Today I spoke to my close friend, John C. Ross, otherwise known as Jean Hollywood. An academic researcher, actor, illustrator, and more, he kindly produced original artwork for Documenting Fashion. Now, he divulges his keys to style, beauty, and knowing thyself…
What are you wearing today?
I’m wearing some lapis high-waisted jeans, with a top from TK Maxx – I’m not sure who made it, but it reminds me of Alexander McQueen. My black swoopy thing is from H&M; I am a lover of the High Street. I’m also wearing a really cheap and tacky gold necklace, with my initial, J. I always wear a lot of silver rings, which are inherited or gifts.
Tell me about your nails.
They’re stiletto nails, in a light blue with an under-sheen of gold. They are integral to me; they are an expression of my soul.
How would you describe your general style?
I’m attracted to dark things: I like dark wood and leather, and I wear a lot of black – I’m told it’s intimidating. I’m moving away from it a little, and am really liking lapis and gold. Lapis goes so well with gold, and is such a beautiful colour …Blue is my favourite colour, but I hardly wear it because I don’t think it suits me – apart from my jeans today, which are probably the first blue item I’ve ever owned.
How do people react to the way you look?
Emily Brontë once remarked, when she was judged in Belgium for wearing old-fashioned leg of mutton sleeves and refusing to wear a corset, that she ‘wished to be as God made [her]’. I’m inspired by that: people should be themselves. I think I am unique, and people’s reactions can sometimes be odd, and sometimes brilliant. I’m not traditionally masculine, and I’m happy to be more feminine. Near 100% of people think that I’m a woman, and I don’t mind that because I’m me, regardless of whether I am a man or a woman. How people label me doesn’t matter too much, because I am who I am. This is why people should experiment with fashion. You have to know who you are – as the Ancient Greeks would say, gnothi seauton – and fashion can be a tool for this, through exploring and finding out what works.
Who do you draw inspiration from?
Give me any strong woman, like Katharine Hepburn. Lana Del Rey is an interesting one. I love her music, but I worry that people glamorise the things she sings about. The way she looks is a bit of an inspiration. I adore the music and aesthetic of the 1960s and 70s, but I never felt like I was allowed to. Then Lana came along and brought it to me, by putting it into a contemporary setting.
Has your current work on mid-nineteenth century photography given you an insight into the period’s sartorial culture?
Photography at the time was quite spooky: people didn’t like seeing themselves reflected back on metal and glass. This allowed for some cultural self-reflection, which has snowballed into how we use photography today. Also, feminism was in its inception then; women were very slowly starting to take a handle on independent life. In terms of fashion, the big European fashion houses were way ahead of everywhere else, which is interesting, as it took longer for high fashion to disseminate, if at all.
Finally, Documenting Fashion would like to thank you for the beautiful contributor illustrations you produced for our blog. Can you tell us any more about them?
I’m very happy with them, and hope you are too. It was a fascinating process for me. It wasn’t a new one, because I often draw portraiture, but it’s really nice to have a set of people all interested in similar things. It was great to source and research what people are into. I realised that essentially, I am a fashion illustrator, which I didn’t consciously recognise before. Now I know that is what I’d like to do more of.Categories: Interviews, Uncategorized | Comments Off
Recently, I’ve been looking through the copies of Gazette du Bon Ton in our collection, trying to find some cold-weather fashions for our upcoming display for Somerset House’s Winter Festival. In the process, I have come across several plates drawn by Futurist artist Thayaht for couturier Madeleine Vionnet. As those of you who have met me will know, Vionnet is a long-term obsession of mine. I find her work endlessly fascinating, and seeing the ways that Thayaht sought to represent her quintessentially three-dimensional designs is itself an absorbing topic.
Vionnet created her clothes in the round – working on a miniature mannequin to wrap specially woven textiles around the figure – and this makes her designs particularly difficult to capture in two-dimensional form. Unlike many designers, she never sketched her ideas first. And she didn’t divide up the body into back and front, sleeves and bodice etc. This means her garments enveloped the wearer – and curved around the body. She looked carefully at the anatomy and worked with the fabric’s bias to construct garments that floated just above the skin. This brought focus to, for example, the small of the back or the hipbones – areas that other designers tended to skim over. This sensual approach to body and fabric worked well in photographs, where live models could show the garments in movement, and the viewer could see how Vionnet’s work fitted to the body. But it was harder to translate into flat drawings.
This is where her close collaboration with Thayaht comes in. Working with a Futurist – who was himself interested in the relationship between dress and body, and who wanted to convey the moment – motion, modernity and flux – meant a close connection in themes and approach. These preoccupations made them a very good match for each other, since representation – whether in fabric or fashion drawing – was for them a means to explore what it was to be modern, and how this could be conveyed through contemporary art and design.
The images above show how this was achieved. Thayaht used a simple colour palette – as did Vionnet – so as not to distract from the overall form. He used force lines that reached out from the body into the surrounding space – to connect body to place and show how movement and form were linked through Vionnet’s designs. Whether at the theatre, swathed in furs, or on the links, playing golf, women inhabited space in new ways during the early 20th century. His drawings conveyed environment and emotion, too: dark clouds, that mirrored a dress’ smoky greys or a model’s flushed cheeks and anticipatory glance, that connected the blacks and reds of a dress to lush curtains and contrasted with electric lighting’s acid yellow at the theatre. Vionnet’s designs constructed new femininities and Thayaht’s drawings combined avant-garde art and design to demonstrate the effect this had on women, fashion and the spaces they inhabited.Categories: From the Collections, Uncategorized, Work in Progress | Comments Off
No chance to escape the city for sunnier climes this summer? The Fashion and Textile Museum, located in Bermondsey, South London, may hold the answer…
Made in Mexico: The Rebozo in Art, Culture and Fashion (6 June-31 August 2014) traces an extensive and historically informed account of the sartorial evolution of the rebozo from the 17th century, beginning with the exquisite collection of Belgian diplomat Robert Everts (1878-1942), to the present day. The enveloping rebozo, which is derived from the Spanish verb rebozar, to cover, is a long flat rectangular garment woven from cotton, silk, wool or, more recently, synthetic fibres. It is used interchangeably by Mexican women of all social classes as a scarf or shawl, wrapped or draped around the body and/or head. This exhibition makes use of loans from the Franz Mayer Museum, Mexico City (its next destination in Spring 2015), the Museum of Textiles, Oaxaca, and the British Museum, London. It celebrates the indigenous craft skills and artistic excellence entailed in the production of the rebozo, which is still woven using long-established production techniques. In addition to the expected, and exceptional, rebozos displayed in glass vitrines or hung up throughout the gallery, the exhibition also features clothing, photographs, paintings, sculptures and installations. It includes contributions by contemporary Mexican and British fashion and textile designers, artists and photographers including Kaffe Fassett, Carla Fernandez, Francisco Toledo, Graciela Iturbide and, perhaps unsurprisingly, Zandra Rhodes. Rhodes is the founder of FTM (operated by Newham College of Further Education since 2006) and still has an active role in its direction and development.
A more detailed review of this exhibition is due to be published in a special issue on Latin American/Latino Fashion, Style and Popular Culture in the Fashion, Style & Popular Culture journal, guest edited by Jose Blanco F. (Textiles, Merchandising and Interiors, University of Georgia) and Raul J. Vazquez-Lopez (Romance Languages, University of Georgia).Categories: Commentary, Summer, Uncategorized | Comments Off
The jewellery designed and worn by Coco Chanel and, by extension, the modern-day incarnation of Chanel Fine Jewellery, presents a precise reflection of her overarching mythology, weaving together the three crucial components of this myth – design, biography and contemporary image – into an aesthetic shorthand for its contradictions and consistencies. The jewellery’s positioning as a perpetual counterpoint to the design philosophies Chanel signified through her clothing designs subverted and, at times, reversed the relationships between intricacy and simplicity, abundance and absence.
Cecil Beaton, writing in the year of Chanel’s ‘comeback’ in 1954, contemplated the logic behind the designer’s promotion of rational simplicity within her clothing designs. Bypassing typical attributions to notions of modernity and shifting social mores, Beaton suggested an alternative interpretation: ‘possibly she turned to nature and…reaffirmed, the fact that the female of the species is generally unadorned, that female birds are drab compared to the males’. The dualism inherent within the wider Chanel mythology, however, finds its full force in the couturière’s consistent contrasts: between this minimalistic clothing and a mode of ‘adornment’ defined by luxury, but never ostentation; artistry, but never economical value. She deconstructed the notion of ‘adornment’, stripping it from its conventional space on the clothing’s surface, only to reconstruct it through the medium of jewellery and, subsequently, making this juxtaposition an integral part of her image and identity, both personally and through her brand.
Chanel’s clothing designs appeared to be simple, with their streamlined silhouettes and reductive aesthetic, yet they both contradicted and complemented the bold, graphic qualities of her costume jewellery and the fantastical profusion of her 1932 foray into diamond jewellery. Her ability to incorporate seemingly oppositional elements, such as authentic and imitation stones, as seen in photographic representation of her wearing her own jewellery, alongside the consistency with which she employed recurring motifs and design features – the star, the feather, the lion – as seen in both the 1932 and 2012 collections, is part of her inherent mythology. However, the tensions that surface between contradiction and consistency within Chanel’s jewellery, and indeed clothing, are not limited solely to design. The frictions that have inevitably arisen between Karl Lagerfeld’s desire to respectfully reanimate the iconographical traditions of his predecessor while, simultaneously, avoiding an overtly reverential methodology create a contemporary layer of paradox atop a pre-existing mythology. Similarly, Chanel’s own conscious presentation of a cultivated ‘personality’, which sought to rewrite the more humble and tumultuous aspects of her personal narrative, was crystallized within her own use of adornment. However, an excessive biographical focus in relation to the Chanel ‘myth’, due primarily to a recent cultural propensity to amplify and ‘commercialize’ this particular aspect, can certainly eclipse vital components of a mythology that, in fact, extends further than mere biography. However, without any consideration of Chanel’s heavily mythologized personality, the ‘myth’ as a whole remains incomplete, owing to its significant contribution to the durability of her overall image.
The myth’s three central components are therefore inextricably interlinked in its establishment. Thus, both the jewellery’s design and representation enabled the expression of a mythology that extends beyond design in order to encompass interdependent notions of personality and contemporary image, and which, subsequently, becomes an embodiment of the Chanel brand’s modern, contradictory and indissoluble identity.
Beaton, C. (1954) The Glass of Fashion, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson.
Bolton, A. and Koda, H., eds. (2005) Chanel, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Mauriès, P. (2012) Jewelry by Chanel, London: Thames & Hudson.Categories: Commentary, Uncategorized | Comments Off
What follows are my musings on what happened in the last week of June. On June 25th I co-organised a symposium called Fashioning the Archive at the Royal College of Art. My friend, Camelia Dewan, a social anthropology and history PhD student at Birkbeck and SOAS presented her research on the demise of the textile trade in colonial Bengal. While the symposium’s other speakers, who were mainly dress and film scholars, were busy mining archives for material traces, Camelia lamented the archive’s concentration on the material (muslin) as it failed to yield basic information about the textile workers. In the symposium’s closing comments, Professor Claire Pajaczkowska surmised that as the muslin workers and the potentially sordid details of their employment faded into oblivion, the bourgeois European women who dressed in muslin looked as reified and ethereal as Whistler paintings.
Later at dinner, Camelia, who had not previously attended a dress-focused conference admitted that while the fashion was an important trade, its overall prioritisation of appearances above the workers’ and planet’s wellbeing made her uncomfortable. In the aftermath of the South Wales Evening Post’s story about the discovery of a label with ‘Forced to Work Exhausting Hours’ in a Primark dress, I felt that she certainly had a point: there was an ugly disconnect between a new style’s fresh optimism and the often amoral processes that brought it into being.
The next day, quite unexpectedly, I was made even more aware of the disjuncture between fashion’s style and substance. While I was waiting to have my haircut, I settled down with the July issue of British Vogue and turned to Jo Ellison’s profile of the French Vogue editor Emmanuelle Alt. Alt was credited with being the author of the insouciant yet sharp Parisian style that fashion followers aspired to. Ellison praised Alt’s down-to-earth style. In contrast to her predecessor Carine Roitfeld, who promoted a ‘hyper-sexualised, somewhat cold eroticism’, Alt exhibited her ‘far earthier sensuality’ in a personal uniform of ‘skinny legs, usually clad in denim, trophy jacket, spindle heels’ and fashion features that showcased the archetypal ‘sexy French woman’ in a quotidian rather than fantasy mode.
Despite the article’s professions of Alt’s rationality, her breezy nonchalant replies to Ellison’s questions evoked what Camelia had identified as fashion’s prioritisation of appearances over ethics. To give her credit, Alt did acknowledge her responsibility to exclude models who were overly young or thin from Vogue’s pages because of the impact on readers. However, her attitudes to cigarette imagery and feminism were somewhere between amoral and nonsensical. Although Alt does not smoke ‘she is robust in the cigarette’s defence’ because ‘it has always been very aesthetic. I don’t think that because you have a cigarette it’s going to influence someone to smoke or not’. This may be true of a self-assured forty-something woman, but can the same sophistication really be expected from an impressionable teenager? Her response to the question on whether she considers herself a feminist was even more baffling: “‘No, not at all”, she laughs, aghast at the thought. “Life would be miserable without men. Who would you buy all those shoes for? “ ‘Here, Alt’s retrogressive politics are less concerning than her understanding of the word feminist. In France, as in Britain, the so-called ‘F-word’ has gathered negative connotations, however, only the most unenlightened or prejudiced associate it with a Spartan existence devoid of male company and shoes. Ellison’s conclusion that Alt had ‘spoken like a true Parisienne’, was deeply unsatisfying. Should someone who appears au courant but is seemingly unaware of fashion’s impact on the world around her be positioned as a contemporary icon?
Of course, you might argue that Alt’s insousciance (or not caring) forms part of her appeal. Like earlier fashion icons, including fifteenth-century Italian courtiers or indeed, Whistler’s women in white muslin she projects a kind of sprezzatura or effortless grace that comes from not trying too hard. Perhaps, we should champion fashion leaders for what they’re good at, setting trends, and overlook their politics. However, given that the tastemaker’s influence is not only invested in looks but in lifestyles, and reaches wide audiences, their opinions matter. Nonchalance may be a fashion perennial, but when aspects of its ethos and dissemination are so problematic, it begins to lose its appeal.Categories: Uncategorized | Comments Off
The contents of the display box outside shoe shop Donna Più encapsulate summer. As befits its tropical location in Alghero, a Sardinian town overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, the shop’s display box house hats and sunglasses to protect from the sun, and gold-coloured scarves, bags and jewellery to show off bronzed skin. The sandals and bikinis in the bottom row are brightly coloured, in step with a rainbow assortment of lipstick and nail varnish. The coordinated chaos of the contents resemble the look of the many other boxes that adorn the walls of the town’s historic centre, containing jewellery made from the island’s abundant coral reefs. While these natural products are wrought into charms and pendants for consumers who wish to personify a season or place, the creators make clothing and accessories that prescribe how people should present themselves in the summertime.
Seen together, the objects in the box also evoke the female form. Joanne Entwistle wrote that “So significant are clothes to our readings of the body that they can come to stand for sexual difference in the absence of a body.” And, although Donna Più predominantly sells shoes, it seeks to signify ‘more’ than just that. Its fragmented name meaning, ‘women more’, calls to mind all things feminine. But whose definition of femininity is it? As women stroll through the streets and glimpse their reflections in the box’s glass, they project their image onto the display. Fragments entwine with inner thoughts, and become bodies, ideal feminine tourists, or more.
Entwistle, J. (2000) The Fashioned Body: Fashion, Dress and Modern Social Theory, Cambridge: Polity Press, p. 141.Categories: Summer, Uncategorized | Comments Off
All opinions are the author’s own.
On 24th June 2014, Rebecca Jones posted a photograph on Twitter, addressed to the low cost clothing retailer, Primark. Her navy blue top, sprinkled with a neat grid of white polka dots, and worn with jeans, although simple and stylish, would not be out of place on a typical high street. What isn’t so typical, however – not even within the thousands of identical garments sold nationally by the retailer – is the label nestling amongst its folds. In addition to standard issue washing and care instructions in red and white printed text, is a handmade addition. Its idiosyncratic stitches and scrawled black capitals state plainly: ‘“Degrading” sweatshop conditions.’
Primark’s ethical disposition has never been entirely untarnished, and a major section of its website is dedicated to bolstering this, with photographs, videos, and attempts to address the moral question, explicitly quoted: ‘How can Primark offer the lowest prices?’. This initiative is especially important in light of last year’s tragedy at Rana Plaza, the garment factory that collapsed, killing over 1,130 workers.
Whilst the brand offers amongst the lowest in-store garment prices, it was by no means the only retailer to have used the factory, and therefore not alone in its association with unfavourable working conditions. These too, are representative of a much more widespread problem, and the heavily publicized disaster served to bring to public consciousness an issue that can be otherwise all too easy to repress. When faced with an accessible abundance of goods, in retail outlets thousands of miles away from the factories in which they are made, this sensation of consumer dissociation is exacerbated.
Other consumers also discovered handmade reminders of these ethical issues hidden in their garments. A similar example appeared in a floral dress bought by Rebecca Gallagher in the same Swansea store, whereas the third known example emerged in the form of a note, written in Chinese and concealed in the pocket of a pair of trousers, bought by Karen Wisinska in Belfast. The affected garments were all purchased a year or more ago. Although investigations have concluded that the incidents were likely staged, and added after arriving in store, this does not defeat their role in sharply raising awareness of the very real issue of fast fashion, and its implications.
Ready-to-wear clothing’s rise to dominance sped up after the First World War, when the industry began to evolve into its modern state. In the last thirty years, there has been a huge growth in availability, range and, indeed, excess of clothing, much of which – Primark’s wares included – is so cheap that it can be discarded at the end of the fashion season. Is this a demonstration of ready-to-wear reaching a tipping point? Is fast, throwaway fashion sustainable, environmentally and ethically alike? Can it truly exist without adversely affecting humanity – both in terms of unscrupulous treatment of producers, and corroding consumers’ sense of value?
Recently, a tide of organized and public protest against these issues has gained momentum, and increasingly, brands new and old explicitly promote consciousness. Italian label Progetto Quid, for example, transforms surplus stock into ‘limited eco chic collections’, employing ‘exclusively disadvantaged women’, and combats any residual notions that responsible clothing must be staid, with its trend-led design. Nevertheless, will this be enough to entice the average shopper away from the low cost and easy availability that they are accustomed to? Only time will tell whether ethics matter enough over convenience, and whether accountability and accessibility can converge. Perhaps the Primark ‘labels’ can become a catalyst for change that has long been required.
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“Who said surfing wasn’t chic?” inquired surfertoday.com in a brief feature about Chanel’s pricy surfboards featured in its 2010 Spring/Summer ad campaign. While Karl Lagerfeld’s take on Chanel’s signature tweed suits imbued the streamlined, monochrome boards with an air of modern elegance, surf culture’s associations with youthful vitality reinvigorated the fashion classic. The campaign illustrated how conceptions of cool have evolved over the course of the twentieth century and how the appropriation of subcultural styles give high fashion designs an edge. Surveying these images with legends of Chanel’s adventurous and determined personality in mind, I imagine that Mademoiselle herself would have been tempted to try the sport had she been presented with the opportunity.
Surfing has become a global phenomenon as a professional competitive sport and as a favoured leisure activity. Its popular mythology, promoted by music and films, is associated with the rejection of mainstream culture and the pursuit of personal freedom through a communion with nature. These romantic preconceptions make it a desirable brand in itself, which both consumers and manufacturers seem keen to buy into. Indeed, its longterm relevance to dress history was underlined when a surprising fragment of interwar surfing history circulated on blogs and websites in the form of a photograph of a woman standing in front of a surfboard on a nondescript beach. Agatha Christie was identified as the unlikely subject of the image. Christie first tried the sport in South Africa, but it wasn’t until a trip to Hawaii in 1922 that she mastered the cumbersome art of surfing standing upright on the board. In her 1972 autobiography, Christie described how she needed to adjust her wardrobe to the demands of the sport, as her “handsome silk bathing-dress” could not withstand the force of the waves. Instead, Christie opted for “a wonderful, skimpy, emerald-green wool bathing-dress,” purchased from the hotel shop and accessorised with laced, soft leather boots to protect her feet from the sharp coral of the Honolulu beach. This suggests that even before surfing became the fashionable sport it is today, its practical demands did not mean the end of individuality in dress. Her words give us a glimpse into attitudes towards surf-related attire before preconceptions were created by vivid marketing campaigns and promoted through music and film, as its popularity has grown since the 1950s.
By 2010 – the year of the Chanel campaign – the surfing industry, which encompasses a range of specialised companies from wetsuit manufacturers to wax and leash makers, generated more than seven billion dollars annually. Established companies, such as Quicksilver, which was founded in 1969, viewed attempts to tap into the developing market by big sportswear brands, such as Nike, with suspicion. Many of surf companies began as small local businesses during a period when the sport lacked mainstream popularity and their history is a key component of their brand identity. The way that labels, such as O’Neill, founded in 1952, and credited with the invention of the wetsuit, evolved over the years is closely linked to how the sport. This kind of authenticity mattered within the industry, and is reinforced by the short lifespan of the Nike 6.0 surf project in contrast to the ongoing popularity of Hurley, an established brand bought by the sportswear giant in 2002.
Both surfing and fashion are pursuits that allow self-expression, suggesting successful future collaborations, if collaborators are carefully chosen. Although the surfing industry has experienced setbacks in the last few years, the announcement that Kelly Slater, one of surf’s superstars, left his sponsor Quicksilver in order to partner with the Kering Group in March of this year suggests that the sport is still considered to have potential from a commercial standpoint. Slater and Kering’s joint venture will take the shape of an eco-friendly clothing company and Slater will serve as the Group’s ambassador for its issue concerning sustainability. It seems that through this collaboration, new standards can be set for both fashion and surfing, that combine authenticity and trend-awareness.
Christie, A. (1977) An Autobiography. Glasgow: Fontana Collins.
Heinemann, J. (2004) Vintage Surfing Graphics. London and New York: Taschen.
Laderman, S. (2011) Empire in Waves: A political history of surfing. Los Angeles and London: University of California Press.
Schmidt, C. (2012) The Swimsuit. London and New York: Berg.
Wade, A. (2012) Amazing Surfing Stories. Chichester: Wiley Nautical.
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Rita Andrade was editor of the Brazilian edition of Fashion Theory: The Journal of Dress, Body and Culture. The journal was in circulation from 2002 to 2004 and 11 issues were published, always to coincide with the publication of the English-language edition of Fashion Theory. Alongside Regina Root, Rita is the guest co-editor of Brazilian Fashion, a special English-language edition of Fashion Theory: The Journal of Dress, Body and Culture, which will be published in April 2016. On 10th June 2014, Rita explained to me via skype how Fashion Theory, A Revista da Moda, Corpo e Cultura (as translated into Brazilian Portuguese) originated, and how it achieved the goal that it set itself:
“It began in 1999. I had just finished my MA in Historic Textiles and Dress at Winchester School of Art. I was aware that only a few journals that specialised in dress and fashion were distributed throughout Brazil, and that these were all in European languages. I phoned Berg to see if anything could be done to change this. My first idea was to just have a few Fashion Theory articles translated into Brazilian Portuguese. We later decided that it would be better to have the whole journal translated into Brazilian Portuguese. This would be more useful to Brazilian researchers, who could gain a broader idea of what was going on in the rest of the world in terms of fashion and dress.
I returned to Brazil at the end of 1999 and attempted to find a Brazilian publisher who would be interested in paying for the translation of the journal. It is important to remember that the market for this type of publication does not bring financial remuneration. The Associaçiao Brasileira da Industria Textil e de Confecçao (www.abit.org.br) were interested in getting closer to universities in Brazil at this time and paid for half of the costs of the first two issues.
I also had the help of a friend, Kathia Castilho, who was then a teacher at Universidade Anhembi Morumbi. She helped to negotiate the publication and came up with the idea of adding an article from a Brazilian author in each issue. These articles demonstrated great variety and a more mature approach to fashion and dress. They showed that many of us were teaching fashion at MA level throughout Brazil in many different areas of social sciences, which included the concerns of semiotics and psychoanalysis, and the aesthetic, social, cultural, psychological, economical, and political aspects of dress and fashion. Brazil still had no national association for fashion researchers at this time. Brazil is a huge country and Brazilian researchers were not aware of what was going on nationally or internationally. They were all working individually. They wanted to meet each other and to share ideas, but they didn’t know how to do this. The Brazilian edition of Fashion Theory offered a solution to this problem. It provided Brazilian researchers with up-to-date international fashion publications and interests. It also highlighted that there were many researchers in Brazil who came from the social sciences and were not directly concerned with fashion but working with fashion theory. Fashion programmes in Brazil began to add Fashion Theory to reading lists, bringing about fresh research results.
The translation of Fashion Theory was a difficult process because many of the translators were not specialized in fashion. After two years of circulation we began to realise that out target, which was to bring Brazilian researchers together and to realise our main interests, had been achieved. It was easier for us to read the original version of Fashion Theory in English than to translate it into Brazilian Portuguese.
Unfortunately, the Brazilian edition of Fashion Theory also demonstrated that our interests were still international as opposed to Brazilian fashion and dress. This is a shame. It is pragmatic for Brazilian researchers to take the time to consider Brazilian fashion and dress in detail too – we speak the language, we are closer to the archive, we have a better grasp of the culture and cultural issues and can thus offer something of benefit to international fashion research.”Categories: Interviews, Uncategorized | Comments Off
I love packing for my summer holidays. I realise that may seem an odd, even slightly masochistic statement. But no, for me, packing is a pleasure – it taps into my innate enjoyment of organization and neatness – and more than that, it allows me to combine my research into fashion history with my lived experience of dress. My fascination with American sportswear from the 1930s-50s, and special interest in designers Vera Maxwell and Claire McCardell can be given full reign, as I pursue the perfect travel wardrobe.
While fashion magazines are now full of stories on ‘capsule wardrobes’ and articles on how to dress for every possible travel destination, in the 1930s, this was a newly emerging trend. Maxwell and McCardell helped to define this idea of a small, well-curated selection of separates that could be mixed-and-matched for the duration of the holiday. Developments in diverse areas, including, ready-to-wear manufacturing, advances in dying various fabrics the same colour and the growth of travel as a leisure activity – think cruise ships and new airlines – meant the coordinated capsule wardrobe was the rational and modern way to approach dressing.
By the late 1930s, McCardell was making five or seven piece collections of clothes that addressed women’s lifestyle needs – whether travelling for business or pleasure. Lightweight chambray in an easy dress, shorts, jacket and sun top, for example could be taken for a short beach holiday. Or a navy-based wardrobe of jacket, skirt, trousers, culottes and knitted top might be good for a business trip.
What mattered was the sense of ease and appropriateness – these designers were professional women themselves, they understood the demands of modern life and saw their task as problem-solving – making their customers’ choices more straightforward, allowing them to carry minimum luggage, while being assured of their fashionable status.
But their designs are not just logical, cold answers to a fashion question. Their love of fabric and detail, focus on clear silhouettes and variety-through-combination make them fascinating pieces of modern design. And fashion photography of the time, by Louise Dahl-Wolfe for example, emphasized the sense of happiness and ease their work promoted.
So when you pack your suitcase this summer, think of these pioneers of travel fashions, and enjoy the pleasures of simple, modern classics.Categories: Summer, Uncategorized | Comments Off