the face:

Revival styles (or “flashback fashion” as I like to call them) was extremely popular in the 1870s, and Lydia seemed to embrace this fascination with the past. Her costume suggests an affinity for Neo-Rococo taste: the soft, curvy lines exaggerated by the hourglass corset, the fitted, three-quarter length sleeves ending in a flurry of bell-shaped white lace, not to mention the vaginal billowing pink silk, are all reminiscent of Fragonard’s Rococo painting “The Swing” (1766). This painting, along with the original Rococo movement a century earlier, was obsessed with the idea of femininity and sexuality in the eyes of the voyeur:

Lydia’s style would have been well noted, as she lived a life where to be a successful society woman, one had to keep up appearances. With the completion of Garnier’s Parisian Opera in 1874, the opera became an important place to see and be seen. Opera glasses were just as often used to observe audience members as they were to watch performers on stage, and usually by the traditional voyeurs: men. Not limited to sexual voyeurism, a man would survey his business competitor’s wife to see how well she was dressed, her appearance a direct reflection of how successful her husband was. Baudelaire wrote that woman was “the object of keenest admiration and curiosity that the picture of life can offer to its contemplator.” Mary Cassatt and the Impressionist art movement was fascinated with this phenomenon, often painting these privileged voyeurs at the Opera. Cassatt continues this theme in “The Cup of Tea,” eliminating her sister’s companion from the composition and making the viewer of the painting Lydia’s voyeur — all the more titillating, perhaps, as tea time was a female ritual that men would not see at all — except in paintings.

The floral theme in “The Cup of Tea” warrants examination as well. Throughout art history, flowers have acted as a visual metaphor for a woman’s sex, and the concept of the femme fleur was especially popular in Victorian times. The melding of the flower in Lydia’s hat with the flowers in the flowerbox behind her is echoed by her bell-shaped cuffs and the rosettes making up her collar, which gives a floral illusion when viewed en masse. Furthermore, the blurred lines between hat flower and flowerbox flower create a physical unity with the house, thus suggesting a traditional psychological unity of woman with the home. Though feminist movements had manifested themselves in both fashion (with the invention of the Bloomer costume in 1849) and politics (with the women’s suffrage movement), it is clear that neither Mary nor Lydia Cassatt subscribed to these radical ideas, instead perpetuating traditional stereotypes of feminine roles in painting and costume.

But enough of Lydia, and on to more important, current issues: what will I wear to my own tea party?

Further Reading:

• “The Cult of the Tea Gown”
• “Tea Trot” photo montage, NY Times
• “How Tea-Mania Flooded Britain,” Telegraph.co.uk

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You might have noticed, as I have, a proliferation of articles about “bicycle style” in recent months. Mayor Bloomberg has invested money in designating bike paths and adding bike racks to make New York friendlier to the traffic easing, eco-friendly transportation. Fashion has responded and, being the fashion culturalist I am, I’ve been slowly making links and connections to the history of bike fashions — and sportswear fashion in general — in an attempt to gain greater insight into this resurgence in popularity. Let’s start with the advent of bicycle culture and dress, shall we?

The first bicycles were manufactured in America in 1878. Strolling down boulevards was already a favorite pastime of the leisure class, but this wheeled invention fast became a popular sport. Men had little difficulty straddling these “velocipeds” in their trousers, but the heavy, voluminous, dragging skirts of the time — not to mention the upper-body immobility imposed by structured corsets which inhibited both bending at the waist and breathing — made it nearly impossible for women to participate in the exciting activity. Fashion aside, bicycling was initially deemed dangerous for women, who were not encouraged to exert themselves physically nor to assert their independence (i.e. stray too far from the domestic homefront literally or figuratively).

Invented in the 1850s, the bloomer costume provided an obvious source of activewear for women by covering their legs while allowing them the freedom of a bifurcated garment. However it had only ever been adopted by fringe Victorian dress reformers who were ridiculed by the press as radical feminists with silly, indecent (still!) sartorial selections, and it never achieved widespread acceptance in this form. Somehow by the mid 1890s the social stigma of women on bicycles had all but vanished and as a result, “bicycle costumes” were actually lauded as preserving modesty while preserving health. These outfits bore suspicious (and unacknowledged) resemblance to the disparaged bloomer costume by alleviating some of the major fashion impediments with narrower skirts and fewer under-layers. Here is a description of an acceptable female riding outfit from 1895:

“A combination garment was worn next [to] the skin – all wool in cold weather and cotton in warm. Over this she wore no corset, but a patent waist without bones, to which were buttoned the circular bands of drawers and petticoats. It will be seen that the waist escaped much of the pressure and dragging incident to the old style of dressing, as the only bands were of the least trying shape. Her dress skirts and waists were hooked to each other all around, thus insuring their staying together, while they were loose enough for comfort.”

Above is a pattern for a bicycling costume, sold in that same 1894 magazine. This pattern is for an adaptable costume, allowing the wearer to buckle the skirt around her legs for complete coverage of those scandalous ankles. Then she could unbuckle the skirt for a more lady-like traditional look when not on the bicycle.

I was interested to note that even in 1895, the perceived sexual transgressions of the bicycle ensemble remained an issue. One author pointedly, if humorously, wrote “The great ladies of the land will unblushingly don man’s dress, or something alarmingly like it, and jump astride their apparatus.”

As athletic activities increased in general popularity over the following decades, athletic, lean bodies became the new standard of ideal beauty. The greatest jump was in the early 20th century as the voluptuous feminine form of previous centuries (excepting only the Napoleonic era) went from curvy hourglass to flat and tubular (elastic undergarments often assisted with this allusion, as the corset had in the past). The hemlines also rose in the 1920s, when energetic dance crazes like the Charleston literally shook the Western world (fun fact: the highest hemlines crept was 1” below the knee — never higher until the 1960s). Dresses were often beaded, dripping with fringe, sashes, or asymmetrical hemlines to create pleasing effects while in motion — a far cry from the stiff, heavy, wide, deliberately debilitating female garments of earlier eras. Men’s fashion too, slimmed down to accommodate the encouraged active lifestyle.

Wars always impact fashion and WWII certainly had a tremendous impact on the styles of the 1940s. Material and dye shortages in America necessitated civilian fabric rationing and even a limited palette of allowed colors. Elegant 1930s hemlines rose to mid-calf, the bias-cut draping (a favorite 1930s innovative method of using material cut at a 45 degree angle) was too wasteful to be employed anymore, and puffy sleeves and ruffles popular in the preceding decade were all but eliminated from popular fashion out of patriotic necessity. The silhouette contracted and became boxier, more militaristic and uniform-like. For the first time, women were encouraged to join the work force to replace their boys overseas, and their work in factories further necessitated clothes cut close to the body to avoid being caught in plant machinery. (This style was gleefully abandoned with Dior’s “New Look” of 1947, which had yards of non-utilitarian skirt fabric and which embraced a curvier, feminine form once again.)

Jump ahead another few decades: though not what the era is most remembered for, track suits were introduced in the 1960s. At this time it was worn for specific physical activities like jogging and not as daily dress, but Americans worked physical fitness into their routines more and more. The 1980s saw a resurgence in obsession with athleticism, as Olivia Newton-John’s humorously dated song “Physical” (1981) attests:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQXECBdPgEA]

Though the video is undeniably silly, the song “Physical” brought the sexual connotations of physical activity to the foreground. With exaggerated flushed and dewy makeup complimenting her workout leotard, Newton-John’s double entendre embodied the wanton women 19th century men feared would come of skimpy (i.e. shorter) clothes.

Preoccupation with the latest workout fads manifested itself in fashion quickly. Ensembles resembling aerobic workout outfits — complete with sweat bands, legwarmers, and torn oversized sweatshirts — surfaced in popular fashion and were eagerly perpetuated by pop icons like Pat Benetar and Loverboy’s Mike Reno, and seen in movies like Flashdance (1983).

This was due — at least in part — to advancement in textile technology: the invention of new thin, lightweight, stretchy materials was well suited to sportswear. As in the 1850s when synthetic dye was invented (leading to “mauve madness”!), synthetic material had the property of taking especially vivid dyes extremely well, and is evidenced by all the neon colors now associated with the ‘80s. Likewise, the tracksuit and sneakers were adopted by some early hip hop musicians (all kept in ironic pristine condition). In this raging capitalist, brand-obsessed time of Regan and Thatcher, I suspect wearing clothes previously relegated to leisure activities was a subtle statement that people who could wear athletic gear had enough off-time (and therefore money) to devote to recreational sport, and an amusing side effect was that those very clothes eventually lost their cache due to widespread adoption by the public.

Though not all specifically bicycle related, all the fashion changes I outlined speak to the larger issue of popular fashion responding to the specific physical needs (or fads) of the time: like the current explosion of people using bikes as an alternative mode of transportation and the resulting cycling projects and availability of bike lanes in urban settings. Throughout the history of the bicycle, the challenge seems to have been — and to be — assembling an outfit that accommodates the peculiarities of movement on bicycles in a practical manner, while integrating into mainstream fashion in an inconspicuous way so a cyclist may ride to a destination and enter a social or professional environment without needing to change. For this, America is looking to other countries that have been using bicycles as daily (as opposed to purely recreational) transportation for much longer, like Amsterdam, Copenhagen, and London.

The New York Times reported that “Before [the London-based company] Rapha, there were two ways to be fashionable in cycling,” said Bill Strickland, the editor at large of Bicycling magazine and until recently the author of its Style Man column. “The first was to be supertechnical, and look like a pro. The other way was to be pure vintage. Rapha created a third way, starting with a premise of ‘How would I like to look in town?’ ”

Though there are infinite paths to this end, I would imagine the one unavoidable restriction must be the amount of bulk at the crotch and ankles. They must all have relatively close-cut silhouettes with as little loose material as possible around the gears, while being flexible at the waist — exactly where the dress reformers focused in the 19th century. Adding an additional layer of influence, this description happens to coincide with the male suit of the 1960s, which is also currently experiencing a surge of popularity.

Aesthetic cultural influences are at work here, including but not limited to the popular Mad Men TV series. Set in the 1960s, this show has coincided with the resurgence of skinny jeans and slimmer, shorter trousers. This is evident even in formal wear; I spotted many a slim-fit tux at this year’s Academy Awards. Which came first: the retro look or the latest bicycle movement? Like most other fashion developments, many influences across cultural, ecological, and political spectrums have impacted the collective unconscious and manifested itself in everyday dress. Isn’t it fun to try to figure them all out?

Further reading:

• “The Bicycle and Health” The Ladies’ Standard Magazine, April 1894
• “The Wheelasa Reformer; What One Woman’s Bicycle Has Taught Her About Clothes.” NYTimes, 1895
• “Cyclistas spin into style” The Gazette, May 26, 2009
• Fitness Fashion After 1960
• Copenhagen Cycle Chic blog

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Anna Wintour’s involvement with the Metropolitan Museum is reestablished at this time every year with the Met’s renowned Costume Institute gala, and we are again bombarded with pictures of A-list celebrities, socialites and models attending the lush affair. Whether attendees are portrayed in adoring light or to ridicule their outrageous outfits, the glut of coverage across paper publications and the internet succeeds in generating widespread coverage and awareness of the event, invaluable marketing for both the Met and the gala’s loud sponsor, Vogue. These sorts of relationships are so ingrained in our capitalist system that many don’t give Anna Wintour’s involvement in this museum fundraiser a second thought but, for me, it highlights the uneasy balance between cultural institutions and their sponsors. Especially in times of economic hardship, relationships between art centers and their patrons are ever more precarious and therefore precious. Among museums the Met retains one of the most prestigious reputations in the world. But the news that is perhaps the most widely disseminated about the Met every year is not about its new acquisitions, nor its beautiful newly renovated American wing, but the Costume Institute gala, arguably the most hotly anticipated social event — to say nothing of fundraising events — of the year.

The 700 invitations are coveted by high society and pop culture icons alike, and the photos are disseminated equally by pop culture websites, blogs, and newspapers. I freely admit that I comb the internet for photos of the chic attendees — more than other galas or award ceremonies even — as there is always a fashion theme relating to the spring costume exhibit that is supposedly being promoted by the event, which I think prompts people to be even more outlandish in their sartorial selections than they might otherwise be, glamorous lives notwithstanding. This year’s “Models as Muse” was a bit weak in terms of gala inspiration (it resulted in many haute micro-mini skirt ensembles), but it did succeed in attracting celebrities who may or may not actually be personally invested in the museum’s mission (specifically the “advance knowledge of works” “in accordance with the highest professional standards”), but whose presence attracts the photographers nonetheless.

Michael Gross concentrates on the questionable relationship between the Met and Vogue in his newly released book “Rogue’s Gallery: The Secret History of the Moguls and the Money that Made the Metropolitan Museum.” In it, he blames the Met’s collaboration first with Diana Vreeland and then with Anna Wintour to co-host the Costume Institute fundraiser which, he claims, has been twisted into a publicity platform for Vogue and Wintour’s personal vendettas, displacing the Met’s own mission. “The most highly publicized event at the museum has been turned into a magazine and movie-promotion party, where Anna sells herself and movie stars sell their latest projects,” said Gross. “What gets lost in the process is the museum.”

Suspicious as I am of Vogue’s motives (it is clearly in their best interest to invite the beautiful people they’d like to court to be in Vogue’s own pages), I whole heartedly support utilizing an institution’s fashion collection as a revenue generator — which the Costume Institute absolutely is for the Met, raising a significant portion of the museum’s income (the 2008 total of which was $297,790,000). First, as demonstrated by my drive to work on this very blog, I believe there is a wealth of knowledge — social, financial, and political history for starters — to be gleaned from the study of clothes, just waiting to be disseminated in an engaging and articulate manner. I crave museums tackling projects involving costume. Tragically, many institutions small and large (i.e. Merchant House, Brooklyn Museum) have fabulous costume collections that are rarely displayed and even more rarely exhibited in-house due to budget, space, staff, and/or costume history expertise shortages. Second, costume exhibits have been proven to be excellent revenue generators precisely because anything fashion related draws in younger, pop-culture obsessed people who may not otherwise attend museums that have the unfortunate reputation for housing stuffy, inaccessible “high art.” I have no problem whatsoever utilizing fashion exhibitions to tap into this market. Isn’t the goal of museums to market their exhibitions to attract in people, and then actually teach them to look more deeply into a subject they may only have had a superficial understanding of?

The trick is for museums to capitalize on this obsession with glamorous fashion. Obviously, money can and should be raised for the institutions. Museums increasingly struggle for attendees, and in this free market democracy, private investors are relied upon to fund so-called worthy projects more than the government is. With the latest financial crisis, corporate sponsors have become ever more sparse (working for the Development department of a New York museum, I have witnessed this scramble first-hand). In some cases, this has forced museums to hike their admissions (in New York it’s not uncommon for tickets to be $20), which has the unfortunate cyclical consequence of making these exhibitions even less accessible to the general public.

Do these galas confirm the perception, accurate or not, that fashion is inaccessible to the mainstream public? Or worse yet, that the study and presentation of fashion in an historical context is unimportant, has no bearing on “serious” studies, offers no insight into history, and has no greater implication on or by current events? My fear with the Met Costume Institute gala is that Vogue’s self-promotion cannibalizes what could and should be an opportunity to present fashion as an incredible marker of human civilization that varies according to technological breakthroughs in materials, social morays, etc. I’m doubtful these parties accomplish this. And this is due, in part, to the accompanying spring Costume Institute exhibitions that are usually of the blockbuster variety with a lot of flash and glitz, but weak-themed and presented with little-to-no background information drawing from a larger historical context, which in my mind must be the crux of any exhibition, costume or otherwise (I am specifically thinking of the popular but superficial “Chanel” and “Superheroes” exhibitions).

As friends know, there are few things that exasperate me more than a flubbed costume exhibit. The wasted opportunity hits me like a brick in the face: that money could be collected, venue provided, fashion displayed, and the opportunity to use costume as a teaching tool not utilized kills me. Partly because I’ll walk away disappointed for the lack of new information I personally collect, but mostly because I’m all too aware of how superfluous and flighty the majority of the population views fashion, and exhibits that don’t treat the subject academically confirm people’s belief that there is nothing but pretty, outrageous, or at best creative works at play and nothing deeper. This is perhaps a I see the Met’s Costume Institute gala as just such a wasted opportunity to broaden the public’s opinion and understanding of fashion’s relevance and importance.

Museums must weigh the pros and cons of the opportunities corporate money affords them — not just more elaborate exhibits but more advertising to reach wider audiences — versus the control corporate sponsors believe they become entitled to exert (i.e. Rudy Giuliani’s attempt to cut the Brooklyn Museum’s public funding when it exhibited controversial material in the “Sensation” exhibit of 1999). The American Museum of Natural History in New York actually had trouble securing sponsorship for their 2005 Darwin exhibition because (exasperating as it is to me), creationism and the so-called “theory” of evolution continues to be incendiary and corporations were afraid of alienating their own potential supporters, political and financial. (Ironically — or not so? — once funding was secured, the Darwin exhibition was extremely popular.) The Museum made up for this difficulty with its latest corporate partnership.

The movie series Night at the Museum prominently incorporated two Smithsonian museums: the first film (2006) took place in the Museum of Natural History, the second (2009) in the Smithsonian Institute, and it actually contains “Smithsonian” in the title: marketing jackpot! This arrangement gave writers license to incorporate actual Smithsonian-owned ephemera (like Amelia Earhart’s plane, Dorothy’s ruby slippers, etc., used to great comic effect) into the plots, and both museums have enjoyed the reciprocal reaction of an immediate and impressive surge in attendance. I see this as a fair exchange. Like the Museum of Natural History, the Met needs to reassert its power and purpose with Vogue (or another sponsor), because the Costume Institute is more than an exclusive venue, and should be leveraged as such.

Much as I’ve concentrated on current corporate collaborations, the alliance of patron and artist (or art institution) is not a new subject, though it’s taken new forms. The Mérode Altarpice is a triptych by the early Netherlandish painter Robert Campin, c. 1425 – 1430. Though ostensibly a religious painting depicting the popular Annunciation, the commissioning family was painted directly into the religious scene (left panel).  They also guaranteed their identities by their coat of arms seal in the window, and by the presence of a costume (yay costume historians!) typical of a town messenger from Mechelen, where the family was from.

As religious paintings waned in popularity, patrons continued to be inserted into works. Fragonard’s “The Swing” (1766) is a delightfully naughty painting  portraying a pink-clad woman (I will refrain from dissecting her ensemble in greater juicy detail, though I’m tempted!) being pushed on a swing by a bishop in the background, while her “hidden” lover in the foreground gazes admiringly up her yawning skirt. John Fleming writes “The identity of the patron is unknown, though he was at one time thought to have been the Baron de Saint-Julien, the Receiver General of the French Clergy, which would have explained the request to include a bishop pushing the swing. This idea as well as that of having himself and his mistress portrayed was evidently dropped by the patron, whoever he may have been.” Fleming points out “the picture was depersonalized and, due to Fragonard’s extremely sensuous imagination, became a universal image of joyous, carefree sexuality,” (my italics) as opposed to a straightforward vanity portrait. Since then, corporate sponsorship has replaced less conspicuous donations as a major funding vehicle for many arts organizations.

So collaborations between moneyed patrons and starving artists has not been uncommon historically, but patrons were not advertising themselves — no revenue was expected from the inclusion of their images in commissioned paintings, unlike corporate sponsors today who slap their logos on every visible posterboard. There can be mutually beneficial relationships — partnerships — established between non-profits and corporations (as with Fragonard and his patron), but it’s vital that those non-profits remember that they need not be beggars bending to the whim of their sponsors. Corporations can offer money, but museums offer  credibility in public relations and marketing return. Children today may very well associate Exxon Mobile with the funding of public television instead of my own foremost memory, the infamous Exxon oil spill of 1989, and the Altria Group, owner of cigarette giant Philip Morris, is not coincidentally one of the most significant donor to the arts in a transparent but successful attempt to gain positive PR-by-association. Perceived cultural good will is important in any era, but essential in times like these when the financial sector and big business are regarded as especially villainous. I don’t condemn corporate backing; I just want curatorial integrity to remain in tact.

Further Reading:

• “Corporate Sponsorship A Growing Area of Arts Concern” AllBusiness.com, October 2000
• “Fashion Victim,” NYTimes.com, May 6, 2005
• “Ethics and the Visual Arts” edited by Elaine A. King, Gail Levin, Allworth Communications, Inc., 2006
• “Establishing Dress History,” Lou Taylor, Manchester University Press, 2004
• “Patronizing the Arts,” Marjorie Garber, Princeton University Press, 2008
• “Night at the Museum Smithsonian’s PR bonanza” NPR.org, May 21, 2009
• “Smithsonian Hopes to Cash in On Stiller Movie” NPR.org, May 21, 2009

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With all the excitement of the Kentucky Derby culminating last weekend, I thought I’d take the opportunity to learn about (and share) the roots of horse racing apparel. To begin with the basics, jockey “silks” are comprised of white breeches and a bib, stock or cravat, and receiving them is a rite of passage for jockeys entering their first race ride. Horsemen wearing “colors” (as they’re also known) has a long, illustrious past that has developed with the various horse sports. In ancient Rome for example, chariot drivers wore unique, brightly colored capes and headbands to identify themselves in the arenas. Roots in heraldry and coats of arms can be seen, the decorated shields and armor of which identified members of families and soldiers on battlefields, as jockeys came to be identified by their silks:

Horse racing meets are recorded as far back as 1114, and individual silk colors are first mentioned in 1515 when Henry VIII occupied the English throne. In those early days of horse racing, few horses would compete and close finishes were rare enough that identification was not terribly problematic, but in the 18^th century, racing gained popularity. As more horses competed in each race, riders wore simple colored silk jackets to combat increasingly confused judges and spectators. This was not an entirely new idea: in medieval times, jousting knights wore bright, distinct colors which facilitated the identification of the competitors for the audience members of large arenas:

In 1762 the English Jockey Club formalized what had been a general practice and requested that owners submit specific colors for riders’ jackets and caps, which were to be used consistently. Later that year they made the Newmarket resolution that owners must submit the racing silks for their horses to compete. From the minutes: “For the greater convenience of distinguishing the horses in running, and also for the prevention of disputes arising from not knowing the colors of each rider, the under-mentioned gentleman have come to the resolution and agreement of having the colors annexed to their names, worn by their respective riders.”

More rules have been implemented since then. The horse owner or trainer selects and registers their jockey’s colors (which includes colors and patterns) in national horse races; typically all horses belonging to a particular owner will be raced in the same colors. The owner must check the appropriate database (Weatherbys for England, The Jockey Club for the United States, Puerto Rico and Canada, etc.) as each racing silk must be unique. Patterns are created with squares, lines, circles and stars of contrasting colors.  Uniforms at national races are very bright but regulations dictate a maximum of 4 colors. Japanese rules mandate that the hat color must match the gate color, but in other countries it must match the uniform.

Jockey silks used to be made of actual silk, though it is unsurprising that synthetics like nylon are often used nowadays, as they are for other athletic ensembles. The cut of jockey silks is close fitting for minimal wind resistance — important when tenths of seconds can make the difference between first and second places — but not tight, as the rider must have freedom of movement. Thin, lightweight materials like silk are ideal for ease of movement, breathability, and not adding bulk to jockeys for whom low weight is a necessity. Long or short sleeves may be chosen but jockeys usually prefer long sleeves that minimize chafing. A 2005 lawsuit granted The Jockey Club the right to add small logos and advertisements to the jockey pants which had previously been pure white. It’s interesting to me that this sport previously resisted the seductive pull of ostentatious corporate sponsor logos that have visually taken over another track sport: car racing.

It behooves (ha!) jockeys to stand out from others not only to distinguish themselves from their competitors, but also as walking (or running) advertisements for the owners, the jockeys’ employers (even without literal sartorial branding). In a time when casual attire is more and more the norm, on the horse tracks pride in performance is still displayed with bright, shiny, colorful and patterned silks, where historically the attendees have been the upper class bourgeois, dressed in their own finery to see and be seen. This leads me into the class struggle that I see on the horse tracks.

I believe the jockey silks serve yet another purpose: to distinguish them — the hired talent — from the owners and spectators. The owner-dictated colors to be worn by jockeys are already a kind of stamp of claim, and professional jockeys — unlike gentlemen who ride or hunt for leisure — are typically culled from the working class who often got their starts as humble stable boys. In his fascinating book “City Games: The Evolution of Americann Urban Society and the Rise of Sports (Sport and Society),” Steven A. Riess notes that “thoroughbred racing and yachting, strongly identified in the public mind as elite sports because of the exorbitant cost of participation and the restricted memberships of jockey and yacht clubs, served as status-defining communities.” After being banned during the American Revolutionary era because of its associations both with the unpopular elite and immoral gambling, Jockey clubs were eventually created and justified “as the only means of developing superior horses for such uses as national defense (the cavalry) and transportation.”

The horse track is one of the few daytime, outdoor activities where formal attire is expected; it’s the plein air version of a night at the opera where the rich and famous (who may or may not actually care about the race outcome) can “see and be seen” while peering through their binoculars as opera-goers peered through their opera glasses. Mint juleps are served to daintily sipping guests while mud and dust spattered horses and jockeys are running for their lives — and sometimes to their deaths. These jockeys, though respected after wins, have been depicted in rather startling ways.

Jockeys are often portrayed as either boyish and/or with hunched posture:

This begs physical comparison with jockeys’ equine partners, as The Triplets of Bellville (2003) portrayed their cyclist athlete as a kind of horse-slave:

Compare to a horse owner. Note the erect posture, with top hat to emphasize his stature physically and socially (men of lower classes wore different hat styles):

The wonderful scene in My Fair Lady (filmed in 1964 but taking place circa 1916) illustrates the class prerequisite of the races. Lower-class Eliza Doolittle has never attended the races before, and her behavior in the exclusively upper crust setting is the final test of Henry Higgins’ skill, who has forced himself upon her as her aristocratic mentor. It also displays Cecil Beaton’s interpretation of the conspicuous fashion that lives on even today, with great humor and only slight exaggeration:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYMSvyqHHwA&fmt=18]

A marvelous irony is that horse racing was one of the first venues for legal gambling (it has been argued that its popularity continued because of this), so for every preening attendee there is a gambler who probably cares less what he looks like or where he sees or hears about the race and more who actually wins, (wearing whatever he damn well feels like).

Though I am undeniably attracted to race horsing as a genteel, civilized activity (I could never say I don’t love excuses to wear big hats, for example), my pragmatic, socially progressive side abhors the class distinctions that the races perpetuate, exemplified still in the attire of athletes, attendees, and remote observers.

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Always a fan of reusing / redistributing clothes, I was delighted to read about Project Bridesmaids. Sponsored by Modern Bride Magazine and in conjunction with Project Hope, women were encouraged to donate their lightly worn bridesmaid dresses (jokes of the unwearability of these single serving dresses need not exist!) and formal gowns. Several hundred dresses were collected this year, which were displayed in NYC’s Hammerstein Ballroom on March 7 (in addition to a few other U.S. cities), available for redistribution to Harlem girls for their prom nights.

Growing up in the astoundingly liberal Cambridge, MA public school system, my own prom was less of a life altering, date stressing fin de siecle and more of an amusing anomaly as a  school-sponsored party in a hotel — an opportunity to hang out with friends in a different location, really. But as someone who likes to dress up, I certainly appreciated the opportunity to flounce around in fancy gear, and I wish every high schooler who wants to participate in prom to be able to prance in something that elevates his/her self esteem, regardless of limited capital. Prom should be an opportunity for teenagers to play a little exploratory dress-up (an important game, I think), donning clothes they imagine adults wear on nights on the town — even if adults who wear prom-like dresses are probably only found in soap operas.

The website DonateMyDress.org helps you find other similar initiatives locally that I encourage you  and your friends to donate your own gowns to.

Related article:

“So Long, Bridesmaid; Hello, Prom Queen,” NYTimes March 7, 2009

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“There are three things woman politicians get more ink in the press over than males. One is hairdo, two is hemline and the third is their husband, as society tends to be very concerned about these things with women politicians, and we’ve seen it with Sarah Palin,” said Nichola D. Gutgold, associate professor of communication arts and sciences at Penn State Lehigh Valley in Fogelsville.

I just read a silly tidbit in New York Magazine, hoisted from a gossip blurb in the New York Daily News: a former co-contestant of the 1984 Miss Alaska beauty pageant claims that Sarah Palin kept her hair cemented in it’s do with an entire can of Aqua Net hairspray.  “An Alaskan gale wouldn’t have moved a hair on her head,” the informant Pamela Massey stated.  In looking for a picture to attach to this post using the Google search term “Sarah Palin beehive,” I discovered a host of sites that have discussed this seemingly frivolous topic at length, including the New York Times!

But it this discussion actually superficial?  Though I certainly see the silliness in devoting news space to something as seemingly inconsequential as a politician’s hairstyle, a woman’s hair is still one of the most fetishized aspects of her.  Though it often goes unspoken, female politicians have to walk a fine line of presenting themselves as attractive — because we love a leader who’s easy on the eyes — but not sexy — because a woman’s sexuality is still feared, probably because of the implied power she has upon those attracted to her.  And people have strong opinions about Palin’s hair: some think it’s sleek and modern while others see it as outdated and/or frumpy.  But all these adjectives could be — and I believe actually are – about Sarah herself.  After all, she chose the hairdo and as she’s been in both pageants and politics, I’m quite sure she gave considerable thought to her tresses.  Likewise, I believe it was a deliberate decision to have her hair in a more casual ponytail beehive variation that allies her with all those ponytailed soccer moms she’s trying to win over:

And here is Palin pre V.P. nominee (I love this!):

In the Times article her hairdresser (at the aptly named Beehive Salon) reveals that Sarah wanted to look taller on camera, which was a big (haha) issue for shrimpy 5′ 11″ G. W. Bush when running against John Kerry’s 6′ 3″.  (During debates, you could see by the podium that the camera was more zoomed in on Bush so in split screen he filled as much of the frame as Kerry did, because it’s well documented that the masses tend to vote for the taller guy.  It seems the camera trick worked in this instance.)  Curiously, Palin’s beehive has since become a popular wig style for orthodox Jewish women. The religious but apolitical Sheitel.com sells the V.P. hopeful’s namesake hairpiece in addition to the less currently popular Hillary Clinton wig(!).

“For me, the heels are on, the gloves are off,” Palin declared at an October rally in an attempt to rescue McCain’s precarious campaign.  I thought it interesting that she used this sly metaphor to refer to her femininity and political viciousness, especially after she has been criticized (or at least commented upon) for sporting a pair of Naughty Monkey hot red peep-toe pumps the day she was introduced as McCain’s running mate.  The Naughty Monkey brand is generally marketed to “women in their early to mid-20s who go clubbing,” like frequent patron Paris Hilton.  Criticism notwithstanding, sales of Naughty Monkey shoes have increased by 50% on Amazon since Palin wore them.

This all seems reminiscent of the buzz around Hillary’s brightly colored campaign suits, which became such a joke that Hillary eventually poked fun at herself over it.  But what was she trying to convey with these vivid pant suits?  First, it should be noted that women were not allowed to wear pants on the Senate floor until the early 1990s, and Hillary clearly has been embracing that recent sexist sartorial victory ever since.  Second, a well tailored suit is a symbol of — dare I specify “masculine” — power, strength, and control, but the bright colors made Hillary’s distinctively feminine.  They wouldn’t have been everyone’s hues of choice, but it was a bold stylistic decision and having a consistent, identifiable style is a subtle cue that the person under the clothes is consistent him/herself.  Whether this cue is accurate or not is debatable, but the point remains that the wardrobe is a visual extension of what a politician’s speeches should be verbalizing.  Lastly, being as easily visible as an emergency flare cannot hurt when you’re attempting to attract attention in a crowd (or convention, as the case may be).

There was also that mini scandal when Hillary showed a little cleavage:

The Clinton campaign rightly responded “Frankly, focusing on women’s bodies instead of their ideas is insulting.”  I personally find it pretty hilarious that that amount of chest was even called “cleavage,” but Clinton is known for being hyper-conservative (when it comes to revealing flesh), so I suppose within that context, her exposed chest plate was mildly shocking.  Mildly.  It strikes me as telling that where Palin seems to be vamping her sex appeal — if ever-so-slightly — with her pencil skirts and red heels, Clinton seems to use her clothes to detract attention from her feminine form, obscuring her curves under her male-inspired pantsuits.

This kind of fashion scrutiny falls upon politicians’ spouses too.  It was noted in New York Magazine that Michelle Obama has been seen wearing the highly “democratic” (i.e. “affordable”) H&M off-the-rack merchandise, which was clearly not a coincidence since Michelle has reportedly “shied away from appearing in luxury fashion magazines because she doesn’t want to be photographed in outlandishly priced outfits. She also insisted on wearing her own clothes for her October More cover…. Her sartorial choice was likely made in keeping with the current economic spirit as many might not find it prudent for our potential First Ladies to run around in designer outfits that cost $313,000.”

This not-so-random price tag was an editorial jab at Cindy McCain and Laura Bush’s expensive ensembles during a public appearance at the RNC, a story which was originally published in Vanity Fair’s Politics & Power blog.  And the L.A. Times quoted trend forecaster Tom Julian, “And she [Palin] should definitely not take her fashion cues from Cindy McCain who is a totally couture, 7th Avenue fashion plate.  Perhaps a line like American designer Ralph Lauren would answer all Gov. Palin’s needs.”

Palin, Hillary and Michelle are not the first politicians to be at the center of fashion buzz. A century ago, rimless, round pince-nez frames with the neck cord became iconic when President Theodore Roosevelt wore them. And that was without the help of Google to identify the brand and a place to purchase them.

From President Eisenhower’s waist-length military jackets to first lady Jacqueline Kennedy’s pillbox hats, people in politics have long influenced consumer behavior. A mere day after Michelle Obama appeared on The Tonight Show and revealed to Jay Leno that her outfit was from J. Crew (amid the $150,000 Palin wardrobe controversy no less!), J. Crew’s stores had been swept bare of the various garments, purchased by hungry consumers.  The only items of Sarah Palin’s wardrobe the middle class can afford are her glasses, and perhaps shoes. Even if you are completely uninterested in fashion for the aesthetics, the question still must be raised: what kind of a message is being sent by a politician who dresses in six-digit designer clothes that his/her desired constituents — the middle class — can never afford?

Further reading:

• “The Politics of Fashion,” Harper’s Bazaar 2/08
• “Politics 1st Ladies of Fashion…” Freep.com 10/9/08
• Photo time lines of recent political looks of
  • bespectacled Sarah Palin,
  • coutured Cindy McCain,
  • patterned Michelle Obama, and
  • pantsuited Hillary Clinton.
• “Political Ties” Newsweek 10/14/08
• “Sarah Palin Has a Secret Team of Stylists” New York Magazine 9/17/08
• “Fashion in Politics Remains a Tricky Business” STLToday 10/25/08
• “Outfitting a Candidate” slideshow of Palin’s looks, New York Times Magazine 10/23/08
• “Classic Campaign Chic” slideshow of the clothes of hopefuls and their families, New York Daily News 10/7/08
• “Judging a candidate by his wife’s fashion” Financial Times, 11/1/08

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An update to my earlier post about the much anticipated V&R online show “Funny Face” (a.k.a. “Shalom”), here is the link to the Spring / Summer 09 show itself: http://www.viktor-rolf.com/index.htm

As previously stated, I love me some Viktor & Rolf. Though this was not my favorite show of theirs by far, I still thought they explored some interesting concepts.

Repetition:

V&R have always loved exaggeration by duplication (their multi-collared shirt, cascading lapel jacket, etc.). They have also incorporated this theme into their runway models before (fall 2003 RTW collection), painting them all with the same dramatic, wan complexion and ginger-red hair of their fabulously eccentric friend and muse Tilda Swinton. Though unusual in the fashion world, this concept was famously used in the 1937 classic Shall We Dance where Fred Astaire, missing his paramour Ginger Rogers, insists that his backup dancers all wear masks with her image. Deliciously creepy, non?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aq0CQdjrA5s]

Geometry:

I enjoyed V&R’s black and white striped pattern, featured in fabric, shoes and tights. It reminded me a bit of England’s flag motif:

Ensembles sporting the long, sharply angled lines were set against pieces embracing more organic, flowing shapes where the fabric was cut in waves and allowed to drape in a less structured manner. Interestingly, these softer shapes obscured the body’s natural shape even more than the rigidly geometric ones, like a shell hosting a soft snail.

Spirals abounded throughout the collection with various levels of subtly, perhaps referencing seaweed and more snails (the second V&R ensemble below actually resembles a snail’s proportions of exterior-to-flesh).

Technology:

I watched the show several times over the course of several days, and the website’s quality was oddly inconsistent. The final time I viewed it, the screen was distractingly grainy — I don’t know if that’s because there was a website traffic jam or what, but I had difficulty making out the details. These are the drawbacks of using images rather than live action.  However, there were several close-ups of the garments that I appreciated, the details of which never would have been possible from a non-front row seat at a live show.

I enjoyed the deliberate liberties that were taken in the filming style  — sometimes the same 2 second image was looped for emphasis, and there were a couple slow motion shots of Shalom striding down the virtual runway. I liked that attention was drawn to this being a video, not even attempting to duplicate a runway video that might’ve been taken of a live show (there were no virtual audience members either, making it feel a bit like a dress rehearsal rather than a final product– and perhaps that’s what it was in the grand scheme of things). And in case you still missed the digital / technological aspect, the show concluded with all 21 Shaloms applauding as the oversized puppet masters Viktor and Rolf literally lorded over them, watching as the Shaloms’ pixels broke down and they disintegrated into virtual space like confetti.

All in all, I enjoyed the concept of the “Shalom” show — democratizing high fashion by presenting on a universally accessible platform and all that rot– but the designs themselves fell a bit short for me, as did the quality of said technology. I wonder if V&R, or perhaps another fashion house, pursue digital options in showcasing….

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I am a huge fan of the avant garde designers Viktor & Rolf; I remember being introduced to them at an exhibit in the Museum of the City of New York (one of my favorite museums, a neglected gem in Spanish Harlem); the man’s style button-down shirt with the waterfall of collars peeling open (shown below) nearly blew my mind. I found out later that the 2003 fashion show this piece came from was inspired by the marvelously eccentric Tilda Swinton. Not only was she the muse for the collection, but in the ultimate runway presentation models were all Swintonized with red, slicked-back hair and whited-out faces with zero eye or lip color (Tilda is famous for going sans makeup, even to award ceremonies):

After that first piece, I blazed through all their collections and visited their fun website which mimics an empty mansion and rides the line between the magical feel of a fairytale castle and the eerie feel of a whodunnit mansion murder mystery a la Clue, Murder By Death, or Gosford Park. I love V&R’s oh-so postmodern take on fashion — poking fun at the ridiculous nature of it, obviously having fun with it (the fashion industry can take itself a bit too seriously, non?), and yet honoring its traditions and motifs, like classic tailoring. Repetition and exaggeration of stylistic staples is a common commentary method for V&R, but check out their other collections, because they are guaranteed to surprise and probably shock season after season.

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FABULOUS

So the news item here is that after Viktor & Rolf announced they wouldn’t be showing at Paris Fashion Week, they revealed that their spring 2009 collection will be unveiled online, a brilliant decision that both garners attention in its oddness and democratically disseminates their collection to a wider audience in less time (click here for link to NYTimes On the Runway blog commentary on democratization of fashion). Shalom Harlow (who is one of the few models I can identify by name and find to be more beautiful than grotesque) is to be only model in the show.

Now here’s what really excites me: the wonderfully cheesy musical “Funny Face” (1957) is to be the show’s theme! I happen to be a huge fan of the campy musical genre, but even if you’re not, this one is particularly wonderful if you’re interested in fashion as a) it’s a loose biography of renowned 50s fashion photographer Richard Avedon (Fred Astair plays “Dick Avery”), and b) Edith Head outdoes herself on the costumes. There are some stunning photo shoots with Audrey Hepburn in a classic role of her as an awkward, mousy, bookish beatnik abducted by a fashion editor (played by flamboyant Kay Thompson) and turned into a first class fashion model. These shoots pretty much provide an excuse to dress Audrey in many pretty frocks filmed in stunning Technicolor, but how satisfying is that??

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3SWdFyvlPhk&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0]

This movie has been recently resurrected by the Gap ads of Audrey dancing in black skinny pants, another gem of a scene that is ironically used to portray her character as distinctly unfashionable.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aERWhyafpik]

All this is a lengthy way of saying: I’m very excited to see the marriage of one of my favorite musicals merged with one of my favorite fashion teams. To be released online October 2.

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