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Informality and the American Identity

June 12, 2013, 6:38 pm
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This afternoon I was interviewed for a segment on AirTalk about the increasing informality of dress in today's society. This is an enormous topic with many contributing factors, but one thing the host mentioned is that in America, informality in dress could be connected to the (supposed) lack of a class system. I agreed, and believe that the mythological identity of America as a place where everyone is equal has been influential on our dress. I referenced an eighteenth-century portrait where one of America's founding fathers is dressed informally. The painting I was thinking of was this portrait of Paul Revere by John Singleton Copley.

Portrait of Paul Revere by John Singleton Copley, 1768. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
To have your portrait painted was a very expensive affair, and in the days before photography a portrait was how you would be remembered for all eternity. Thus traditionally most people wore their very best clothes, wanting to show themselves in the best possible light. European portraiture of the same period often shows clothing at the height of fashion and luxurious settings. Compare Revere's portrait with this image, painted just one year earlier.

Portrait of Two Gentlemen Before the Arch of Constantine in Rome by Anton von Maron, 1767. Private collection.
In the Copley portrait, Revere is very informally dressed. He doesn't wear a coat, his waistcoat loosely hangs from his shoulders and his shirt is open at the neckline. His hair is unstyled, and pulled casually back. A silversmith by trade, Revere references his status as a tradesman by holding an unfinished silver pot while engraving tools are scattered on the table. Revere is relaxed, thoughtfully looking out to the viewer, and the background is simple and black and the table plain and unremarkable. He is saying to the world, "Yes, I am rich/important enough to have my portrait done, but really I'm just a simple silversmith, I work hard and am just like anybody else."

In the von Maron portrait, on the other hand, the two gentlemen are formally attired in fashionable clothes. Their suits are sleek in cut and fit tightly to the body, and are decorated with gold embroidery. Both gentleman are most likely wearing wigs, and their hair is in a fashionable style. The man in the blue coat has his hair powdered as well, another fashionable and expensive touch. Both casually hold long walking sticks, another fashionable accessory for the 18th century gentleman. Finally, the gentlemen are posed by an Ancient Roman arch, demonstrating that they are worldly, well-traveled, and knowledgeable about classical societies. Combined, all of these elements demonstrate wealth, refinement, and formality. The message of this portrait is quite different from that of the Paul Revere portrait.

Portrait of Johann Joachim Winkelmann by Anton von Maron, 1768. Kunstsammlungen Weimar.
Even when dressed in informal attire, European portraits still convey a different message. In the above image the subject, Johann Joachim Winkelmann, is not yet dressed for the day, wearing a robe and covering his undressed head with a turban. Yet the clothing still conveys wealth and luxury. The voluminous robe is made of a lustrous red fabric and lined with fur. Although Winkelmann does not wear a wig, his turban is an equally fashionable headdress, a product of the highly fashionable orientalist influence which swept Europe in the 18th century. Furthermore, his surroundings include a luxuriously draped swag of fabric, a marble bust of a classical figure, and a fashionable writing table. Like the other portrait by von Maron, the sitter in this portrait is broadcasting his wealth and status.

Did all wealthy Americans choose to portray themselves as Revere did? Absolutely not. But I think there is an interesting comparison to be made. Revere is a famous figure of the American Revolution, and his portrait is emblematic of the mythological American identity which still holds influence today. It is this same mythological identity that many American politicians and public figures still try to convey. During the 2008 American presidential election, Republican Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin built her entire image on the idea that she was (supposedly) just like the rest of us. So to return to the original topic, the increasing informality in our society is due to a number of causes and could easily be a dissertation topic. But for Americans, I think that one cause is the identity, demonstrated by Revere, which is so fundamental to the mythos and history of this country.



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The Pomegranate Motif

June 21, 2013, 5:00 am
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Pomegranate illustration from Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé's Flora von Deutschland, Österreich und der Schweiz, 1885. Image from http://www.biolib.de/.

The pomegranate (Punica granatum) is a fruit-bearing shrub, originating from the Middle East and Mediterranean Basin. Throughout history, the pomegranate tree has been used for a variety of purposes. It's bark has been used to cure leather, it's rind and flowers have been used as textile dye, and it's fruit has been prized for its delicious taste and medicinal properties. Images of the pomegranate have permeated visual culture since ancient times. In Ancient Greek mythology, for example, the pomegranate was the food eaten by the dead in the underworld. In the world of fashion history, the pomegranate has had an extraordinary impact on textiles.

Silk from the 15th or 16th century. Museo Civico d'Arte Antica.

This textile shows the so-called "pomegranate motif". This stylized design of a central floral image surrounded by wavy stems has its origins in the Ottoman Empire. Under the reign of Süleyman I, also known as Süleyman the Magnificent (r. 1520-66), the arts flourished, and the textile design of a flowering plant such as carnations, blooming palmettes or pomegranates surrounded by a lattice pattern became extremely popular. These textiles made their way across trade routs to Western Europe where they were prized for their elegant patterns and luxurious materials. These motifs were also adopted by Western European artisans, and dominate textile design of the Renaissance.


Length of brocaded velvet, late 15th century, Italian (Venice). The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Today, it's hard to understand the extreme value textiles held in the centuries before mass mechanized production. Of course in the pre-industrial period, everything was made by hand. Creating textiles with complex designs such as the pomegranate motif took an enormous amount time and incredibly skilled artisans. Furthermore, the rich colors and expensive materials present in many surviving textiles with the pomegranate motif added additional cost. Red and black dyes were among the most expensive dyes on the market. And many textiles incorporated metal-wrapped threads. To create metal-wrapped threads, thin strips of actual gold or silver would be wrapped around a strand of thread (usually silk). When this thread was woven into a fabric, the resulting textile would literally be made of silver or gold. The above textile is a silk velvet with metal-wrapped threads. The rich red color, complex pattern, and use of metal threads would have made this piece extraordinarily expensive.


Portrait of Eleanor of Toledo and her son Giovanni, by Bronzino, c. 1514. The Uffizi.

Textiles were among the most expensive items a person could buy. Textiles with the pomegranate motif were used for clothing (as can be seen in the portraits above and below), furnishing, and ecclesiastical garments. When looking at the art of the period, textiles with the pomegranate motif show up in a large number of portraits and religious art. Their use was not just because the textiles provide a visually interesting pattern. As this post shows, the use of these textiles was also a potent expression of wealth and power.

Portrait of a Girl, by Antonio del Pollaiuolo, c. 1460-65. Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. 

Furthermore, the prevalence of the pomegranate motif in visual culture attests to the connections between cultures all over the globe. Too often people tend to think of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance as a time when cultures were isolated, and global interactions were not present. But the pomegranate motif is just one piece of evidence that proves that a global exchange of ideas and cultures was alive and well.
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Historic Influence

June 30, 2013, 6:20 am
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The Fashion Stigma

July 17, 2013, 1:18 pm
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I recently read this article by Lisa Bloom, called How to Talk to Little Girls. It's a quick and interesting read but the gist of it is that the author recently met the five-year-old daughter of a friend, and had to stop herself from complimenting the little girl's appearance. Instead, she started talking about books, in the hopes that this little girl would learn that her mind is valued more than her appearance. Bloom also gives some troubling statistics about the girls and women of America:

"This week ABC news reported that nearly half of all three- to six-year-old girls worry about being fat. In my book, Think: Straight Talk for Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed-Down World, I reveal that fifteen to eighteen percent of girls under twelve now wear mascara, eyeliner and lipstick regularly; eating disorders are up and self-esteem is down; and twenty-five percent of young American women would rather win America’s next top model than the Nobel Peace Prize. Even bright, successful college women say they’d rather be hot than smart. A Miami mom just died from cosmetic surgery, leaving behind two teenagers. This keeps happening, and it breaks my heart.

Teaching girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice tells them that looks are more important than anything. It sets them up for dieting at age 5 and foundation at age 11 and boob jobs at 17 and Botox at 23. As our cultural imperative for girls to be hot 24/7 has become the new normal, American women have become increasingly unhappy. What’s missing? A life of meaning, a life of ideas and reading books and being valued for our thoughts and accomplishments."
The second paragraph is the crux of her argument and I completely agree. We need to stop valuing women based solely on their appearance, and we need to teach girls to be happy with themselves, whatever shape or size they may be.

But what struck me, and what I want to talk about, is the following quote about the book the little girl read to Bloom:

"Alas, it was about girls and what they wore, and how their wardrobe choices defined their identities. But after Maya closed the final page, I steered the conversation to the deeper issues in the book: mean girls and peer pressure and not going along with the group."

This argument presupposes that an engagement with fashion and appearance is shallow and stupid. I agree that society should not tell women and girls that they have to look a particular way, and there are definitely billion dollar industries sending bad messages. But that does not mean that those who do engage in the industry and consider fashion an important part of their lives is wrong.

In 2005, a reality show aired in America (and probably elsewhere) called Beauty and the Geek. It pared beautiful but "dumb" women with "unattractive" male geeks and the teams of two competed for some some sort of grand prize. I don't really remember all the details, but what I do remember is that there would be quizzes for the participants. The men would teach the women about politics and other "serious issues" and then the women would be quizzed on it. And what did the women teach the men? Fashion and celebrities and other "shallow" things. The whole premise of the show was that anyone who is beautiful is stupid and anyone who is smart is ugly and obviously that is ridiculous. But my point is that these beautiful women knew more about fashion than politics and this made them dumb.

This all adheres to the stigma that fashion is shallow. That idea is actually a fairly recent phenomenon. The gendering of fashion is a fascinating topic and one I will post more about later, but here's a quick summary. Fashion became shallow and a female thing at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when gender roles became extremely strict. This was when men started wearing dark suits, which were relatively basic compared to the flamboyant clothing of previous centuries. It was decided that men were serious and intelligent, while women were silly and superficial. Thus the world of dress was confined to women (interestingly the majority of couturiers were and still are men but that's a topic for another post). This idea has more or less remained in tact today, coloring women interested in fashion as superficial.

My argument is to fight that stigma. A little girl can be interested in fashion and expressing an identity through clothing and still be intelligent and worldly. I say instead of fighting fashion, fight a system that labels fashion as shallow and dumb. Teach the next generation to value more than appearance, but don't devalue an interest in appearance altogether.

What are your thoughts? Comment and let me know!
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Pink

August 10, 2013, 2:48 pm
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Think Pink from Funny Face (1957)

The color pink has come to represent all that is quintessentially girly. Barbie, the most famous of girl's dolls, frequently wears pink, drives a pink convertable, and lives in a pink house.* In the movie Legally Blonde (2001), Elle Woods, the stereotypical ditzy sorority girl, is often dressed in her signature color- pink. Disney princesses including Cinderella, Ariel, and Aurora, all appear in pink gowns. The logo for breast cancer awareness, a disease associated with women (although men can get breast cancer as well), is a pink ribbon.

Images from Cinderella (1950), Sleeping Beauty (1959), and The Little Mermaid (1989).

I know some women who love pink because it's girly, and some who hate it for the same reason. For some, pink represents the negative gender stereotype of a shallow and stupid girl. For others, pink represents a vibrant celebration of femininity. I myself like the color pink, not for any gender connotations but because I think it is a pretty color. However, I know my fondness for pink clothes, accessories, and objects to decorate my house with sends a certain message to people, be it positive or negative. I have sometimes been criticized for my fondness of pink, and told that it makes me seem immature, unintelligent, and "girly" (that is, I'm like a little girl, not an adult woman). Strong Independent Modern Women don't wear pink! I think Strong Independent Modern Women can wear whatever they like but that is besides the point. Pink is a highly politicized color. But it hasn't always been that way.

Man's pink suit from the 1780s. At the Swiss National Museum.


The designations of pink and blue as gendered colors that we know today did not come about until the twentieth century, when childrens clothing became gender specific. In previous centuries, young boys and girls wore dresses and skirts (because it was easier to change diapers that way) for the first years of their life. But this began to change in the twentieth century, and with gendered clothing came gendered colors.

Virgin and Child by the Master of Guillaume Lambert, c. 1485. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

It may surprise you to know that pink has traditionally been a masculine color. Pink, as a lighter version of red, had associations with blood and fighting, symbols of masculinity. Blue, today the color designated as masculine, has traditionally been the feminine color. In Christian tradition, blue is the iconographic color code of the Virgin Mary, and what is more feminine than the symbol of purity herself, the virgin mother of the son of God. In June 1918, the Infants' Department wrote: "There has been a great diversity of opinion on the subject, but the generally accepted rule is pink for the boy and blue for the girl, The reason is that pink being a more decided and stronger color is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl."


A feminine pink kitchen advertised in McCalls, April 1951.

So when did the colors switch, with pink becoming feminine? It was during the 1950s that pink became strongly feminized. This was not a sudden change, but the result of a gradual evolution. The designation of pink as feminine was the result of several factors, one of which was changes in the clothing industry. By the 1950s, most families bought clothing from stores, and clothing manufacturers helped to shape the idea of gendered clothing. In her book about the history of gendered childrens clothing, Pink and Blue, Jo Paoletti writes: "The more baby clothing could be designed for an individual child-- and sex was the easiest and most obvious way to distinguish babies-- the harder it would be for parents to hand down clothing from one child to the next, and the more clothing they would have to buy as their families grew."

In recent years, men have somewhat reclaimed the color pink. In conjunction with the release of Baz Luhrmann's new adaptation of The Great Gatsby, Brooks Brothers sold a design based on Jay Gatsby's famous pink suit. Famous hip hop artists such as Jay Z and Kanye West have been pictured wearing pink. And preppy polo shirts and shorts for men come in a variety of shades of pink. So is the pink stigma being lifted? Only time will tell.



*While looking for images of Barbie, I learned that Barbie's Dream House is now a reality. You can visit a life sized version in Berlin, Germany and Florida, USA. I saw some pictures, and everything in the house is, of course, pink.

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Other Things I've Been Doing

September 11, 2013, 2:17 pm
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Exploring The Decades With Disney Princesses: Snow White

September 30, 2013, 3:14 pm
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As a fashion historian, I find that an interesting aspect of Disney is how the animated features serve as records of the visual culture of their day. The Disney Princesses, a successful sub-franchise launched by Disney in the late 1990s, are everywhere these days. They have not been without controversy, but they are certainly popular. They are also records of changing standards of beauty for women in the 20th century. This post series will discuss selected Disney Princesses, exploring how they embody the ideals of femininity of their time.

Snow White from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
 

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is a landmark moment in the history of film. It was the first full length animated feature produced by Walt Disney, and is one of the top ten performers at the North American box office. Based on the Brothers Grimm fairy tale, it tells the story of an evil queen who is jealous of Snow White's superior beauty and orders her murder. After a huntsman, Snow White's would-be murderer, shows mercy, Snow White begins a life of hiding in the woods and befriends seven dwarfs. Furious that Snow White is still alive the evil queen disguises herself and visits Snow White in her woodland cottage giving her a poisoned apple. Snow White takes a bite and seems to die but is ultimately awoken and rescued by the kiss of a handsome prince. And they all lived happily ever after.


Marjorie and her animated counterpart dance.

The rendering of Snow White in Disney's film, with her blue bodiced and yellow skirted dress, dainty red bow, and short black hair, has become iconic, and the character is the earliest of the Disney Princesses. Development for the movie began in early 1934. Snow White was modeled on a young dancer named Marjorie Celeste Belcher, daughter of a Disney animator. Marjorie was filmed performing scenes as Snow White, which Disney animators later used as reference to create a realistic human depiction.


But how does Snow White's appearance reflect the aesthetics of the 1930s? Simply look at fashion illustrations of the period and you'll see that Snow White fits right in with the illustrated fashion models. Fashion illustrations are a great source for looking at ideals of beauty because a drawing can convey ideal aesthetics in a way a real human body cannot. Furthermore, fashion illustration also takes a cue from dominant artistic trends of the period, showing broader visual influences.

Illustration of two women wearing dress coats from Croquis de bal, 1930s. The New York Public Library.

Snow White is a slim figured Art Deco beauty. Her silhouette is sleek and long, with no large curves interrupting the smooth line from head to toe, reflecting the ideal silhouette of the period and the sleek lines of the Art Deco style. Her dress has a close fitting bodice, puffed sleeves, and a narrow skirt, all elements of fashionable dress from the 1930s. Compare her to the figures in the fashion illustration above, which also feature a long, slim figure, and a dress with emphasis on the shoulders and narrow lines.

Hat designs from the 1930s.

Snow White's face also shows ideal features. Her hair is cropped short, and she has cherub-like red lips, circular eyes, and pencil thin eyebrows. Once again, these features are mirrored in the fashion illustration above. Snow White's face gives her a dainty, girlish appearance, reflecting the elegant femininity which characterized 1930s fashion. And once again, her round and simply drawn facial features conform with the Art Deco aesthetic which combined sleek lines, round shapes, and a minimal aesthetic without much embellishment.

As time goes by how do the Disney Princesses evolve? Stay tuned!

If you're interested in the historical influences of Snow White's clothes, please check out this excellent post from the lovely ladies over at Frock Flicks!

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Why I Love History

December 8, 2013, 11:54 pm
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From Punch Magazine, 1906. http://www.punch.co.uk/

Look at this cartoon from a 1906 issue of Punch Magazine, forecasting the future of wireless technology. It shows two people sitting outdoors, but ignoring their surroundings and each other because they're engrossed in their mobile devices. The woman is sexting. The man is looking up sports scores. This cartoon was published over a hundred years ago, yet it is depicting something we are all extremely familiar with today.

Now take a moment to think of what life was like back in 1906. Compared to what life is like now, 1906 might as well be a different planet. And yet here we are, looking at the same cartoon people looked at in 1906, and thinking exactly the same thing. Of course this cartoon is fantastical, a speculation based on advances in telegraph technology. But the prediction has turned out to be 100% accurate. And just as we roll our eyes today at people engrossed in the latest technology, ignoring everything else, so too did people roll their eyes on that far away planet of 1906.

This is why I love history. Because the people of history lived in a completely different world than we do now, and it can sometimes seem unfathomable to imagine their lives. But they were still people who laughed and cried and had a favorite color and food and best friends and awkward conversations. For so many history is just a list of facts and dates and names and obviously that's really boring. But if you really look closely at history you learn about real people who were just like us even though they lived on another planet. And to be able to connect to some one that lived hundreds or thousands of years ago, in a completely different world, is amazing.

This is one of the many many reasons why I love fashion and textile history in particular. Because I get to work with the very clothes that people lived their lives in and the textiles that they slept under or sat on or that adorned their walls. You may roll your eyes at this, but I've always loved how Stanly Tucci's character in The Devil Wears Prada describes fashion as "greater than art, because you live your life in it." I think that quote so wonderfully sums up why fashion and textile history is so important, and why it means so much to me. Because these are the things that people lived their lives in. And to study that is to connect with these strange people from a distant land in the most intimate way. The first extant garment I ever held was a shoe from the early 1810s. I remember just sitting there and staring at it, because here in my hand was a shoe that was on a woman's foot when Napoleon was conquering the world. And in that moment I had a personal link to that time in history and more importantly the people of history. A woman and I, separated by two hundred years, were able to share a moment.

This is why history is amazing, and historic preservation is so important. We can't hop into a time machine and literally meet the people of the past, but we can make an intimate connection with them through the objects they've left behind. We can understand and 'make friends' (for lack of a better phrase) with people who lived in a different world, but in the end are just like us.
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Spangles, Sequins, and Spangs, Oe My!

January 12, 2014, 1:24 pm
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"The Robe she ware was lawne (white as the Swanne)
Which silver Oes and Spangles over-ran
That in her motion such reflexion gave,
As fill'd with silver stares, the heav'nly wane."
- John Davies of Hereford, An Extasie, 1603

What better way to return from a long hiatus than with a flurry of sparkles? Today's post is all about sequins, spangles, and oes!

French court suit jacket, 1750-75. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

For centuries, the fashionable have decorated their clothing and accessories with small, reflective metal discs. Today we know these as sequins, but in previous centuries they were known as spangles. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first recorded use of sequin as a name for these sparkly discs was in 1882. A few centuries earlier, a sequin was the name of an Italian gold coin. Perhaps this reference to a small disc of precious metal inspired the later use of the word.

In the 17th and 18th centuries, sequins were known as spangles or spangs. Spangles were made of precious and semi-precious metals such as gold, silver, and copper, and came in a variety of shapes and sizes. The most common was the flat, circular disc we are familiar with today. But by the end of the 18th century, spangles could be cut into multiple shapes like clovers and hearts, and could be tinted colors like pink and blue. In many descriptions, such as the poem at the beginning of this post, spangles are paired with oes. Oes were another form of decorative metal detail, very similar to spangles. According to scholar M. Channing Linthicum, "oes were metal eyelets tacked or clinched to the material in such designs as 'squares,''Esses,''wheate eares,' etc., or powdered over the whole surface."

Lady Dorothy Cary by William Larkin, c. 1614. English Heritage. The little spots on her embroidered jacket are spangles.

According to records of English parliamentary proceedings, in 1575 "a Patent was first granted to Robert Sharp to make Spangles and Oes of Gold." This suggests that Robert Sharp was perhaps one of the first English manufacturers of spangles and oes, or perhaps an innovator in their production. There were two methods for creating spangles. In the first method, a thin coil of wire was wrapped around a narrow dowel. The resulting spring was then cut and the coils hammered flat to create round discs with a small hole in the middle. The second method was used to create spangles with more elaborate shapes. In this method, a thin sheet of metal was laid out and the spangles were punched out using shaped tools, like when you make cookies with cookie cutters.

Spangles and oes were used to decorate the clothes and accessories of men and women. In the candle light, they would shimmer and lend a magical quality to the wearer. In an essay by Francis Bacon, titled Of Masques and Triumphs, the glittering effect of spangles and oes is described. He writes, "The colors that show best by candle-light are white... and oes, or spangs, as they are of no great cost, so they are of the most glory."


Women's Jacket made in Great Britain, 1600-1625. The Victoria and Albert Museum.

Over the years, spangles and oes have decorated a variety of garments and accessories. One of the most notable uses was in the first decades of the 17th century when they covered women's embroidered jackets, as in the above image. From 2007 to 2009, workers at Plimoth Plantation meticulously reproduced one of these embroidered jackets. To read more about this incredible undertaking, including their manufacturing of spangles, I highly recommend their blog.


Detail of a French court suit embroidered with blue tinted spangles, 1750-75. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In the 18th and early 19th centuries, spangles could often be found on decorative embroidery. The above image is a detail of the court suit pictured earlier in this post. Here you can see a variety of spangles, from plain gold circles to blue tinted circles and pointed ovals. As for the tightly coiled wires which surround many of the spangles, could they be oes?

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Historic Influence

February 1, 2014, 2:15 am
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Elizabeth Keckly Before Mary Lincoln

February 12, 2014, 5:19 am
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February is Black History Month! To celebrate here on The Fashion Historian, I asked my dear friend and colleague Elizabeth Way if she would pen a couple of guest posts about two incredible African American fashion designers and dressmakers and she kindly agreed. Enjoy!



Elizabeth Keckly in the 1860s. Allen County Public Library, Fort Wayne, Indiana.

Elizabeth Keckly, the talented dressmaker and close friend to Mary Todd Lincoln, is resurfacing as an important historical figure. She appeared as a character in the film Lincoln (2012), played by Gloria Rubin, and her life has been the subject of several fictional and nonfictional books. This attention is well deserved because she was truly a remarkable woman—over the course of her life she bought her freedom from slavery, made a major impact on American fashion by dressing the most famous political wives of Civil War-era Washington DC, created a charity to aid newly freed slaves, and wrote her memoirs, leaving important documentation on both herself and the Lincoln family for future scholars. Though her experiences in Washington DC are fascinating history—she created fashions for every notable lady from Varina Davis, the first lady of the Confederacy, to all of Lincoln’s cabinet member wives—her story as a society dressmaker began on the western frontier.

Elizabeth was born a slave on the Burwell plantation in Dinwiddie County, Virginia in 1818. Her mother was Agnes, also a slave and the head seamstress and dressmaker to the Burwell family. Her father was Armistead Burwell, Agnes’ owner and the master of the plantation. Agnes taught her daughter not only to sew and make dresses, but also to read and write, empowering Elizabeth with valuable skills for her future. Elizabeth moved several times in her enslaved life because her father lent her out as help to her half-siblings. After living in Hillsborough, North Carolina, where she was raped by a white man and gave birth to her son George, and Petersburg, Virginia, she moved to St. Louis, Missouri in 1847 as a slave to her half-sister, Anne Burwell Garland and her husband Hugh Garland.

Keckly designed this silk velvet and satin gown for Mary Lincoln in 1864. National Museum of American History, Political Life Division.

Hugh Garland was a lawyer, and the family was socially well connected, but he suffered from very poor finances. He sent Elizabeth out as a dressmaker to support the family and for two years and five months she worked as the main breadwinner supporting seventeen people! Elizabeth had gained her first experience sewing gowns for her Burwell half-sisters and was quite accomplished by the time she moved to St. Louis. However, the ladies in this city truly prepared her for the success she found in Washington. They demanded the latest French fashions, which they read about in magazines or picked up from visits and friends in New Orleans. These lady patrons, who refused to give up looking fashionable just because they lived in far-flung St. Louis, sharpened Elizabeth’s dressmaking skills and refined sense of style.

Elizabeth was intelligent, talented and an excellent businesswoman; in her own words, “in a short time I had acquired something of a reputation as a seamstress and dress-maker. The best ladies in St. Louis were my patrons, and when my reputation was once established I never lacked for orders.” Therefore, it is no surprise that this black female slave, who could support a family better than a formally-educated white man, would want to move beyond the limitations of slavery. Elizabeth repeatedly asked Hugh Garland to set a price for her and George’s freedom, which he finally did: $1200. This was an enormous amount of money, especially considering that most of her wages went to the Garlands. But the always-enterprising Elizabeth had a plan. She would travel to New York City and seek financial aid from one of the abolitionist organizations that helped slaves purchase their freedom. By this time Hugh Garland had died and Anne Garland agreed to let Elizabeth travel north, but only after acquiring the signatures of six white men who would pay her value to Anne if she never returned. Elizabeth had no problem obtaining these pledges because her clients and their husbands knew her as honest and trustworthy. The sixth man, however, spoiled her plans. This Mr. Farrow would willingly sign for her, but was convinced that she would never come back to St. Louis telling her, “you mean to come back, that is, you mean so now, but you never will. When you reach New York the abolitionists will tell you what savages we are, and they will prevail on you to stay there; and we shall never see you again.” Elizabeth was morally shocked that Mr. Farrow thought she was lying and called off her trip, explaining, “I was beginning to feel sick at heart, for I could not accept the signature of this man when he had no faith in my pledges. No; slavery, eternal slavery rather than be regarded with distrust by those whose respect I esteemed.”


 
Keckly's Deed of Emancipation and Freedom Bond, 1855. Missouri Historical Society.


In her darkest hour, Elizabeth was saved by the reputation she had earned and the loyalty she inspired, not simply as an excellent dressmaker, but as an admirable and respected person. A client, Mrs. Le Bourgois, came to visit and told Elizabeth that her patrons did not want her to go to New York and beg for money for her freedom. Instead Mrs. Le Bourgois raised the $1200 among Elizabeth’s clients, gifting her with the money. In 1855 Elizabeth bought her and George’s freedom and she started her own business as a free dressmaker in St. Louis. She repaid every penny given to her by her patrons and in 1860 Elizabeth Keckly arrived in Washington DC, beginning her illustrious career as the leading dressmaker in the nation’s capitol.

Further Reading

Keckly, Elizabeth. Behind the Scenes or Thirty Years a Slave and Fours Years in the White House. New York: G.W. Carlton and Co. Publishers, 1868.

Elizabeth Way, Curatorial Assistant at the Museum at FIT. Elizabeth wrote her master's thesis on the African American dressmakers Elizabeth Keckly and Ann Lowe and continues to research the intersection of African American culture and fashion.
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Ann Lowe’s Early Career

February 23, 2014, 12:07 pm
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February is Black History Month! To celebrate here on The Fashion Historian, I asked my dear friend and colleague Elizabeth Way if she would pen a couple of guest posts about two incredible African American fashion designers and dressmakers and she kindly agreed. Enjoy!


Ann Lowe pictured in Ebony magazine in 1966.

Ann Lowe was a leading society dressmaker in New York City in the 1950s and 1960s. Her designs were so exclusive that she restricted her clients to those found on the Social Register; people with names like Roosevelt, DuPont, and Rockefeller. Her most famous design was for Jacqueline Kennedy’s wedding dress, but she also made countless wedding and debutante gowns for American socialites. Anne Lowe made couture-quality gowns on par with the best French designers, true pieces of art that now reside in museums like the Museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture. But before she came to New York, Lowe built her career as artistic and technically skilled fashion designer in Tampa, Florida.

Ann Lowe was born in 1898 in Clayton, Alabama. This was a rural town in the Jim Crow south, where most blacks struggled as sharecroppers, but Ann’s family was better off than even some white families because her grandmother, Georgia Cole, and her mother, Janey Lowe, were excellent dressmakers. Georgia was a former slave who had been bought and freed by her husband, a free black man named General Cole. When Ann was very young the family moved to Montgomery, and established a thriving business, fashioning gowns for the society ladies of the state capitol. Ann grew up picking up scraps from her grandmother and mother’s work and sewing them into beautiful replicas of the flowers she saw in the garden—these floral accents would become a signature of her designs. In 1914 Janey died suddenly, leaving her daughter to complete an important order for the governor’s wife. Sixteen-year-old Ann, not only finished the order, she took over her mother’s business. Her already advanced design and sewing skills made her a capable dressmaker, but when she married and gave birth to her son Arthur, her husband, Lee Cone, compelled her to give up her work and stay home with her family. Yet she never stopped designing—instead of sewing for socialites, she fashioned beautiful clothing for herself.


Gasparilla Court wearing gowns designed by Ann Lowe, 1927. Black Fashion Museum.

One day, Josephine Lee, a wealthy socialite from Florida, spotted a very fashionable young black woman from across an Alabama department store. Mrs. Lee was so impressed by Ann’s chic clothing she had to ask about them and when she found out that Ann made them herself, she hired the young woman on the spot as her live-in dressmaker. Mrs. Lee had four daughters who all needed fashionable clothes for the social season and Ann was to make them. Lee Cone was against the move, but Ann saw an opportunity to continue and expand the career she loved, and so she and Arthur boarded the train to Tampa.

In Florida, Ann’s career flourished. The Lee girls’ friends coveted their fashion-forward clothing and Ann was soon the most popular dressmaker in town. She was known for making original designs and working fast—sometimes a lady would drop by her shop in the morning with fabric for a dress that she could pick up and wear that night. The Lee family adored Ann and supported her growing talent—in 1917 they encouraged her decision to attend design school in New York City. Luckily for Tampa, its finest dressmaker returned after a year—Lowe was so skilled that she completed the course work of her design school in half the time, despite the fact that she was segregated to a separate classroom to work alone because of her race. Ann reopened her business and by the time she turned 21, she employed eighteen dressmakers in her shop.


Gasparilla Court wearing gowns designed by Ann Lowe, 1928. Black Fashion Museum.

Though Lowe made all types of garments, she was best known for exquisite ball gowns. Tampa hosted an annual social event called the Gasparilla festival, which was full of balls for the wealthiest residents. Young girls from the best families were elected to a Gasparilla court—the most popular was crowned the Gasparilla Queen—and they all wanted dresses by Ann. One socialite recalled, “If you didn’t have a Gasparilla gown by Annie, you might as well stay home.”

In interviews given late in her life, Ann Lowe always remembered her Tampa clients fondly and her time there as very happy. But she was destined for a bigger future. She made a permanent move to New York in 1928, again supported by the Lees who appreciated her talent and ambition. Yet, a local newspaper reported, “There is much ‘weeping and wailing and maybe gnashing of teeth’ to use the old expression, among Tampa society maids over the fact that Annie Cone [as she was known then] is going to New York City… feminine society is wondering just how it will be able to survive the future social seasons without her assistance.” Nearly forty years later, her Tampa clients still remembered their incredible designer. A Tampa Tribune article, written in 1965, included several interviews of Lowe’s Tampa clients and reported that, “everyone we spoke to who had an Ann Lowe gown remembers it distinctly and nostalgically.” The 1924 Gasparilla queen, Sarah Keller Hobbs, sentimentally recalled, “There was never anyone like Annie.”

Further Reading

Frye, Alexandria, “Fairy Princess Gowns Created By Tampa Designer for Queen In Gasparilla’s Golden Era”, Tampa Tribune, Feb. 7 1965, pp. 6-E.

Powell, Margaret, “The Life and Work of Ann Lowe: Rediscovering ‘Society’s Best-Kept Secret’”, (master’s thesis for the Smithsonian Associates and the Corcoran College of Art and Design, 2012).

Elizabeth Way, Curatorial Assistant at the Museum at FIT. Elizabeth wrote her master's thesis on the African American dressmakers Elizabeth Keckly and Ann Lowe and continues to research the intersection of African American culture and fashion.
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Carnivalesque

July 19, 2014, 5:46 am
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Hello dear readers!

To kick The Fashion Historian back into gear after this rather long hiatus I will be hosting this month's edition of Carnivalesque!

What is Carnivalesque? It's an interdisciplinary blog carnival for history blogs focusing on pre-modern history (to c. 1800). So if you would like to nominate a blog or a particular blog post to be included in this month's Carnivalesque, send me a message using the form here. Remember, the point is to be as interdisciplinary as possible so blogs focused on ANY part of history will be considered!

The carnival itself will be posted on July 26th. Happy nominating!

http://carnivalesque.org/
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Carnivalesque 104

July 26, 2014, 2:50 pm
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Welcome to Carnivalesque #104! There's been all sorts of fascinating research being posted on the blogosphere, so let's take a look at what my fellow historians have been up to recently!


To start with some fashion history, the always wonderful Two Nerdy History Girls have been exploring just how those giant 1770s hairstyles were created. In Part 1 of this series they discuss a bit of the background of this hairstyle while busting some myths in the process. Part 2 takes a closer look at how Abby Cox and Sarah Woodyard, the mantua-maker's apprentices at the Margaret Hunter shop in Colonial Williamsburg, have been recreating these large styles themselves using period techniques.

Over on The Duchess of Devonshire's Gossip Guide to the Eighteenth Century, Heather Carroll tells us all about the fascinating Eglantine, Lady Wallace in her Tart of the Week feature. Eglantine, known as Betty, was a bit of a wild child and had many adventures during her life, including dressing as a man to watch a debate in the House of Commons and at one point being accused of espionage. I suspect Betty was a very fun person to hang out with.

Turning over to some books and manuscripts, guest blogger Julie Park discusses Interiority and Jane Porter's pocket diary at The Collation. Pocket diaries provide a world of information about 18th century life, and in this post Park looks at one from 1796 which belonged to Jane Porter, the first bestselling female author of historical fiction who wrote under her own name. In this fascinating post, Park explores how Jane Porter literally went outside the lines in her use of her diary, concluding that "Porter appropriates and repurposes the spaces of the diary to accommodate the vicissitudes of individual experience."

Earlier personal writing is explored in the post "My Well-Beloved Valentine", as Lucy Allen takes a look at the 15th century love letters of Margery Brews. Fun Fact: These letters contain the first recorded English use of the word Valentine as a synonym for lover. In this romantic post, Allen discusses how Margery Brews created a more personal language than that traditionally used between couples and started a tradition that continues to this day.

And in a final manuscript themed blog post, Jenny Weston at Medieval Fragments discusses Medieval Family Trees, exploring how medieval families documented their history and achievements in beautiful artistic detail.

Taking a break for some fun and games, Mike Rendell at The Georgian Gentleman takes a brief look at the history of the yo-yo and how, in the late 18th century, it had a brief period of popularity as one of the fashion accessories of the day.

And for some more active sports, Mike A. Zuber reports on early modern football at Praeludia Microcosmica. In this post Zuber links to some fascinating research about early modern football, noting that violence within the sport has a long history. Some games even led to death!

If you happen to be an ancient Babylonian suffering from epilepsy, Strahil V. Panayotov discusses how a doctor may have used fumigation to cure you at The Recipes Project. Panayotov writes, "Through fumigation the Babylonian medical practitioner could heal different illnesses: depression, epilepsy, troubles with the ears and the eyes, or even hemorrhoids." As the post goes on to reveal, the ingredients used to create this healing smoke could sometimes be a little odd. For epilepsy, the main ingrediant was parts of the head of a dead young male goat!

For those who enjoy tales of pirates, head over to English Legal History where Rebecca Simon discusses Pirate Executions in Early Modern London. Unlike many tales of the high seas, Simon's post explores the deadly fate of pirates who did not escape with their booty, and were instead taken to the Execution Dock and hung by the neck. In a particularly cruel twist, the nooses used for pirates were shorter than normal, meaning that a pirate's neck would not break as they dropped, causing them to die slowly of asphyxiation.

If all this fascinating reading has gotten you a bit hungry, why not head over to Early British and American Public Gardens and Grounds where Barbara Wells Sarudy looks at hunting, fowling, and shooting in 18th century America and Britain.

After all that meat you'll want a good drink, so head over to The Many-Headed Monster where Mark Hailwood gives his "Marooned on an Island" reading list all about the history of drinking. It is sure to fulfill all of your alcoholic history needs!

If all that food and drink has given you a bit of a stomach ache, then perhaps you should go to Les Leftovers where Jim Chevallier discusses shifts in fasting in medieval France. This detailed post considers what foods were and were not allowed on fasting days, when fasting days took place, and how all of this changed over time.


And that's all for this edition of Carnivalesque. I hope you have enjoyed exploring all of the amazing history that is available online as much as I have. Be sure to join us in September for Carnivalesque 105 at Meshalim/Amthal/Exiemplos: Notes from the Life of a Medievalist.
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The Past and the Future: Two Court Presentation Gowns from the Chicago History Museum

August 14, 2014, 12:07 pm
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In my work as curatorial assistant at the Chicago History Museum I was fortunate enough to study two beautiful court presentation gowns from the 1920s. I blogged about those dresses and the ritual of the court presentation on the Chicago History Museum Blog. But I also thought there was a bigger story to be told, and so I continue the story of these two gowns here on The Fashion Historian.

Court presentation gown and train, Jacques Doucet, 1926. Gift of Miss Mary Dudley Kenna. In the collection of the Chicago History Museum. 1965.380a-e. Photo by Katy Werlin.

Court presentation gown and train, Jacques Doucet, 1926. Gift of Miss Mary Dudley Kenna. In the collection of the Chicago History Museum. 1965.380a-e. Photo by Katy Werlin.
The first gown was worn by Mary Dudley Kenna when she was presented at the Court of St. James on June 10, 1926. It was designed by Jacques Doucet for the House of Doucet.

Court presentation gown and train, Edward Molyneux, 1928. Gift of Mrs. Frederick L. Spencer. In the collection of the Chicago History Museum. 1962.464a-d. Photo by Katy Werlin.
The second gown was worn by Mrs. Frederick L. Spencer, née Helen Hurley, in the spring of 1928. It was designed by Edward Molyneux. To see images of both women in their court gowns, please refer to my post on the Chicago History Museum Blog.

Detail of court presentation gown and train, Jacques Doucet, 1926. Gift of Miss Mary Dudley Kenna. In the collection of the Chicago History Museum. 1965.380a-e. Photo by Katy Werlin.
Both of these gowns exhibit an extraordinary technical mastery, as can be seen by the detail images peppered throughout this post. But what I find most fascinating is the contrast these two gowns present-- one representing the romanticism of a bygone age, the other representing the sleek modernity of a new era.

Detail of court presentation gown and train, Edward Molyneux, 1928. Gift of Mrs. Frederick L. Spencer. In the collection of the Chicago History Museum. 1962.464a-d. Photo by Katy Werlin.
Both gowns are well within the aesthetics of their respective designers. But just who were Jacques Doucet and Edward Molyneux?

Detail of court presentation gown and train, Jacques Doucet, 1926. Gift of Miss Mary Dudley Kenna. In the collection of the Chicago History Museum. 1965.380a-e. Photo by Katy Werlin.
Mary's gown was designed by Jacques Doucet (1853-1929) for the House of Doucet. The House of Doucet was founded in 1817 by Antoine Doucet (1795-1866), Jacques' grandfather. Originally the house supplied lingerie, lace, and embroideries, a fitting beginning for a house that would come to represent a delicate, feminine aesthetic. In the early 1840s the house was established on the Rue de la Paix, one of the most important couture streets in Paris. Jacques himself was born there in 1853 and officially joined in the house in 1874. The House of Doucet was one of the largest couture houses of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and some of the great couturiers of the twentieth century worked for Doucet including Paul Poiret (worked for Doucet from 1896-1900) and Madeleine Vionnet (worked for Doucet from 1907-1912). However, the firm never truly recovered from the ravages of World War I. It merged with a lesser couture house, Doueillet, in 1924, and closed altogether in 1932.

Detail of court presentation gown and train, Edward Molyneux, 1928. Gift of Mrs. Frederick L. Spencer. In the collection of the Chicago History Museum. 1962.464a-d. Photo by Katy Werlin.
Captain Edward Molyneux (1891-1974) was born in London and served as a captain in the British army during World War I. He also worked for couturier Lucile in London before opening his own couture house in Paris in 1919. The House of Molyneux was an enormous success and branches were soon opened in Monte Carlo, Cannes, and London. Twentieth-century couturier Pierre Balmain apprenticed at the House of Molyneux, describing it in his 1964 memoirs, My Years and Seasons, as a "temple of subdued elegance... [where] the world's well-dressed women wore the inimitable two-pieces and tailored suits with pleated skirts, bearing the label of Molyneux."

Detail of court presentation gown and train, Jacques Doucet, 1926. Gift of Miss Mary Dudley Kenna. In the collection of the Chicago History Museum. 1965.380a-e. Photo by Katy Werlin.
The aesthetic of Jacques Doucet is colored by delicacy, romanticism, femininity, and a strong historical influence. Doucet himself was a great collector of 18th century art and his designs show the influence of the rococo aesthetic. Floral motifs and lace were particularly popular in his designs. 

Mary's court presentation ensemble is certainly a fitting example of the Doucet aesthetic. The cut of the gown is in the fashionable 1920s style-- loose fitting and with a dropped waist. And yet the full, gathered skirt suggests the styles of a previous era. A sense of romance and whimsey, recalling the light aesthetic of the Edwardian period (1901-1910), is conveyed by the appliqued floral motif on both the gown and train. Soft velvets and satins are expertly stitched and gathered to create soft flowers which rest lightly in an embroidered basket. There is a playful whimsey as a few flowers and buds fall gracefully from the slightly tipped basket. Overall this dress conveys a sense of soft, delicate femininity. Compare it with the Doucet gowns below, from the early 1900s:


Afternoon dress, Jacques Doucet, 1900-1903. In the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 2009.300.579ab.

Ball gown, Jacques Doucet, c. 1902. In the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 2009.300.3309ab.
The same soft femininity of these two gowns from the Metropolitan Museum of Art is adapted to 1920s fashion in Mary's court presentation gown.

Detail of court presentation gown and train, Edward Molyneux, 1928. Gift of Mrs. Frederick L. Spencer. In the collection of the Chicago History Museum. 1962.464a-d. Photo by Katy Werlin.
In contrast to the historic romanticism of Doucet's aesthetic, the look of the House of Molyneux was all about modernity. Molyneux designs embodied the elegant and slim aesthetic of the 1920s and 1930s. His designs were restrained and avoided excess decoration, showing the influence of his military background and English heritage. Molyneux loved clean lines, and his designs were streamlined and fluid, taking inspiration from the new Art Deco style of architecture and design.

Helen's court presentation ensemble is the perfect example of this. The design is simple and clean, with lean, extenuated teardrop shapes made from concentric rows of pearls and crystals. All of these design aspects are hallmarks of the Art Deco movement. The dress itself is cut in a simple, narrow tube shape, embracing the most modern style of dress. Compare the design of Helen's dress with the Art Deco architecture below:


The Chrysler Building in Manhattan, NY. Designed by William Van Alen and constructed from 1928-1930.

Ornamental ironwork designed by Edgar Brandt for the Cheney Silk building in Manhattan, NY (now the Madison Belmont Building). Built from 1924-1925. Photo by Daniel E. Russell.
As you can see, Helen's dress fits right in with the sleek and modern style of Art Deco.

Molyneux designer label visible on the underside of the headdress associated with the gown. Court presentation gown and train, Edward Molyneux, 1928. Gift of Mrs. Frederick L. Spencer. In the collection of the Chicago History Museum. 1962.464a-d. Photo by Katy Werlin.
And so in these two dresses we see both the convergence of the past, the present, and the future. In Mary's dress Doucet adapts the delicate romanticism of the Edwardian aesthetic into the cleaner lines of the 1920s, while still maintaining a youthful, feminine charm. In Helen's dress Molyneux embraces the design of the future, adapting the ultra-modern Art Deco aesthetic into a trim gown that speaks of a new world.

The choice of these two designers most likely speaks to the personality of each woman. Perhaps Mary was more old fashioned and whimsical, while Helen embraced the new modern age. Each of these dresses gives us a glimpse of the women who wore them in an exciting era of change.
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Fashion and New Technology

September 3, 2014, 2:33 pm
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Fashion has always had a strong relationship with new technology. In the late eighteenth century, looms ran on punch cards to weave complex textile designs-- the very first computing technology. In the nineteenth century, the discovery of synthetic dyes allowed fabrics to take on bright, eye-popping colors. In the twentieth century, an enormous range of textiles made from synthetic materials, each with its own unique benefits, flushed the market. And in the twenty-first century, designers are using 3-D printers to create new and innovative designs.

Fashion has also always had strong ties with the media. New trends need to be disseminated around the world somehow, be it by illustrations, photographs, or film. These days we can log on to youtube and watch the latest runway shows instantly, but the relationship between film and fashion stretches much farther back in time.


Paul Poiret, c. 1913. From the Library of Congress. LC-USZ62-100840.

On October 7, 1913, the Chicago Tribune published an article titled "Poiret Startles Chicago Women." The article begins:

"Seven hundred of the best dressed women of Chicago viewed the oddities of the latest styles of Paul Poiret, 'the high priest of color and the master builder of gowns,' as they strutted across the cinematographic screen at the Blackstone hotel yesterday."

We like to think that videos of fashion shows are a newer invention, yet here were hundreds of women watching one in 1913! Film was still a relatively new technology in the early 1910s, and the movie making industry wouldn't really kick off until the 1920s. Yet it is clear that some were already seeing film's potential. It's fitting that the fashion show on view to the women of Chicago that October day showcased the designs of Paul Poiret, a designer known for his innovation, boldness, and modernity. As the Tribune described Poiret's designs, "The women in the pictures were garbed in raiment wonderful, peculiar, and individual."

A Poiret evening gown, c. 1914. From the Library of Congress. LC-USZ62-85524.

The article continues:
"The spectators gave due attention to each gown, criticizing, studying, praising, wondering. There was ample opportunity for study, for some of the gowns were exhibited several times before the final reel had wound itself up.

"Perhaps the article that brought forth the most exclamations was a huge muff. A circular piece of white ermine ran around the front of it and as the wearer came closer into the camera's focus the comment grew.

"'What is that white circle?''Looks like a life preserver.'"No. it's [sic] an automobile tire.' Then the model stood perfectly still and the seven hundred laughed. It was ventured that seven hundred black muffs with white ermine circles will be worn in Chicago this winter.

"There were also a few colored slides showing Poiret's color combinations-- women in blue serge and green trimming, in scarlet and black, in purple and white, in pink with an overdress of white, and in other shades that caused several dressmakers a few gasps of delight."

Some of the restrictions of early film technology are mentioned. The lack of color (later compensated for with colored slides) and low definition left some women slightly confused as to what they were seeing. I love one woman's guess that perhaps Poiret had incorporated a car tire into his design.

I love this article for many reasons. Its description of Poiret's collection is an excellent resource. It highlights how technological advances were used to disseminate fashion information. It reflects the exciting sense of innovation and modernity that colored the twentieth century. But above all it connects us to the people of the past. These women, who lived 101 years ago, are sitting with their friends and commenting on a video of the latest fashions, just as we comment on videos on youtube today. I've written about how I love fashion history because it so closely connects us to the people of the past, and this article is the perfect example.
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Historic Influence

November 17, 2014, 11:44 am
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(As always, click for full size.)
Left: Elizabeth Banks in Elie Saab Fall 2014 Couture
Top Right: Three robes a la francaise from the Kyoto Costume Institute
Bottom Right: Robe a la francaise, 1755-65, from the Metropolitan Museum of Art

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La Mode à la Girafe

December 7, 2014, 2:04 pm
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La mode à la girafe translates to giraffe fashion, that is, fashion inspired by and celebrating giraffes. Or, in the case of late 1820s France, the fashion influence of one very famous giraffe.

Nicolas Hüet, Study of the Giraffe Given to Charles X by the Viceroy of Egypt, 1827. In the collection of the Morgan Library and Museum.

On October 23, 1826 a female giraffe arrived at the port of Marseilles. A gift from Muhammad Ali (1769-1849), the Viceroy of Egypt, to King Charles X of France (r. 1824-1830), this was the first living giraffe ever seen in France. Naturally such a strange and wonderful looking animal caused an enormous sensation. During her six month stay in Marseilles and along her journey to Paris, thousands of people came to view the curious creature. Renown zoologist Étienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire wrote that he "had to fight the crowds who rushed tumultuously at the animal." In Lyon, for example, over 30,000 people came to see her.

Jean-Jacques Feuchère, "Encore des Ridicules, No. 1,035: Les Girafes à la mode," c. 1826. In the collection of the Musée Carnavalet.

On June 30, 1827, the giraffe arrived in Paris to much fanfare and took up residence in the Jardin de Plantes, the world's first national menagerie. In the following months she would have an audience with the royal family, several important dignitaries, and be seen by hundreds of thousands of people. On July 12th, 1827 La Pandore reported that "the giraffe occupies all the public's attention; one talks of nothing else in the circles of the capital."

Henri-Daniel Plattel, Les Quartiers de Paris/Jardin des Plantes, c. 1827. In the collection of the Musée Carnavalet.

Naturally everyone wished to cash in on the giraffe craze. This one exotic animal inspired thousands of prints, sheet music, toys, pamphlets, and a play, and was used to sell fashion, textiles, wallpaper, ceramics, and even food. La mode à la girafe swept the nation! It should be noted that this giraffe was not the first exotic animal to inspire fashion. In 1749 there was the mode au rhinocéros [rhinoceros] and in 1786 there was the mode au zèbre [zebra].

Fashion plate from Les Journal des Dames et des Modes, July 8, 1827. In the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Yellow took on a new popularity. The Petit Courrier reported in September 1827 that "the color 'giraffe,' which is simply a kind of yellowish color, which one would have called café au lait a few years ago, is now often used for belts, workbags, and even for some dresses." And in October of the same year the Journal des Dames reported that the shade known as "belly of giraffe" was an extremely popular color. In general many fashion magazines described numerous items as being giraffe-yellow.


Detail of block-printed furnishing fabric, 1826-30. In the collection of the Musée de l'Impression sur Étoffes, Mulhouse.

It was not only the color of the giraffe that infiltrated fashion. Belt ribbons, bags, and fans were all decorated with images of giraffes and charms, pins, necklaces, cravat pins, bracelets, and cane toppers were all manufactured in the shape of a giraffe. Printed cottons, used for furnishing and dress, also bore the image of the famous animal.

Illustration from L'Art de mettre sa cravate de toutes le manières connues et usitées by Baron Émile de l'Empesé, c. 1827. In the collection of the Royal Ontario Museum.

Types of dress and even hair were inspired by the giraffe as well. Fashion historian Michele Majer describes sleevesà la girafe: "The fullness [of the sleeves] was partialy controlled by a strip of matching fabric wound twice around the arm from just above the elbow to the wrist." The coiffure à la girafe, although not much different than typical hairstyles of the day, was also mentioned in fashion periodicals. La mode à la girafe was not only for women. L'Art de mettre sa cravate de toutes le manières connues et usitées illustrated a cravat à la girafe which featured the knot placed low on the high collar and the ends hanging vertically, invoking the long neck of the giraffe.

An example of another object inspired by the giraffe-- a teapot and heater stand from c. 1827. In the collection of the Musée Carnavalet.

These are just a few of the hundreds of objects and fashion trends attributed to the giraffe. However, the story of this fashionable giraffe has a rather sad ending. As fads do, la mode à la girafe quickly passed away and newer sensations took its place. After the initial excitement of seeing such an exotic animal, most forgot about the giraffe and few came to visit her at the Jardin de Plantes. By 1830 she had completely faded into obscurity. She died in 1845.




Further Reading:

Allin, Michael. Zarafa: A Giraffe's True Story, from Deep in Africa to the Heart of Paris. New York: Walker and Company, 1998.

Majer, Michele. "La Mode à la girafe: Fashion, Culture, and Politics in Bourbon Restoration France."Studies in Decorative Arts 17:1 (Fall-Winter 2009-10): 123-161.
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Exploring the Decades with Disney Princesses: Cinderella

December 17, 2014, 4:30 am
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Part 1: Snow White from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)

As a fashion historian, I find that an interesting aspect of Disney is how the animated features serve as records of the visual culture of their day. The Disney Princesses, a successful sub-franchise launched by Disney in the late 1990s, are everywhere these days. They have not been without controversy, but they are certainly popular. They are also records of changing standards of beauty for women in the 20th century. This post series will discuss selected Disney Princesses, exploring how they embody the ideals of femininity of their time.

Cinderella from Cinderella (1950)


The next Disney Princess to arrive after Snow White was Cinderella, who appeared in a new animated musical released in 1950. Cinderella was Walt Disney studio's most successful animated feature film since Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) and received three Academy Award nominations. The story was adapted from the Charles Perrault version of the fairy tail, first published in 1697. Preparation for the film began in 1948. Helene Stanley served as the live action model for Cinderella and acted out many of the sequences in the film which the animators then studied and translated into drawn animations (Fun Fact: Stanley also served as the live action model for Anastasia, one of Cinderella's ugly stepsisters).

Live action models being filmed and their animated counterparts.
But how does Cinderella's appearance reflect the aesthetics of the late 1940s and early 1950s? Simply look at fashion illustrations of the period and you'll see that Cinderella fits right in with the illustrated fashion models. As I discussed in my Snow White post, fashion illustrations are a great source for looking at ideals of beauty because a drawing can convey ideal aesthetics in a way a real human body cannot. Furthermore, fashion illustration also takes a cue from dominant artistic trends of the period, showing broader visual influences.

Far Left: 1949 Illustration from a pattern insert in the Philadelphia Inquirer.Source.
Far Right: Advertisement from 1949. 

While the setting of the film is ostensibly the late Victorian period, Cinderella is firmly a mid-20th-century beauty. She has a slim figure with a small bust, narrow hips, and a nipped in waist-- the ideal figure of the late 1940s/early 1950s woman. Her various dresses give the sense of a historic look while still fitting in with mid-century aesthetics. Her servant outfit has a form fitting top and narrow A-line skirt which falls to just below the knees, a look that fits right in with fashions of the day. Both of her ballgowns feature a form fitting bodice, slight emphasis on the shoulders, and a full skirt. The emphasis on wide, sculpted shoulders is a hallmark of women's fashion of the 1940s, which embraced more masculine styles. In the 1950s a more feminine silhouette took over, so with Cinderella we see a good illustration of the transition between these two aesthetics. 


Left: "Shades of Picasso" dress by Gilbert Adrian, 1944-45. In the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Right: Dior "Junon" dress, fall/winter 1949-50. In the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The full skirts of her ballgowns are also nods to women's fashions of the late 1940s/early 1950s. In America during World War II, restrictions were placed on how much fabric could be used for a woman's evening gown as the government needed to reserve fabric for use by the military. After the war ended in 1945, those restrictions were lifted and women's skirts ballooned out. Compare the two gowns above, one made during WWII (left) and one made during the period when Cinderella was being animated (right). And then compare them to the image of Cinderella's magical ballgown in the middle.

Left: Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity, 1944.
Right: Advertisement for Catalina Swimsuits in Seventeen Magazine, 1949. Source.

Cinderella's facial features also conform with mid-century ideals. She has shoulder length blonde hair and short, curled bangs, a fashionable hairstyle for the late 1940s. And her oval face, full lips, softly curved eyebrows, and almond-shaped eyes with full eyelashes are mirrored in the fashion illustrations of the period.

With Cinderella we see the very beginning of the 1950s. Our next Disney princess will look at the end of that decade-- stay tuned for Sleeping Beauty!

If you're interested in the historical influences of Cinderella's clothes, please check out this excellent post from the lovely ladies over at Frock Flicks!
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Coiffure à la [Fill in the Blank]

December 28, 2014, 4:00 am
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One of the most famous and persistent images of the eighteenth century is a woman with an enormous tall wig decorated with ribbons, feathers, and all manner of figurines. Known as the pouf, this tall hairstyle is often cited as a visual representation of the excess of the 18th century. But these tall hairstyles were not just an example of extreme elite fashion. Often times these hairstyles were an expression of patriotism, politics, and the latest trends in culture. Today we may express our personalities and taste by wearing a T-shirt bearing the image of our favorite band, sports team, or the flag of our country. In the late 18th century, aristocratic women did the same thing using their hair.

Anonymous, Coëffure à l’Indépendance ou le Triomphe de la liberté, c. 1778. In the collection of the Musée franco-américain du château de Blérancourt.

Probably the most famous of these coiffures [hairstyles] is the hairstyle featuring a model ship. These ship headdresses appear in numerous illustrations of the period and continue to influence contemporary fashion. I even donned one of them myself. In late 18th century France, these nautical headdresses were expressions of patriotism and political engagement. The first was the coiffure à la Belle Poule and celebrated a famous French naval victory against the British during the American Revolution. During the Battle of Ushant on July 27, 1778, the French ship Belle Poule badly damaged the British frigate Arethusa. To celebrate this victory for the cause of American independence and express French patriotism, women adorned their hair with small models of the Belle Poule. Other famous naval battles were similarly memorialized. The coiffure à la Frégate la Junon celebrated another famous French frigate, and the chapeaux [hat] à la Grenade and à la d'Estaing celebrated the French victory at the Battle of Granada led by Admiral d'Estaing.

Another politically inspired coiffure was the coiffure à l'inoculation which was commissioned by Marie Antoinette to celebrate the successful inoculation of Louis XVI against smallpox. While smallpox inoculations were common in Austria (Marie Antoinette's birthplace), they were less popular in France and Louis XV died of smallpox. Louis XVI was inoculated against the disease at the urging of Marie Antoinette but it was a risky move. Many were suspicious of the procedure, labeling it "dangerous", and urged the king not to go through with it. When Louis XVI was successfully inoculated and given a clean bill of health it was a major political victory for Marie Antoinette, and she celebrated her victory with a coiffure featuring the serpent belonging to Aesculapius, the Ancient Greek god of medicine, wrapped around an olive tree (symbolizing wisdom).

A coiffure au sentiment.

Other coiffures celebrated topical cultural themes or personal events. A coiffure au sentiment expressed a feeling while a coiffure à la circonstance celebrated an important event. The coiffure à l'Iphigénie celebrated the popular opera Iphigénie en Aulide (1774) by Christoph Willibald Gluck. In an age of global exploration and trade, the theme of the different ares of the globe was often represented in fashion and textiles. The coiffure à la Mappemonde was a hairstyle showing the five parts of the globe. The pastoral was also another extremely popular theme throughout the eighteenth century and many coiffures were commissioned with this theme in mind. A coiffure au jardiniere worn by Marie Antoinette featured a vegetable garden with carrots, radishes, artichokes, and even a head of cabbage. And the Duchesse de Choiseul once wore "a three-foot-high pouf that replicated a verdant garden, replete with flowers, grass, a bubbling stream, and a tiny windmill edged with jewels and powered by a clockwork mechanism that Louis XVI himself might have admired." Other coiffures were more personal. To celebrate the birth of her son, the Duchesse de Chartres wore a coiffure featuring her African page and pet parrot as well as a nursemaid nursing a newborn baby.

Satirical print showing a coiffure au jardiniere complete with the tiny figure of a man going for a stroll. "The Flower Garden" by Matthew Darly, May 1, 1777. In the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Of course these hairstyles were ripe for satirizing and many prints were published poking fun at these elaborate coiffures.

Satire of the chapeaux à la d'Estaing showing Admiral d'Estaing himself perched on a lady's head. Anonymous, La Nimphe … parée d’une Frisure à la Grenade sur laquelle elle porte son fameux marin au milieu de ses Triomphe, 1779. In the collection of the Bibliothèque nationale de France.

What would you don on your own coiffure?




Further Reading

Chrisman-Campbell, Kimberly. "When Fashion Set Sail." Published on Worn Through, March 20, 2013.

Weber, Caroline. Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette Wore to the Revolution. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2006.
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