viz. - fashion

"Boy" Cuts: Part II

Jenn Shapland — Thu, 17 Oct 2013 21:27:29 +0000

In my last post, I asked a pretty basic question: “why is it that most women’s clothing is designed to either a) show off or b) hide the body, while most men’s clothing is designed to comfortably fit the body?” When I say designed, I want to emphasize that I’m looking at the shape and cut of the fabric, first and foremost, which determine how a garment fits. Let me give a few examples.

Some days, you wake up and all you want is to wear a goddamn white t-shirt. For me, it’s barely a step up from just-not-even-gonna-get-dressed-today,-hope-that’s-cool. It’s also a fairly classic, chic, minimalist choice if you can pull it off. But I think it’s particularly hard to find that just right white t-shirt. My current option isn’t exactly cutting it. It’s a v-neck from (no surprise here) American Apparel, a brand notorious for it’s staunch policies on labor justice and equally staunch ad strategy of degrading women. You know this shirt was designed for a woman because:

1. the sleeves are extremely small and rounded and expose the armpit when I raise my arms;

2. the side seams curve in and back out again at the ideal, agreed-upon “waist” line, in which all women’s clothes wearers are identical (clearly); and

3. the v-neck is designed to highlight a certain part—well, two—of the body.

All of which choices were made, primarily, to show off the so-called female form. It’s something that I find pretty counter-intuitive, given the original motivation behind deciding to wear a white t-shirt. Of course, American Apparel also offers a line of Unisex items. These are cut and sized according to the Men’s styles, like, well, all things considered universal, no?

So. True story. I hit up a Labor Day sale this year looking for classy button-down shirts I could wear to teach. Changing jobs is always a great excuse for shopping. On the advice of some of my closest well-dressed dude friends, I headed to J. Crew’s outlet store in Round Rock, Texas. After meandering around awhile, I picked up a few patterned women’s shirts that weren’t heinous or any shade of Easter egg. The thing is, I’m pretty picky about colors. I like to wear neutrals and primary colors, and in the ladies’ section I couldn’t help but mutter to myself, “Who in hell needs so many kinds of pink?”

That’s when I saw the entire back wall of the store stacked floor to ceiling with gorgeous, primary-colored prints and solids, all folded perfectly, all buttoned to the top. Men’s shirts. Duh.

Image from Fall 2013 Style Guide via www.jcrew.com

I picked up a huge pile, (after spending considerable time just petting the things. Have you noticed how soft they are? Before you even wash them? I always assumed dudes just broke theirs in better. Nope. And don’t even get me started on the price difference.), and headed with my arms full back to the dressing room. Stopped by a middle-aged sales woman, I was asked if I intended to put my glorious stash of men’s shirts up at the front to be gift wrapped. For a second, I was legit confused. And then I explained, in a vaguely insulted manner, that no, I was going to try these on myself, thanks. She looked me up and down, and then took me back to the fitting room.

Because I suddenly felt a need to defend my non-normative selections, and because clothing salespeople make me nervous in general, I began to explain how I like the colors, how maybe they’ll fit better. To which she admitted, not shamelessly, that she owns several of the men’s shirts herself. “Have you felt how soft they are?” she swooned.

The fact is, the men’s shirts are not just made from better fabric, but are sewn better than the women’s and fit me way better and way more comfortably. Because women’s shirts are cut with a curved waistline that has been standardized so that it fits some idealized woman’s body, I always walk away with the feeling that my waist is clearly in the wrong place. It’s not the clothes that are the problem, must just be me. And I’m not the only one: J. Crew’s creative director Jenna Lyons has her own button-downs custom made.

Image via www.businessinsider.com; Jamie McCarthy / Getty Images

There’s definitely something fishy about the recent turn to menswear styles among women’s clothing designers that coincides with a consistent blindness to ways to cut clothes that would fit, rather than objectify the body. Even if they follow more neutral silhouettes, boy/tomboy cuts are still about the viewer more than the wearer. Amelia Diamond has a theory of her own about this contradictory trend. She writes, “I’d argue that the lean towards masculinity is, in part, our wanting to divorce ourselves from the oversexed pop media coverage on musicians...so consistently almost-naked that they’ve erased the mystery and allure that the female body used to hold.”* It’s not a bad theory, but off the runway I think the pull for customers is more about comfort than it is about appearance. Even if it's the appearence of comfort that's being advertised. More on that next time.

*Kudos yet again to Rhiannon Goad for the lead.

"Boy" Cuts: Part I

Jenn Shapland — Mon, 14 Oct 2013 15:00:00 +0000

Compiled from www.madewell.com

Fall clothing lines are out, which means the online window-shopper in me is happy as a clam. I’ve been scrolling around, looking for new sweaters or jeans or blazers that would be appropriate for the drastic change in seasons we collectively imagine here in central Texas.

And here’s what I’ve noticed: all the things I like right now have names with the word “boy” in them. Tomboy jackets, boyjeans, boyfriend shirts. Perhaps this is just indicative of a (never-ending) androgynous trend at the places I shop; as the image above shows, just one store—in this case, Madewell— capitalizes on the boyish qualities of their women’s clothes four times in their fall lookbook. Menswear-inspired women’s clothes are nothing new, but they’re definitely on trend in the retail world this fall, in a very self-aware way. Dressing across gender lines can be cool and even a means of subverting traditional gender roles or images. But labeling these styles “boy ____” has, I think, the opposite function.

It got me thinking about some of the strange, patriarchal, normative, and bizarrely long-lasting differences between men’s and women’s clothing design. In particular, one of the most basic differences: how they’re cut.

I’ve recently started designing and making my own clothes, largely inspired by a Japanese designer whose company, Arts & Science, has produced a line of “Genderless Clothes” and consistently produces exquisite, minimalist pieces that anyone could wear.

Image from www.designsponge.com

As I began to experiment with sewing from a pattern, I learned quickly that one of the reasons I love Arts & Science is that their cuts are straight and simple. (Which is great for someone who’s still figuring out her sewing machine. Curves are tricky, y’all.) Patterns for women’s clothes (many of which haven’t changed since, oh, the 1950s) are more often about contouring, curving, and accenting or hugging the woman’s “form.” And this, I think, is where the problems arise.

The answer is obvious, but why is it that most women’s clothing is designed to either a) show off or b) hide the body, while most men’s clothing is designed to comfortably fit the body? The objectifying gaze of patriarchy is right up against you at this moment, fellow wearers of women’s clothes! It’s sewn into your very seams! Even if you’re wearing (like I am right now) a basic white T-shirt. More on that in the next installment.

Last thoughts for today: I saw Savages perform Friday night and just want to commend them and call attention to their bravely stark, minimalist, stage attire. Their all black, clean, un-contoured cuts, combined with dark hair and white lights for a pristinely simple, powerful visual. For a band that’s all about minimizing distraction to maximize immersion, I was thrilled to see such attention to detail (or lack of detail) in their clothing styles.

Image from "The Key"

Stay tuned: in the next installment, I tell a harrowing tale of the time I took men’s clothes to the Round Rock, TX J. Crew outlet women’s fitting room (gasp!), and share a critique of (many twenty-something’s beloved) American Apparel.

Who Wore it Better? Kimye Edition

Laura Thain — Mon, 06 May 2013 17:33:04 +0000

Image Credit: Entertainmentwise

Celebrity fashion is a no-holds-barred spectators’ sport, and, like the fashion industry itself, it features and targets women as its primary audience. Free Thought blogger Greta Christina described the language of fashion succinctly in her recent post “Fashion is a Feminist Issue”, arguing that if we interpret fashion as a “language of sorts…an art form, even,” we can begin to view fashion as “one of the very few forms of expression in which women have more freedom than men.” But, she continues, “it’s [no] accident that it’s typically seen as shallow, trivial, and vain. It is the height of irony that women are valued for our looks, encouraged to make ourselves beautiful and ornamental… and are then derided as shallow and vain for doing so. Like it or not, fashion and style are primarily a women’s art form. And I think it gets treated as trivial because women get treated as trivial.”

This post seeks to read the rhetoric of celebrity fashion coverage in light of remarks like those of Greta Christina. How can we read celebrity fashion as an arena that in principle grants women more freedom than men, but in practice consistently limits the freedom of both men and women to express themselves? How do the voyeuristic, hypercritical impulses of celebrity media intersect and inform the world of fashion, particularly women’s fashion? I take as my case study here the much-photographed couple Kim Kardashian and Kanye West, sometimes known as a couple by their nickname “Kimye.”

Image Source: Kendall and Kylie

I’ll begin my examination with a convention of celebrity fashion coverage—the “who wore it better” genre. In its most serious iteration, the formula encourages competition among fashionable women of means by enlisting an audience of fashionable women without means as judges. Most often, the comparison is inspired by two celebrities wearing an identical piece of fashion, usually from a premiere designer’s current season. In the race to consume runway fashion, celebrities are pitted against one another to not only be the first to sport a fresh-off-the-runway look, but to also wear it better than the competition that will inevitably follow. And anyone who’s done their homework on fashion marketing knows that, while the choices offered by mass-market or “commercial” fashion are vast, high-end designers promote their brand by strategically limiting supply and in order to create an illusion of exclusivity. Celebrity stylists must compete viciously to bring the runway to the red carpet as quickly as possible, but because of the particular way in which exclusivity and reproduction oppose each other in the market of high-end fashion, repeat-fashion choices are granted to audiences to sort out—a mechanism that also helps assuage the ordinary audience’s feelings of exclusion. Only one woman can “own” the look—so who wore it better?

Image Source: Us Magazine

Of course, as much as tabloids present photographs as hard evidence, many factors matter in how an audience responds to the choice between two celebrities in the same outfit. Besides the unstable nature of the content itself (lighting, pose, position, composition, etc.), context also matters. Kim, for instance, is often matched up against one of her sisters (as are Kylie and Khloe in the larger spread above), making an intertextual argument about Kardashian fashion and celebrity status as a separate category from other A-listers. Kim is paired with her sisters to highlight behaviors that exclude them from mainstream celebrity status: they (gasp!) share clothes; they are reality show stars and not movie stars; they prefer Louis Vuitton and Gucci to Marchesa and Chanel.

Tabloids don’t only use Kim’s fashion choices as evidence that she doesn’t belong with other A-list celebrities. Tabloid media often uses them as to openly mock her, as well.

Image Source: We Know Memes

Image Source: College Humor

Image Source: Robin Williams' Twitter

All of these examples lambast Kim for her weight gain during pregnancy or her refusal to wear conventional maternity clothes. Kim’s signature, curve-hugging style becomes the greatest source of tabloid fixation and ridicule, rather than praise. Because Kim’s curvy body can no longer be sexualized and consumed, she becomes as a ridiculed, mocked commodity instead.

Interestingly, we can trace this shift well before Kim’s pregnancy. When the reality star began dated Kanye West in March of 2012, celebrity media speculated over how Kanye’s reputation for dressing his girlfriends might affect Kim, who rarely strayed far from her signature, curve-hugging, leather-and-spandex style. Kardashian’s reality show even featured an episode in which West loaned Kim his stylist and gave her closet a makeover.

As soon as Kim started stepping out in looser, more daring, more “editorial” or “high fashion” clothing, she received harsher criticism in the fashion press than ever before. Kim had made her mark by wearing body-conscious status-designer clothes (that is, mass-marketed and expensive but readily available designer fodder like Vuitton, D&G, Gucci, Versace); her transition into high-end, couture fashion (like the Riccardo Tisci for Givenchy dress above) was met with resistance by tabloid press and audiences alike. What was sexy, leather studs-and-animal print Kardashian doing trying to wear sleek, demure French designers?

But Kim can’t win no matter what she wears--if she meets expectations in hip-hugging, cleavage-bearing LBDs, the tabloids commodify her sexuality but call her trashy or tasteless; if she defies expectations in loose silhouettes or bolder colors, the tabloids instead portray her as inauthentic, posturing, a parvenu.

Image Source: NY Daily News

Image Credit: Loop 21

Now that I have demonstrated some potential strictures placed upon women in an arena that claims to privilege expression and artistry, I’d like to extend those arguments to Kanye West and suggest how issues of class and gender affect men’s forays into fashion, as well.

Kanye West, the self-proclaimed “Louis Vuitton Don”, is himself no stranger to fashion controversy. But while, as I’ve argued above, Kim struggles against classicism in her efforts to establish a powerful fashion ethos, Kanye must battle much more stringent gender norms in his pursuit of fashion superstardom.

Image Source: Red Carpet Fashion Awards

Below, Rihanna wears a mensware jacket to the notice of no one but a minor fashion blog. Women wearing menswear is about as subversive as a puppy in a kitten costume—far from the controversial political and anti-establishment statement androgyny made in the fashion world of the 1960s, elements of menswear in women’s fashion are accepted and, to an extent, expected in 2013.

Image Source: The Telegraph

Not so for men's fashion. When Kanye West donned a kilt-style skirt for a Hurricane Sandy benefit concert last fall, he received so much flack from both the press and fellow hip-hop artist and MC Lord Jamar that he asked that Getty Images remove all photos of him performing in the skirt. Lord Jamar released a biting criticism of West’s dress in the song “Lift up Your Skirt,” which he heavily annotated on the rap annotation site RapGenius.

Verse 1 from Lord Jamar's song. Image Source: Screencapture from Rap Genius

Lord Jamar's personal annotations on Rap Genius. Image Source: Rap Genius

It’s not only Kanye’s fashion choices, but his interest in fashion, that feminizes him in the eyes of elements of the hip-hop community and the fashion tabloid media. Yet, just as Kim’s recent fashion choices increasingly buck her “bod-icon” status and experiment with self-expression, Kanye asserts his interest and his choices subversively, even when (or especially when?) those fashion choices fail to enhance his reputation as a fashion icon. I’d like to close with one last “who wore it better?” to drive this point home:

Image Source: Fashion Bomb Daily

Kanye West may be wearing the same women’s wear shirt as Jessica Simpson, but damn it, he’s wearing it better!

This Week's New Yorker Cover and Frank Lloyd Wright

Jay Voss — Wed, 20 Mar 2013 14:00:00 +0000

(Image credit: The New Yorker)

This week’s New Yorker cover features a rendering of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Guggenheim Museum, and I thought the occasion merited some meditation on what the museum means to us today. It’s an odd shaped building, and I can’t think of one that’s been built like it sense. Snøhetta’s Oslo Opera House, pictured below and opened in April 2008, is a great example of how contemporary architects are still designing buildings for the arts in brave new ways. (That fantastic structure mimics a Norwegian glacier melting into the sea, and many of its smart features work to invite all of Oslo, not just the operatic elite, to inhabit within and without.) But no structure for the arts built since 1960 has been as original as Frank Lloyd Wright’s Guggenheim Museum. Opened on 21 October 1959, the Guggenheim Museum is Frank Lloyd Wright’s last masterpiece. It was (more or less) commissioned in 1943, but the project took Wright 15 years and over 700 sketches to complete. Such revision is unusual for a Wright project, of course – most of his designs were completed in a matter of hours. (I suspect he was always thinking about his projects, and thus when the time came to get his ideas down on paper for clients there wasn’t much work to do.) What’s so unique about the Guggenheim Museum is that it’s a descending spiral. This design has two benefits: visitors can effortlessly enjoy the museum’s exhibit as they casually descend a ramp and, more importantly, the changing diameter of the spiral always allows for natural lighting at the art. Form follows function.

(Image credit: Wikipedia)

The New Yorker cover is interesting in that the Guggenheim Museum is not its subject, yet the building is featured prominently behind a scene from Central Park. That scene, let’s be honest, features a bunch of dogs dressed lamely according to breed. What are we to make of this montage? Was the Guggenheim placed in the background merely because everybody knows it sits prominently on New York’s Central Park? But anyone who knows this would also know that the stretch of Central Park in front of the Guggenheim isn’t fit for a dog fashion show – the museum’s right in front of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. Of course, I suppose the ridiculousness of the dog show negates some expectation of reality. But then why the Guggenheim? Any number of buildings on Central Park West would have sufficed.

(Image credit: The New Yorker)

I suspect that perhaps the New Yorker cover is a subtle commentary on artsy pretention. Whatever you conclude about the cover will depend on what you think about certain fashions. I myself loved the dapper Dalmatian, and took to enjoying the ways in which each dog’s breed determined their wardrobe. The Pug is correctly dressed like one of the grandmothers from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. But I can also see how someone not interested in the different ways people dress might find all of the dogs on the cover ridiculous. Just the same way that someone might find some of the Guggenheim’s notorious avant-garde art ridiculous. But I think that the take away here is that the museum is iconic. It just sits there in its spirals, and will last longer than whatever trendy business happens outside (or inside). By allowing form to follow function in such an extreme way, Frank Lloyd Wright’s last masterpiece clearly inspired architects as far away as Norway.

Negotiating Modesty: Reading Mormon Fashion Blogs as Visual Rhetoric

Laura Thain — Tue, 20 Nov 2012 00:22:32 +0000

Image Source: Clothed Much

Fashion blogs have proliferated the internet since its inception; the rhetoric of the genre is as multifaceted as its participants, most of whom are women. Daily fashion blogging, in which the blogger takes regular photos of the outfit she assembles each morning, is a popular iteration of the genre. Obviously much of the blogger’s value systems is exhibited through the personal ethos she cultivates on these blogs; the way the blogger frames the narrative of the outfit in terms of its relationship to her day-to-day activities reveals much about these value systems, as well. An interesting subculture has received a substantial amount of attention in the fashion blogging community recently, and that is modesty blogging. All the modesty blogs I’ve come across are motivated by religious restriction; the vast majority of these base their definitions of modest clothing upon the tenets of the Mormon church. Of course, the situated ethos of modesty blogging must negotiate an inherent contradiction between two competing definitions of modest: the function of modest dress as a physical representation of religious belief and the concept of modesty as the quality of being unassuming, scrupulous, and free from presumption. What does it mean to take pride in modest dress, to wear it as a badge of individualism and difference? And how can we read these modesty blogs in terms of visual culture? Join me as I take you on a journey into another strange corner of the internet: Mormon fashion blogging.

Image Source: Cats and Cardigans

We might make a few generalizations about popular fashion blogs: most successful blogs attract their audiences with an ethos that exhibits an internally consistent personal style (what we might call a “style narrative”) that is accomplished by innovative pairings. Thus, the blog initially attracts an audience with the familiar—a “style narrative” of, for example, grunge, retro, hipster, or editorial—and keeps their interest with the unfamiliar—a scarf made into a bolero or a vintage headband woven into a punk outfit. We might, then, loosely read the ethos of these blogs as “text” in terms of Barthes’ conforming/cutting edge dichotomy in The Pleasure of the Text. This makes the case of modesty fashion blogs especially interesting, because the “cutting edge” component of these blog’s ethos is, in fact, a conservative reaction to counterculture—it operates on the fantasy of return to a dress standard of the past (although its location in the past is certainly ambiguous). The familiar, plagiarizing edge is, in fact, the way that these modesty blogs attempt to participate in mainstream discourse—a discourse that is often countercultural (hipster, grunge, retro). Their popularity comes in large part from the way these blogs resemble in their formal elements many other successful fashion blogs, but are able to translate their audience’s desire for surprise and innovation into a restricted code of dress.

Image Source: Cotton and Curls

Most Mormon fashion blogs define immodest clothing as anything low-cut, sleeveless, backless, or too short—some combine a series of positive descriptions along with the negative (for instance “long skirts” or “skirts below the knee” rather than “no skirts above the knee”). Most do not address fit but instead warn against “revealing” clothing. Concrete restrictions almost always regard coverage, rather than the tightness or fit of clothing. This ethos in general is oriented around fulfilling a minimum requirement of modesty, and the boundary of that minimum requirement is represented physically by the temple garment, an undergarment standardized and manufactured by the central Church. Women begin wearing this garment daily when they receive their endowment, which for most coincides with their marriage. We can reasonably assume that most of these bloggers wear temple garments, as they advertise their status as Temple-married women, but it is worth mentioning that almost none of these bloggers mention the temple garment or the way it might restrict their code of dress; rather, these women speak of their restricted dress as a lifelong commitment predating their temple endowment, and a code of modesty that is self-defined and self-enforced. (Many of these blogs begin their "about me" with some variation of “Modesty means ____ to me…”).

The deferral of the issue of temple garments is not only a reflection of their sacred status among church members (it is in general considered inappropriate to speak about temple garments to non-members, and is considered offensive to display visual representations of them)—it is also indicative of these women attempting to find a place in mainstream fashion discourse; to not be noticed for their wardrobe restriction but for their good sense of style. The rhetoric of these blogs might be condensed as such: “I am reflecting an internal commitment to God in my physical appearance, but I do this so well that you would not notice unless I told you explicitly.” This rhetorical mechanism seems to operate to ease the tension between competing modesty discourses I have outlined above: these bloggers can take personal, inner pride in their commitment to modesty without bringing attention to their difference (and thus translating pride of self into the public sphere). Counterintuitively, this is accomplished by assimilating successfully into the fashionable discourse of the mainstream.

Image Source: wearing it on my sleeves

But there is a way in which this attitude can be read as subversive in terms of Church doctrine, especially when one considers the history of sumptuary laws in the Mormon Church. (There is a useful article in the Mormon periodical Dialogue that outlines the subject in more detail.) Though we might imagine the discourse on modesty to call back to the conservativism of the Einsenhower era, this is not the locus of the nostalgia for modest behavior—it is, in fact, its origin. The first explicit call to modest dress occured in 1951, when Church authority Spencer W. Kimball extolled young, unmarried Mormon women to distinguish themselves from their non-member peers explicitly through a more conservative code of dress:

"There is no reason why women need to wear a low-cut or otherwise revealing gown just because it is the worldly style. We can create a style of our own."

It is important to note that this address, given at a BYU devotional, was aimed mostly at unmarried young women. As Kimball argues,

"We knew of one mother who remonstrated with her lovely daughter who intended to buy a modest evening gown. The mother pleaded: 'Darling, now is the time to show your pretty shoulders and back and neck. When you are married in the temple that will be time enough to begin wearing conservative clothes.' What can be expected of the new generation if the mothers lead their own offspring from the path of right?...The fellows could show courage and good judgment if they encouraged their young women friends to wear modest clothing. If a young man would not date a young woman who is improperly clothed, the style would change very soon."

Kimball assumes that women who are married are already living the law of modesty because of the nature of their temple garments; here, as in most of the discourse that follows, the concern is that unmarried women might delay that sense of responsibility until after they take their temple vows.

The loose standards that Kimball sets out are a reaction against, rather than a return to, the styles of the 1950s—in fact, his distaste for revealing clothing resembles a return to the fashion of the 1910s, before hemlines were raised and bustlines lowered in the so-called Roaring 20s. And it is certainly of some significance that Kimball himself experienced adolescence in the 1910s—he is demanding, to some extent, a return to the conceptions of modesty that existed during his own days of courtship.

Yet Kimball’s call to arms is all very general. The restrictions that modesty fashion bloggers set out above—specific prohibitions against revealing this part of the body or that—are simply not extant in this early discourse. In fact, the next significant prohibitions against immodesty among LDS youth are even less specific than Kimball’s address above. Let us examine the 1965 iteration of a pamphlet still published today called “For The Strength of Youth,” which serves to outline the standards which young Mormons are expected to uphold.

Image Credit: Barncow

Note the text’s deferral of specific criteria (“it is difficult to make an over-all statement concerning modest standards of dress, because modesty cannot be determined by inches or fit since that which looks modest on one person may not be so on another…”). Instead, the text chooses to deliberately define modesty against the standards of the countercultural movements of the 1960s. It warns against “grubby” fashion, implores women to maintain traditional mores of femininity in their dress, and considers androgyny to be the greatest threat to the modesty of young women.

Image Credit: Barncow

The pamphlet also extols young women to “dress to enhance their natural beauty and femininity…Few girls or women ever look well in backless or strapless dresses. Such styles often make the figure look ungainly or large, or they show the bony structures of the body…Clothes should be comfortable and attractive without calling attention [to the body].” It is also careful to warn women against wearing pants outside of athletic activity: “Pants…are not desirable attire for shopping, at school, in the library, in cafeterias or restaurants.”

Thus we can see that in the 1960s, second-wave feminism and androgynous dress were the chief modes of discourse that the Church set to dress its women against. The letter of the law in these pamphlets is far less respected than the spirit of the law, and the “law” is an attractive but non-sexualized, and therefore sanitized, femininity. Counterculture was at the top of the immodest hierarchy.

Image Source: Haircut and General Attitude

Not so today. Mormon women increasingly define modesty in terms of explicit clothing guidelines (inseam lengths, coverage) rather than cultural association; no longer is clothing a statement of conservative reaction to the styles of counterculture but instead a playful interpretation of them. Cultural associates of modes of dress cease to be called into question within this dialogue; instead, the temple garment becomes the silent marker of how much skin is “too much.” Anything that covers these undergarments constitutes modest dress.

I see the discourse on modesty in the present day taking place, then, in two separate spheres. On the one hand, church-sanctioned periodicals continue to emphasize the function of modesty as a marker of difference against counterculture, although this is a trope that has all but lost its meaning. Meanwhile, fashionable young Mormon women often embrace an identity that is countercultural—they embrace their ability to participate in cutting-edge fashion while still adhering to the explicit restrictions of their faith.

It seems to me that one significant effect of this is, in fact, a return, in a sense, to Kimball’s initial exortations to unmarried women. To the insider Mormon community, these young married bloggers are in a sense instructing their younger or unmarried peers how to live the letter of the law of modesty before they take their temple vows and don their temple garments. For the fashion blogging audience at large, these women express their identity through their commitment to modesty by showing how easily the rhetoric of modesty can fit into the tenets of mainstream fashion; the commitment to coverage exists as a challenge or unexpected element in this endeavor that only enhances their ethos, rather than undermining it, in the mainstream. Modesty then ultimately exists as a function of creativity rather than restriction. And though most of these women are probably unaware of the complex rhetorical history that makes such an ethos possible, they are nonetheless operating in a space in which the definition of modesty has drastically shifted over time, making it possible for these women to, as Benjamin Franklin might say, take pride in their humility—to have no reservations in being immodest in demeanor about their modesty in dress. I will at the very least claim this: that the function of modesty as difference has taken a countercultural turn, and, if a woman being refused entry to a BYU testing center for wearing skinny jeans is any indication, the rhetoric of modesty within the Mormon community is very much a battleground in which the rules of engagement are still being hammered out.

Dressing to Dissent at the United Nations

Chris Ortiz y Prentice — Sat, 06 Oct 2012 15:22:24 +0000

Image Credit: United Nations webtv.un.org

Almost every male speaker to the September Summit of the General Assembly of the United Nations wore a suit and tie. It is easy to overlook this fact, so widespread is the convention, so rare the defiance. But what heads of state wear in front of one another shows something peculiar about the modern nation state. Leaders are, by and large, drawn from the cultural and economic elite. What all this suit-and-tie wearing indicates, however, is that the ruling class of the modern nation-state must subscribe, or seem to subscribe, to middle class or “business” virtues, like hard work, entrepreneurship, merit, and self-effacement. When a male leader chooses not to don a suit and tie, a choice made by President of Iran Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (pictured above), he is really saying something: but what, exactly, is he saying?

Take, for example, the suit and tie worn by U.S. President Barack Obama for his address to the world on September 25.

Image Credit: United Nations webtv.un.org

President Obama's suit does not strike me as ostentatious; stylistically, it does not depart from the appearance of workaday, professional attire. (Note, however, how neatly tailored and solidly constructed the clothes are. Not every workaday businessman can afford such a suit!)

Let us take President Obama as the rule and President Ahmadinejad as the exception that proves the rule. Now, what was the historical process by which suit-wearing became the standard for heads of state? Let us speculate.

I would argue that to arrive at an answer which would explain both Ahmadinejad's and Obama's sartorial selections, we need to describe two interelated historical processes, one pertaining to the imperialist nation-states of the Nineteenth Century, the other to the nation-states formed through decolonization in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries.

Of first importance, in the imperialist case, was the long process by which the traditional power formations of the aristocracies--based on tradition, heredity wealth and landholding--were transformed into power formations of the monied classes. This transition was no neat break, including as it did, urbanization and industrialization, the rise of literacy and the popular press, the networking of global cities through shipping, railroad, mail and telegram, the increasing importance of credit to the state, the ousting from parliamentary structures of “gentlemen” by lawyers, bankers, and labor-leaders; in a word, everything (and it’s a lot) that comes as money plays more and more the determining role in social ascendancy. It was a complex historical process inflected by place and contingency; but roughly speaking, the ruling class was kings and barons and lords, and then it became businessmen and buerocratic professionals. The leaders of today's "super-power" nations wear suits, and that includes China, as instanced by Premiere Wen Jiabao (pictured below):

Image Credit: United Nations webtv.un.org

As for the male leaders of decolonized nation-states, I speculate that they wear suits-and-ties as the price of entry, as it were, into "respectable" standing at the United Nations. In a word, wearing a suit-and-tie is a matter of hegemony.

Inflecting these large, world-historical processes--the ascendance of middle-class hegemony as it played out in the West and in the era of decolonization--are other factors, including culture and gender. For of course, not every head of state or person of power wears a suit to the UN. Sometimes the choice of garb would appear to reflect culture of origin, as in the case of Lyonchoen Jigmi Yoezer Thinley, Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Bhutan (pictured below).

Image Credit: UN webtv.un.org

The military dictators wear uniforms. Many of the women wear the female equivalent of the suit-and-tie, as instanced by Dessima Williams, Permanent Representative of Grenada to the UN:

Image Credit: UN webtv.un.org

And, of course, to really explain why a person wears a particular article of clothing to the General Assembly we would have to tell add the histories by which "female suits" or military uniforms became available as options but also personal and family histories and psychologies, contemporary networks of clothes production and consumption, and maybe even a little randomness.

But accounting for all the different variations on suits and the military dictators and the cultural-garb--each of which could bear more analysis--there remains a specific kind of outlier, and that is the person who references the suit while flaunting its conventions. It is these I would point your attention to; these are the ones dressing to dissent, these are the leaders who are highlighting a difference from the world-hegemony that says modern leaders are business people (if they are not military dictators).

Ahmadinejad wears no tie in front of the UN, and the reason is historical and ideological, just as I have posited: according to the BBC and the Guardian, Iran banned the sale of ties after the 1979 Islamlic Revolution in order to signal non-alliance with the West.

Dressing to dissent at the UN, by my analysis, requires gesturing towards the suit-and-tie but flaunting its conventions. President of Venezuela Hugo Chavez achieves this not by foregoing the tie but through tie selection:

Image Credit: UN webtv.un.org

Chavez's bright, broad red tie is no business man's: it is a flaunt at the "leaders-are-professionals" hegemony of the United Nations.

Let us conclude with a final instance that stretches my theory. Pictured below is the late Noble Prize Winner Wangari Muta Maathai, founder of the Greenbelt Movement in Kenya, a non-violent protester and person of great influence. (There is a very moving Independent Lens documentary about this incredible person entitled "Taking Root.")

Image Credit: UN webtv.un.org

Wangari Muta Maathai is wearing a dress not professional women's garb. Nor does it seem to me her clothing decision can be explained away as an innocuous gesture towards culture of origin, as can the King of Bhutan's. No, I think Wangari Muta Maathai is dressing to dissent in this instance, tactically using culture and gender to do so but without falling into the "exotic performance of culture/gender" that brings into hegemonic alliance other non-suit wearers. This is a tricky feat, and it is difficult to put a finger on just how she manages it. Nevertheless, it forms an additional option to flaunting-the-suit for those who wish to perform resistance to the hierarchies of the UN and indeed the world.

Drawing on Pigs: Wim Delvoye's Art Farm

Steven J LeMieux — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 13:48:02 +0000

(Image Credit: Wim Delvoye)

It's pretty easy to understand (and probably join in) the outrage surrounding Wim Delvoye's work with pigs. Tattoos aren't exactly taboo in any real fashion anymore, but even as commonplace as they've become they still seem to provoke discussions about the use of bodies as writing platforms. In casual conversation clothes don't have nearly the same effect; though, it could be argued that they write on the body just as much as any tattoo. Clothes, though, seem to be commonly taken up as transient while tattoos are (mostly) permanent. I doubt there would be nearly as strong a reaction to these pigs if they were just dressed up on a daily basis.

(Image Credit: Wim Delvoye)

Of course, dressing a pig everyday would surely, almost undeniably, have a more noticeable impact on a pig's life. Clothes, no matter the degree to which a body has been naturalized to their presence, always remain external; through a thousand tiny hitches they make their presence known--they bind, sag, ride up, get caught, twist, shift, shuffle, flap in the wind. We put them on, we take them off; they are a forceful presence in our lives, but we do change them (What does this say, then, about, the 1% of America that isn’t allowed to change their prison uniforms?). And while there's lots of fun poked at animals wearing clothes (and at the people that dressed them) I don't believe there is anything near the response these tattooed pigs elicit. It's worth interrogating this difference.

(Image Credit: Wim Delvoye)

"To tattoo a pig, we sedate it, shave it and apply Vaseline to its skin" (Delvoye in a 2007 interview in ArtAsiaPacific found at Sperone Westwater). And then the pig and tattoo grow together. Grow, as Delvoyne imagines, in both size and value together. Pigs, posits Delvoye in the same interview, are largely thought of as having very little value. And even though these pigs may be spoiled they aren't co-authors in this project. Delvoyne states that "Yes, we name them; the name is often tattooed on the pig. It’s part of the personalization of the industrial product" (Delvoye). The pigs are breathing canvases. They shift and alter the tattoos they carry, but they are always still, fundamentally, written on. The pigs are eventually slaughtered for their skins. In the end they are either stuffed and mounted, or the skins are displayed.

(Image Credit: Wim Delvoye)

Wim Delvoye worked his way up to live pigs. In the 1990s he began tattooing dead pigs, just working with pig skins he acquired from slaughter houses. It wasn't until 1997 that he worked with a live animal. In the late 90s he worked with and on a number of different pigs in different places. In 2004 he moved his practice to China and subsequently established Art Farm, a pig farm where raises and tattoos his pigs. It's worth noting that the other project Delvoye is known for is “Cloaca” a 39 foot long machine he built that eats, digests and shits.

(Image Credit: Wim Delvoye)

Delvoye is a vegetarian, but he both consumes and offers these pigs up for consumption as art. He's particularly apt in describing that "I prefer to show the pigs alive. In a perfect world, I would just show the Cloaca shit machines and live pigs—eating and excreting together" (Delvoye). The constructed shitting machine and the thoroughly marked pigs are rendered equivalent, both flattened out as spectacle. The tattooed pigs are conceived as part of an industrial machine, a machine made up by human, animal, machine, and conceptual bodies. Taken together the pigs and machine reposition the viewer as also taking part, "eating and excreting" pigs and machines both.

Next week I’ll be writing on an already thoroughly inscribed upon birthday-present-pig that’s part of The Harry Ransom Center’s exhibit The Greenwich Village Bookshop Door: A Portal to Bohemia, 1920-1925.

A Posterior for Posterity

Kimberly Singletary — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 13:00:00 +0000

Temeca Freeman via J'Adore Magazine

On 10 March, 2011, Germany’s Pro7 TV aired a story about U.S. “po” model Temeca Freeman in New York City for Fashion Week. As a butt model, Freeman voluntarily welcomes people to stare unabashedly at her backside. But Pro7’s story went beyond a curious stare and into a visual “fressen” – a German term which means to devour, or consume like an animal. NSFW content after the break.

Temeca Freeman via GLCityMusic

Although the video, which has been edited as more than 4 different stories with at least two different reporters, is dubbed into German, one doesn’t need German to visually devour Freeman; the camera eye acts as lingua franca. Freeman’s portrayal is reminiscent of the treatment of Sarah Baartman, the Hottentot Venus, a Khoikhoi woman made into a one-woman traveling show, in part, for her large bottom, in 19th Century Europe.

When Freeman goes to her first massage, for example, one reporter tells us, “Here we come, the first time, in the enjoyment of [Freeman’s] curves. Everything’s real, claims the Po Model.” Note that our visual enjoyment of seeing Freeman on the massage table is more important than her enjoyment of a massage; the statement also throws into doubt Freeman’s claims about her naturalness. We, the presumably majority white, male German audience, are given authority over Freeman’s body to verify or reject her claim. In another video, the white, male masseuse is asked verify her claims.

Freeman’s story also featured clips from an earlier story about U.S. butt model Nicole “Coco” Austin; the stories were spliced together as if in conjunction, highlighting stark differences in how white, blonde Austin, was portrayed compared to Freeman. Freeman wistfully outlines her dream of being world renowned, and the camera jumps to Austin who stresses that hoping without work ethic isn’t enough. (Austin's advice: we can't all be scientists: some of us have to work at McDonald's) Austin is identified as a butt model and internet millionaire, while Freeman, “wants to make a career with her butt,” – despite having notoriety enough to be backstage at Fashion Week.

These women and their backsides represent American excess, but they’re not presented as equally excessive. Austin’s beauty is verified through her financial success, though Freeman’s bum, the reporter notes, is 4 centimeters larger than Austin’s. Apparently, it’s not the size of the butt but the beauty of the butt’s owner which determines success.

Double exoticization is at the heart of this German story, whereby mythical America, represented as New York’s hopefulness or the cynical, hardened sexiness of Hollywood is paired with an invitation to stare at racial difference, to see exactly what it is about black women that makes them so (un)sexy, (ab)normal, (freakishly) desirable. The Pro7 stories use the butt to re-center white women as the standard of beauty, to bestow rights of ownership to white males to speak for black women, and to Other the black body.

Nicole "Coco" Austin via Coco's World

To see "Trend Mega-Hintern," one of the versions of the stories featuring both Freeman and Austin, please click here. (NOTE: This video is apparently only visible in Germany.)

History Written on the Body: Of Another Fashion

Megan Eatman — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 15:26:31 +0000

Alfred Eisenstaedt, Life Magazine, via Of Another Fashion

This week, I want to focus on a site I discovered when I was trying not to work. While browsing fashion blogs, I encountered Of Another Fashion, a digital archive of "the not quite hidden but too often ignored fashion histories of US women of color." In recuperating these women as alternative icons, the site emphasizes the complex historical intersections of public and private as they play out through clothing choices. It also provides needed role models to counter the often problematic and still white-dominated fashion industry.

Personal collection of Lisa Henderson; via Of Another Fashion

The site features both photos from other archives, like the Library of Congress, and images from contributors' personal collections. Blog author Minh-Ha T. Pham includes whatever information is available about the image and its subject, and these stories, even when brief, are one of the most enthralling parts of the project. For example, the image above is of the contributors' great grandmother, Bessie Henderson, who died in 1911 at the age of 19. The contributor tells us

She lived on a small farm with her ailing grandparents. Her arms are burned dark from work in the sun, but she would have shielded her fair face with a bonnet or straw hat. The lockets mystify and sadden me. Neither my grandmother nor her sister ever saw them. They had nothing of their mother’s, save this picture. (Lisa Henderson)

Photo by Francis Stewart, via Of Another Fashion

The image above, taken in 1942, shows a Labor Day fashion show at Tule Lake Relocation Center, an internment camp in California. The image highlights the day-to-day survival strategies of women in a very difficult situation. The staging of a fashion show in particular places the emphasis on beauty, play, and modernity, but also labor. Women within the camp would have made most of the dresses; in some cases, women probably modeled what they made, thereby showing not only their beauty but also their virtuosity.

Personal collection of Rosemary Garrido; via Of Another Fashion

Making fashion the focus of an alternative history gives us a glimpse into the everyday lives of these women and how they were shaped by both personal desires and broader historical forces. For me, this blog really highlights the complex conditions that produce the visual rhetoric of fashion.

Beyonce in Blackface

ladysquires — Thu, 03 Mar 2011 15:00:00 +0000

(Video Credit: QueenBeyonceStan, Youtube)

These images have been circulating just about everywhere, but the subject matter seemed particularly appropriate for viz. In this photo shoot for the French magazine L'Officiel, Beyonce has been styled in looks that evoke "authenticity" African dress, and in some of the images, Beyonce's face is deliberately darkened. The shoot--in keeping with one of the themes of Beyonce's newest album--was meant to play tribute to Nigerian musician Fela Kuti.

I want to offer these images with minimal commentary other than a few questions. Are these images creepy in a cultural appropriationist sort of way? Does it make a difference that this is a French magazine rather than an American one? Is Beyonce's mixed race heritage a factor in how we might read this as Lisa at Sociological Images suggests? And is this use of blackface ironically progressive in a context in which fashion mags regularly lighten the complexions of darker-skinned celebrities, Beyonce included? I've included a L'Oreal ad where Beyonce is clearly whitewashed for comparison. I believe her skin is darkened in only the last two photos in the L'Officiel series.

(Image Credit: QueenBeyonceStan via Tom and Lorenzo)

(Photo Credit: ONTD via Jezebel)

Revolution Chic

ladysquires — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 03:14:51 +0000

This past Sunday at Paris Fashion Week, New York designer Thom Browne showcased a menswear collection in a manner that evoked performance art more than a conventional fashion show. Male models strutted down the catwalk in creations inspired by the Founding Fathers, specifically Thomas Jefferson's trip to Paris and the Thanksgiving tradition. Wearing 18th century sillouettes, top hats, canes, and knit caps that suggested powerded wigs, the models carried turkeys down the cat walk before sitting down at an elaborate table and "eating" a traditional Thanksgiving meal.

I personally find the entire thing delightful. First of all, menswear collections are usually just so boring, and this one, well, isn't. Fashion from the fashion-as-art school is about making an argument about where society is at a given time and place and avant-garde fashion done well reshapes our notions about what is beautiful and what is socially acceptable. I won't use the word "subversive" to describe fashion, since as a marketing technique for a luxury consumable accessible only to the extremely wealthy, fashion shows remain inextricably embedded in the status quo. Yet fashion does have the ability to alienate you from things you thought you knew and understood, and there is something fascinating and compelling about evoking Thomas Jefferson and Thanksgiving dinner in such a weird way given the manner in which political groups lay claim to the Founding Fathers with such frequency. There's a bit of a play on class signifiers with the "hobo-chic" (sliding perhaps a little too close to Zoolander derelicte territory) of the layered tartan coats contrasting the opulence of the dinner table. The makeup and use of skirts create an androgynous effect on some of the models. It also seems to be pretty clearly referencing the French Revolution, which, of course, Jefferson wholeheartedly supported. In fact, Jefferson's francophilia was so infamous in the new Republic that the Federalists printed the following critique, showing Jefferson about to burn the U.S. Constitution on a Satanic altar dedicated to the French Revolution:

No, not many men are going to rushing out to buy floor length wool skirts, jumpers, and puffy-sleeved coats, but that's not the point.

Photo credit: Getty Images via Tom and Lorenzo

Meat is Couture? - Lady Gaga's Meaty Message

Cate Blouke — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 06:38:12 +0000

Image Credit: Lady Gaga at the VMAs, Designer Franc Fernandez

I realize that I may be a bit behind the times to be addressing (ha!) Lady Gaga's fashion stunt of last fall, but meat's been on my mind this week as I'm about to embark on 30 days of eating vegetarian - largely as a result of the text we're teaching in our introductory rhetoric classes here at UT: Colin Beavan's No Impact Man. But that's another story. Gaga's appearance at the Mtv Video Music Awards sparked controversy that dissipated rather quickly, and though this may have been due to the singer's own inability to adequately (or logically) explain the reasons behind her wardrobe choice, the images left behind offer a really interesting opportunity for varying and disparate interpretations.

While I was surprised (and a bit disappointed) to discover that Jezebel didn't have much to say about the dress, my immediate reaction was to think of the outfit as a commentary on female objectification. The dress literalizes an all too familiar trope - that women are just pieces of meat - and the contrast between the female body and the hunks of beef strewn about it seemingly negates the metaphor by calling attention to it. Yet considering Gaga's videos and her ethos in general, it could also easily be argued that the outfit does just the opposite (reenforcing the trope/idea/attitude instead of negating it), especially considering the precursor to the dress - her appearance on the cover of the Japanese Men's Vogue in a meat bikini. They say we are what we eat, perhaps we are what we wear, too?

Image Credit: Vogue Hommes Japan

Now, while Gaga argued that she meant no disrespect to vegetarians, that didn't prevent a backlash from animal right's activists and environmental groups. PETA was predictably outraged by her VMA outfit, though their response was surprisingly brief. Ecouterre.com, a website devoted to sustainable fashion, instead used the dress as a conversation point, exploring the environmental impact of designer Franc Fernandez's 50 lb. creation. I'm sure both organizations would disagree with me, and perhaps this is a bit of a stretch, but I can see how one might argue that the dress is in fact an argument for vegetarianism and animal rights.

Image Credit: Designer Franc Fernandez

For one thing, looking closely at the dress certainly doesn't make me want to run out and eat a steak. But it also opens up space for an argument through analogy - how is wearing leather any different from wearing pieces of beef? Vegetarians are often critical of those who abstain from meat but still wear animal products, and the dress seems to call attention to this complaint. It also calls into question what constitutes acceptable use - if we can eat it, why can't/shouldn't/don't we wear it? And vice versa? Would the fur trade somehow be more palatable if we ate all the animals we wore?

Gaga's dress wasn't the most appetizing wardrobe choice, but it certainly got some attention. Everyone should be please to note, however, that the dress won't be going to waist - according to People Magazine, the dress is slowly turning into beef jerky that will be preserved for posterity (not eaten).

(Apologies for the rampant puns in this post, but I simply couldn't resist).

Crimes of Fashion,* Part 1 in a 2-part series

mkhaupt — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 16:28:24 +0000

A couple of t-shirt designs have ignited discussion in the interwebosphere of late, and since they represent the extremes of feminism (i.e., radical feminist to decidedly NOT feminist), I thought it would be interesting to put them in conversation with each other, especially under the rubric of what constitutes "free speech" and "visual rhetoric."

First is the "I was raped" t-shirt masterminded by Jennifer Baumgardner, the poster woman for radical third-wave feminism:

Baumgardner was quoted in The New York Times as hoping to "force [rape] into everyday conversation." Many, many people find such a maneuver to be terribly intrusive and not appropriate for everyday wear. To quote one commenter on Jezebel.com, "Worn at a protest, a walk, a rally or your group's booth at the student center, fine. Cheesecake Factory? Not so much."

Essentially, people's reactions mirror the issue Baumgardner is trying to combat: we treat rape as an untouchable subject in this society. Will donning a confessional t-shirt in the public sphere (without the context of a Take Back the Night rally or similar event) help to de-stabilize the taboo? Or will it merely drive people away from the topic even further?

What does it mean, too, that the image is printed on American Apparel brand tees? Many folks have pretty valid reasons to hate American Apparel (the exploitative advertisements, founder Dov Charney's tendency to masturbate openly in the workplace, the revelation that the company is NOT sweatshop-free); does this undermine Baumgardner's project?

*with apologies to Jezebel.com

Fashion ads that try not to be fashion ads

LaurenMitchell — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 16:25:54 +0000

I don’t know what to make of these new ads for Marc Jacobs featuring Victoria Beckham. This New York Times article covering the ads asks “When is a Fashion Ad not a Fashion Ad?” And I’m not sure what the answer is. Jacobs has a history of using images that don’t feature his clothes but are touted as being “interesting” and “provocative.”

According the article’s interview with Jacobs’ photographer, Juergen Teller, he convinced Beckham to do the unusual ads by saying “‘You’re the most photographed woman in the world,’ ” Mr. Teller recalled. “ ‘And fashion nowadays is all about product — bags and shoes — and you’re kind of a product yourself, aren’t you?’ She was, like, ‘Uh, yeah.’ ” So, the ads play with the idea of the celebrity image as a product by actually putting Beckham into the shopping bag.

Jacobs and Teller are trying to move beyond ads that just make the clothes look pretty: “That is what they have attempted to do with Ms. Beckham, whose participation forces a different question than the banality of ‘Is she beautiful?’” However, just a quick sampling of the commentary on the ads in the blogosphere shows that people are focusing on criticism of how Beckham looks, rather than the intended artsy message. For example, there was much discussion and criticism of her bangs and pose in the ad below.

Fashion Speaks

Jillian Sayre — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 01:01:39 +0000

The Viktor & Rolf show in Paris this week sent a bit of a message:

The two behind the line (yes, Viktor and Rolf) say that the "No" was aimed at the general direction of fashion itself. "We love fashion," they told reporters, "but it's going so fast." The show was peppered with various NO outfits, along with some that read "WOW" and "Dream on" (the latter was their closing remark/outfit, apparently). It is an interesting act of resistance that participates in (to the point of exploiting) the fast-paced visual culture of Fall fashion season.

What I find particularly interesting about the performance/show is that the only phrase written on (instead of worn on) the models themselves was NO, scrawled across a few faces when clothes themselves had less visible or no text:

It strikes me as a bit more insidious when drawn on the flesh, at least a bit more radical in its disfigurement of the model's face (the seat of beauty?). To what/to whom is this NO addressed?

You can see the whole show at Style.com

The Torture/d Aesthetic

timturner — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 04:44:08 +0000

Photo by Marcio Madeira for men.style.com; first spotted at Boing Boing

So I'm not surprised to see that this particular aesthetic has made its way onto the runways and into the designs of John Galliano; I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner (maybe it has? anyone?). What's interesting to me is the particular form these designs take, with their unmistakably medieval inflection: these designs are as much about the Inquisition as they are about Guantanamo. Is this trenchant (or maybe obvious) political critique, drawing a connection between the draconian measures of the Bush administration (so barbaric! so medieval!)? Or does it go too far, making light of serious infractions by implicitly connecting Lynndie England with court jesters and clowns?

A colleague passed along these photos to me and (jokingly) asked if I am planning on having a chapter on torture and fashion in my dissertation (I'm writing about torture in Renaissance drama). Short answer: no. Longer-than-necessary answer: I am definitely interested in the relationship between torture as political practice and aesthetic responses to it (either by the creators or consumers of popular culture), as I mentioned in a comment to an earlier post (scroll down). Thanks to the Abu Ghraib photos, for example, black hoods have started appearing in lots of movies. (Maybe I just notice them more, but probably not.) I'm interested in what it means for a culture to take up these images and play with them, and I mean "play" in its sillier as well as its serious senses. Is that tendency--for lack of a better word--gross, something like a pornography of suffering (and certainly the question of pornography arises here, although in this case it's the male body that gets fetishized)? Or is it some kind of defense/distancing mechanism? (In my work, for example, this relates to old questions about the purpose or function of tragic drama. Everyone agrees that it makes you feel better, but they disagree about why: is it because it helps keep the real thing at bay, or are people getting off on it? Simply put: why on earth do people watch movies like Hostel?)

I guess this also goes back to my earlier question/post about fashion (I'm being pretty self-referential tonight): can it, or rather will it, ever be taken seriously as political language and critique? Are these designs intended to be taken that way (and how much does intention matter)? If not, aren't they just sort of creepy? Or is it just about provocation and attention (and a boost in sales)?

Related note: this is sort of related to questions about how the new movie Cloverfield somewhat blithely portrays the destruction of lower Manhattan (see this review for more on this point). I haven't seen the movie myself, so I'm curious if anyone who has seen it has an opinion on this?

Invasion of the fashion snatchers: copyright or class conflict?

Jillian Sayre — Wed, 26 Sep 2007 23:51:10 +0000

This week the Village Voice reported that Anthropolgie is joining the legion of designers suing Forever 21, the chain that (re)produces trendy looks for the masses (read: their clothes are really cheap). Anna Sui campaigned against the store during Fashion Week (she handed out t shirts with the store's owners on a "wanted" poster) and Diane Von Furstenberg is lobbying Congress to "improve" copyright law when it comes to fashion.

DVF dress on the left, Forever 21 on the right

The chain, these designers argue, is too close for comfort on some of its clothes and it seems like the haute couture is determined to keep the hoi polloi out of their closets. But what is at stake here? Currently, you CANNOT copyright a dress, and many are suspicious of this debate because fashion has always looked to others for inspiration. So the designers focus on the details - like fabric instead of cut or resemblance to their trademark (Gwen Stefani). DVF's lawyers are actually arguing that someone might think that they are buying an original when they go for these knockoffs, but anyone paying $33 instead of $350 knows that this isn't just about getting a great deal. I think this has more to do with social capital than actual capital - no one I know who shops at Forever 21 (and I know a few) is choosing the store over a designer boutique: they don't have access to those modes of acquisition. Perhaps what scares these designers the most is the accessibility argued by the availability of their designs. By claiming copyright infringement and a "take back the dress" mentality, these designers are not only making claims of ownership over the clothes but over the clientele as well.

Glorifying rape or visual rhetoric?

mkhaupt — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 02:09:52 +0000

Some feminists are all atwitter about Italian Vogue's questionable new "photostory," decrying it as a glorification of sexual violence in theatres of war. (And yes, the spread is pretty heinous on many levels.) But I'd like to submit that the American flags splattered all over these debauched, disturbing scenes function as a none-too-subtle criticism of our government's actions. What do you think? (Warning: some nudity.)

What are you gonna wear?

timturner — Thu, 13 Sep 2007 13:42:58 +0000

Yesterday marked the end of Fashion Week in NYC, the time when designers show off their spring collections in chichi, outlandish (and expensive) runway shows. Fashion has gotten a lot of attention in popular culture in recent years, thanks in part to the success of Project Runway and The Devil Wears Prada. But it is not universally acclaimed, as a recent article in the New York Times points out: "Depending on who is doing the talking, fashion is bourgeois, girly, unfeminist, conformist, elitist, frivolous, anti-intellectual and a cultural stepchild barely worth the attention paid to even the most minor arts."

Yet fashion is a form of self-(re)presentation in which everyone engages--even when they think they are rejecting it, or at least "not thinking about it." (Nudist colonists are maybe an exception, but even they have to get dressed sometimes.) The best expression of this point I know of is Meryl Streep's monologue about the blue sweater in The Devil Wears Prada. Fashion implicates everyone in its complex social, cultural, even political networks: of capital, class, gender, race, sexuality, globalization...the list could go on.

Yet no one seems more reluctant to acknowledge this point than academics. The author (Guy Trebay) of the NYT article mentioned above quotes noted feminist literary critic Elaine Showalter on this point: "The academic uniform has some variations," she said, "but basically is intended to make you look like you're not paying attention to fashion, and not vain, and not interested in it, God forbid."

To me, this seems like an interesting blind spot.

So, why am I making this fuss about fashion? I want to submit it as a category of visual rhetoric (an important one) that hasn't been discussed on the blog thus far. We can talk about a visual rhetoric of the public sphere (architecture, public art), and we can discuss rhetoric in terms of its focus on ethos as self-presentation. And fashion marks the intersection of public and private versions of the self. (As such, it also seems like a great way to open up conversations about post-structuralist concepts of identity/subjectivity.)

All of which is to reiterate (probably unnecessarily) that everything really is an argument...even the clothes on your back.

Photo: Chris Jackson/Getty Images (via NYT)