Originally, I was going to write about the impact of fabric dyes on the environment, but then the Miss Universe Pageant happened and, while I didn’t watch it, Katie has stepped up to the plate and done a round up of some of the more noteworthy outfits.
Including, much to my forehead’s alarm, Miss Canada. Desks everywhere, brace yourselves for imminent heads!
Image from Native Appropriations. Click image for original post.
I don’t even know where to begin with this.
Posted in FFB, In the News, Millie
Tagged appropriation, did no-one even think about this, Haida, Miss Canada, war bonnets
This month’s Feminist Fashion Bloggers post theme is “Dating, Relationships, and Motherhood.” Since I’m not a mother, I’ve got little to add to the motherhood portion of the theme, but I do have a partner (A.), so I thought I’d write about that.
A. is more or less entirely uninterested it fashion, style, or really much of anything to do with clothes. Obviously he gets dressed every morning and isn’t waltzing around town in his birthday suit, but it’s purely functional for him. Having a partner who’s totally uninterested in something that you (ostensibly) blog about provides some perspective. I don’t think I’d've ever become someone who lives and breathes fashion, but it’s hard to get too wrapped up in it when you’re around someone who’s utterly unconcerned about it.
I’ve noticed a few things about the dynamic, though, and I’m curious if anyone else’s noticed similar things with their partner.
So, does any of that sound like you? I’m guessing some of you have partners (not necessarily male) who’re uninterested in sartoria — what’s your experience with it?
Posted in Daily Style, Fashion Thoughts, FFB, Millie
The Feminist Fashion Bloggers theme for this month is Feminism, Fashion, and Social Class, and I’m looking at handmade clothing as an indicator of social class (namely, middle class). I believe Laura is also writing about something similar — great minds think alike, apparently! All the FFB posts are up at the group site. For the purposes of this post, I’m limited my discussion to the 20th and 21st centuries, since before the sewing machine was commonplace and available to a wide section of the population. Obviously before then, all clothing was handmade and this discussion isn’t particularly relevant.
There’s several broad tiers of clothing, grouped roughly by class. There’s high street fast fashion, which, in a race to the bottom, has quickly become the cheapest, most available, and most ubiquitous type of clothing. There’s designer clothing in the middle, which is increasingly out of reach (or unappealing, due to the saturation of the market by cheaper clothing), and way up at the top there’s the couture houses, which are available nearly only by the upper classes or the well connected. Handmade clothing has broken down roughly in two: there’s clothing that’s handmade, typically by the wearer or someone close to the wearer, and there’s clothing that the wearer has paid someone else to make for them. The economic split is pretty obvious — paying someone else to make your clothes is more expensive than just making it yourself.
This is shifting now, with the rise in popularity of home sewing (as well as knitting, crafting, and other domestic activities). But the rise in popularity is not evenly spaced — it’s primarily risen among the middle and to a lesser degree, the upper classes, and I think the biggest reason is a matter of resources: making your own clothes is time consuming and can be very expensive, particularly if you are starting from scratch and need a machine and all the bits and bobs that go along with sewing. Middle and upper class people certainly have more money to invest in a sewing machine and assorted tchotchkes, so there’s less of a barrier for starting to sew. While I started sewing because I thought I could make clothes more cheaply than I could buy them, I soon realized that this really wasn’t true. Fabric, and especially fabric that most people would want to wear, is not necessarily cheap. Add in the thread, zippers/buttons/clasps, interfacing, and it all adds up very quickly. But if you can make a hobby out of it, and sew as much because you like it as you like the end result, it’s worth it, but that balance is highly income-dependent.
There’s another layer that I’ve not seen discussed much, and that is that people who’re solidly middle class aren’t trying to avoid class stigma. There’s not the equation of clothing with status symbol (and pressure to show that status) that can be found in the upper class, and there’s not a pressure to not look poor, as there can be in the lower class. There’s space, in the middle class, to wear clothing that doesn’t look quite as exact as store-bought clothing, be it the top stitching is wonky or the pockets aren’t quite even or somehow it just looks homemade. An upper class person may be judged by their peers for wearing shoddy clothing when better is available, a lower class person may be judged by conforming to a negative image of poverty (ie, not being one of the “deserving poor,” which is a whole other kettle of fish for another day), but someone who moves through the world as middle class probably has a bit more leeway. Sewing has a significant learning curve — there will be garments that just, for whatever reason, look homemade.
I see a lot of parallels between the rise of domestic textile arts (sewing, knitting, etc) to trends in food culture (slow food movements, organic food movements, urban agriculture, etc), as well, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence. The trends seem both to be main among youngish, middle classish people, who likely weren’t raised predominantly in homemade clothing and food from the garden. To these people (and to some degree I’m one of them — I’m not trying to sound disparaging here) homemade clothing and food doesn’t have the emotional or cultural baggage that it did to our parents, many of whom saw moving away from that as a sign prosperity and progress. Now, we (ie, youngish middle-classish people) look at those same things, and in light of fast fashion and food, handcrafted goods and homegrown foods are a sign of propserity and progress. We regard reverting to less complicated, less produced goods as progress, which is pretty unusual in modern history. That all this is coinciding with a lot of ethical and environmental movements is not, I don’t think, a coincidence either, but that’s sort of taking things in another direction so I’ll leave that there.
I’m curious what you all think about this, though. What sort of clothing do you, personally, see as a luxury? How does that fit in within your community?
Looking for some great reading? The Feminist Fashion Bloggers June round up has just been posted. There’s posts on the SlutWalk phenomenon, how to talk to little girls, whether being a “girly girl” undermines you as a woman, competition between women, and more!
Posted in FFB
This month’s Feminist Fashion Bloggers post is a guest post, and Mrs Bossa of Mrs Bossa Does the Do and I are trading posts on holiday dressing, using this paper (which unfortunately needs a subscription to download) as a starting point. Be sure to check out the roundup of all the posts at the main FFB site, and without further ado, here’s Mrs Bossa!
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Holiday Fashion: your ‘best of’ in a box?
Can your holiday wardrobe give you a new identity? I have to admit: I hate this time of year in fashion magazines. We seem to go straight from bobble hats to bikinis as though Spring doesn’t exist. When I thought more closely about this, I realised – I struggle to make a ‘holiday wardrobe’ fit with my sense of self; I shy away from buying summery clothes and end up being a similar version of my A/W self (albeit more overheated). I’ve noticed a few fashion bloggers talking about rotating their wardrobes, packing away their winter items and bringing their flimsier clothing out to play. But it was when I noticed my mum choosing the items she wanted to buy for a holiday in Nice that it struck me – she wasn’t simply stocking up on some essentials…she was planning her holiday identity.
Before you tell me to put down the piña colada, think about it: aren’t there clothes that you just wouldn’t wear on holiday? Clothes that you would only wear on holiday? Even I would be happy to brave a boob tube in the soaring temperatures of the Mediterranean. But it’s not just the heat – a holiday is a chance to experiment, free from people who judge you. I bought hotpants once, for god’s sake.
See? she looks relaxed. (Now stop looking at her stomach - it's not THE POINT.) Source: photographed from Elle magazine.
‘Planet Holiday’
In their article ‘It’s Like Planet Holiday’, Maura Banim likens holiday wardrobes to a theatrical performance; tanning and waxing are part of the preparation for the role, buying clothes becomes similar to choosing costumes, and a few well-chosen props allow women to “have the confidence that their performance will be successfully executed.” Not that all this is a chore – she discovered that many women see all this not only as a means of enjoyable self-indulgence, but also as a key transitional phase between ‘real life’ and the holiday fantasy. Planning outfits is a key part of this.
Practical, schmactical. She's created an image. Source: http://alittlebitsilly.wordpress.com/2010/06/18/sex-and-the-city-2-the-movie/
From Day to Night:
Fashion magazines always talk about taking your holiday wardrobe ‘from day to night’ – somehow simple vests in multiple colours, the bikinis and the sarongs all form part of a carefree daytime identity (Banim likens this to being part of a ‘chorus line’ instead of being in the limelight). On the other hand, in the evening the ‘performances’ begin. The researchers suggested that holiday evenings gave women the chance to ‘launch’ the best versions of themselves, night after night – many women took a separate outfit for each evening, but they were always their ‘best’ clothes. Self-awareness increased; striking a balance between showing more of the body and looking sexually available was key. I was most intrigued by the idea of groups of women being ‘performance teams’: giving advice on outfits, monitoring any potential clothing mishaps throughout the night and relying on each other to style hair and put on makeup. Says Banim: “co-operation was important in allowing women to pull off a seemingly effortless performance.” I’m sure many of us can relate to that.
A Case for Naturism?
The idea of sunbathing being liberating is an interesting one: many women surveyed felt that body exposure en masse granted everyone some form of anonymity. Not only did it free them from self-consciousness, it also seemed to liberate them from the ‘sexual gaze’: although close to nudity, no-one seemed to feel they were being objectified as they would be in other contexts. At least not by men…
Puts your cellulite fears in perspective, doesn't it? Source: Clipart.
In summary: There are a lot of factors at play as we plan our holiday wardrobes: the transformative power of fashion, the fluidity of identity, the liberation from judgment, the interaction of women-only groups. It seems that packing a suitcase is more than just an arrangement of clothes – it’s our ‘best of’ in a box. And we don’t even have to go abroad: every time I visit my parents I plan my ‘look’ – I’ve been known to do my makeup on the train and quickly swap my flats for heels as I pull into the station. There are some that would argue that many women are constantly ‘performing’ with their bodies and wardrobes, but the style advice, colour choices and even types of fabric in holiday attire all speak of a tantalising kind of freedom.
What goes through your mind when you’re planning your holiday wardrobe?
Do you have a ‘best version’ of yourself?
Recommended reads:
Banim, Maura, Ali Guy, and Kate Gillen. ““It’s Like Planet Holiday”—Women’s Dressed Self-presentation on Holiday.” Fashion Theory 9.4 (2005): 425-43. Art Full Text. Web. 8 May 2011.
Millie’s Take on Modesty
Posted in Fashion Reading, Fashion Thoughts, FFB, Guest Post, Travel
Tagged guest post, holiday identity, holiday wardrobe, mrs bossa, mrs bossa does the do
It’s the last week of March, and so the last of the weekly posts that lots of people have been writing as part of the feminist Fashion Bloggers group. This week’s topic is, broadly, about what we’ve learned from other women and other feminists. I’ve got an unfortunately large pile of marking that needs to be done, and thus a short amount of time for blogging, so this will be brief.
Perhaps one of the most important things I’ve learned from feminists is that there is no one Right Feminism. There is no one experience of life as a woman, and as such there is no one feminism that reflects that experience. What I experience as a middle class, white, straight cis gendered woman is very, very different than what a working class, black, queer, trans woman would experience, and so our perspectives on feminism are probably going to be very different. The is really obvious on the one hand — of course people have different experiences, and of course that’s going to shape their worldview differently, and that I grasped very naturally, but the logical extension of that (that there is no One Feminism) took a long time to really sink in. For a long time, I thought that there was A Feminism that I needed to aspire to, though I didn’t have an especially good grasp of what it was or who was the grand Thinker who’d set out this Feminism. I didn’t take any women’s studies classes in university, I can’t rattle off names of feminist theorists who shape the organized feminist schools of thought, and I have a tenuous grasp of where the divisions are and who sits where in relation to them. I had this notion that there was A Feminism because I didn’t feel like I had any business saying “this is what I think feminism is and isn’t,” because I hadn’t read the canon and know all the ins and outs of the important philosophical texts.
But it only ever made sense to me that feminism was centred on individuals, rather than broad groups and philosophical texts, because people get lost in large groups, and a feminism where people get lost in the shuffle doesn’t seem very feminist to me. The people who get lost in the shuffle are not, by and large, the straight middle class white women — they’re the working class women, the women of colour, the queer women, the disabled women, the trans women, etc. And thanks to the wonders of the internet, I can find feminists who don’t look like me and read about their perspectives and feminisms. I can see plainly in front of me that there’s plenty of women who walk the talk, but disagree on what the talk is — and that doesn’t make them any less feminist than the women whose feminisms look very similar.
The parallel to the deep grasp of a multitude of feminisms is that there’s no one way to dress, either, and reading all your various blogs (and writing and thinking about it here) has very adeptly illustrated that. It’s freeing to realize that there’s no set way I’m “supposed” to be dressing, and it sounds silly that it took me a while to consciously acknowledge that, but I think I knew it all along — I just needed a push in the right direction. So thanks, you lovely women (and men?) who populate this corner of the internet, for being fabulous and often vocally feminist.
You must work in an art museum
I get that comment a lot.
People see the floral skirts, silver shoes, lace necklaces, and rhinestone spider pins and think they know who I am. And they rarely think biology nerd. The way I dress has a stronger visual fit in the world of paintings and sculptures than it does in specimen jars and skulls, but here I am – collection of insects and all.
One more than one occasion the naturalists clad in khaki vests and hiking boots have scoffed at how I look. They see pink and silk and lipstick and assume that I can’t be “one of them.” They initially doubt my experience and knowledge based on my appearance, but it doesn’t take them long to realize they were wrong.
I will always be the person who adds dangly earrings to the ensemble of baseball cap on my head and handkerchief around my neck when working in the field. I will always be the person who shows up to give a briefing to park rangers wearing a piece of statement jewelry. I will always be the person who waxes poetic about slime mold while dressed in a tulle skirt. I will always be that person because I will always be me.
I was fortunate enough to grow up under an umbrella of feminism that made it clear that I had the power to chose who I would be and where my passions would be found. Those passions may sometimes seem quite polar (florals and fossils, ballet flats and bumblebees), but they are equally mine and equally me. So when I wear a dress to dissect a squid, in my own small way I’m asserting my convictions and faith in feminism. I’m happily refusing to be placed into a box of preconceived expectations based on how I look and what I do. My fashion choices coupled with the other passions of my life alert the world to pay attention, look closer, and be ready to be astonished. I will always be more, so much more, than you first expected.
Today, all sorts of fabulous women are writing about how feminism influences and shapes their wardrobes. Specifically, Franca asked,
How do you express your feminism in the way you dress?
I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I still don’t have a concise, cogent answer. The relationship between feminism and my wardrobe is not a tangible one — there’s no such thing as a feminist shirt. Compounding the issue is the fact that my feminism pervades my worldview, and it’s very difficult to parse out where my feminism stops and where the rest of my personal philosophy begins, or if there even is such a boundary. Drawing lines around aspects of my life is not something that I am good at.
I’ve mentioned a few times that I’m a grad student in the physical science, and I mention it again only because since school is the single largest place I spend outside the house, it’s the most relevant environment in which to discuss my dressing. And I’ve said several times before that the physical scientists, especially those in academia, are not known on the whole for their snappy dressing; there’s a reason that “that prof” that students are advised not to emulate when they’re going for academic job interviews or grad school interviews is seemingly always a physics prof. I already feel obvious simply for being a woman in my field, and dressing deliberately feels like taking a very large step forward out of a lineup. I’ll be honest, lots of days I just throw on whatever happens to be clean, and blend in. But when I can muster the fortitude to step forward and dress deliberately and femininely, my feminism backs me up. It gives me a road map in uncharted territory, and backbone to say “of course I can wear this.” It also raises a lot of uncomfortable questions about gender roles, perception (both mine and of others), reclamation, and reinforcement of patriarchal ideas. It’s not all peaches and sunshine, and it’s not the slightest bit straightforward.
That said, my feminism is very central to my identity, and very important to me as a person. Difficult questions aren’t something to shy away from just because they’re difficult. Feminism is inherently about challenging conventional and patriarchal ideas, dismantling the notion that there is a set way for women and girls to behave/dress/live/exist and recognize that the world is not black and white, and all of us, women and men, are better off what we stop thinking in binaries and start thinking in continuums, and understand that people of all genders will fall in different places on those continuums. Feminism is not a straightforward philosophy — of course difficult questions will come up! It’s a feature, not a bug.
But the question is not “how does feminism influence my dressing,” but rather, “how do [I] express my feminism through the way I dress?” which are related questions but not quite the same. i was going to grab some pictures to show you, but on second thought I’m not going to. The important thing is not what I’m wearing necessarily, but why and sometimes how I’m wearing it. I express my feminism through wearing skirts and combat boots, bland tshirts and heels, short hair and dresses. I express my feminism by mixing feminine and masculine and ungendered clothing and attitude, because I am feminine, masculine, and genderneutral. I refuse to assign moral value to clothing or people who wear it — I’ll wear heels if it suits me, but usually flats because I like them better. I purposefully seek out clothes that were made with fair labour practices, because my right to express myself with my clothes doesn’t trump the rights of another woman to be paid fairly and live with dignity. I remake, remodel, and repurpose clothing that has worn out or doesn’t fit, because excessive consumption and waste is strangling our environment. I try to be conscious of how my life affects the people around me, yet not complacent about my place in society. My clothes are my armour, and my feminism gives them strength.
The Feminist Fashion Bloggers group now has its own site! There’s an aggregate post up with links to all the various posts written this week (about everything from knitting to soldering to “problematic” clothing to the male gaze), so if you’re looking for some good reading, it’s the place to be.
Posted in FFB
For those of you who have a pressing need to be elsewhere but like me, still compulsively click through things in their Google Reader cue and read the first line or two of things before you crash out the door: unsurprisingly, I’m not keen on it! Now go catch your bus!
For those of you lucky enough to not have to schedule your life around the vagaries of public transit, let me elaborate. This week’s Feminist Fashion Bloggers post is a free form post with no set topic, and there was some talk about modesty in the roundtable discussion this past week. Additionally, I’ve been meaning to write up a post on why I’m uncomfortable with deliberately dressing modestly, so perfect opportunity, right?
Dressing is inherently personal, and there’s as many reasons why we dress the way we do as people who are getting dressed in the morning. I’m going to be very careful to not try to denigrate anyone’s motivation for dressing as they do — this is about why I, personally, even though my typical style of dress probably falls under most people’s concept of “modest”, am uncomfortable with “dressing modestly,” not about why it’s wrong for anyone else to claim the label.
Modesty, says the OED, has three meanings:
1. the quality or state of being unassuming in the estimation of one’s abilities;
2. the quality of being relatively moderate, limited, or small in amount, rate, or level;
3. behaviour, manner, or appearance intended to avoid impropriety or indecency.
The third definition is the one most closely associated with dressing, though I’d argue the first has a role to play too. Modesty is tied very closely to decency and acceptability, and there’s an awful lot of rules and standard surrounding what is and isn’t considered appropriate dress for women (in particular — men have their own sartorial baggage, but I’m just going to focus on women’s dress here). Lots of women take this and say “I’m setting my own standard of what I’m comfortable with, and sticking within that boundary, and to me, that is being modest,” and that’s certainly their business. There’s lots of other women who dress within certain boundaries for religious reasons, and rampant atheism notwithstanding, I’m certainly not going to say they have no business doing that either. Everyone dresses within boundaries — I’m generally not keen on miniskirts, terribly high heels, or very low cut tops — and that’s not the aspect of modesty that I’m uncomfortable with. I’m uncomfortable with two things about modesty (religious or secular), principally: the external definition and judgment, and the equation of a perception with morality.
Modesty means little in a vacuum: miniskirts are, at their most basic level, pieces of fabric that have absolutely no moral value.* What gives a miniskirt moral value, or perceived moral value, is the perception of the woman wearing a miniskirt. Without the perception (positive or negative) of others around us, a miniskirt (or any other article of clothing) has little meaning. We may like it for one reason or another, and that’s fine, but I’d be hard pressed to disentangle why, exactly, I like a particular skirt from the perceptions and visual shorthand that I think the world around me associates with it. I get uncomfortable when someone else is clearly drawing the line and defining the shorthand, not me, though there’s often a lot of grey area around who’s drawing what. Everyone’s got a different line between modest and unmodest dressing: some people would say that it’s based on amount of skin showing, others by how much your shape is covered or not, others by how much your clothes stand out in a crowd on the street. There’s no one definition, and trying to conform my (very personal) considerations for getting dressed in the morning to an arbitrary and shifting rubric is not something I have any interest in doing.
Secondly, modesty is very closely tied to perceptions of morality and character. But since what constitutes modest dressing varies widely from person to person and culture to culture, who decides where the line is? Who is this moral arbiter that decrees that garment x is immodest but garment y, only slightly different is okay? And since when does a garment indicate whether or not you’re a decent human being? We don’t live in a caricature of the Victorian era.
Thirdly, I’ve heard people, both men and women, make comments about how men can’t be helped being distracted by a revealingly-clad woman, and frankly this is just nonsense. Men aren’t unreasoning brutes, and refusing to hold them accountable for treating women as objects rather than equal human beings is profoundly unfeminist and completely unhelpful (not to mention very heteronormative too). It’s not my job to suss out what combination of clothing will artfully dodge every man I pass on the street’s wandering eye and unrestrained mouth, and men have a responsibility not be sexist oglers. I’ve been leered at and harassed enough times while wearing completely bland, unrevealing clothing to know that it doesn’t, on a lot of levels, matter what I wear: the fact that I am a woman, alone, in public, is often enough to provoke men to try to cut me down to size. Modesty, to me, means fitting into that restrictive narrative (that I, as a lone woman in public, should be unobtrusive and unremarkable, though my presence alone is grounds for harassment), that is not a narrative that I will ever feel comfortable fitting into. I understand that this is not how many people approach modesty, modest dressing, or public image, and let me reiterate that this is not meant as a judgment on other points of view. Because this is so personal a topic, I am very interested on your thoughts on this: what’s your take on modesty and modest dressing?
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* Setting aside all the various ethical considerations that go into manufacturing anything in an industrialized world.
** The majority of people alive in the Victorian times didn’t live in a world like the sort of thing we typically imagine now, with the primness and righteousness and all that, and I think what we associate with the Victorian era often has little to do with what actually happened then.
Looking for some Sunday reading? Here’s all the posts done on Wednesday about our feminist fashion icons, listed in alphabetical order by the subject. There’s some great posts in here, and a huge range of people discussed, so enjoy!
First of all, I (Millie) should mention that we’re participating in Franca’s excellent Feminist Fashion Bloggers network. Throughout March, we’ll have posts on a different topic (which will follow from a roundtable discussion yet to come); this is the first one. Head over to Oranges and Apples to get all the details!
I had a bit of trouble initially choosing a feminist fashion icon. Though I have a passing knowledge of professional fashion, I don’t follow it, and don’t have an icon of any sorts within their ranks. So I thought a bit, and while it may be an odd choice, I’m going to write about Joan of Arc. Admittedly, she’s way more than a fashion icon — she’s incredible and astounding in pretty much any light, what with the whole demanding an audience with the King to be of France, leading an army in a seemingly impossible to win battle, winning, and sticking to her convictions that she was divinely inspired despite incredible pressure. But, along with all that, she wore pants.
Joan of Arc, in brief: she’s a illiterate peasant girl who at the age of twelve, starts to have divine visions. France is losing badly in the Hundred Year’s War, and at 16, she heads to the Dauphin to say, essentially “Hi, God sent me to take back France. Give me an army.” She gets an army at 17, lifts the siege of Orleans (which was nearly impossible, by most accounts), continues to have incredible success on the battlefield, gets the Dauphin crowned King of France, is captured by the Burgundians while defending, was sold to the English and no-one does much of anything to help her (even though there’s good evidence they could’ve). She is tried for heresy, and ultimately burnt at the stake.
What’s left out of most accounts of Joan is that she cross-dressed, long before she stepped onto a battlefield, and ultimately that’s what she was sentenced to death for. As soon as she left her home in the French countryside, she started to wear men’s clothing, while at the same time calling herself “The Maiden.” Of course, this didn’t go over so well with a lot of people, particularly the Catholic Church, but she was a naturally brilliant commander, and her success in battle overshadowed her non-conformity until she was captured. She insisted on wearing men’s clothing while imprisoned, saying that first, God had told her to wear men’s clothing, secondly it was a form of protection against the guards who tried to rape her, and thirdly one of the guards had taken away her women’s clothing so she had no choice but to wear men’s clothing. The charges laid against her also made note of her short cropped hair and various swords and daggers (which were deemed men’s weapons). She wore men’s clothing to a trial, talked circles around the clerics who tried to convince her that as an illiterate peasant woman, she shouldn’t trust her uncannily deep knowledge, and eventually made her sign a piece of paper (that she may or may not’ve been able to read — there’s some evidence that by this time she had learned to read) that said her cross dressing was in fact not divinely commanded, and instead went against Catholic doctrine. The paper said that Joan would serve a life sentence for heresy and never wear men’s clothing again, but a few days later, she recanted (possibly because she found out what the paper actually said), appeared in court in men’s clothing, saying that she was wearing men’s clothing of her own free will, because she preferred it to women’s clothing. She was denounced as an irredeemable heretic, and sentenced to death, and was burnt to death in men’s clothing.
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