We are
what we wear
by sonya hammond
In line with its policy of tackling only the more serious issues of the day, a prominent weekly news magazine recently observed in some detail that Americans in greater numbers are 'Dressing Down'. While this may alarm those who prefer not to accessorize with inflatable shoes, a trend toward comfort is not necessarily a bad thing.
Nevertheless, it might be expedient to consider a theory put forth by some French expert [take your pick between de la Rouchfoucauld or Coco Chanel) that the history of a civilization may be seen through its fashions. For those who may doubt that slouch socks or reversed baseball caps will someday offer clues to our society, consider some precedents.
Ancient Rome is a prominent example of how apparel can serve as a warning of impending doom. Togas, the least confining garments devised for man since clothing became mandatory, were not, economic theory to the contrary, designed to broaden the marketing base of early sheet manufacturers.
One need only consider the implications of attempting enthusiastic participation in an orgy under the restraints of zippers, buttons and belts, to appreciate both the ingenuousness of Roman couturiers and their impact on history. If the Romans had been swathed in Victorian layers, their empire, although possibly a lot less fun, might never have fallen.
In the 16th century a plethora of high pleated collars dominated the fashion scene. The technical term for these instruments of torture was a 'ruff', possibly the olde English spelling descriptive of the sentiments of anyone whose neck was rigidly braced by one.
Although many attributed this sartorial punishment to the revenge of some Elizabethan era St. Laurent still seething over the acquisition of Aquitaine, in reality the fad became de rigueur for both men and women when Queen Elizabeth I demanded a style to camouflage the incipient creping of her aging neck. The result explains two important social phenomena: a] the origin of the British propensity for keeping a stiff upper lip; and, b) the rejection for several centuries of a return to the unisex concept.
Our own history is rampant with examples of the American penchant for prizing comfort over chic, often with dramatic repercussions. Although the sacrilegious dumping into Boston Harbor of Britain's national drink is often blamed for subsequent events, it may well have been rebellion against tight satin pants that incited our Revolution.
In a later era, northern women, resisting wearing a garment that refused to sit down when they did, boycotted hoop skirts, thereby possibly instigating an economic crisis that precipitated the Civil War.
And frustrated clothing manufacturers, driven to the verge of bankruptcy by the refusal of flower children to wear anything they couldn't find in a dumpster or make out of homespun rags, helped bring about the downfall of our 37th President who resigned when opponents threatened to release tapes on which he admitted once owning an [expletive deleted] tie-dyed shirt.
More often than not, however, women were the victims of fashion whims and dictates, a phenomenon that eventually turned in their favor when one financially strapped designer attempted to save fabric by raising hems several inches above the floor. This daring economic strategy inadvertently inspired the women's movement by liberating their feet and ankles to public view. Freed to march unhindered by 8 layers of trailing skirts, women turned out in droves to demand their rights to vote.
After that, no one could leave skirts well enough alone. Seeing no reason to economize by the inch when they could still charge by the yard, the haute couture raised skirts sufficiently to inspire the unseemly male noises that gave the 'roaring Twenties' their reputation.
Recognizing an opportunity to create never-ending demand for their products by forcing women to replace their entire wardrobes every few months, designers fostered a system whereby skirt lengths became the yardstick of the nation's economy: short in recessions, long in prosperity.
Although rarely acknowledged, this became known as the 'window shade hem' theory of economics, one far less fallible in its accuracy than the much heralded trickle-down theory that failed when economists realized it meant looking at charts and graphs instead of legs.
While it is undeniable that more important issues, such as the effects of cow flatulence on the ozone layer and the impact of Oregon's $30,000 outhouse on the spotted owl habitat, rank high in historical impact, we cannot ignore the consequences of fashion trends.
Do we really want to allow perceptions of the 90's to hinge on faded photographs of young men engulfed in pants sagging below the line of demarcation, each leg of which is the approximate width of the earth's circumference? Will future historians judge us on the basis of grunge? What possible interpretation can they make of underwear worn externally?
Your views on these and other vital fashion questions such as whether 'dressing down' will lead to a revival of the toga are important. Please address your opinions to the prominent weekly news magazine of your choice.
©sonya hammond, 1996