Thread for Thought

Picking up from where I left off last week, I’m going to address mannequins’ evolution in the second half of the 20th century.

The revolutionary ’60s came as a shock to the world, the American youth rebelling against the traditions of their conservative parents who desired normalcy and stability after the chaos of WWII. The FDA’s approval of birth control pills in 1960 beckoned the sexual revolution; free love challenged the marriage-monogamy favored in the ’50s, women took charge of their bodies and their careers outside the home. After the post-war homemaking scenes enacted in ’50s storefronts, the next generation of mannequins aimed to capture real women rather than idealized versions of them… to a greater extent, anyway. Adel Rootstein’s company produced mannequins based on living, iconic people such as Twiggy (seen below), Patty Boyd, and Sandy Shaw, creating a secondary kind of functional pop art:

These mannequins were designed with increasingly kinetic stances, reflecting the growing obsession with youthfulness and freedom of movement (this could include freedom of professional sphere as well as freedom from more restrictive garments).

The 1970s saw more ethnic diversity in mannequins; Decter of Los Angeles presented it’s Reflections VII collection with Asian and Black mannequins “walking” arm in arm. There was greater attention to anatomical accuracy too, specifically nipples. As short and mod ’60s fashions evolved to the long, flowing, backless or see-through styles of the ’70s, structured bras were worn less by live women and mannequin nipples more realistically displayed these braless styles. Capitalizing on the “natural” look, VIVA Lingerie even had a nipple bra that had padded nipples with the “support you want” (hilarious!):

In the same vein of growing skin exposure, as the fashionable waist was lowered from the natural waistline to the hipline, the torso joint of mannequins’ upper and lower halves was likewise lowered, to display bikinis without the distracting visible split line.

The recession of the early 1990s led to minimalistic, abstract fashions, and also mannequins that still looked good in simple (cheaper) settings. Headless mannequins had the bonus of being politically correct (no ethnicity = every ethnicity) and era unspecific, with the bonus of eliminating time intensive makeup and hair styling.

Plus-size, juniors and maternity fashion were finally recognized as a significant part of the fashion industry and so mannequins were built with a wider variety of shapes and sizes to cater to these growing markets. Below are mannequins with larger-than-usual butts for those with a Jennifer Lopez shape, commonly seen in my former ‘hood, Spanish Harlem:

Several designers have experimented with mannequins in addition to straightforward fashion design. Alexander McQueen inspired mannequin designers when he utilized clear mannequins lit inside with fiber optics in Givenchy’s Fall 1998 haute couture runway show. The Pucci Mannequin company made a name for themselves by collaborating with different artists to produce unique, unusual mannequins. These guest designers included Kenny Sharf, Ruben Toledo, Maira Kalman,

Pucci mannequin by Maira Kalman, "Tango" series

and Anna Sui.

Pucci mannequin by Anna Sui

And mannequins have inspired fashion designers themselves in an interesting reversal of influence. Aminaka Wilmont created a trompe l’oeil dress that mimics a mannequin on a dress (that I desperately want to own, by the way):

And on that note, I’ll leave you with yet another cliff-hanger (it’s a stretch, I know): next week I’ll look into the relationship between mannequins and fine art, which is my personal favorite part of this story!

Recommend this Post:

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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 20^th 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 19^th 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 20^th 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

Recommend this Post:

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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 20^th 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
• 20^th century silhouette and support timeline
• Fashion, Desire and Anxiety, by Rebecca Arnold
• 1950s underwear and ads at Fashion-era.com

Recommend this post:

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In the wake of Michael Jackson’s recent sudden death, there has been a predictable spike in pictures, radio and videos runs, articles and blog posts about the star. We often have the tendency to think of style icons as Athena: “born,” emerging from Zeus’s head swathed in what was to be her trademark ensemble of full armor. This theory has been confirmed by the fact that most fashion discussion I’ve found has focused on Jackson’s “iconic style” with parades of comparative photos of current celebrities wearing military-style coats, red leather jackets, mono-gloves, aviator shades, etc. — all of which is appropriate testament to his talent and breadth of influence — and yet there has been very little discussion on what influenced the man himself. At the risk of stating the obvious, none of us live in vacuums — not even the rich and famous — and as is my wont, I’m far more interested in the idol’s own historical sartorial references, which he so successfully appropriated and interpreted that most people see him as a completely original trend setter.

CLASSIC MOVIES & MUSICALS
Though I favor his work in the Jackson 5 (I know there are many dissenters, but I do so love Motown!), considering his youth and the parental/managerial influence present during those early years, I will concentrate mainly on his mid-to-late career, after he had emerged as a solo artist. I’ll start then with his movie debut at age 20 as the Scarecrow alongside Diana Ross’s Dorothy in The Wiz (1978), remake of the classic The Wizard of Oz (1939), which introduced him to the wonderful world of classic movies. I’m not the first to see how those suave, glittery MGM musicals manifested themselves both in Jackson’s dancing and wardrobe.

Jackson regularly sported white suits (see Thriller album cover for a casual, pared down version) with matching fedoras bearing uncanny resemblance to the ensemble Fred Astaire wears with Cyd Charisse in The Band Wagon (1953). For those unfamiliar with that mediocre musical (for which I have an inexplicable tenderness), “The Girl Hunt Ballet” dance number is a musical-within-a-musical where Astaire and Charisse enact a ’40s film noir-style murder mystery:

Here’s Michael’s version from the “Smooth Criminal” video:

Michael Jackson in Smooth Criminal, wearing white suit with spats and fedora. And isn't the 45 degree lean dance move a more graceful version of the Tin Man's move from the original Wizard of Oz?

Even the alternate, more informal versions of Jackson’s look consisting of black slacks, white tank top, unbuttoned white undershirt and fedora may very well have been a deconstructed vestmental homage to Astaire, one of the most formal of the musical men in film. (I admit I may be reading just a wee bit too much into this one, but isn’t the game fun?)

Michael Jackson in white undershirt and fedora

Michael in HIStory tour (1997) white suit:

And West Side Story (1961) undoubtedly influenced both the “Beat It” (1983) and “Bad” (1987) videos, down to the line dance choreography style. Jackson’s videos have only slightly less dubiously threatening song-and-dance gang confrontations. “Bad” even mimics the set of West Side Story’s “Cool” number, which also occurs in a garage, moments after the Jets’ gang leader (Riff) is killed by the rival gang in a scuffle:

“Bad” video:

“Beat It” video:

Michael’s signature ankle-bearing pants paired with penny loafers and white socks highlighted his dance moves, it’s true. But they also bear telling resemblance to another famous song-and-dance movie star, Gene Kelly:

Gene Kelly in loafers and rolled pants

Jackson’s take:

Though not a movie star, the undeniable live concert showman James Brown was explicitly credited by Michael as being hugely influential. They share a talent for energetic performances, impressive tonal ranges (not many can hit those upper registers like these two!), and love of shiny jackets and straightened hairstyles.

Jackson and Brown performing at the 2003 BET Awards in Los Angeles:

There was also a healthy dose of Elvis inspiration evident in Jackson, what with his penchant for gold lame and gyrating crotch moves. In an interesting (some might say disturbing) twist, Jackson actually married Presley’s daughter Lisa Marie, thus tapping into his idol’s bloodline while possibly attempting to silence gay / sexual deviant rumors (the molestation trial was a mere year before the short-lived marriage).

THE DARK MISFIT
Thus far I’ve concentrated on Michael’s fondness for classic cinema and musicals, but there were most definitely darker influences as well. His leather-and-buckle style emerged perhaps as Michael struggled with his life of imposed near-solitude and the battle for privacy he fought from the media and crazed fans. He seemed to identify with, and then project, a kind of misunderstood misfit persona, even while continuing grueling tours and recording sessions. April’s auction of Jackson’s ephemera included many of his home furnishings, sculptures, children’s race cars, and many many spangly clothes, but what caught my special notice were the Edward Scissorhands (1990) prop hands.

Johnny Depp as Edward Scissorhands (1990)

It turns out that Jackson had aggressively lobbied for title part in Tim Burton’s movie, and I’ve since realized this interest makes perfect sense. He was dressing like Edward Scissorhands before the movie was even made, with his wan skin tone, limp black hair, and ladders of leather straps and buckles. His penchant for these leather buckles was perhaps indicative of deeper, darker insecurities; desire for restraint in others and to be restrained oneself. They call to mind mental patients’ restraints and also S&M gear, as was fitting for a man whose mental stability and sexuality were examined and questioned throughout his career.

Jackson’s interpretations:
In gold lame with leather buckles catcher kneepads in HIStory tour (1992) in Prague:

Michael Jackson touring Bad in Maryland 1988 (before E.S., the year he moves into Neverland Ranch):

MILITARY / ROYALTY
The other side of the shy, misunderstood outsider was Jackson’s royal persona. His astounding collection of military jackets are protective in their stiffness, and project masculine virility and power with their broad shoulders (which temporarily mask Jackson’s narrow frame), and suggestion of violent battle. They are also commonly worn by male monarchs (who typically rely on medals rather than Jackson’s rhinestones for bling). Jackson was dubbed the “King of Pop” because of his extraordinary talent, but he shared other, less desirable similarities with kings. Like any monarch, his movement was confined to his personal properties and heavily guarded mobbed public appearances, which was undoubtedly trying. And since he achieved such fame at such a young age, like any prince or king, he had virtually no opportunity for normal, unfettered geographic exploration, and he alternately embraced this gift/curse — as in his royal military ensembles — and fought against it — as in his more threatening, soldier-based military ensembles.

Prince Charles:

Michael Jackson in military shirt with child in 1993

Jackson in more aggressive ammo military gear in 1993

In royal military jacket at Elizabeth Taylor's birthday celebration in 1997

Some of Jackson’s military jackets were rather conservative, approximating their official prototypes, but many more were colorful, glitzy, and laden with sparkles. It’s no coincidence that Jackson was a huge admirer of earlier pop royalty the Beatles (he procured the publishing rights to that influential band’s songbook) whose influential album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967) portrayed the Beatles in silly psychedelic ’60s military gear:

And Michael’s interpretations:

Michael Jackson and Brooke Shields at American Music Awards 1984

The flamboyant “King of Pop” in his royal jacket, complete with golden sash and epaulets, with presidential royalty the Reagans in conservative suits:

President Ronald Reagan praises Jackson's contribution to the drunk-driving awareness, 1984

SEXUALITY / GENDER
As many rock stars do, Jackson walked a tightrope between hyper-masculinity and femininity. Even glossing over the gory details of the Neverland Ranch kiddie porn/molestation fiasco (starting in 1993), I would be remiss to ignore Michael Jackson’s gender and sexuality issues. He never shied from gender ambiguity: on the contrary, he seemed to revel in them. His willowy body, straightened, flowing locks, lack of visible body or facial hair, permanent eyeliner and lipstick, and surgically slenderized jawline all contradicted his signature performative crotch grabs and pelvic thrusts. “In the Closet” (1991) is delightfully questionable in meaning, possibly referring to the unwanted media attention or to his ambiguous sexuality.

Jackson’s peek-a-boo curls emulate classic stars Rita Hayworth, Veronica Lake…

and bear eerie resemblance to his close personal friend who happens to be a classic movie star herself, Elizabeth Taylor:

Elizabeth Taylor, circa 1950s

In the “Scream” (1995) video, Michael and sister Janet are dressed in identical outfits that are clearly designed to blur dissimilarities between the siblings, not least of which being their respective genders:

The umbrella Jackson started toting for portable shade blurred gender lines in a more subtle way, plucked from the long line of both Eastern and Western women protecting themselves from the sunlight’s harsh rays by strolling with parasols.

Michael Jackson with umbrella, circa 2009

A geisha under a parasol (note the similar white skin and red mouth):

The body suits of the 1990s were generally worn by women, and then underneath pants. Jackson’s body suits worn over his pants, served as inner-as-outwear, much as Madonna used Gautier’s external corset/body suit in her Blond Ambition tour (1990). Though they were a female fashion, Jackson actually uses them to emphasize his crotch (Madonna did as well), both confusing gender lines and emphasizing male ones. Finally (but less interesting), the body suit has practical applications, staying put while the body underneath gyrates and writhes in dance, though I somehow doubt that’s what attracted Michael to them.

HIStory tour (1995):

Madonna in Jean-Paul Gautier’s Blond Ambition bustier (1990). (She sometimes wore it over pants like Michael.)

BURLESQUE
Part of what feminized many of Jackson’s ensembles were the sheer numbers of sparkles, lending a burlesque feeling to an otherwise masculine outfit. Much of his wardrobe was designed to remain visible to stadiums of thousands, but even in smaller gatherings and public appearances, the man indulged his penchant for rhinestones. Rhinestone studded and luminescent materials have a rich tradition in the (female dominated) burlesque world, highlighting every curve and suggestive movement for the audience. Again Michael taps into an overtly sexual genre, muddling his presentation of his sexuality.

Dita Von Teese, covergirl of the neo-burlesque movement, as a sexy rhinestone cowboy:

Selections from Michael’s bedazzled wardrobe can be found in this slideshow. I mean, the man had bedazzled socks:

Guy Trebay of the New York Times wrote, “More than almost any entertainer in memory, Michael Jackson was entirely of show business, and was seldom out of costume.” His influences were culled from a wide variety of sources, but it’s striking that even as he borrowed heavily from both genders’ beauty standards, a wide timeline of popular fashion and pop culture references, etc., the celebrity influences were primarily caucasian / Eastern. His narrowing facial modifications, relaxed hair and mysterious extreme pallor externalize a complex struggle with race identity (in addition to the feminine associations  and gender / sexuality questions they raise).

Many of Michael Jackson’s fashions caught on (the red leather jacket, the single glove is making a comeback on the likes of Biance and Victoria Beckham, etc.), but many more were just so outrageous (silken face masks, male burkas) that they die with the man. One of the amazing aspects of Jackson’s style (and I think this is a typical marker of a fashion icon) is that no matter how outrageous he looked throughout his life, he was consistent in the visual motifs with which he decorated himself, ultimately lending an agelessness to the man — after shedding his afro, he pretty much looked like an indeterminate 20-or-30-something-year-old, did he not? May we all leave such a legacy, fashion, musical, or otherwise.

Further Reading / Viewing:

• Deborah Nadoolman Landis, costume designer of several M.J. videos including Thriller, writes for FrockTalk “Michael Jackson fashion icon“
• Video mashups:
• West Side Story with “Bad” (1987) playing, sampling clips from WSS’s knife fight scene and the “Cool” numbers. (There are many other similar mashups that actually splice Michael Jackson video clips with West Side Story ones.)
• “Puttin’ on the Ritz” with Michael Jackson actually ballroom and tap dancing in white tails and top hat circa 1977 when he was 19.
• Fred Astaire set to Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal”
• New York Times slideshow

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Tearing "Kriah", 1996, welded iron. By Orna Ben-Ami

A couple months ago I had the unfortunate task of attending the funeral of my former coworker’s 20 year-old daughter who tragically died — of all  unlikely things in a developed country — during childbirth. In dressing for the funeral, I selected a lovely black taffeta dress with an outer layer of sheer black tulle with long tulle sleeves. In spite of its beauty (it’s a Lilith sample my friend, a former employee of that Parisian label, gave me), I actually don’t wear it very frequently because it’s a lot of black and I think it makes a morbid statement, especially paired with my pale skin; however this quality made it ideal for my sad errand.

my funeral garb

As I was putting the finishing touches on my toilette – I accessorized with a dripping black tasseled necklace — my lover asked if I really wanted to be so fancy. “Of course,” I replied, “it’s a funeral. You’re supposed to dress up to show your respect.” Though I had to leave at that moment, we resumed the conversation later.

My Man is accustomed to Jewish traditions including the kriah (or keriah) where mourners tear a rent in their clothes which they display for the 7 days of shiva, the intense mourning period following a death. The specific placement of this tear is determined by the relationship with the deceased: for a parent, the visible rip is on or near the heart; for siblings, children and spouses, the rip is on the right and need not actually be visible. Children of the deceased are not allowed to ever mend the tears they make, even when shiva has ended, whereas all other mourners may patch the holes after shoshim, the 30 days following a death.  Straight away, a hierarchy of relationships is established by the clothes. That of the parent and child is given precedence — even over spouses — in a stylized demonstration of respect and perhaps obligation more than an implied closeness of personal relationship, which I found interesting.

Kriah is traditionally ripped while standing (to show strength in a time of grief) and the following blessing is recited: Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam dayan ha’emet. Translation: “Blessed are You, Adonai Our God, Ruler of the Universe, the True Judge.”

tearing kriah

Nowadays, a torn kriah ribbon is sometimes substituted for an actual tear in mourners’ clothes:

kriah ribbon

The Biblical roots of the kriah include when Jacob believed his son Joseph was dead and he tore his garments (Genesis 37:34). Likewise, in II Samuel 1:11 King David and all his men rent their clothes upon hearing of the death of Saul and Jonathan. Job, too, in grieving for his children, stood up and rent his clothes (Job 1:20).

The kriah is a visual representation of the tear in the hearts and lives of the bereaved, or alternately, a vent to release their feelings. It also signifies that it is only the outer garment (representing the body) that has been torn; the soul of the deceased and the love that the deceased and the mourners have for each other endures. Furthermore, vanity in times of mourning is viewed as disrespectful — the bereaved should be focused on internal, soulful emotions and not outward public appearance. To this end, bathing, changing clothes, haircuts and nail clipping are also suspended, and to avoid temptation of pride, mirrors are covered.

The final rule of self-presentation during shiva (which also applies for Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement) is that leather shoes may not be worn. I was initially perplexed (as were several Jewish friends I asked, and many many people on the internet) as to the reasoning behind the ban on leather shoes in times of mourning. I understand that going without shoes is a powerful display of the rejection of physical comfort, but why would leather be specified? Sneakers, flip-flops or Crocs would circumvent the no-leather shoes rule but wouldn’t make sense if shunning comfort were the sole object (tee hee). Have no fear, Reader on the edge of your seat — I did find a plausible explanation.

First (and unsurprisingly), foregoing leather shoes to show deference has roots in the Torah: Moses removed his leather shoes (or sandals, as the case probably was) to approach the burning bush (Exodus 3:5), Joshua did as well when he faced the angel at the Promised Land (Joshua 5:15), and Ezekiel was commanded to remove his shoes while in mourning (Ezekiel 24:17). In these cases, the object was to show deference to God, but during shiva I imagine that that reverence is transferred to the departed. These were not demonstrations of deliberate discomfort so much as those of humility. A secondary explanation is that leather used to be far more of a luxury item than it is today (though there are clearly still traces of this high end market remaining). Leather shoes, then, fell into the category of jewelry and general adornment too ostentatious for times of ritualistic despair. The third reason for the leather shoes ban is one of sensitivity. “This is a day that we are not to practice violence and to look for compassion in life,” says Rabbi Jay Rosenbaum of the Herzl-Ner Tamid Conservative Congregation. “But to get the leather that would be used to make shoes would mean killing one of God’s creatures.”

Ultra-orthodox Jewish men pray as they gather for the mourning ritual of Tisha B'Av -- when Jews mourn the destruction of the biblical temples -- at the Western Wall in Jerusalem's Old City, August 10, 2008. Note the cloth shoes.

For Jews, distressing their appearance is a physical manifestation their distressed emotional states, which I find perfectly poignant, though it runs contrary to the Christian practices and ideologies I was familiar with before writing this post. I was brought up Episcopalian (the WASP version of Catholic, if you don’t know), and had a very different set of rituals surrounding death and mourning. A particularly complex and rigid set of rules and customs were solidified during the Victorian era, which I’ll concentrate on for no better reason than that period especially interests me.

After the death of Prince Albert in 1861, the devastated Queen Victoria decreed a 40 year mourning period that was to be observed by all in an elaborate and conspicuous manner. The dress codes relating to the royal death trickled down and were adopted by the church, to be followed for all (Christian) deaths. Dark, somber clothes were demanded by all affected by the death. Widows endured the most elaborate dress rules and for the longest period of time. They were to wear black dresses made of crepe (a dull, lusterless material) with black caps which were generally in a toned down version of the current style. Topping the costumes were long “weeping veils” which were sheer crepe or silk. All widows’ accessories were black as well, including parasols, gloves, and stockings; undergarments were exempt only because color-fast dyes had not yet been perfected and black would rub off on wearers’ bodies.

“Full mourning” lasted a year and one day for widows, after which they could graduate — slowly — to lighter, brighter colors, but only by prescribed degrees. Grays and deep purples were acceptable in “half mourning,”  and after 2 years or so a normal, fashionable pallet was once again acceptable. Additionally, widows were not to participate in society — that is, balls, social gatherings, and essentially any public event except church — for 3 months, after which they could go out in public but only in full mourning garb. When a widow appeared in fashionable colors again, it was essentially an announcement to the community that she was available for courting and remarriage, which was usually a financial necessity.

Scarlett O’Hara famously flaunted this tradition in the Gone with the Wind (1939) dancing scene where she flouts propriety, not by her clothes (which she complains loudly about but wears) but by dancing publicly, an act of frivolity distinctly unbecoming of a widow.

At the ball, having accepted the inappropriate dancing invitation of Rhet Butler:

Rhet: “We’ve sort of shocked the Confederacy, Scarlet.”

Scarlett: “It’s a little bit like blockade running, isn’t it?”

Rhet: “It’s worse!”

Here is a not-very-good clip, but even muted (which I suggest), you can practically hear the gasp of the shocked ball attendees when Rhet publicly bids for a dance with supposedly grieving Scarlett — and her Aunt Pitty actually faints! Fast-forward to 1:30:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YL4McnvwZz0&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0]

Here is a properly dressed widow, accessories and all:

Maria Dennis (1842-1917) wearing "widow's weeds" headgear

Christians, like Jews, downplay personal adornment while mourning, though not as completely. Jewelry may be worn, but it must be dark and possess little or no sheen. Several unusual materials became popular during the 19th century due to their possession of these qualities.

The hair of a beloved or recently deceased was often intricately woven into “chains” and “beads” to be worn by the bereaved:

hair jewelry

Queen Victoria’s obsession with the public mourning of Prince Albert resulted in a great demand for fashionable and affordable black jewelry, and jet became a popular material for jewelry and buttons. It is an incredibly dense, dark mineraloid derived from decaying wood, appropriately enough. It has been imbued with a religious significance too, as it is a traditional material for monks’ rosaries. Queen Victoria sported and popularized Whitby jet, which initially created a boom in the industry but hampered its long term usage as people associated the stone with death.  Vulcanite was another material of similar properties commonly used for mourning jewelry.

jet earrings

Compare the left shiny buttons below, suitable for everyday wear, to the matte version on the right, acceptable for mourning:

buttons

As in the Jewish custom, levels of Victorian observance were determined by relationship to the deceased, but this was marked more by length of time in mourning dress than by placement of a mourning emblem. Grieving men initially wore simple black suits and black armbands. Servants wore black armbands, as could men who were obliged to wear military uniforms. Children usually wore white with black trim in summer and gray with black trim in winter; they were to observe full mourning for 9 months and half mourning for 3 more (this was the same timeframe parents followed). Siblings observed full and half mourning for 3 months each. Unlike Jews who place the heaviest mourning obligation on surviving children, (Victorian) Christians emphasize the spousal relationship by cloaking the widow in the most elaborate costume and for the longest period of time, that is synced with her ultimate marital / sexual availability.

You can see that though the Victorians had strict rules regarding color (or lack thereof), materials, and textures / sheen, mourning clothes could still be decorative, a major departure from the Jewish tradition. Some of the differences may be related to the belief or disbelief in an afterlife. Christians, though grieving for their own losses, are supposed to rejoice that their loved ones have passed from this mortal world to the next heavenly one. Jews have no such idealistic post-death haven to temper their sorrow, so it follows that the mourning dress should be plainer. Relating to this theory is another Jewish tradition pertaining to the attire of the deceased themselves. After being washed, the body is dressed in tachrichim, hand sewn linen clothes. There are no pockets, as Jews believe we take nothing with us when we die, and everyone buried in identical robes symbolizes that all people are equal (this is reinforced by identical, plain pine caskets).

I love how costume has been utilized as a mourning tool in such different ways. I think there’s something very beautiful and appealing about both sets of rituals: they are both intended to demonstrate respect for the dead, comfort those left behind, and eventually assist the bereaved to return to normal life. Silly or excessive as either may seem, don’t we all crave those things in trying times?

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Since working on this post, my own uncle passed away (this is why it’s been so long since I posted last). Though I’m not religious, I did wear black for a week. This was not intended to be a signal to others (black garb is too commonplace to stand out anymore anyway) but as my own private gesture of deference and sorrow, using the language I express myself with: clothes. I dedicate this entry– as a fully inadequate demonstration of my own love and loss — to Uncle Dick.

Further reading:

• “Shoeless in the Sanctuary,” Dr. Yoel Shiloh
• “Mourning,” with more specific Biblical references, from the Jewish Encyclopedia
• JewishFunerals.org
• “Victorian Mouring Garb,” Morbid Outlook

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