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The HSF ’14: Challenge #11: The Politics of Fashion

Fashion is often criticised for being frivolous, pointless and superficial: existing for no purpose, and being driven by nothing but the whims of people with too much time on their hands.

People who say this couldn’t be more wrong.  Fashion is one of the truest indicators of the state of society, and as you trace the history of fashion, you see all of the events which changed the world are reflected in changes in clothes, and sometimes changes in clothes change the world.

Wars interrupt trade, and lead to changes in the availability of dyes and fibres, which show up in clothes.  Trade routes out of the American South were blockaded during the American Civil War, and Europe and the Norther US had trouble sourcing cotton fabric.  The South, in turn, had trouble sourcing silk and luxury items like buttons.  Not quite a century later, World War II would cause so much unrest and destruction in the Far East that a number of varieties of silkworms went extinct, and certain silks can no longer be manufactured.

Dress, 1860—63, American, Metropolitan Museum of Art C.I.42.76.1ab

Dress, 1860—63, American, Metropolitan Museum of Art C.I.42.76.1ab

Wars can also foster trade.  The various Crusades exposed Northern Europeans to the luxury fabrics of the Middle East, both those imported from China along the Silk Road, and those produced in Constantinople.  What they saw, they wanted, and a trade in satins and velvets North from the Byzantine and Ottoman empires through Venice made the city rich and powerful, and forever altered Northern European fashions.

Portrait of the Venecian Doge Francesco Foscari, ca. 1457—1460 or mid to late 1470s, Lazzaro Bastiani (1430—1512), Museo Civico Correr, Venice

Portrait of the Venecian Doge Francesco Foscari, ca. 1457—1460 or mid to late 1470s, Lazzaro Bastiani (1430—1512), Museo Civico Correr, Venice

Natural disasters like earthquakes and major storms wipe out industries and destroy technology.  The Great Lisbon Earthquake of 1755 hugely affected the Southern European textile industries, contributing to the rise of cotton as an acceptable textile for everyday wear, and the dominance of Northern European textile manufacturing throughout the Industrial Revolution.

Caraco jacket, late 18th century, cotton, Belgian, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Caraco jacket, late 18th century, cotton, Belgian, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Natural disasters often lead to pestilence and epidemics, which have their own effects.  A drought in Kashmir in the 1870s led to widespread famine, which turned into epidemics of disease.  By the mid 1880s, it’s estimated that 70% of the weavers in Kashmir were dead, taking with them the Kashmiri shawl industry, and a garment that had been the epitome of luxury in Western fashion for almost a century.

Political alliances led to exchanges of materials and trends.  The marriage of Catherine of Aragon to Henry VII saw the introduction of the farthingale into England in the 16th century, paving the way for the classic stiff Tudor and Elizabethan silhouettes.

Catherine Parr in a skirt supported by farthingales, by Master John, 1545, National Portrait Gallery, London

Catherine Parr in a skirt supported by farthingales, by Master John, 1545, National Portrait Gallery, London

Fashion has also affected politics and world events in its own right.

Wars have been fought to gain control of fabric and fashion.  Much of the English conquest of India was driven by a desire to control the flow of Indian cotton fabrics into the West (and tea, but fabric was a huge part of it).

Bergere hat, 1780s, lined with ca 1715 Coromandel Coast chintz, Meg Andrews

Bergere hat, 1780s, lined with ca 1715 Coromandel Coast chintz, Meg Andrews

Wars have also been stopped, or at least paused, for fashion.  During the 18th century ‘little ambassadors’ or dressed fashion dolls were routinely allowed to cross borders during conflicts where all other goods were stopped.

And nations have even engineered their entire foreign policy around fashion.  Louis XIV of France set out to make France the most important nation in Europe by making it the leader in style and fashion.  He created a uniform of court clothes (the robe de cour and justacorps) that became the proscribed court wear across most of Europe for a century and a quarter.  At points he almost directly bribed Charles II to make the ensemble the prescribed outfit at the English court, thus spreading France’s influence, and selling France’s silks.  The Sun King even want as far as to have mirror-makers and weavers kidnapped and brought to France in order to ensure that France would have the best mirrors, and could make the most beautiful fabrics.

Louis XIV and heirs with the royal governess, Formerly attributed to Nicolas de Largillière, now unknown, circa 1710

Louis XIV and heirs with the royal governess, Formerly attributed to Nicolas de Largillière, now unknown, circa 1710

In the HSF Challenge #11, The Politics of Fashion, due Sunday 15 June,  the challengers are asked to create an item that illustrates the intersection between politics and fashion.  I’ve given a few ideas, but these are just a fraction of the ways in which clothes have changed and been changed by world history.

As with the Innovations challenge, this challenge may require some research, which obviously I think is fantastic.  I can’t wait to see all of the beautiful creations, and to see all the ways in which we have found links between the way governments and nations were shaped and changed, and fashions were shaped and changed!

A souvenir fan

I’ve mentioned before that one of the things I collect is antique fans.  I like that they are small and easy to store, and that they are so evocative of the events they might have been carried at.

I wonder where they came from.  Were they a gift from a beau?  A commemoration of being grown-up enough to go out from a parent?

What secrets were told behind them?  What faces did they cool after a spirited dance?  What frocks were they worn with, and what flirtations did they signal?  So many stories in a fan!

This particular fan from my collection is particularly gorgeous, and particularly evocative of a fascinating back-story.  Whose face was reflected in the mirror.  Did she use it to spy on other partigoers?  Or to check that every hair was in place?

An antique souvenir fan thedreamstress.com

 

The other side of the fan tells the rest of the story.  The fan was a souvenir, brought back from somewhere exotic.

An antique souvenir fan thedreamstress.com

 

Did the owner buy it herself, as a memento from a special trip?

An antique souvenir fan thedreamstress.com

Or did someone bring it back for her?  A friend or admirer?

I wonder if she loved and cherished it: perhaps so much she never used the fan at all.  On the other hand, she may have thought it was odd and tacky and useless, like most souvenirs these days!

An antique souvenir fan thedreamstress.com

 

The fan is very cunning: the leaves fold together and slip down into the handle with its mirror inset, and then pull out again with a bit of ribbon on the top.

It’s a beautiful piece, and I’m so glad to own it, but there is so much I don’t know about it.  Where was it a souvenir of?  How old is it (someone suggested 1870s, but that’s the only guess I’ve heard).

Rate the Dress: Charles James, Surrealism, and green

Last week I showed you Maria Feodorovna in muted blue and lace, all 1870s Russian empress.  Most of you found her and her frock very attractive, and yet, something wasn’t quite right about the ensemble for most of you, and you couldn’t give it your wholehearted approval.  So it came in at 8.3 out of 10.  Not a divided 8.3 (there wasn’t much range in the ratings), but a rather unanimous 8.3 where (almost) everyone liked it, but few thought it absolutely perfect.

It seems appropriate that today’s Rate the Dress be green, and while I kept finding amazing green frocks I wanted to show you, they were all in tiny, terrible images, so I ended up choosing something that I suspect I already know what you are going to think of, which I hate doing.  But I might very well be wrong, because I often am!

This week’s selection is going in to all sorts of dangerous waters: it’s by Charles James (and let’s face it, you haven’t been the biggest Charles James fans since the infamous ‘is that supposed to look like lady bits?’ dress I posted exactly years ago), and it features one of his attempts to dabble in surrealism (another thing you don’t often care for), and it is quite boldly patterned fabric (but at least it isn’t whale paisley).  So rather risky!

But it is clingly 1930s glamour, which is often popular, so perhaps you’ll love it!  What do you think?

Slinky 1930s silhouette…

Masterful pleat details in the bodice…

Sexy back silhouette…

Oh, and have you noticed the fabric?

What do you think?  Pairing busy prints with elaborately cut garments was quite typical of the 1930s, but usually the fabrics were cluttered florals, not wild twisting profiles.  James usually worked his sculptural manipulations of fabrics in plain textiles, to better show off the seaming and pleats: to the point where even in his own time the clinging evening gown in one colour had become a cliche.  By using a mad surrealist print has James successfully subverted both the trends towards cloying florals, and almost aggressively feminine and seductive silhouette that sometimes typified 1930s evening gowns?

Rate the Dress on a Scale of 1 to 10

* And apparently the dress is on display at the V&A at the moment, if you are lucky enough to be in London…