Fashion, Agency, and Empowerment: Performing Agency, Following Script 9781350058262, 9781350058293, 9781350058279

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Illustrations
Contributors
Introduction: Fashion, Agency, and Empowerment
Part One Fashion as Challenge and Empowerment
1 The Beauty Divide: Black Millennial Women Seek Agency with Makeup Art Cosmetics (mac)
2 Kangol kool: Stylized Hats and the Performance of Black Dandyism
3 Challenging the Gender Binary in Bond films: Bond Girls, Female Villains, and James
4 Menswear In the Millennium: Bending the Gender Binary
Part Two Dialogues Between Dress and Structures of power
5 High Flying Fashions: Ghana Airways;s Female Flight Attendants as Exemplars of the Nation
6 First Ladies of the Raj: Status and Empowerment in British India
7 A Lady is a Mshoza: Female Agency and Empowerment in South African Pantsula Dance and Culture
8 Penetrating Knits: Feminists Knit "Cunty First" and "The Pussyhat"
9 The Choli and the Empowerment of Indian women
Part Three Narratives of Objectification and Self-objectification
10 The Prowess of a Virgin Goddess and a Seductress: Analyzing the Ideals of Female Sexuality of Princess Diana and Kate Middleton
11 Dress and Place in Sex Work: Attracting Customers Through Virtual Environments
12 Stripping of Power: Dress and Undress of Afro-Brazilian Women in the Scientific Work of Louis and Elizabeth Agassiz
13 Turning Self to Object: Costume, Identity, and Gender Roles in Alice Austen's Photographic Self-Portraits
Index

Citation preview

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FASHION, AGENCY, AND EMPOWERMENT

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DRESS AND FASHION RESEARCH Series Editor: Joanne B. Eicher, Regents’ Professor, University of Minnesota, USA Advisory Board: Vandana Bhandari, National Institute of Fashion Technology, India Steeve Buckridge, Grand Valley State University, USA Hazel Clark, Parsons, The New School of Design, New York, USA Peter McNeil, University of Technology Sydney, Australia Toby Slade, University of Tokyo, Japan Bobbie Sumberg, International Museum of Folk Art Santa Fe, USA Emma Tarlo, Goldsmiths University of London, UK Lou Taylor, University of Brighton, UK Karen Tranberg Hansen, Northwestern University, USA Feng Zhao, The Silk Museum Hangzhou, China The bold Dress and Fashion Research series is an outlet for high-quality, in-depth scholarly research on previously overlooked topics and new approaches. Showcasing challenging and courageous work on fashion and dress, each book in this interdisciplinary series focuses on a specific theme or area of the world that has been hitherto under-researched, instigating new debates and bringing new information and analysis to the fore. Dedicated to publishing the best research from leading scholars and innovative rising stars, the works will be grounded in fashion studies, history, anthropology, sociology, and gender studies. ISSN: 2053–3926 Published in the Series: Angela M. Jansen, Moroccan Fashion Angela M. Jansen and Jennifer Craik, (eds.), Modern Fashion Traditions Heike Jenss, Fashioning Memory Paul Jobling, Advertising Menswear Annette Lynch and Katalin Medvedev (eds.), Fashion, Agency, and Empowerment Maria Mackinney-Valentin, Fashioning Identity Magdalena Cra˘ ciun, Islam, Faith, and Fashion Kate Strasdin, Inside the Royal Wardrobe Daniel Delis Hill, Peacock Revolution Elizabeth Kutesko, Fashioning Brazil Forthcoming in the Series: Nancy Fischer, Kathryn Reiley, and Hayley Bush, Dressing in Vintage Alessandra B. Lopez y Royo, Contemporary Indonesian Fashion

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FASHION, AGENCY, AND EMPOWERMENT Performing Agency, Following Script Edited by

ANNETTE LYNCH AND KATALIN MEDVEDEV

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BLOOMSBURY VISUAL ARTS Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY VISUAL ARTS and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2019 Selection and Editorial Matter Copyright © Annette Lynch and Katalin Medvedev, 2019 Individual chapters © their authors, 2019 Annette Lynch and Katalin Medvedev have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors of this work. Series design: Untitled. Cover image: Thom Browne Menswear Fall/Winter 2018-2019. (© Victor VIRGILE/GammaRapho/Getty Images) All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: 978-1-350-05826-2 ePDF: 978-1-350-05827-9 eBook: 978-1-350-05828-6 Series: Dress and Fashion Research Typeset by Newgen KnowledgeWorks Pvt. Ltd., Chennai, India

To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

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Honoring Joanne Eicher’s scholarly legacy To the memory of Erika Medvedev and her love of reading This book is dedicated to my parents Lewis and Alma Lynch who believed in the value of a good education

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CONTENTS

List of illustrations  ix Notes on contributors  xii

Introduction: Fashion, Agency, and Empowerment  1 Annette Lynch and Katalin Medvedev

PART ONE  FASHION AS CHALLENGE AND EMPOWERMENT 1 The beauty divide: Black millennial women seek agency with Makeup Art Cosmetics (MAC)  11 Jaleesa Reed and Katalin Medvedev

2 Kangol Kool: Stylized hats and the performance of black dandyism  29 Derrick L. Williams

3 Challenging the gender binary in Bond films: Bond girls, female villains, and James  45 Laureen Gibson

4 Menswear in the millennium: Bending the gender binary  63 Parker Bennett

PART TWO  DIALOGUES BETWEEN DRESS AND STRUCTURES OF POWER 5 High flying fashions: Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants as exemplars of the nation  83 Christopher Richards

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6 First ladies of the Raj: Status and empowerment in British India  101 Donald Clay Johnson

7 A Lady is a Mshoza: Female agency and empowerment in South African pantsula dance and culture  111 Daniela Goeller

8 Penetrating knits: Feminists knit “ Cunty First” and “The Pussyhat”  127 Rebecca E. Schuiling and Therèsa M. Winge

9 The choli and the empowerment of Indian women  143 Vandana Bhandari

PART THREE  NARRATIVES OF OBJECTIFICATION AND SELF-OBJECTIFICATION 10 The prowess of a virgin goddess and a seductress: Analyzing the ideals of female sexuality of Princess Diana and Kate Middleton  157 Caroline McCauley

11 Dress and place in sex work: Attracting customers through virtual environments  171 Tasoulla Hadjiyanni and Kim K. P. Johnson

12 Stripping of power: Dress and undress of Afro-Brazilian women in the scientific work of Louis and Elizabeth Agassiz  187 Kelly Mohs Gage

13 Turning self to object: Costume, identity, and gender roles in Alice Austen’s photographic self-portraits  205 Keren Ben-Horin Index  223

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ILLUSTRATIONS

Figures 1.1 A black millennial woman applying lipstick. Courtesy Paper Boat Creative, Getty Images.  12 1.2 A black millennial woman overlooking a row of colorful lipsticks. Courtesy People Images, Getty Images.  21 2.1 Slick Rick sports the 504 Furgora Kangol performing with Doug E. Fresh. Courtesy of Raymond Boyd.  38 2.2a and 2.2b  “Battle of the Kangols” took center stage in LL Cool J and Kool Moe Dee’s 1980s rap duel. Courtesy of Raymond Boyd.  42 3.1 Bond is often depicted racing in his Aston Martin and doing other activities throughout his missions. AC Cobra Aston Martin, 2011. Public domain image courtesy of pixabay.com.  48 3.2 Bond girls are often shown lounging in bikini being sexually attractive. Bikini, 2016. Public domain image courtesy of pixabay.com.  48 4.1 Gucci Menswear S/S 2006. An all-white double-breasted suit showcases a closed silhouette and traditional menswear. The addition of the oversized bag lends a less agonic trait to an otherwise agonic form. (Score: 8) Photo by Giuseppe Cacace/Getty Images.  74 4.2 Gucci Menswear S/S 2016. A loose form, more open silhouette, and cut of the neck opening lend a feminine appearance. Additional points of significance include the model’s long hair and exposed legs/wrists, and the heavy presence of jewelry and handbag. (Score: 18) Photo by Venturelli/WireImage.  75 5.1 Cartoon by unknown artist satirizing Ghana Airways redesigned uniforms, 1973. Courtesy of the Daily Graphic Archives.  93

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5.2 Photograph of the seven silhouettes submitted for Ghana Airways’ initial new uniform; the chosen (and subsequently controversial) uniform is third from the left, 1973. Courtesy of the Daily Graphic Archives.  94 5.3 The redesigned new uniform, featuring a shorter skirt and tailored sleeves, reflecting both global and local fashions, 1973. Courtesy of the Daily Graphic Archives.  95 7.1 Real Actions Pantsula, Orange Farm, 2015. Image by Chris Saunders. Courtesy Chris Saunders and Impilo Mapantsula.  120 7.2 Masabatha “Star” Tete, Katlehong, 2016. Image by Chris Saunders. Courtesy Chris Saunders and Impilo Mapantsula.  122 8.1 Cunty First (2008) is a navy blue knitted sweater and skirt ensemble that critiques Sarah Palin, the 2008 vice presidential candidate of John McCain’s United States presidential bid. Courtesy of Lisa Anne Auerbach, 2017.  132 8.2 Pussyhat on Fearless Girl. The Pussyhat Project inspired the pussyhat’s construction and use as symbol for the current trends of political resistance within the Pink Craftivist Movement (PCM). Courtesy of Niki Sullivan, 2017.  134 9.1 Kanchli with embroidery done using pom-poms, mirrors, beads, and so on, worn by a Banjara tribal woman from southern India, c. 2015. Courtesy of Yathindra Lakkhana.  147 9.2 Bridal ensemble with intricate embroidery on the upper garment by designer Tarun Tahiliani, c, 2014. Courtesy of Tarun Tahiliani.  150 10.1 Diana’s “Revenge Dress”: Princess Diana (1961–1997) arriving at the Serpentine Gallery, London, in a gown by Christina Stambolian, June 1994. Courtesy Jayne Fincher, Getty Images.  162 10.2 The “Art of Seduction Dress,” designed by Charlotte Todd and worn by Kate Middleton at St. Andrew’s University charity fashion show in 2002. Courtesy John Phillips UK Press, Getty Images.  164 12.1 Mina Negress Woodcut illustration from A Journey in Brazil, p. 83 from the photograph by Augusto Stahl. Commissioned by Prof. Louis Agassiz. Courtesy of Author.  195 12.2 Facial expression comparison of details of slave photographs commissioned by Prof. Louis Agassiz. Left-hand images are clothed.

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Right-hand images are unclothed. Courtesy of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard University, PM# 2004.1.436.1.3, PM# 2004.1.436.1.4, PM# 2004.1.436.1.7, PM# 2004.1.436.1.8, PM# 2004.1.436.1.36, PM# 2004.1.436.1.37.  199 12.3 Left: Alexandrina Woodcut illustration from A Journey in Brazil, p. 245. Commissioned by Prof. Louis Agassiz. Courtesy of Author. Right: Alexandrina Woodcut illustration from Le Tour de Monde: Voyage au Bresil, p. 258. Commissioned by Prof. Louis Agassiz. Courtesy of Author.  200 13.1 Alice Austen (1866–1952), Self-Portrait, September 19, 1892. Collection of Historic Richmond Town.  206 13.2 Alice Austen (1866–1952), Trude and I masked, short skirts, August 6, 1891. Collection of Historic Richmond Town.  215 13.3 Alice Austen (1866–1952), portrait of Gertrude Tate, ca. 1910. Collection of Historic Richmond Town.  218

Tables 4.1 Coding of gender ideology: Doing versus being (an artificial dichotomy). S. Kaiser, The Social Psychology of Clothing: Symbolic Appearances in Context (New York: Fairchild, 1997).   67 4.2 Image evaluation system. System created by author.  72

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CONTRIBUTORS

Keren Ben-Horin, MA, is a dress historian, curator, and author. Her interests include nineteenth, twentieth, and twenty-first century fashion; the photographed body; photographic self-representation; retail history in New York; Israeli fashion; Gilded Age America; and the work of the American photographer Alice Austen. Keren is the coauthor of the fashion history survey She’s Got Legs: A History of Hemlines and Fashion which examines the relationship between clothes and the idealized body from antiquity to the present day. She is the editor and contributing author of The Sweater: A History, a book that looks at the sweater as an object of material culture. Keren is an adjunct professor at the Fashion Institute of Technology and Berkeley College in New York. Vandana Bhandari, PhD, is a professor at the National Institute of Fashion Technology in New Delhi, where she teaches fashion and textile related subjects. Her research interest is in the areas of craft-based studies, economic sustainability projects for craft persons, Indian textiles, ethnographic dress in India and fashion in India. Dr. Bhandari has authored and compiled books on fashion and textiles. Her works include:  Celebrating Dreams:  Weddings in India (1998); Textiles and Crafts of India:  Arunachal Pradesh, Assam and Manipur (1998); the NIFT Millennium Document titled Evolving Trends in Fashion (2000); Costume, Textiles and Jewelry of India—Traditions in Rajasthan (2004); and Jeweled Textiles: Gold and Silver Embellished Cloth of India (2015). Parker Bennett, BA, graduated from the University of Northern Iowa with a degree in political science and an emphasis in international studies. Having research interests that are interdisciplinary in nature, his work merges fields of fashion, gender, and human geographical studies. His undergraduate thesis, “Masculinity, Dress, and Power: A Theoretical Intersection,” explored how dress—as an everyday action—provides individuals the opportunity to engage with and challenge collective norms regarding masculinity. Kelly Mohs Gage, PhD, is an assistant professor in the Department of Apparel, Merchandising, and Design at St. Catherine University in St. Paul, Minnesota.

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With a background in art and apparel history, and interest in material culture studies, she approaches the study of dress with an interest in clothing as a means of communication, tied to cultural and contextual influences. Her area of specialization is Afro-Brazilian slave dress. Laureen Gibson is a doctoral candidate in the Design Graduate Program at the University of Minnesota. Her research interests relate to the history of women’s dress in Western culture, as well as the relationship between dress items and broader cultural views of femininity. Daniela Goeller, PhD, is an art historian and research associate at University of Johannesburg, Visual Identities in Art and Design (VIAD) and Université de Paris 1 Pantheon-Sorbonne / Institut A.C.T.E. / CNRS Aesthetics of Performing and Spectacular Arts (EsPAS). Her research focus is gender, identity construction, and communication through images and staging in popular culture, art, fashion, and dance. She is a director of the Impilo Mapantsula dance foundation in South Africa and currently working on a book on pantsula. Tasoulla Hadjiyanni, PhD, is Professor of Interior Design at the University of Minnesota. A refugee from Cyprus, she holds a bachelor of architecture degree and a master of science in urban development and management from Carnegie Mellon University. Her doctoral work in Housing Studies at the University of Minnesota, presented in her book The Making of a Refugee—Children Adopting Refugee Identity in Cyprus (2002), began her interdisciplinary scholarship on exploring the intersections of design, culture, and identity. Hadjiyanni’s driving force is the belief that design can be leveraged for innovation and change to create healthy and connected communities in which all women and children can thrive. Her research findings and teaching pedagogies have appeared in journals such as Space and Culture; Journal of Interior Design; Design Studies; and the International Journal of Consumer Studies. Hadjiyanni has served as editor of EDRA Connections and guest editor for a Journal of Interior Design Special Issue on Design + Culture. Donald Clay Johnson, PhD, received his doctorate from the Library School of the University of Wisconsin-Madison. From 1987 to 2008 he served as curator of the Ames Library of South Asia of the University of Minnesota. In retirement, he has mounted a webpage on his extensive collection of textiles from South Asia (umedia.lib.umn.edu/node/88878). He also teaches a course on Indian textiles for the University of Minnesota Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. With Helen Bradley Foster he has jointly edited Dress Sense: Emotional and Sensory Experiences of the Body and Clothes (2007); and Wedding Dress across Cultures (2003).

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Kim K. P. Johnson, PhD, is Professor Emeritus at the University of Minnesota in the Retail Merchandising Program within the College of Design. Her research interests center on the social psychological aspects of appearance and consumer behavior as it relates to apparel. She coauthored The Social Psychology of Dress with Sharron J. Lennon, PhD, and Nancy Rudd, PhD. She has also coauthored numerous publications in a range of journals including the Clothing and Textiles Research Journal; Journal of Business Research; Journal of Business Ethics, and Computers in Human Behavior, among others. She is a member of the University of Minnesota Academy of Distinguished Teachers, past editor of the Clothing and Textiles Research Journal, and past president of the International Textile and Apparel Association (ITAA). She is also a Fellow of ITAA. Annette Lynch, PhD, is Professor of Textiles and Apparel and the Director of the School of Applied Human Sciences at the University of Northern Iowa. She is also the cofounder of the Center for Violence Prevention on the same campus. Her research interests focus on the cultural construction and transformation of gendered identity through dress. She has authored and coauthored three books for Berg (now Bloomsbury) including Dress, Gender and Cultural Change (1999); Changing Fashion: A Critical Introduction to Trend Analysis and Meaning (2007); Porn Chic: Exploring the Contours of Raunch Eroticism (2012), and has contributed multiple articles for edited books as well for the same press. In 2015 she coauthored Ethnic Dress in the United States: A Cultural Encyclopedia. She has received multiple awards for her teaching and scholarship including the Iowa Regents Faculty Excellence Award. Katalin Medvedev, PhD, is a professor in the Department of Textiles, Merchandising and Interiors at the University of Georgia. Her professional interests focus on the construction and expression of cultural identity through dress, gender and the politics of dress, fashion and empowerment, fashion peripheries, and fashion and sustainability. Her articles have been published in Women’s Studies Quarterly; Fashion Practice; Dress; Clothing Cultures; Paideusis—Journal for Interdisciplinary and Cross-Cultural Studies; International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology, and Education; International Journal of Fashion Studies; Fashion, Style and Popular Culture as well as chapters in books published by Berg, Fairchild, Pennsylvania University Press, Purdue University Press, University of Minnesota Press, Routledge, among others. Caroline McCauley, MA, is a faculty member at Parsons, The New School for Design, New York. She specializes in researching and teaching courses on

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subjectivity in the performance of femininity and empowerment through dress. In addition, she teaches research seminars on fashion, the history of fashion, and “Fashioning the Self.” She is a regular contributor to The Journal of Dress Practice and The Fashion Studies Journal. Her current work focuses on the art of self-fashioning, using the photographs of the Countess of Castiglione (1837– 1899) as a case study. Jaleesa Reed is a PhD student in Polymer, Fiber, and Textile Science with an International Merchandising emphasis at the University of Georgia. Her research interests revolve around retail, consumers of beauty products, and how women of color navigate retail spaces while negotiating their identity. Most of her work is interdisciplinary, with an emphasis on gender studies, human geography, and a critical take on fashion consumption. Christopher Richards, PhD, is Assistant Professor of Art History at Brooklyn College, New  York. He specializes in historical and contemporary African textiles, dress and fashion, specifically in Ghana and South Africa. He has authored several articles and book chapters on the subject and is currently working on a book documenting the development of Ghana’s contemporary fashion culture through the contributions of female designers. He is also actively involved with museums and the field of museum studies. He curated the exhibition Kabas and Couture:  Contemporary Ghanaian Fashion at the Samuel P. Harn Museum of Art in Florida (2015) and co-curated the exhibition Abundance:  Beadwork, Art and the Body at the Wits Art Museum in South Africa (2015). Rebecca E. Schuiling, MS, is a knitwear designer and an academic specialist in Apparel and Textile Design at Michigan State University. Her research focuses on knit materials as a medium for artistic expression and knitted dress in popular culture. Her designs were exhibited in Slovenia and she participated in an international design workshop in China. In addition, she conducts research in Portugal, France, Italy, and Thailand. Derrick L. Williams, PhD, is Associate Professor in Speech Communication at Cuyahoga Community College Metropolitan campus in downtown Cleveland. Inspired by Dr.  Martin Luther King Jr. while growing up in Birmingham, Alabama, he received his doctorate in communication studies from Southern Illinois University, where his research focused on masculinities studies and communication for social change. He is most noted for his work with college men (students, student-athletes, faculty and staff) in developing strategies to combat the limited masculinity scripts currently offered. He is currently working

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on a book that examines “masculinities” within four generations of southern black men. Therèsa M. Winge, PhD, is Associate Professor of Apparel and Textile Design at Michigan State University. Common throughout her research and design, she focuses on the construction/deconstruction of subcultural visual and material cultures, dress, and narratives. Her research examines subcultural dress for its meanings and construction of identity. Her first book Body Style (2012) is about subcultural body modifications, and she is the author of Costuming Cosplay (2018).

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INTRODUCTION: FASHION, AGENCY, AND EMPOWERMENT Annette Lynch and Katalin Medvedev

Fashion, Agency, and Empowerment explores the dialogue between the dressed body, agency and empowerment, with a special emphasis on the role of fashion in reinforcing or challenging norms and social order. While few people think about fashion as a tool to gain or divest others of power, a closer examination reveals that fashion and power are often closely intertwined. In conventional thinking “power grows out of the barrel of a gun” as Mao Zedong once wrote reflecting on a period of the Chinese class war in 1938. Friedrich Engels took a less confrontational tone, but also analyzed the role of force in history as represented by war and the state in the 1800s. He saw these forms of hard power as ensuring the rule of capital—a tenet that continues to this day. But there is another kind of power too. Those in suits exercise a form of “soft power” using their privileged positions to provide media oversight, influence education offerings and policy, and to a large extent legislate the cultural norms structuring interaction in society. Both hard and soft versions of power are visually brought to life through dress in the form of military camouflage or law enforcement blues and the classic business suit. The soft power brokers who dress in suits work directly and through their intermediaries to control the political parties and financial resources across the world. In spite of the hipster coolness of the Silicon Valley, where T-shirts and jeans might pass for software engineers, ultimately the leadership at the executive level become “suits.” Women who want to move into leadership roles, learn to “fit the suit,” adopting the guise of male leadership. When the suit fails, the police blues or the khaki camo comes out. Suits never do their own dirty work. They are not that kind of “work clothes.” The suits are not on the front lines in Libya, Iraq, or Afghanistan. Class-based power has its privileges. And one of them is not to soil your clothes. Of course, these two forms of power are just the top of the hierarchical pyramid and within that hierarchy is a multiplicity of powers. For example, men

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over women, native over immigrant, white over colored, humans over nature, youth over elderly, the abled over the disabled, straight over gays, motorized over the human powered, educated over uneducated, urban over rural, and in fashion terms, trend setters over laggards. This list of binary opposites is literally endless, but common to each is a system of power that individuals and groups are consciously and subconsciously attempting to preserve, get a piece of, or struggle against. As will be illustrated throughout this collection of essays, fashion often becomes an embodiment of this power struggle. For readers interested in exploring the role of fashion and dress in formulating and reformulating popular culture, political structures, and social life, past and present, this book is divided into three distinct sections, each providing a defined avenue of exploration and engagement. The book opens with a set of authors exploring the role of fashion in challenging cultural norms and creating empowerment strategies for individuals and groups advocating for transformation and change. The second set of chapters focuses on the role of fashion in either reinforcing or challenging power structures by playing a significant role in establishing agency for individuals or groups. The final section of this book engages the reader to critically examine the cultural and social impact of sexual objectification, while at the same time considering the motive and impact of people who choose to self-objectify.

Part one: Fashion as challenge and empowerment While myriad examples of power inscribed in dress as a manifestation of fashion abound, chapters in this book present a more nuanced understanding of the relationship between fashion and power. The first four chapters stimulate the reader to consider fashion as challenge and empowerment. The contributing authors to these chapters provide examples of how fashion is used by individuals and groups to redefine and work outside social norms to bring about transformation and change. Many of the theoretical underpinnings of this section of the book rest in anthropology with fashion trends functioning as visible embodiments of cultural systems and meanings. Inspired by Joanne Eicher’s influential definition of dress (Roach-Higgins and Eicher 1992) to include supplements to, and modification of, the body, the section opens with a chapter on cosmetics coauthored by Katalin Medvedev, the coeditor of this volume, who studied with Joanne Eicher as a doctoral student. Eicher’s scholarly legacy is embodied within this chapter in both its recognition of cosmetics as a key element of fashionable dress and its exploration of how the Makeup Art Cosmetics (MAC) brand is utilized by black millennial women as a tool to construct a particular identity. In this chapter, focused on black millennials,

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coauthor Jalessa Reed and Medvedev establish the underlying theme of the first section of the book. Using MAC brand cosmetics they emphasize shifting fashion and beauty trends, in contrast with more stable mainstream cosmetics, as harbingers of changing cultural attitudes and systems. Similarly, but working from a male perspective, Derrick L. Williams takes the reader inside the experience of hip-hop fashion in a testimonial-style essay exploring the Kangol hat as a vehicle of self-expression. Beginning in 1985 at his first hip-hop concert at the fairgrounds in Birmingham, Alabama, Williams takes us through his personal journey and explores the fashion history roots of the hat, highlighting the role of the Kangol as a marker of rites of passage and transformation. By sharing this sartorial headdress narrative, Williams captures a more inclusive collective story of black men who have challenged stereotypical notions of black masculinity through personally chosen and executed style. Two of the chapters in this section challenge the gender binary, with Laureen Gibson using the James Bond film franchise to trace the emergence of a strong female lead, and Parker Bennett capturing the transformation of menswear in the new millennium into gender territory once restricted to women’s fashions. Both chapters use the contrast between agonic active power and hedonic attractive indirect power to chart out the differences between socialization of men and women to gender roles in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Gibson and Bennett then go on to present challenges to the boxing of men into an agonic construction of gender and women into hedonic modes of attaining power. Gibson’s chapter delves into feminist film theory dating back to the 1970s and charts the evolution of women’s depictions in the long running Bond film franchise beginning in the mid-twentieth century and continuing through the present. The chapter concludes with an analysis of James Bond as “Bond Girl” focused on a critical examination of actor Daniel Craig as a sexually objectified male. Gibson’s analysis of how the Bond Girl (or Bond as Bond Girl) was fashioned throughout the series suggests a shift toward redefining gender and the emergence of new dynamics between sexuality and power in the twenty-first century away from the agonic/hedonic gender boxes installed as normative in the late Victorian era. In a similar vein, in the final chapter in this section Bennett uses Marilyn DeLong’s visual analysis system to chart the opening up of menswear collections in the new millennium to hedonic attentiongrabbing styles characteristically associated with women’s wear.

Part two: Dialogues between dress and structures of power Joanne Eicher also played a fundamental role in breaking down the now outdated barriers between fashionable dress in the Euro-American sphere and the rest of the world, both in her own body of research and the studies conducted by

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her students. Joanne Eicher’s graduate students pursued scholarship in a wide range of cultural systems and structures of power spanning multiple ethnic communities in the United States and several continents. The second section of the book features a globally diverse set of dialogues between fashionable dress and surrounding structures of power, speaking to this component of the Eicher legacy. To open the section Christopher Richards provides an overview of the establishment of Ghana Airways and the emergence of a fashionable female flight attendant uniform as a symbol of the newly independent modern Ghana. At the same time this uniform, as Richards points out, maintained authentic ties back to its historical and cultural past, making dual references to both a modern and traditional system of power. The next chapter, authored by Donald Clay Johnson, focuses on the dress of the British as representatives of colonial power in India, emphasizing the magnified role of fashionable European-style dress in solidifying the power of the heavily outnumbered British ruling elite. The next two chapters of this section center on fashion functioning as a tool to dispute and potentially disrupt power structures. In the first, Daniela Goeller traces the use of menswear-inspired stage dress by female panstula dancers to the transformation of South Africa from an oppressive apartheid state to a “liberal democracy.” Rebecca E.  Schuiling and Therèsa M.  Winge analyze the use of knitted material culture to communicate a sociopolitical stance in their chapter on the Pink Craftivist Movement (PCM) that emerged as a strong feminist response to the Sarah Palin campaign and the Trump election. One of the symbolic pieces of PCM, the “pussyhat,” was first introduced as political fashion during the women’s marches across the United States. Since then it has also been utilized as a powerful visual statement in Missoni’s 2017 spring collection, demonstrating the brand’s support for women’s rights. The last chapter in this section by Vandana Bhandari documents the history of the Indian choli, from a garment popularized in British Colonial era to conform to the dominating political structure’s standards of modesty, to its current status as a popular fashion trend used to express female sexuality and audacity. Thus charting the transformation of a traditional garment originally designed to meet colonial modesty standards for women into a contemporary empowering fashion statement.

Part three: Narratives of objectification and self-objectification The final set of four chapters explores personal and group narratives of objectification and self-objectification, concentrating on issues of control and/ or lack of control of image and identity. Some theoretical background is helpful in terms of fully placing these four chapters in a research context. As presented by Annette Lynch in Porn Chic:  Exploring the Contours of Raunch Eroticism

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(2012) Marxist feminists have used the theory of alienation to argue that sexual objectification of women’s bodies alienates women from their own sexuality, in a similar sense as workers, according to Marx, are alienated from their own humanity through capitalist methods of production. To move this dialogue closer to these four chapters, in her book Lynch cites the work of Sandra Lee Bartky (1990). Bartky used the seminal work of Simone de Beauvoir to articulate the process of objectification, starting at the point when an adolescent girl distances from her own body and begins seeing herself as an object of male gaze and desire. Feminine narcissism, the pampering of the physical body and the pleasure that results from seeing herself as a reflection of male gaze, becomes, according to Bartky, a form of “repressed satisfaction” (1990: 42). According to this theoretical model, this repressed satisfaction is what pulls women into the media’s beauty culture as they pursue an indirect version of pleasure using fashion and other beauty methods to better prepare themselves for male gaze and desire. This is a dialectical contrast to postfeminist ideology, which proposes that self-objectification can lead to empowerment. The chapters draw from both theoretical constructs. In the opening chapter of this section analyzing the ideals of female sexuality portrayed by two fashion icons Princess Diana and Kate Middleton, Caroline McCauley explores the terrain of self-objectification and its connection to the virgin and seductress binary imposed on women by the dominant patriarchal mindset. She concludes the chapter by arguing that the channeling of the female body and sexuality into dichotomous “good girl vs. bad girl” categories through fashion statements serves the male gaze and limits women’s ability to construct and claim their own identity. Annette Lynch (2012) and Alinor Sterling (1995) also make the argument that both modest and provocative versions of female fashion are locked into a gendered gaze, with women socialized to confine enacted appearances to fit male-shaped reality. Using a similar set of theoretical arguments, in the chapter that follows, Tasoulla Hadjiyanni and Kim K. P. Johnson move the sexually objectified body into “place” as they analyze the purposeful construction of dress and online environments to attract customers by the sex trafficking industry. Hadjiyanni and Johnson show that the “spaces” that trafficked women inhabit in online advertisements of their services divest them of personal agency, arguably differentiating their realities and experiences from non-trafficked sex workers who perform as “free” agents. In the new millennium photography is the most influential transmitter of fashion. The majority of young people consume fashion through visual images on social media. Turning the lens of the camera to historical examples, the last two chapters analyze photography as an instrument of objectification by self or others. In these two chapters, photographic analysis is used as the primary research methodology. The chapters are together a study in contrast. In the first case, photography is used as a tool to strip power and impose sexualized identity

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on enslaved subjects. In the second case, photography becomes a vehicle of self-definition and empowerment for the photographer and her friends. The first chapter by Kelly Mohs Gage focuses on a photography-based scientific study of Afro-Brazilian female slaves conducted by Harvard professor, Louis Agassiz, in the nineteenth century. The original study was highly publicized and lauded in its time period, with the nude and seminude photographs used by Agassiz to support a race-based division of the human species. Gage’s research contribution focuses on the reaction of Agassiz’s wife Elizabeth to the photographs used by her husband for his scientific research. Gage positions us to contemplate John Berger’s idea (1980) that when we look at images we should consider not only what we see, but how we see. Within her analysis Gage interrogates the lack of agency of the photographed subject and reveals the power imbalance that underlies the relationship between the photographer and the subject. In marked contrast, in the final chapter Keren Ben-Horin demonstrates the power of having a woman rather than a man behind the camera, in terms of opening up gender identities through self-objectification in the late nineteenth century. In addition to capturing photographs of herself and her friends in fashionable ensembles that challenged the restrictive gender roles of the era, photographer Alice Austen also exposed the viewer to an alternative domestic sphere and a multilayered study of life in the United States during this time period.

In honor of Joanne B. Eicher Fashion, Agency, and Empowerment is edited by us, two of Joanne’s former graduate students and arose from a symposium held in 2015 in her honor at the University of Minnesota. The title of the conference, “Fashion, Sex, and Power,” included the term “sex” with the intention that “sex” meant sexuality or even “sexy,” because in everyday life “sex” and “sexy” are used in advertisements and common speech. As members of the symposium organizing team, we wanted to plumb those ideas at the conference leading to the publication of an edited volume of the same name. We found, however, that academe has been so successful in converting the meaning of “sex” in earlier scholarship to “gender,” that the papers presented at the conference largely focused on the concept of power and gender. In order to take advantage of the range and quality of papers presented at the conference that merited publication, we shifted the focus of this book to an exploration of fashion, agency, and empowerment. This volume and the breadth of its contents is a testimonial to Dr.  Joanne Eicher’s impact on dress scholarship during her long tenure in the field. The significance of fashionable dress as a symbol of identity used by individuals and groups to both conform to and challenge cultural norms and power structures

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made its way into the scholarship of those who studied with Joanne Eicher directly, including the two editors of this book. Her intellectual legacy also influenced her colleagues, the students of her graduates, and those who were exposed to her ideas and scholarship around the world.

References Bartky, S. L. (1990), Femininity and Domination: Studies in the Phenomenology of Oppression. New York and London: Routledge. Berger, J. (1980), About Looking. New York: Pantheon Books. Lynch, A. (2012), Porn Chic: Exploring the Contours of Raunch Eroticism. London and New York: Berg Publishers. Roach-Higgins, M. E., and J. B. Eicher. (1992), “Definition and Classification of Dress,” in R. Barnes and J. B. Eicher (eds.), Dress and Gender: Making and Meaning, 8–28. Providence and Oxford: Berg Publishers. Sterling, A. C. (1995). “Undressing the Victim: The Intersection of Evidentiary and Semiotic Meanings of Women’s Clothing in Rape Trials,” Yale Journal of Law and Feminism 7: 87–132.

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FASHION AS CHALLENGE AND EMPOWERMENT

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1 THE BEAUTY DIVIDE: BLACK MILLENNIAL WOMEN SEEK AGENCY WITH MAKEUP ART COSMETICS (MAC) Jaleesa Reed and Katalin Medvedev

Introduction There will be many times in a black woman’s life in the United States when she is informed, overtly or covertly, that her worth as a human being is similar to what the Anti-Slavery Society propagated in 1833: “Put slaves on the payroll to make them ‘doubly valuable’ to their masters and thus end slavery while saving capitalism.” Racist practices serve to remind black women, and women of color in general, that they are only as valuable as the labor and entertainment they can provide. Micro-aggressions perpetrated both by individuals and institutions affect the black population daily; black women are vilified, for instance, in several ways, from welfare policies to media portrayals among others (Crenshaw 1991). The matriarch, mammy, and Jezebel stereotypes are so pervasive that one would be hard-pressed to find a black woman immune to such disparagement. These insidious stereotypes, however, have also influenced black women’s idea of beauty when it comes to color, creating a color caste system (Henderson 2015), in which a black individual with a pale skin tone is considered more attractive, and hence more desirable, than one who has a dark skin tone. But black women are not without agency—despite mainstream efforts to marginalize them, they have pushed back to get to the center and cultivate their own spaces in social, political, and economic spheres. One of the avenues they rely on to take charge of their selfexpression and presentation is through the use and consumption of cosmetics.

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Black women turn to cosmetics as a self-fashioning device in a social and economic context where the White Beauty Industrial Complex (hooks 1992) constantly reminds them that their skin, hair, body, and overall external appearance are not worth any attention and they do not warrant investment in product development because of what the black body represents to the mainstream in historic and economic terms. During slavery, whiteness used as the benchmark of hierarchical (beauty) standards branded the black body as more abject and less estimable. Consequently, black women struggle to make their mark in a dominant white capitalist culture that has set standards of beauty that does not align with communities of color by taking a strategic interest in cosmetics. So much so that today black millennial women rarely ever leave home without at least a small amount of makeup (see Figure 1.1). The authors of this study began to pay closer attention to black millennial women’s special relationship with the Makeup Art Cosmetics (MAC) brand in 2013 when black megastar Rihanna’s RiRi collection for the brand was launched. To find out why black millennial women were drawn to MAC and the shopping experience in MAC stores, the authors conducted twelve in-depth interviews with young black women focusing on exploring the reasons for their special attraction to the MAC brand and the ways their use of MAC products influenced their self-perception and representation. MAC is a prominent brand in the cosmetics marketplace. Globally, the cosmetics market is worth $460 billion (Research and Markets 2015) with a

Figure 1.1  A black millennial woman applying lipstick. Courtesy Paper Boat Creative, Getty Images.

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projected 6.4 percent growth by 2020 (Research and Markets 2015). Following the money shows that the White Beauty Industrial Complex not only spends an exorbitant amount of money on molding and entrenching white-normative standards of beauty, but it also functions as a systematic tool of racism to uphold the social construction of race as a regulatory norm. The beauty industry is governed by white standards; it is not a matter of finding them, but of identifying them. Many scholars have written about white women’s relationship with beauty (Wolf 1990; Hamilton, Mintz and Kashubek-West 2007; Cain 2008), but few have explored black women’s use of cosmetics as a potential outlet of agency. Although “beauty was the first racism” (Arogundade 2000:  9), black women’s relationship with cosmetics and beauty are a comparatively recent point of contention. Therefore, this study adds a new layer to the existing literature by examining why exercising agency in the cosmetics marketplace has special significance for black millennial women.

Historical context While black women historically have been disenfranchised in the realm of beauty, they did manage to fashion an “identity” more than 400 years ago when the first African women were brought to the United States (Gilroy 1993). This identity of family and motherhood, however, was shaped in an environment of oppression and servitude (McKittrick 2006) and the core demands of slavery and the sexual exploitation of black women overshadowed any interest or desire in beauty. Still, black slave women made sure to educate their children on the power of self-definition and resilience (Collins 2000). They also taught their children how to care for their bodies or manage their hair with homemade concoctions (Gates, Jr. 1995). Such maternal lessons instilled the importance of (re)presentation for social and personal acceptance, which became more relevant after slavery ended. By the turn of the twentieth century, black culture already had a more meaningful relationship with the cosmetics industry (White and White 1998). Black women started to pivot to the cosmetics industry to achieve a sense of independence (White and White 1998). Instead of looking to a future of domestic servitude, they became entrepreneurs and manufacturers of beauty products for other women, like Madame C. J. Walker. Black women’s beauty consumption thus evolved in a personal setting where buyers were persuaded on product knowledge and quality by a business owner. In fact, the business owner’s reputation was just as important as product performance. The products were also sought after because they were made to cater to black women’s specific needs. Madame Walker, a cosmetics entrepreneur and the first African American millionaire, for example, always emphasized that her products were not meant to

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help black women assimilate to white beauty standards (White and White 1998), but to support black women’s desire to control their appearance. Although the lingering effects of servitude did not cease to affect the relationship between beauty and the political identity of black women (Gill 2010), over time, black women’s use of cosmetics was no longer strictly subject to the expectations of the mainstream society. While some internalized white beauty standards, many used cosmetics to express their identity “with the same freedom to construct their appearance that whites were allowed” (White and White 1998: 188). By the 1960s and 1970s, blackness was temporarily redefined by the Black Power and civil rights movements, and black self-love through the declaration that “Black is beautiful” reached its peak. While black communities have successfully emerged from slavery and Jim Crow laws that enforced racial segregation, and their statuses have improved after the Civil Rights Movement, to this day, they must prove that “Black Lives Matter.” Black Lives Matter is a necessary ideological and political intervention in a world where black lives are systematically and intentionally targeted for demise (Black Lives Matter 2016) as the rates of incarcerated black individuals continue to surge (M. Alexander 2012) as do cases of police brutality against them (Lantigua-Williams 2016). Consequently, the black population continues to live a life tainted by double consciousness (Du Bois 1903), trying to reconcile its own identities with the standards of the dominant culture.

Black millennials and the cosmetics marketplace Millennials, a generation with many internal contradictions, spend considerable time, resources, and energy on enhancing their appearances. This is also a basic expectation of them by the current image- and social-media-driven cultural milieu. Because black women’s looks continue to be subjected to scrutiny, their spending and consumption of cosmetics becomes significant. While some black millennial women use facial contouring to create the perception of thinner lips or narrower noses to approximate mainstream beauty standards, others use cosmetics to define black beauty on their own terms. Either path requires high cosmetics expenditure. No wonder “black women spend 80  percent more money on cosmetics than the general market” (Smith 2009). These statistics naturally make corporations actively pursue the black dollar, which, in turn, provides an opportunity for black women to renegotiate their relationship with the beauty and cosmetics industry on their own terms. Despite this, an identity built on internalized racism is not regarded by the beauty industry as requiring major financial investment in the promotion of beauty aids for this segment of

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the population; instead, under capitalism, a black woman’s place in society can simply be reinforced by upholding white beauty standards. Black women today are stratified into groups, making it easier for industries to tap into their buying power and consumption habits. Targeting black women, like any other market segment, reveals a penchant for stereotypes. Take, for instance, the cosmetics industry’s insistence on categorizing women into shades of “beige” and “cinnamon.” Ironically, almost every mainstream makeup brand has seven shades of beige—sand beige, natural beige, medium beige, golden beige, honey beige, fresh beige, true beige—but only two or three shades for darker skin such as “mocha” or “cappuccino.” Even if a black woman is actually a shade of “beige,” she should be looking for her shade in “mocha” or “mahogany,” both suggesting a black tint, which reveals a real scarcity of suitable and affordable cosmetic products and targeted advertisements for black women of different shades. Some people may consider cosmetics to be an insignificant aspect of how black women experience oppression, but this is precisely how oppression works; it operates both on macro and micro levels (Frye 1983). The Merriam-Webster Dictionary (2017) defines “oppression” as the means to crush, burden, reduce, and immobilize a group of people. Institutional systems maintain oppression and systematically sustain it through power dynamics. Over time, systemic and systematic oppression is internalized, working its way inside the body by constricting and immobilizing movement, both physically and mentally (Frye 1983). Consequently, oppressed groups are affected not only by social, political, and economic structures of oppression, but also by internalizing its effects in their everyday life.

Black millennial women’s affinity for MAC Millennials report feeling more pressured to look good all the time, compared to other groups of women (Mintel 2017). While post-slavery black women are increasingly accustomed to using cosmetics as a means of enhancing their selfpresentation, preferences for various brands of beauty products continue to show class and generational differences. For example, compared to black baby boomers, black millennials are more likely to want to experiment with their looks or use higher-end brands, as suggested by our informants. They tend to change hairstyles and hair colors often, and consciously use particular cosmetic brands to fashion an image of their liking. Millennials also possess in-depth brand and product knowledge because they are technologically savvy and highly commodified. One brand that black millennial women strongly favor is MAC. MAC was founded in Toronto, Canada, in 1984 by makeup artist Frank Toskan and beauty salon owner Frank Angelo. By the

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time the Estée Lauder Company purchased MAC in 1996, the brand had already established itself as a friend to “all ages, all races, and all sexes,” which is one of the initial reasons why black millennial women began to gravitate toward the brand. While other cosmetic brands such as Maybelline and Revlon also consider themselves to be inclusive, they highlight only the lightest shades of darker skin tones. It is evident from a quick walk through the cosmetic aisles at a Target store, for example, that for these brands dark-toned skin is acceptable up to a certain shade. In contrast, MAC offers almost double the options for black skin tones. Compared to the mainstream choices of “tan” and “mahogany,” which stand for the two colors that the dominant culture appears to perceive black women to have, MAC’s offering is varied. This suggests to black millennials that “MAC gets them” by seeing their diversity and respecting their individuality. By opting for MAC, black millennials show that they do not think good looks are embodied in white features or in only two colors. Millennials are a queer-friendly and socially conscious generational cohort (Crowley 2010); therefore, MAC’s philanthropic 1994 Viva Glam collection, which aimed to help HIV/AIDS victims, played a role in solidifying their attachment to the brand. Brand image is also extremely important for millennials (The Nielsen Company 2016). According to the young black consumers of MAC cosmetics we interviewed they are attracted to the brand’s open access counters and the makeup artists’ edgy, individualistic and nonconformist appearances. They believe that MAC’s makeup artists are not focused totally on a hard sell, but are also willing to share beauty knowledge, skills, and advice with their customers. Black millennials’ lifestyle and product choices are heavily influenced by celebrities, who also happen to be a useful promotional tool for MAC. Rihanna, one of the most important generational influencers, not only has endorsed the brand, but her partnership with MAC also demonstrated how “leveraging the Twitter network of a celebrity” could generate much greater interest than traditional marketing campaigns (Mintel 2013). In fact, when Rihanna used her thirty million Twitter followers to promote the release of her lipstick collection, RiRi for MAC sold out within two hours in stores and online (Mintel 2013). However, when comparisons were raised about another megastar Beyoncé’s support of L’Oréal, our research participants pointed out that they felt there was a major difference between their endorsements. Rihanna’s collaboration with MAC was perceived by millennials as “authentic” because during the creation of her RiRi for MAC collection, the singer was closely involved in choosing the colors and products carrying her name, prompting John Demsey, then executive group president of Estée Lauder/MAC, to stress that the Rihanna collections were “not a front” and she did not simply attach her name to the company’s products (Conti and Naughton 2013). Rihanna chose to collaborate with MAC because she reportedly saw MAC as a “legit” brand (Conti and Naughton 2013). Her support for the brand’s philosophy—all ages,

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all sexes, all races—and active involvement with the brand allowed her to sell her partnership to her fans with MAC as “truth” (Conti and Naughton 2013), which, in turn, sealed the deal for millennials with MAC. In contrast, Beyoncé’s 2008 advertising campaign with L’Oréal was met with accusations in the black community that Beyoncé’s skin color was lightened and her face retouched to be more in line with L’Oréal’s standard of beauty (Maerz 2015). CoverGirl, another major drugstore brand, also attempts to attract black women by using black celebrities in its ad campaigns. However, CoverGirl’s Queen Line, named after singer and actress Queen Latifah, is separate from its main product lines. This separation reinforces the differences that black millennial women experience in shopping for beauty products and emphasizes their marginalization. In 2005, when the Queen Line was first released, Cheryl Hudgins Williams, associate director of Global Communications at Procter & Gamble, claimed that CoverGirl “really listens to women and what women want and . . . women love Queen Latifah” (A. Alexander 2005). This statement suggests that the brand’s emphasis has not been as much on what product works for black women, but rather on which celebrity can sell the product best. Although Queen Latifah thinks that black women should have opportunities to appear “just as pretty as someone who can afford the most expensive makeup” (Edgar 2007:  13), many of the black millennial consumers we interviewed stated that CoverGirl’s foundations rarely matched their skin tones. It therefore appears that not only the White Beauty Industrial Complex, but also certain black celebrities’ misrepresentation of black women’s needs should be faulted for the lack of appropriate cosmetics for black women. Despite this recurrence, celebrity endorsements continue to affect millennials’ relationship with cosmetics because Beyoncé’s, Rihanna’s, and Queen Latifah’s active involvement with the cosmetics industry legitimizes the commodification and acceptance of a kind of black woman that millennials, as a highly commodified cohort, can identify with. At the same time, the celebrities as spokeswomen for the brands suggest that to be considered beautiful, black millennial women need a certain type of hair, skin color, and overall aesthetics. Because endorsements by black cultural icons, like Queen Latifah or Janelle Monáe, another singer and actress, carry so much weight with millennials, CoverGirl seemed to be the brand of choice of the beauty consumers we interviewed, but only if they could not afford to replace it with pricier MAC products. They stressed that in comparison with CoverGirl, MAC focuses on product variations in color rather than in lines. At MAC, for instance, one foundation line may have as many as thirty colors, suggesting that the company understands and appreciates black women’s diversity. In contrast, CoverGirl may have three product lines, with only one targeting black women, because as Roth explains, the international standard toward a white-biased ideal flesh tone has been used as a measurement against which the skin of people of

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color has been read “negatively as an aggravation—a deviation from the invisible norm” (2009:  117). Racism and the invisibility of white privilege are so deeply ingrained in the beauty industry and market that such practices go unnoticed until consumers challenge them by opting for a more inclusive brand, which, in turn, provides them with empowering consumer agency.

Characteristics of (black) millennial female consumers Millennials are notoriously described as a confident, diverse, and achievementoriented cohort (Howe and Strauss 2000; Yahr and Schimmel 2013). As beauty consumers, millennials are open to online interactions such as reading reviews, sharing tips, and educating themselves about products (Mintel 2016). Millennials also rely on trusted media outlets, peers, and relatives to provide insight into their purchasing decisions. They are omnichannel shoppers, meaning that they frequently go back and forth between in-store browsing, mobile shopping, and online buying (Mintel 2016), all of which MAC offers. These characteristics place millennials at the forefront of brand interactions. Interacting with a brand multiple times a day and through various outlets suggests that millennials are well informed about product characteristics and identify with a brand’s image before purchasing a product. The black millennials we interviewed, however, were still differentiated from their peers by their blackness and specific needs that “non-white” coloring poses in the world of cosmetics. Despite the income level disparities among different races and ethnicities in the United States, black millennials’ purchases are generally based on quality and not on price. They are more likely to commit to a company they trust, even if product prices are high (The Nielsen Company 2016) and because they are careful spenders (Miller and Washington 2012), they make expensive purchases, such as high-quality makeup, only after careful deliberation. Millennials are an extremely commodified generation (Blakewell and Mitchell 2003) in the sense that their identities and buying habits are closely intertwined. As the black population continues to grow, the rates of literacy and entrepreneurship among black millennials have also increased (The Nielsen Company 2016). These strides have influenced not only black millennials’ social status, but their economic value as well. In previous consumer behavior studies, black women were described as “extremely discerning” customers, more so than the average American consumer (O’Barr 2006). Susan Mboya, global marketing director at Procter & Gamble, in an interview stated that black women were “more likely to walk away from a store if the offering isn’t exactly what they expect” (O’Barr

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2006). W. M. O’Barr (2006) also noted that black women demand respect from advertisers and distrust any marketing that claims to know them better than they know themselves. However, black millennials do not conceive of themselves as a unified cohort when it comes to beauty. They are split into different beauty interest groups from fashionable “naturalistas,” who wear their hair in its natural state unaltered by chemical processing, to glamorous “MACistas.” While there is a more fragmented understanding and performance of beauty among millennials, black millennials are politically unified—a typical contradiction of this generation. Many are active in the Black Lives Matter movement or had supported Barack Obama’s election as president of the United States (Cohen 2011), and, therefore, are turned off by advertisements that try to oversimplify or “use speech patterns or colloquialisms that advertisers may assume [they use]” (O’Barr 2006). They want to be recognized as multidimensional individuals and not be defined by a single criterion, namely, their race. Because of MAC’s outreach to different sexualities, generations, and various classes, black millennials believe MAC is a brand that embraces and promotes a type of multidimensional identity and image fluid appearance for which they strive.

Black millennial women’s effect on the beauty industry High personal care spending by black consumers has led to the creation of unique product offerings and helped millennials extend their beauty regimens past mainstream beauty products. This shift in millennial spending is most easily noted in the increasing efforts to include “ethnic health and beauty aids” in mainstreamfocused store aisles (The Nielsen Company 2016). As the millennials’ income increases, companies are broadening their general target markets to reflect the desires of an increasingly diverse American population, signaling the validity of a black existence—especially when it is attached to an important measurable component: money. In a capitalist society, status and identity are communicated and established through consumption (Gottdiener 2000; Schor and Holt 2000) and reinforced in practice through buying power, which implies the extent of consumer groups’ control over market exchanges. In practice, purchasing power becomes an assessment of how much corporations stand to gain from the consumption habits of a group (Moraes, Shaw, and Carrigan 2011; Rucker, DuBois, and Galinsky 2011). High buying power translates into profit for companies that can assess the needs of consumer groups and target them accordingly, which is what MAC does. Purchasing power also suggests that those who possess it can influence the

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market. However, is this really the case? Compared to white and Asian women, black women spend more on cosmetics and hair care (Bureau of Labor Statistics 2015). Considering this, by the logic of the capitalist marketplace, one would assume that black women’s buying power has a major effect on the cosmetics market and that plenty of products catering to their specific needs exist. But this appears not to be the case. Black women’s buying power has not influenced the beauty market to the extent one would expect. Rather, their needs go mostly unnoticed and unmet because of the dominant culture’s power and efforts to maintain its privileges, which include normative ideals of white beauty. That is why, for black communities, a systematic structuring of exclusion can trickle down from social, cultural, and economic benefits to even such “mundane” things as cosmetics. Because black women place a lot of importance on presentation, they are willing and conscious consumers of beauty products. However, because of growing skepticism of a whiteness-fixed cosmetics industry, black women prefer discussing beauty aids outside the mainstream media on the internet in various black beauty interest groups, called “tribes” (Davis-Bundrage 2017). They also increasingly promote their interests within black-owned beauty companies (Davis-Bundrage 2017). At the same time, it is important to note that while black millennials support ideas related to black beauty in theory, they are driven by the opinions of their peers more in practice. They use social media sites, such as Instagram, to monetize their private lives by receiving money for product endorsement (Walmsley 2017). Garnering a social media following can help millennials leverage their popularity to eventually use and promote products, similarly to their celebrity idols (Stryker 2016). Instagram allows them to craft a visual life similar to that of celebrities. While items in their pictures may be borrowed, the façade of wealth and status matters more to millennials than tangible wealth. As our informants suggested, because a presentable image is a generational must, cosmetics use for millennials ends up being a (social) life-and-death issue. In Top 7 Black-Owned Lipsticks, blogger Elitou (2017) emphasizes that black women seek “products that complement our natural skin tones and [give] us that real #blackgirlmagic!” signaling an increase in black entrepreneurship, and attention to products that satisfy the black population’s specific needs. It is a careful process to select the most appropriate makeup (see Figure  1.2). Instead of passively waiting for a makeup to come along that matches their skin tones produced by the mainstream cosmetics industry, black women now turn to businesses from their community such as Donna Marie Beauty, QueenLyfe, and Tajj Cosmetics. The latter, according to Elitou (2017), rose to prominence by aiming to “close the void” in makeup for women of color. At the same time the blogger states: While we love how MAC dazzles our lips, Bobbi Brown contours our cheekbones, and CoverGirl gave us the Queen collection by the stunning

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Figure 1.2  A black millennial woman overlooking a row of colorful lipsticks. Courtesy People Images, Getty Images.

beauty Queen Latifah—we couldn’t be prouder of the black-owned businesses that are taking the beauty industry by storm, taking our beauty into their hands, and giving us exactly what we need and everything that we want. (Elitou 2017) Placing emphasis on “exactly what we need and everything that we want” suggests that while companies such as MAC, Bobbi Brown, and CoverGirl appear to consider the needs of black women, it is evident that black women are not the main targets for their products. While each of these companies have different marketing tactics and products, they fail to get it exactly right, as the blogger claims. In light of this, the question remains: Is MAC, a favorite of black millennials, choosing black women as a target market, or are black women choosing MAC? Black millennial women are not a homogenous group; they are stratified in terms of class status. While MAC, in its rhetoric, is willing to cater for all identities, it is also an international cosmetics brand, sold exclusively in mid- to high-range department stores and freestanding stores. This means that only women who have access to a mall and have an income to buy brand-name products can entertain MAC as an option.

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The dangers of cosmetics The price of buying into the MACista lifestyle allegedly comes with compromising personal health. In the pursuit of beauty, health issues often take a backseat in the black community (Davis-Bundrage 2017). Most health problems stem from chemicals used in cosmetics, particularly in lipsticks, a product our informants heavily favored. While they loved the names of MAC lipsticks, such as Rebel, Lady Danger, and Bombshell, they were largely unaware of the potential health problems associated with the long-term use of these products. Lipstick brands, specifically those with deeper hues, have been found to be contaminated with lead (Campaign for Safe Cosmetics 2007), a substance linked to ADHD in children (Larsen 2010), reproductive problems, high blood pressure, miscarriages, and the onset of early puberty (Palliser 2010). Though it is worthwhile to pursue brands made for and by black women, specialized markets often require cost-cutting in materials used in beauty products and try to balance it out with the use of chemicals (Davis-Bundrage 2017). Particularly, with black skin, creamy makeup, such as foundation, can induce acne lesions (Taylor 1999). Another common and inexpensive cosmetic ingredient, talc, is often used in makeup for black women although it is a known carcinogen linked to ovarian cancer and lung tumors (O’Connor and Spunt 2010; Padgett 2015). Makeup made from synthetic materials contains significant levels of toxic heavy metals, including lead, arsenic, cadmium, mercury, and nickel—all of which pose threats to the environment and human health (Nnorom, Igwe, and Oji-Nnorom 2005; Campaign for Safe Cosmetics 2011). Additionally, beauty products contain mineral oils and parabens—ingredients that are also found in soaps, shampoos, and lotions. While parabens preserve the consistency of beauty products, they have also been detected in breast tumors (Palliser 2010; Padgett 2015). These little-known facts signify dire consequences for black women who pursue cosmetics. MAC, millennials’ makeup company of choice, is not different in this respect. MAC does not label its products with the ingredients they contain nor does it provide information about them on its website. Instead, MAC encourages consumers to “email an artist” with questions regarding specific products (M.A.C., Make-up Art Cosmetics, Inc. 2017). So, while millennials may believe they are informed consumers when they opt for MAC products, this appears to be a misconception. However, even if they sensed the level of toxicity, millennials are likely to overlook any facts because image appears to be more important than long-term health considerations to their generation. They are also primarily influenced by social media where beauty concerns are the most common topics of conversation (Elitou 2017). Within the black millennial community, MAC is perceived as a luxury brand because it is available exclusively for purchase at MAC counters. Foundations

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and lipsticks are aspirational products that black millennial women use to obtain a higher social position among their peers. Sociologist Gregory Stone (1962) has argued that meanings are not inherent in the objects themselves, but are created as they are acquired and worn. In today’s fantasy-fueled economy it is not so much the actual stick of lipstick that matters, although millennials certainly appreciate the wider choices that MAC offers, but what the product symbolizes. Our interviews revealed that when black women choose to purchase RiRi for MAC they are not driven by the product itself, but what it embodies, that is, Rihanna’s femininity, stardom, entrepreneurial success, and talent. They expressed to us that when they put on the Rihanna lipstick they feel it transforms them into the black star’s carefree, rebellious, and image-fluid persona. From an outsider’s perspective, however, unless one sees the tangible black MAC bag or the actual product, there is no way to differentiate MAC from other cosmetics brands when in use. Because of this, the status differential between black women using MAC and black women using another cosmetics brand is imaginary. While black women may feel empowered internally by their product choice, this power dissipates outside their social group. Brand meaning differs across various groups among black women because of contextual elements, such as personal experience, class status, educational level or brand history, among others. Therefore, one cannot assume that all women of color react to MAC in the same way. For black millennial women MAC matters because they perceive it as an instrument to help them defy the dominant narrative of what a black woman should look like in society and concurrently create an appearance of their own choosing. So, while black millennials continue to be vulnerable to mainstream perceptions of black womanhood and identity, and its attendant oppressions, they still possess a measure of consumer agency by resisting the dominant narrative. They remain intent on matching their inner and outer selves by buying cosmetics made for their varied skin tones, and use them the way they see fit.

Conclusion A black woman of any skin color is considered the “Other” in the realm of beauty in the United States. The role of her “Otherness” is to create and reinforce white beauty standards. Many companies, including MAC, have profited from displaying “blue-eyed blond, thin white women” as opposed to “dark skin, broad noses, full lips, and kinky hair” (Collins 2000: 89). Black women are working to change this begrudging narrative by challenging society’s definitions of black womanhood even in seemingly trivial arenas such as the cosmetics marketplace. While disparaging images of white women, even of thin blonds, do exist in media, black women’s images remain overwhelmingly negative, prompting

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resistance from politicized communities of color. The forms of this resistance vary among black women based on their loci of class, sexuality, or age, demonstrating that they are not a homogenous group. Despite their differences, the pervasive nature and socioeconomic effect of the White Beauty Industrial Complex requires black women to be discerning and active participants in the cosmetics marketplace. MAC, the cosmetic brand favored by black millennial women, is a typical phenomenon of cultural capitalism—the era we live in. “Cultural capitalism” is a term coined by philosopher Slavoj Žižek, who argues that capitalism has rebranded itself from a profit-oriented and exploitative system to a society that carries the banner of “higher purpose” (Žižek 1989). Under this system, what we are buying becomes less important than what we are buying into. It is, therefore, no wonder that MAC’s acknowledgement of black women and their diversity is compelling for black millennials. The drive and ability to define themselves in contrast to the dominant culture’s imagery by relying on products that at least give a nod to black beauty and that help them enhance their looks provide black women with some agency, even if its limits remain constricting and even if their choices might be potentially harmful for their health. Black millennials’ overwhelming preference for MAC among cosmetic brands, despite its luxury status, signals that black women will likely continue to prioritize businesses that at least recognize them. It is yet to be seen whether millennials’ ambivalent position toward the beauty industry is only a transitory phase. Within the millennials, naturalistas already demonstrate a higher level of consumer consciousness because they are aware of the health ramifications of cosmetics and have responded with significant lifestyle and beauty regimen changes (Davis-Bundrage 2017). To wield more power in the cosmetics marketplace they support black entrepreneurship and are demanding products that not only emphasize Black Beauty, but are also natural and healthy.

References Alexander, A. (2005), “Catering to Women of Color,” Drug Store News, September 26: 72. Alexander, M. (2012), The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness. New York: New Press. Arogundade, B. (2000), Black Beauty: A History of the Black Aesthetic, from Antiquity to Present. London: Pavilion Books. Black Lives Matter. (2016), Guiding Principles. Available online: http://blacklivesmatter. com/guiding-principles/ (accessed March 1, 2017). Blakewell, C., and V. Mitchell, (2003), “Generation Y Female Consumer Decision-Making Styles,” International Journal of Retail & Distribution Management, 31 (2): 95–106.

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Bureau of Labor Statistics. (2015), “Race of Reference Person: Shares of Annual Expenditures and Sources of Income,” Consumer Expenditure Survey. Cain, M. C. (2008), “The Art and Politics of Looking White: Beauty Practice among White Women in Antebellum America,” Winterthur Portfolio, 42 (1): 27–50. Campaign for Safe Cosmetics. (2007), “A Poison Kiss: The Problem of Lead in Lipstick,” Campaign for Safe Cosmetics. Available online: www.safecosmetics.org/lipstick (accessed March 7, 2017). Campaign for Safe Cosmetics. (2011), “Heavy Metal Hazard: The Health Risks of Hidden Heavy Metals in Face Makeup,” Campaign for Safe Cosmetics. Available online: http://environmentaldefence.ca/reports/heavy-metal-hazard-health-riskshidden-heavy-metals-in-face-makeup (accessed March 1, 2017). Cohen, C. J. (2011), “Millennials & the Myth of Post-Racial Society: Black Youth, Intragenerational Divisions & the Continuing Racial Divide in American Politics,” Daedalus, 140 (2): 197–205. Collins, P. H. (2000), Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment, 2nd ed. New York: Routledge. Conti, S., and J. Naughton, (2013), “MAC Joins Forces with Rihanna,” WWD: Women’s Wear Daily, February 20. Crenshaw, K. W. (1991), “Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence against Women of Color,” Stanford Law Review, 43 (6): 1241–1299. Crowley, M. S. (2010), “Defining Themselves: LGBQs Youth Online,” in C. C. Bertram, M. S. Crowley, and S. G. Massey (eds.), Beyond Progress and Marginalization: LGBTQ Youth in Educational Contexts, 15–50. New York: Peter Lang. Davis-Bundrage, M. R. (2017), “Merchandising Health Interventions: Black Women’s Beliefs Toward Natural and Organic Beauty Products,” PhD diss., University of Georgia, Athens. Du Bois, W. E. B. (1903), The Souls of Black Folk. Chicago: A. C. McClurg. Edgar, M. (2007), “Cover Girl Seeks Real Women for Queen Ads,” WWD: Women’s Wear Daily, February 2. Elitou, T. (2017), “xoList: Top 6 Black-Owned Lipstick Brands We Love!” xoNecole: Stilettos, Cocktails & Conversations, Available online: http://xonecole.com/xolist-top7-black-owned-lipstick-brands-we-love/ (accessed February 11, 2017). Frye, M. (1983), “Oppression,” The Politics of Reality: Essays in Feminist Theory, Berkeley: The Crossing Press. Gates, Jr., H. L. (1995), “In the Kitchen,” in M. E. Roach-Higgins, J. B. Eicher, and K. K. P. Johnson (eds.), Dress and Identity, 325–330. New York: Fairchild Publications. Gill, T. M. (2010), Beauty Shop Politics: African American Women’s Activism in the Beauty Industry. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Gilroy, P. (1993), The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gottdiener, M., ed. (2000), New Forms of Consumption: Consumers, Culture, and Commodification. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Hamilton, E., L. Mintz, and S. Kashubek-West, (2007), “Predictors of Media Effects on Body Dissatisfaction in European American Women,” Sex Roles, 56 (5–6): 397–402. Henderson, A. (2015), “Redefining the Identity of Black women: Natural Hair and the Natural Hair Movement,” MA diss., George Washington University, Washington, DC. hooks, bell, (1992), “Eating the Other: Desire and Resistance,” in Black Looks: Race and Representation, 21–39. Boston: South End Press.

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Howe, N., and W. Strauss, (2000), Millennials Rising: The Next Great Generation. New York: Vintage. Lantigua-Williams, J. (2016), Police Brutality Leads to Thousands Fewer Calls to 911, September 28, Available online: https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/ archive/2016/09/police-violence-lowers-911-calls-in-black-neighborhoods/501908/ (accessed March 2, 2017). Larsen, L. (2010), Environmental Health Sourcebook. Detroit: Omnigraphics. M.A.C., Make-up Art Cosmetics, Inc. (2017), “Product Information,” https://www. maccosmetics.com/macpro/cms/functional/customerservice_product.tmpl (accessed March 1, 2017). Maerz, M. (2015), “Staring My Own Hypocrisy in the Face,” Entertainment Weekly, March 6: 21. McKittrick, K. (2006), Demonic Grounds: Black Women and the Cartographies of Struggle. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Miller, R. K., and K. Washington (2012), “Chapter 49: Millennial Consumers,” Market Research Report, Consumer Behavior, 250. Mintel. (2013), “Color Cosmetics—US—July 2013,” Market Research, Mintel Group Ltd. Mintel. (2016), “The Beauty Consumer—US—March 2016,” Market Research, Mintel Group Ltd. Mintel. (2017), “The Millennial Beauty Consumer—US—February 2017,” Market Research, Mintel Group Ltd. Moraes, C., D. Shaw, and M. Carrigan, (2011), “Purchase Power: An Examination of Consumption as Voting,” Journal of Marketing Management, 27 (9–10): 1059–1079. Nnorom, I. C., J. C. Igwe, and C. G. Oji-Nnorom (2005), “Trace Metal Contents of Facial (make-up) Cosmetics Commonly Used in Nigeria,” African Journal of Biotechnology, 1133–1138. O’Barr, W. M. (2006), “Multiculturalism in the Marketplace: Targeting Latinas, AfricanAmerican Women, and Gay Consumers,” Advertising & Society Review, 7 (4). O’Connor, S., and A. Spunt (2010), No More Dirty Looks: The Truth about Your Beauty Products—and the Ultimate Guide to Safe and Clean Cosmetics. Cambridge: Da Capo Press. Padgett, P. (2015), The Green Beauty Rules: The Essential Guide to Toxic-Free Beauty. Deerfield Beach, FL: Health Communications, Inc. Palliser, J. (2010), “Green Science: Green Beauty,” Science Scope, 34 (4): 8–11. Research and Markets. (2015), “Global Cosmetics Market—by Product type, Ingredient, Geography, and Vendors—Market Size, Demand Forecasts, Industry Trends and Updates, Supplier Market Shares 2014–2020,” Market Research, Research and Markets. Roth, L. (2009), “Looking at Shirley, the Ultimate Norm: Colour Balance, Image Technologies, and Cognitive Equity,” Canadian Journal of Communication, 34: 111–136. Rucker, D. D., D. DuBois, and A. D. Galinsky, (2011), “Generous Paupers and Stingy Princes: Power Drives Consumer Spending on Self versus Others,” Journal of Consumer Research, 37 (6): 1015–1029. Schor, J., and D. B. Holt, (2000), The Consumer Society Reader. New York: New Press. Smith, S. D. (2009), “Essence Panel Explores Beauty Purchasing,” Women’s Wear Daily. May 19. Available online: http://wwd.com/beauty-industry-news/color-cosmetics/ essence-panel-explores-beauty-purchasing-2139829/ (accessed April 6, 2017).

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Stone, G. P. (1962), “Appearance and the Self,” in A. M. Rose (ed.), Human Behavior and Social Processes: An Interactionist Approach, 86–118. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Stryker, S. (2016), “I Tried the Tea the Kardashians post on Instagram, and this is what Happened,” BuzzFeed. May 31. Available online: https://www.buzzfeed.com/ samstryker/i-tried-kardashians-fit-tea?utm_term=.ofM8rbwnz#.tjqngYm6X (accessed April 7, 2017). Taylor, S. C. (1999), “Cosmetic Problems in Skin of Color,” Skin Pharmacology and Applied Skin Physiology, 12 (3): 139–143. The Nielsen Company. (2016), “Young, Connected and Black: African-American Millennials Are Driving Social Change and Leading Digital Advancement,” Nielsen Report. Walmsley, H. 2017. “Instagram Fame: Millennials Aspiring to Monetise Their Life on Social Media,” ABC News (Australian Broadcasting Corporation). March 10. Available online: http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-03-11/instagram-fame-whyteenswant-it/8340300 (accessed April 7, 2017). White, G. J., and S. White, (1998), Stylin: African American Expressive Culture from Its Beginnings to the Zoot Suit. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Wolf, N. (1990), The Beauty Myth. London: Chatto & Windus. Yahr, M. A., and K. Schimmel, (2013), “Comparing Current Students to a Pre-Millennial Generation: Are They Really Different?” Research in Higher Education Journal, 20: 1–8. Žižek, S. (1989), The Sublime Object of Ideology. London: Verso Books.

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2 KANGOL KOOL: STYLIZED HATS AND THE PERFORMANCE OF BLACK DANDYISM Derrick L. Williams

Introduction My students always ask, “How many of those hats do you own Doc and where do you get them?” I respond that they come from many people and from many places. My response is met by a response and question:  “You must own a hundred of those hats . . . Why do you wear them every day?” I  smile at my students and tell them the hats are part of my “style-narrative” and they often say, “so it’s part of your swag” and I  say, “partly, but it’s much deeper.” The flood of questions usually creates a conversation on the cultural importance of a headwear brand I’ve come to appreciate over the years. In 1995 when I  left Birmingham, Alabama, to attend college in Iowa my older brother Eddie D. Williams Jr. gave me a stylized dress hat known as a Kangol to symbolize my transition into adulthood. It also commemorated a special moment in our lives, 10 years prior, when we were introduced to an emerging New York subculture that would come to be known as hip-hop. It was in 1985 that our parents bought Eddie Jr. and I our first hip-hop 12-inch records by two upcoming groups Doug E. Fresh and the Get Fresh Crew and MC Ricky D and Boogie Boys. That summer we, along with our cousin Brian Hill, attended our first hip-hop concert at the fairgrounds in Birmingham featuring both acts. Riding the popular momentum of national hits “La Di Da Di,” a B-side song performed by Doug E. Fresh, and MC Ricky D’s and Boogie Boys’ “A Fly Girl” each group became the buzz of the summer. Mentioned in both songs was the name of a British hat, the Kangol. Untouchable Force Organization

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(UTFO) featured the Kangol brand name on a 1984 single, but the British hat was certified as official hip-hop headgear when the young MC Ricky D uttered the rhyme: “Stepped out my house stop short ‘oh no’ went back in I forgot my Kangol.” This now classic hip-hop phrase coupled with the British born Slick Rick pulling off his Kangol set the crowd into a frenzy. Serrano gives great credit to Slick Rick referring to him as “rap’s first great storyteller, and also its most influential” emphasizing that during his performances “his words just strolled out of his mouth in silk pajamas. It was mesmerizing” (2015: 3). The black Kangol hat that MC Ricky D styled on stage that evening along with his signature black slacks and Wallabee shoes formed an image in my mind that I will never forget. I never realized that Ricky D, who would later become the infamous Slick Rick, would influence what I would come to understand and adopt as modern black dandyism. His ability to narrate style in headwear set him apart in hip-hop. As a curious youth, the privilege of witnessing Slick Rick’s spectacular lyricism coupled with his out-of-the-box dressing style left a lasting impression on my brother and me. Over the years I  have developed a distinct fondness for the Kangol brand. As I have gradually amassed a collection of assorted colors and styles of this distinctive hat, it has caused me to reflect upon the cultural significance of the headpiece. I’ve given the Kangol to my former students as graduation gifts to signify their transition into the professional world. What initially started out as a fascination with hip-hop culture and fashion has come to represent my eccentric dress style and signature look. Like the first Kangol given to me by my brother Eddie, each hat tells a style narrative about my life. I’m asked several times a day why I wear the hats, which allows me to share my story with students, mentees, colleagues, and complete strangers. By sharing my individual style narrative of Kangol hats I’m able to tap into the rich collective narrative of black men who have used headdress to challenge stereotypical notions of black masculinity. This is that story. The Kangol hat worn on the most visible place on the body, the head, is a powerful symbol of self-articulation. With this undertaking, I join an active scholarly conversation on the reemergence of black dandyism, and the styling of black diasporic fashion. Despite the increasing attention paid to black dandyism, most studies have focused on the stylized body of the wearer including suits, shoes, shirts, dresses, pants, and coats. In terms of identifying key gaps in the scholarship, fashion accessories designed to provide a decorative tone and create a unique style for the wearer have not received as much attention. Such artifacts include jewelry, ties, suspenders, canes, handbags, eyewear, gloves, scarves, socks, and stockings. Noted as a fashion accessory, hats have a long history of communicating cultural ideas beyond serving as decorative items to embellish primary clothing. Throughout the centuries headwear has functioned as a garment for protection, as a visual method of communicating status and/or group affiliation, and as a

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mode of arrogating style. A hat is more than a fashion artifact according to hat historian Beverly Chico who offers a profound look at the role of global headdress in Hats and Headwear Around the World (2013). As a serious collector, with over 600 hats, Chico interprets headwear as “expressers of personality” marking social custom, identity, lifestyle, and cultural aesthetic. Additionally, Chico’s analysis of the symbolic usage of hats within cultural settings sheds light on specific roles, functionality, and significance of the individual hat wearer. Communication theorist Walter R. Fisher referred to humans as “storytelling animals” who narrate lived experiences through sharing these narratives with others to make sense of the world (1989: 21). I firmly believe that hats can tell part of a story about human circumstances across various cultures, histories, and identities over time and space. If hats tell stories, what is the narrative of black men’s relationship with them? The undocumented history of the hat and its connection to black style begs for more in-depth studies. Headwear dating back to Africa has played a key role in shaping black diasporic identities. Photographer Michael Cunningham’s and journalist Craig Marberry’s (2000) book Crowns:  Portraits of Black Women in Church Hats, adopted as an offBroadway play, showcased over fifty black women who shared narratives with the authors about the cultural significance of church hats. Cunningham’s and Marberry’s work, which provided valuable missing scholarship on black women and the stylized head, is an example of the need for such studies. As intellectual curiosity about black men’s fashion has grown, there has been very little focus on black men as hat wearers. For this particular chapter, I place central attention on the usage of stylized hats across the African diaspora in terms of analyzing the construction of black masculinity in fashion.

Black dandyism and the performance of stylized masculinity In 2015, a traveling exhibition entitled the “Dandy Lion:  (Re)Articulating Black Masculine Identity” created a global interest in black men’s dress style sparking a conversation among curators, style enthusiasts, fashion bloggers, academic scholars, and social media influencers. Independent curator Shantrelle P. Lewis, the project’s architect, set out to generate images to counter stereotypical notions of black masculinity. Lewis spent 5  years collecting photos, personal narratives, and videos documenting the dress narratives of men she labels as black dandies for the widely traveled exhibition. The project received global attention from England to Africa, celebrating the contemporary black dandy as part of the sartorial style of black identity formation which Monica Miller (2009) traces back to the eighteenth century.

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Miller’s extensive scholarly work on black dandyism is helpful in tracing the sartorial strategy as a method for black men to garner their own sense of identity through fashion agency. Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity (2009) provides a comprehensive chronicle of black dandyism and the stylized body as a site of self-expression. Miller offers a deep articulation of the relationship between the culture of conspicuous consumption and the Atlantic slave trade which collectively gave rise to a specialized category of black male “luxury slaves” working as personal assistants to upper-class English dandies. These black male servants became known for their own personal style and flamboyant bending of the fashion rules. Black dandyism, while originally involuntary and enacted on black men to flaunt the wealth of their white male owners was, according to Miller, eventually used by black men to carve out a distinct style and identity, a space of subjectivity: How has the representation of black people been transformed from images of dandified “luxury” slavery to that of self-fashioning black dandies whose likenesses are now ubiquitous on the stage and on the streets . . . The history of black dandyism in the Atlantic diaspora is the story of how and why black people became arbiters of style and how they use clothing and dress to define their identity in different and changing political and cultural contexts. (2009: 45–46) While Miller uncovers the story of black men’s long history with “stylin’ out,” Carol Tulloch (2016) situates the stylized male body as a site of storytelling agency. Tulloch’s work in The Birth of Cool:  Style Narratives of the African Diaspora (2016) offers a foundational framework for this chapter documenting my journey with stylized hats and its link to the collective narrative of black masculinity. For Tulloch, style narratives signify that “the personal is political” and offer an opportunity to create a self-defined identity. Carol Tulloch uses the story of her father Alfred Valentine Tulloch, who migrated to Britain from Jamaica, as way to explore the use of impeccable dress to create a class-based style narrative. Rachel Gebreyes (2015) argues that black men have purposefully used style to reclaim their own narratives and create self-fashioned alternatives to the stereotypical stories and images of themselves they see propagated in popular culture. In a Huffington Post article titled “Dapper Black Men Are Reclaiming Their Narratives with Style” Gebreyes interviews Michaela Angela Davis, a former professional stylist for Prince. In the interview, Davis charts out the emergence of a new black dandyism incorporating a sense of style working outside of the dominant narrative of black men dressed in oversized baggy jeans and hoodies. Stylized headwear becomes a site of interrogation within this wider counter narrative of dandified black male style.

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We wear the mas(k)ulinity of lyrical hats Music eventually weaves into the story of the Kangol hat to etch out a place in fashion and popular culture history. Dating from the first Negro spirituals and leading up to the emergence of hip-hop, black male musicians’ attachment to stylish hats has a long history that references folklore, daily struggles with masculinity, and famous brand names. Most notable is the infamous Stagolee folk story that Cecil Brown (2003) dates back to the late 1800s. As Brown notes, the most common transmission of the Stagolee narrative has been music communicated through a wide range of music traditions including ballad, blues, jazz, folk song, and rap (Brown 2003:  6). Despite this wide range of delivery, varied renditions of Stagolee have a common thematic script which was derived on the streets of St. Louis, Missouri. All of them tell the story of Lee Shelton known as “Stag” or “Stack” Lee, a member of the underground world of pimping, gambling, and illicit activities who gets into an altercation with and eventually shoots a character named Billy Lyons. At the center of the conflict between Shelton and Lyons was a notorious Stetson hat. John B. Stetson’s hat company created a hat with a round brim with a creased crown which would launch the popularity of Stetson cowboy hats in the 1860s. The Stetson brand would eventually become a staple fashion accessory for American men at the turn of the 1900s, ultimately evolving into a signature mark of masculinity in the United States. What makes the folklore of Stagolee so powerful is the symbolic metaphor of the Stetson as the benchmark of masculine identity (Brown 2003). As the legend goes, Lyons’s hat was small in size in comparison to Shelton’s wide brimmed hat, which according to Brown’s interpretation, spoke to a stronger more virile version of masculinity. In various versions of the song Lyons either knocks off or takes off Shelton’s hat triggering a strong response given the symbolic meaning of the oversized Stetson. The fascination with the Stagolee narrative in the blues tradition has been widely chronicled, however jazz carried on the folklore with multiple recordings of the St. Louis murder over a Stetson hat. Influenced by the rich storytelling nature of Stagolee, jazz musicians ushered in a more eclectic headwear including international influences from Africa to Europe. Alphonso D. McClendon highlights this style development in Fashion and Jazz:  Dress, Identity and Subcultural Improvisation: Headwear was the second most important aspect of a man’s wardrobe during this time. Evolving from the rigid structure of the top hat, these styles were shorter in height, fabricated of softer materials and sanctioned a crease along the crown. The bowler, homburg, panama and pork pie, each with

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international origin, epitomized the hats that would dominate this era. In the mid-century, Lester Young’s distinctive adornment of the pork pie hat aroused popularity of the headwear among a younger generation. (2015: 726) Worn by blues, jazz, and ska musicians, Young along with other influential jazz men such as Thelonious Monk introduced the porkpie hat, named after the traditional British cold meat pie, to a younger generation. Young’s styled identity was so strongly linked with the fashionable hat that upon his death Charles Mingus paid homage to the saxophonist with the 1959 song “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat,” which was also recorded by Laurel Aitkens, often referred to as the “Godfather of Jamaican Ska.” While the porkpie hat symbolized these popular genres of music, a new sound developing in New York would look to the Kangol for identity formation.

38:83 born in Britain, raised in New York Look inside of a Kangol hat and you will find the company’s signature trademark showcasing the British flag, two crossed lines or the infamous Kangaroo with the inscription “Founded in 38:83” symbolizing two births, one which occurred in a factory in Cleator, England, at the dawn of the Second World War and the other on the streets of New York City some 40 years later. Kangol began its journey at the turn of the twentieth century following the popularity of a round flattish cap known as a beret. In order to understand the evolution of Kangol as a global headwear style, it is important to acknowledge the people of the Basques, a region on the Spanish and French borders of the Pyrenees Mountains, and their role in positioning the beret to become the select wear for military generals during the First World War. In 1918, Jacques Spreiregen returned home to England from the First World War with an idea of creating a British headwear business and began importing Basque berets from France. Spreiregen’s fondness for berets and the hats’ popularity with officers grew more widespread by the Second World War. This led to the opening of a factory in Cleator, England, in 1938 to produce the hats in his own country. It’s been reported on many occasions that the name Kangol is a combination of the letters and acronyms “K” from silk, the “ANG” from angora, and “OL” from wool. By the Second World War, Spreiregen and his company became the major supplier of military berets covering the heads of military generals like Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery who participated in both the First and Second World Wars. The company would look to reinvent its brand during the postwar era, when the British Olympic team of 1948 sported Kangols during the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games. 1954 would mark a key transition for the brand with the introduction of the Kangol 504, a stiffer redesign of the classic beret taking its

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name from the original block shape on which it was crafted. According to the company’s website the seamless, knitted, and block construction is purely a Kangol innovation, although similar techniques are used to create the classic flat cap and newsboy hat. 1983 witnessed another birth of the Kangol when Princess Diana appeared on the front cover of Vogue magazine styling the hat. Soon after, on the streets of New  York, a newly formed subculture began to emerge. The 1983 documentary film Wild Style America revealed the first glimpse into the culture of New York hip-hop. Exploring the music, dance, visual art, and dress style of the “b-boy,” the film highlights a young emerging deejay known as Grandmaster Flash capturing his turntable techniques and sporting his signature Kangol (now part of the National Museum of American History). The year 1983 would be a pivotal one for the brand which experienced a large increase in sales, as American customers seeking trendy headwear started requesting the “kangaroo hat” from retail stores. This led to Kangol’s executive team making the decision to incorporate the popular kangaroo into the company’s logo, where it remains as the brand’s most identifiable mark, tracing nearly 80 years of distinction in the headwear market.

Wilde stylin’ in ’85: Hip-hop’s first black dandy Revolution, music, and style would intersect when a young British counterculture musical group called The Beatles made an appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1964. During the same year, Kangol Wear acquired exclusive rights to design caps and berets, with the assistance of designer Eileen Grieg, for the popular band. The Beatles’ association with the hat company generated global attention for the brand, but it would be Run-DMC, a New York City based music trio that would lead the way in branding the hat as essential cool headwear. The role of older men and particular older brothers in mentoring their younger brothers to the proper modes of using style as empowerment was part of the style narrative of Run-DMC’s Jam Master Jay, who adopted the headwear in his youth. According to Adler’s account, Jam Master Jay began wearing the Kangol as early in his life as middle school to emulate his older brother Marvin Thompson, who he greatly admired. As he entered on the performance stage as a young man Jam Master Jay turned headwear into an integral part of Run-DMC’s style-persona. As the most fashionable and style-forward of his band, he wore a wool “Godfather” style Stetson in the winter and lighter Kangols in the summer (Adler 2014). The winter Stetsons and fedoras were inspired by the hats he saw worn by urban gangsters in 1970s films like The Godfather and J. D.’s Revenge. Like so many urban youth, Jam Master Jay grew up in the shadows of urban gangsters such

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as Harlem’s Nick Barnes whose spectacular style of dress provided a branded masculinity that could be imitated. Hollywood movies may have also influenced a young Jam Master Jay, but his reverence for his older brother Marvin Thompson had the most unyielding impact on his life, symbolized by the wearing of the Kangol throughout his hip-hop music career. Run-DMC pioneering influence on hip-hop is substantial and Jam Master Jay’s keen sense of b-boy fashion kept the group at the forefront of style trendsetting (Adler 2002). In addition to the hat styles influenced by his older brother and by urban gangster looks, Jam Master Jay is credited for developing the group’s distinct style brand by taking inspiration directly from the streets. Jam Master Jay’s shell toe Adidas without shoelaces became the group’s trademark and the shoe brand of choice connecting hip-hop dress style to mainstream fashion. Adidas quickly noticed the power of Run-DMC branding, when executive Angelo Anastasio witnessed thousands of fans hold up their shell toe Adidas at a concert performance in New York at Madison Square Garden in response to request from the band. This led to a $1.6 million endorsement deal in 1986 and a song by the trio called “My Adidas.” Along with the 504 cap, Kangol’s Bermuda Casual, known as the bucket hat became a signature for b-boys. The Bermuda Casual was originally designed for fishermen and golfers with a downturned brim designed to block the sun and keep rain from the eyes. It was adopted as a signature hat and popularized by hip-hop artists Kurtis Blow, Run-DMC and Eric B. & Rakim. A young, brash teenager by the name of James Todd Smith, better known as L. L. Cool J gave mainstream prominence to the Bermuda Casual style by donning the hat on the back of the album cover of his 1985 album Radio and in the 1985 movie Krush Groove. Slick Rick was born in southwest London to Jamaican parents, who later migrated to New  York City. He grew up in the Bronx with the birth given name Ricky Walters and in high school connected with Brooklyn born Dana McLeese to form a hip-hop music group. The two young hip-hop artists named themselves “The Kangol Crew” after the fashionable British brand. Slick Rick and Dana would go their separate ways but both continued to don the 504 style Kangols as solo artists. In 1985, after joining Doug E. Fresh and the “Get Fresh Crew” Slick Rick made a name for himself with a unique lyrical narrative meshed with a British accent making him stand out among American hiphop emcees. While Slick Rick is customarily recognized as one of hip-hop greatest storytellers mixing controversial subject matter with moral lessons, his sense of fashion is correspondingly important in creating the first black dandy in hip-hop. Slick Rick’s Kangol hats were as distinct as his British inflection and soon became a moniker for the young artist. Around the same time a HaitianAmerican emcee by the name of Shaun Shiller Fequiere known as the Kangol Kid of the group UTFO also helped popularize the British hat. However Slick Rick’s

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fashioning of the Kangol stood out from the rest of the hip-hop artists. Like The Beatles, Slick Rick was actually from the country that created the Kangol, and his donning of the brand became synonymous with his stage identity. Arguably no other hip-hop artist, with the exception of Grandmaster Flash and Kangol Kid, did more to popularize the Kangol through music than Slick Rick. The Kangol hat was one of many fashion accessories adorned by Slick Rick, who was known for his superfluous taste in jewelry, gold and diamond teeth, silk suits, nose rings, eye patch, and the British brand Clarks’ Wallabee shoes (see Figure 2.1). Slick Rick professes in his well-known hip-hop song “La Di Da Di” that he was “fresh dressed like a million bucks” after garnishing his Kangol 504, Polo cologne, and Bally shoes. Popular culture commentator Shea Serrano points out that another thing the lyrics to this signature hip-hop performance did “was pioneer high-toned brand narcissism.” Style items endorsed by Slick Rick through his lyrics included:  Polo cologne, Oil of Olay, Kangol hats, Gucci underwear, Bally shoes, Johnson’s Baby Powder, a bubble bath, and doing a good job filing your nails (Serrano 2015). Slick Rick’s style-narrative became a large part of his lyrical content like the hit song “Mona Lisa” using his name “Ricky” as acronyms: R—Ravishing I   —Impress C—Courageous; so careless K— For the Kangols which I’ve got that I wear every day and Y —   Why  not? Through this form of black dandyism he creates a pretentious persona with self-imposed nicknames of Rick “The Ruler” of English nobility. The 1988 song “The Ruler’s Back” showcases Slick Rick heavy “British King” language while simultaneously giving style tips: Now one day, when I was chillin’ at this outside jam I seen folks havin’ a ball and plus clappin’ their hands To beats of records that conquer the streets Like Pee Wee Herman and Clubhouse Treats Girls was chillin’, boys rule as usual The slacks, the golds, the rings, I hope I’m not confusin’ y’all But everyone in the house looks smashin’ Fresh clothes on their butts and nothing out of fashion Slick Rick’s fashion risks ushered in a style of hip-hop transnational dandyism similar to Irish writer Oscar Wilde, who traveled to America in 1882 doing a lecture tour. As David Friedman suggests, the tour was for self-promotion in what

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Figure 2.1  Slick Rick sports the 504 Furgora Kangol performing with Doug E. Fresh. Courtesy of Raymond Boyd.

he describes as the invention of the modern day popular culture celebrity. Known for his meticulous dress style, Wilde exhibited fascinating and stirring clothing, often appearing in sumptuous velvet jackets and wool overcoats trimmed in fur. Slick Rick takes a cue from Wilde in 1988 on his first MTV music video “Teenage Love” dressing in a gray silk suit with a black Kangol and a fur coat draped over his shoulders. Conflicting stories trace the origin of the fur coat back to either Slick Rick’s or his music producer Rick Rubin’s grandmother.

Red’s style: The Birmingham sport I was first captivated by Slick Rick’s mature dress style, in part as it reminded me of an uncle whose style narrative reflected black dandyism. My uncle, Mr. Cleotis

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Williams, was a man of many “hats” with a dashing fashion sensibility. Known to friends as “Redman,” I was privileged to have such a serious hat enthusiast in my life. I knew him as Uncle Red. He was a black dandy with a high sense of style, who taught my brother Eddie and me the manner in which a black man should express himself through dress style. Uncle Red’s dapper look was always topped off with stylish headwear. With his electric smile, tinted glasses, and a silk shirt, I knew him as a man of style. For more than 30 years of his life he wore with great pride the baseball cap of the United Parcel Service, where he worked as a driver. Uncle Red made a clear distinction between his work cap and the many hats he styled when going to church or for a night out on the town, which ranged from porkpies to fedoras. He followed in the footsteps of his coalminer father Nathan Williams, who modeled to his son the wearing a formal Stetson hat along with Stacey Adams shoes to go to church where he served as a proud deacon. For many blue-collar black men, hats symbolized a break from their work life, a historical example being the well-known black Pullman porter workers who wore uniforms that consisted of “occupational headgear” while working, but were well known for sporting an array of formal dress hats outside of the confines of their work roles. Like the Pullman porters, the more stylized hats Uncle Red wore outside of his work role served as a symbol of his identity as a self-determining black man in the south. These hats became symbolic of his identity of a black man growing up in Birmingham during the civil rights era. For example, I can still remember Uncle Red sporting the sophisticated baseball caps that legendary lead singer Frankie Beverly of the soul group Maze would make fashionable. Uncle Red also influenced our love for boxing and the fashion-culture behind it. His deep admiration for boxers like Marvin Hagler’s and Jack Johnson’s style both inside and outside of the ring taught us much about black dandyism and the importance of style-expression for black men. For my brother and me, the story of Jack Johnson’s style and legend, as told numerous times by Uncle Red, resembled the Stagolee narrative signifying Johnson’s independence. Johnson, who was dressed impeccably usually with hats from Bowlers to berets, became the first African American pop culture iconic figure as captured in Ken Burns’s 2004 documentary Unforgiveable Blackness: The Rise and Fall of Jack Johnson. The phrase “unforgiveable blackness” was coined by W. E. B. DuBois to describe Johnson’s persona and swagger. Another element of Johnson’s opposition to white approval rested in fashion, according to Stanley Crouch who speaks of Johnson’s dapper appearances in the documentary along with contributing to Geoffrey C. Ward’s book that shares the same title. Ward dedicates a chapter to Johnson’s majestic stylistic persona in what he deems as the “sport,” a characterization of an individual who exhibited a freewilled flashy lifestyle. Furthermore, Ward explains: “The word ‘sport’ had many

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meanings in Jack Johnson’s time. As a verb, it meant to enjoy oneself, to wager, and to display or flaunt. As a noun, it described someone’s ‘game for excitement’ . . . All of it fit Johnson to a tee” (2004: 57–58). Johnson paid close attention to his personal appearance outside of the boxing ring, donning expensive suits, stylish coats, gold caps on several teeth, and driving fine cars. Johnson’s elegant dress style attracted the disapproval of many whites, who saw him as flaunting his success and wealth to challenge the social order and perception of black men. Johnson received criticism from both blacks and whites about his sense of unapologetic swagger. The fighter’s refusal to remain modest and stay within the boundaries of acceptable blackness was seen as a major threat, given his highprofile public persona. At the same time some black men perceived Johnson’s style persona as a tool of resistance against racism and the degradation of black male bodies. For Johnson fashion served as a primary vehicle to communicate to the world his unapologetic refusal to remain within the limited social scripts for black men. Theresa Runstedtler (2013) offers a global reading of Johnson’s impact as a public figure who challenged racial boundaries, arguing that his exploit of dandyism became a form of subversive objection to standard ways of viewing black men. Runstedtler adds, “Johnson chose to embrace his public image as a black dandy . . . For Johnson, his studied dandyism was not just a matter of style. It was also a form of political rebellion” (2013:  149). While Johnson employed black dandyism as a form of rebellion against American values of thrift and modesty during the time period he lived in, black dandyism for black men had long served as an act of protest dating back to the impeccable dress styles of W. E. B. DuBois, Ralph Ellison, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Duke Ellington. Johnson’s public image and usage of black dandyism in the twentieth century is still relevant in the twenty-first century as black men continue to set fashion standards globally. For me as a young man, being exposed to black dandyism by my Uncle Red helped me envision style as a narrative to empowerment.

Conclusion  Common threads: Big Brother hats Slick Rick’s styling of the Kangol hat reintroduced my brother Eddie and me to a hat we were familiar with from growing up in a neighborhood in Graysville, Alabama. Kangol has a long history within the black community and is a cultural artifact. Black men had been affiliated with the brand long before hip-hop made the stylistic linkage to the brand. This is evidenced by Kangol’s marketing strategy of placing ads in Jet and Ebony magazine as far back as the early 1970s. Mostly

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worn by older men in the black community, the 504 Kangol as fashioned by Slick Rick was commonplace. My style narrative was also strongly impacted by an ongoing “good-spirited” emcee battle between Kool Moe Dee and LL Cool J that occurred in the late 1980s (see Figures  2.2a and 2.2b). The battle began when Kool Moe Dee challenged LL Cool J in a 1987 release where he claimed he was “bigger and better,” resulting in a hip-hop duel between the older and more established Kool Moe Dee and LL Cool J, the new kid on the block. Moe Dee, who had a college degree, took offense to LL Cool J’s youthful braggadocios and self-aggrandizing lyrics with songs like “Knowledge is King” and “Funke, Funke Wisdom.” What became the battle of words quickly turned into the battle of hats. LL Cool J’s 1987 album cover featured the budding hip-hop star in a red Bermuda Casual. LL’s hat is mentioned over a police all-points bulletin on the opening track “I’m Bad” (Bigger and Deffer): “Calling all cars, calling all cars. Be on the lookout for a tall light skinned brother . . . wearing a black Kangol . . . Alias LL Cool J. He’s bad.” Later in the song, LL makes another reference to his hat, this time as battle gear: “Emcees can’t win I make ‘em rust like tin. They call me ‘Jaws,’ my hat is like a shark’s fin.” In the same year Kool Moe Dee released an album with the more established hip-hop legend donning a white tracksuit with a matching 504 styled cap standing in front of a jeep with one of the tires driving over a red Bermuda Casual. Kool Moe Dee never publicly endorsed the Kangol but often sported a 504 in opposition to LL Cool J who made the Bermuda Casual Kangol a part of his official brand, so the smashed hat on the album cover struck a nerve. As LL Cool J’s popularity rose, the Bermuda Casual Kangol was the “in” hat for most of us younger men living in the neighborhood until a conversation with an older man at a park changed our outlook and inspired us to adopt the 504. Most of the older men in our neighborhood admired Kool Moe Dee and how he styled the 504. One of the older men we talked to in the community interpreted the symbolism of Moe Dee’s album cover, not as a sign of disrespect for the Bermuda Casual Kangol but more of an homage to the wisdom associated with the 504. During our discussion in that park years ago, the older man pointed to Kool Moe Dee’s college degree, as well as street knowledge. Most of us walked away from that conversation with a deeper understanding of hip-hop and admiration for both LL and Moe Dee. This conversation in the park would serve as a marking point for my brother and me, as our love for the 504 increased, and we began to see the hat as a symbol of wisdom that connected us to knowledgeable and revered black men. On the day that I  left for college in Iowa my brother Eddie gave me his beloved brown and black patterned 504 Kangol. The hat holds a complex woven narrative that includes threads of brotherhood, style, growth, and independence. Since then I have collected countless variations of the Kangol hat and each one offers a glimpse into my life as a black man. Almost daily

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Figure 2.2a and 2.2b  “Battle of the Kangols” took center stage in LL Cool J and Kool Moe Dee’s 1980s rap duel. Courtesy of Raymond Boyd.

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my hats provoke conversations that allow me to tell my narrative, my brother’s narrative, Uncle Red’s narrative, and the collective narrative of black men. Inspired by my brother’s act, I too have continued to keep the tradition going by giving students I mentor a Kangol hat upon graduating. It commemorates our relationship and connects them to the cultural tradition and integral role of headwear in the context of black men’s stylized identities. As famed Kangol designer Nic Harris suggests, Kangol is always evolving with the times. From the current partnership with actor Samuel L. Jackson, who has his own line of Kangol hats, to the countless black men I meet who continue to wear the British hats, the hat functions as a long-standing cultural signifier of sophistication and personal growth. I  have sought to understand black dandyism through the writing of this both historical and subjective account of the Kangol hat. The process has brought forth aspects of black male identity formation that I feel are worthy of appreciation and preservation. Hopefully by sharing my personal narrative with hats I am able to progress in life and demonstrate that progress with style.

References Adler, B. (2002), Tougher Than Leather: The Rise of Run-DMC. Los Angeles, CA: Consafo Press. Adler, B. (2014), “You Got Be Original Man: Black Men and Their Hats.” Available online: https://genius.com/Bill-adler-you-got-to-be-original-man-black-men-andtheir-hats-a-quick-romp-through-120-years-of-history-annotated (accessed August 8, 2017). Brown, C. (2003), Stagolee Shot Billy. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Chico, B. (2013), Hats and Headwear around the World: A Cultural Encyclopedia. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO. CNN Films, (2015) Fresh Dressed trailer—CNN Video. Available online: http://www.cnn. com/videos/tv/2015/08/17/fresh-dressed-creative-marketing-trailer.cnn (accessed August 7, 2017). Cunningham, M., M. Craig, and M. Angelou, (2000), Crowns: Portraits of Black Women in Church Hats. New York: Doubleday. Fisher, W. R. (1989), Human Communication as Narration: Toward a Philosophy of Reason, Value, and Action. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press. Gebreyes, R. (2015), “Dapper Black Men Are Reclaiming Their Narratives with Style.” Available online: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/02/13/black-menstyle_n_6673806.html (accessed August 7, 2017). Kangol. (n.d.), “Hats. Born British. Raised on the Streets of New York.” Available online: http://www.kangol.com/ (accessed August 7, 2017). McClendon, A. (2015), Fashion and Jazz: Dress, Identity and Subcultural Improvisation. London: Bloomsbury. Miller, M. L. (2009), Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

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Runstedtler, T. (2013), Jack Johnson, Rebel Sojourner: Boxing in the Shadow of the Global Color Line. Oakland, CA: University of California. Serrano, S., and A. Torres, (2015), The Rap Year Book: The Most Important Rap Song from Every Year Since 1979, Discussed, Debated, and Deconstructed. New York: Abrams Image. Tulloch, C. (2016), The Birth of Cool: Style Narratives of the African Diaspora. London: Bloomsbury Academic, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc. Ward, G. C. (2004), Unforgivable Blackness: The Rise and Fall of Jack Johnson. New York: Knopf.

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3 CHALLENGING THE GENDER BINARY IN BOND FILMS: BOND GIRLS, FEMALE VILLAINS, AND JAMES Laureen Gibson

Introduction The clothes women wear and their depictions in film reflect contemporary definitions of femininity. This is apparent in the costumes of the women in the James Bond films. Traditionally, women were assigned to two roles: Bond girl or female villain. Analysis of women’s costumes in the film series highlights how these contrasting roles were visually established, and later challenged, over the course of the 50-plus-year-old franchise. While all the films were examined as background to this work, this chapter focuses on the early Bond films starring Sean Connery and the first three of the more recent films featuring Daniel Craig. Comparing the female costars’ costumes and roles as well as the costuming of Daniel Craig’s James Bond highlights a shift toward a redefinition of gender and new dynamics between sexuality and power in the twenty-first century.

Visual communication of femininity: Insights gained from dress and film Women’s dress, which includes “any supplements to, and modification of, the body” (Roach-Higgins and Eicher 1992:  1) and their depictions in film offer insights into the ideals that shape women’s experiences. Dress researchers note

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how dress conveys, maintains, and at times challenges cultural ideals (Kidwell and Steele, 1989; Barnes and Eicher 1993). Women’s dress often signifies broader cultural views of women and indicates the intimate relationship between how women are expected to look and to exist within society (Banner 1983; Tseëlon 1995; Kaiser 1997). Similarly, Haskell argues depictions of women in film have reflected cultural views of women. The feminist film theorist writes: Far more than men, women were vessels of men’s and women’s fantasies and the barometers of changing fashion. Like two-way mirrors linking the immediate past with the immediate future, women in the movies reflected, perpetuated, and in some respects offered innovations on the roles of women in society. (1974: 12) Haskell considers numerous aspects within film from roles, to cinematography, to costumes. The latter is particularly interesting to examine further. This not only includes women’s clothes in film but the whole of their visual presentations, aligning with the cited definition of dress. This also takes into consideration the many ways we communicate with dress, whether in our own lives or on screen. Recent film theorists have considered costumes in film. Their scholarship underlines the parallels between film, women’s dress, and cultural views of women. S.  Street (2001) notes how costumes draw upon established cultural views to convey information to the audience—such as associations of body-exposing clothes like bikinis as sexy. This use of easily recognizable iconography was initially employed in silent pictures but similar practices continue to be used (Gaines and Herzog 1990: 188). The connection between women’s appearances and broader definitions of femininity are played out on the screen. S. Bruzzi suggests that, quoting dress researcher Elizabeth Wilson (1985), “woman and costume together [have] created femininity” (1997: 40) in film. Both the actress and her costumes are essential in the construction of the woman on the screen and the two often become inextricably linked for those viewing the films. The notion of voyeurism appears in discussion of women’s appearances in both real life and film. Dress researchers suggest fashionable dress often embodies ideals that position women as to-be-looked-at (Tseëlon 1995; Fields 2007). Similarly, feminist film theorists note the impact of the objectifying male gaze on depictions of women (Haskell 1974; Mulvey 1975). This construction of appearance in anticipation of the gaze is often done subconsciously in real life; on the screen it is deliberate. The feminine ideals already embodied by dress and appearance seem to be amplified when projected onto the screen as costumes, providing fertile ground for exploring the cultural definitions of femininity that shape our understandings of what it means to be a woman.

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The value of studying the Bond films The Bond films provide a particularly interesting look at women in film and their costumes. As one of the longest running film franchises, it offers insights into how depictions of women have evolved since the mid-twentieth century. While the images in all films are constructed, it is often difficult to determine the influence of the various parties involved. However, those in the Bond films are deliberately composed and carefully controlled, reflecting the heavy influences of the Broccoli family and Eon Productions. This is epitomized by the use of a voice actress to create and maintain the highly-stylized Bond girl icon (Wright and Ellicott 2012). While someone like Ursula Andress as Honey Ryder in Dr.  No (1962) visually fulfills the Bond girl stereotype, her accent clashes with the soft, British voice initially associated with the role. This literal piecing together indicates conscious efforts to strictly adhere to the Bond aesthetic across multiple films. The iconic look of the Bond films, which at times borders on the stereotypical, is due in part to the formulaic nature of spy films. There are often recurring roles and expected outcomes. Uncertainty and threat are needed to drive the narrative, which results in recurring questions of morality and division of good and bad guys. This moral division is reflected in the women of the Bond films, who generally fulfill the roles of Bond girl or female villain. The former supports the spy’s missions and the latter attempts to impede them.

Defining the Bond girls and villains Chronological analysis of the actions, traits, and costumes of the women in each film highlights how women have been placed on either side of the Bond girl or female Bond villain divide, as well as how these roles have changed. The early Bond films establish a number of characteristics associated with each role. The Bond girls are much more physically and emotionally vulnerable than the villains. Nearly all are captured and then saved by Bond. This both propels the narrative and contributes to their inevitable affections for the spy. The villains, particularly in the early films, take on comparatively more active roles—from physically fighting to devising plots. While both groups of women are sexualized in the films, the depictions of the Bond girls reflect a passive objectification. Conversely, the villains’ feminine sexuality is a source of power as they actively use it to distract, lure, and deceive Bond. This active-passive division is in line with the concept of sexual difference in Western society. As Kaiser (1997) notes, the culturally constructed view of men as actively doing something (see Figure 3.1) is positioned opposite expectations of women passively being something (see Figure 3.2). With this in mind, by taking on very active roles in the films the female villains are assuming what is perceived as masculine roles.

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Figure 3.1  Bond is often depicted racing in his Aston Martin and doing other activities throughout his missions. AC Cobra Aston Martin, 2011. Public domain image courtesy of pixabay.com.

Figure  3.2 Bond girls are often shown lounging in bikini being sexually attractive. Bikini, 2016. Public domain image courtesy of pixabay.com.

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In each film, the women’s fates reinforce their roles. The villains are defeated and nearly all are killed, defusing the threats posed by these women. The Bond girls succumb to the spy’s charms and traditionally end each film in his arms. The reward of their feminine affections signify the success of the Bond’s missions. L. Funnel (2011) and T. Garland (2009) both examine the Bond girls and female villains, noting the two female characters’ increasingly major roles in the film series. While these studies highlight the changing nature of female roles, they give minimal thought to how elements like costumes communicate the roles over time. Given the good/bad division of the roles, the Bond girls and the villains arguably reflect those traits either idealized or discouraged in women. Granted, this fails to acknowledge the complexities of the characters. Some Bond girls either inadvertently or deliberately impede Bond’s efforts and the female villains support them. Nevertheless, this moral division stresses the importance of comparing these women. Existing studies acknowledge a distinct visual type. Yet, few discuss how the costumes and their signified meaning have changed or remained the same over time. A survey of the franchise suggests the symbols traditionally associated with the Bond girls and female villains are not inextricably tied to either role. This chapter focuses on the films featuring Sean Connery as Bond and the most recent relaunch of the franchise starring Daniel Craig. The argument made in this chapter is that decisions to adhere to or divert from the iconic depictions of female leads established in the early Connery films in the Craig relaunch potentially offer insights into definitions of femininity that have shaped women’s experiences in the millennium.

Depiction of women in the Bond films Sean Connery: 1962–1967 The women in the early films starring Sean Connery reflect distinct divisions between the Bond girls and villains. Initially, the Bond girls pose minor, easily diffused threats; their statuses are affirmed by their support of Bond’s missions. These briefly uncertain moralities further the spy films’ required suspense, rather than convey the natures of the characters. The early Bond girls also tend to assume more passive roles within the films, often standing to the side while Bond confronts the villain or being removed entirely from the scene. The most extreme case is the first Bond girl, Honey Ryder, who is shackled throughout the majority of Dr. No’s climactic fight scene, until she is saved by the spy. These early films also utilize a number of visual symbols to clearly identify Bond girls. The bikini has been a staple of the character’s costumes since the beginning of the franchise. The iconic swimwear is introduced as Honey

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Ryder emerges from the water in Dr. No. Ryder’s low-cut, belted bikini clearly emphasizes her very feminine features and is in clear contrast to a fully clothed Bond. This literal visual imbalance signifies the power dynamics of the early Bond-Bond girl relationship, in which Bond is continually shown as superior and in control. Similar garments are worn by Domino Derval in Thunderball (1965) and Kissy Suzuki in You Only Live Twice (1967). A more covered Bond also contrasts with the women in both these films. The bikini is absent in the costuming for From Russia with Love (1963), however it could be argued that the swimwear would have been out of place in the film’s colder, European setting. These Bond girls’ appearances are often fashioned by the men, both the villains and Bond. Honey Ryder is given an Asian inspired blouse and pants by the villain Dr. No. Tania Romanova is given clothes by Bond as part of her wedding trousseau, the majority of which are ultrafeminine and revealing fashions. These women relinquish the power to construct their own appearances by willingly adopting the sexually objectifying costumes provided by men. These costumes signify the noted passivity that characterized the early Bond girls. Just as the Bond girls are scripted to pose initial minor threats in the dramatic action, the female villains are positioned as physically desirable to maintain the essential suspense. Their allure merely masques their treacherous intentions, which are quickly revealed. The villains’ roles are physically active and authoritarian in stark contrast with the Bond girls. They also frequently display characteristics traditionally associated with men, like physical strength or aggression. This is exemplified by Rosa Klebb mercilessly torturing the assassin Red Grant by beating him with her brass knuckles in From Russia with Love. Such distinctions are further emphasized by the female characters’ costuming. The female villains’ costumes convey the masculine roles and character traits they assume within the movie scripts. This is least apparent in the dress styles worn by Miss Taro in Dr. No. However, while her dress is more feminine than the other female villains’, she nevertheless appears as more masculine in contrast to Honey Ryder. Consider their first appearances on screen. Miss Taro wears a dress with a collar reminiscent of a man’s shirt. Conversely, Ryder’s body and sexuality is exposed in the iconic, feminine bikini. Rosa Klebb’s appearance is very austere and militaristic, comprised primarily of khaki suits jackets. The use of the suit is notable, having long been associated with male power and often adopted by women as they have sought to enter into masculine realms (Steele 1989b). In Thunderball, Fiona Volpe is costumed in an androgynous black leather motorcycle jacket as she assassinates Count Lippe. Similarly, Helga Brandt’s flight suit in You Only Live Twice, with its heavy wool sweater and jacket, mirrors her masculine role of pilot. These women’s costumes include a number of feminine garments; however, they are contrasted by symbols that signify the villains’ more masculine qualities. Fiona Volpe’s light floral shirt and silky headscarf are juxtaposed with a rifle.

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Femininity also functions as a lure. The seminude appearances of Miss Taro and Fiona Volpe are deliberate tactics to distract the spy and to lead him into harm’s way. While Rosa Klebb is not depicted as attractive, a feminine threat is still present in From Russia with Love; Bond girl Tania Romanova is used by Klebb as a surrogate to manipulate Bond. Femininity also serves as a deception. This is best captured in the recurring use of evening dresses—which signify a feminine threat. Eveningwear is not limited to either role. The gowns are traditionally marked by their low or backless design or cleavage-baring neckline. However, the dresses worn by early Bond girls are comparatively more understated. The female villains’ dresses have gaudy embellishments, suggesting the costume-like function of these garments. For example, in Thunderball both Bond girl Domino Derval and villain Fiona Volpe are costumed in low-cut evening gowns. However, the clearly synthetic, metallic blue fabric worn by the female villain contrasts the white chiffon of the Bond girl’s dress. Fiona Volpe also wears a large, bright blue feather boa—adding to her overly made-up appearance. Her costume reads as unnatural, reinforcing her feminine pageantry. Like the villains’ uses of nudity, these evening dresses are used to distract and disarm the spy. Additionally, Fiona Volpe and Helga Brandt wear their gowns as they threaten Bond’s life. This creates a visual clash between their seemingly feminine costumes and violent actions—making them appear even more sinister. However, this manipulation of femininity contributes to the villains’ failures and results in most of their deaths. Their fates reiterate their roles as villains and are contrasted by the stereotypical “Oh, James” moments as the Bond girls end each film in the spy’s arms. Pussy Galore in Goldfinger (1964) differs from the women discussed by fulfilling both roles, being the first of several women to shift from villain to Bond girl. Her professional relationship with the villain Goldfinger initially positions her as a female villain. Her costumes also suggest this role. Despite deep V-necklines that draw the attention to her ample cleavage, her appearance is more masculine than the other women’s in the film—particularly Jill Masterson’s, who is visually exposed in bra and panties and then nude on the bed in gold paint. These necklines are also paired with masculine garments, suit jackets and pants, which mirror her authoritative position in Goldfinger’s employment. However, Pussy Galore’s double entendre name (another notable icon of the Bond films) squarely seats her in the role of Bond girl. Moreover, after a change of heart brought about by a literal tumble in the hay with Bond, she decides not to carry out her part in the villain’s plan, allowing Bond to save the world. Her moral turn is signified by a shift from a black suit to a white one, colors associated with evil and good in Western culture (Davis 1992: 8). Galore also discards her suit jacket, a noted masculine symbol, at the end of the film as she embraces the spy like all the feminine Bond girls before her. Thus, even women like Galore who switches between roles still ends up on one side of the Bond girl-female villain divide.

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Between Bond and Craig: 1969–2002 A review of the Bond girls and female villains in the films following the initial Connery films reveals a number of trends. Over time, it becomes less clear who will fulfill each role. A comparison of the two groups of women also reflects a shift from more masculine villains to more active and comparatively more masculine Bond girls. However, even in the Pierce Brosnan films, women in masculine roles are still depicted as threatening. Perhaps most notably, Judi Dench is cast in the traditionally male role of M: the head of the Secret Intelligence Service MI6 and Bond’s superior. A feminine presence in this role is by no means accepted by those in the film, particularly Bond. Interestingly, M’s neutral, rigid suit jackets visually align her with Rosa Klebb in From Russia with Love, reinforcing the gender challenge she poses to Bond in this film. Bond’s antagonistic relationship with M suggests an uneasiness with shifting gender relations. Furthermore, even in the Brosnan films the women’s fates continue to align them with the traditional roles. The villains die. The Bond girls end up in Bond’s arms. This too, however, changes in more recent films.

Daniel Craig relaunch: 2006–2012 The relaunch of the Bond franchise with Daniel Craig reflects a blurring, as opposed to a reversing, of the female roles that defined the series. The Bond girl and female villain are still present. However, they are conveyed through very different means.

Casino Royale: Vesper Lynd as Bond girl and villain At the beginning of Casino Royale (2006), Vesper Lynd is posed as a gender challenge to the previously male-dominated government, a role much like that played by Judi Dench as M in the earlier films. Lynd is scripted within the film as the supervisor of the funds provided for a high-stakes poker game and within that role is charged with overseeing Bond. The British Treasury agent’s occupation can be viewed as a traditional masculine role, as managing money has historically been limited to men in Western culture. In terms of British history, women in the United Kingdom weren’t allowed to legally own their own money until the Married Women’s Property Act was passed in 1870 (Ablow n.d.). Not surprisingly, her costumes draw on traditionally masculine symbols. Her dark, neutral colored suits align with men’s office workwear since the Industrial Revolution. Her upturned collars also literally shield her neck and increase the

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verticality of her body, giving the illusion of greater height and making her more physically imposing. In the earlier films, these roles or appearance would have aligned Lynd with the female villains. However, Bond notes Lynd’s deliberate attempts to appear intimidating, implying her appearance is not necessarily an indication of her true nature. Casino Royale also references and counters traditional Bond symbols— maintaining Vesper Lynd’s uncertain status as Bond girl or villain. Like previous Bond girls, Bond constructs Lynd’s appearance. After arriving at the Casino Royale, he gives her a dress for her to wear to the poker game. The bright purple evening dress with its backless design and jewel-encrusted, plunging neckline mirrors garments worn by previous Bond women. Lynd scoffs at the garment and the blatant manipulation of her sexuality to disarm the villain. However, even more notably, Lynd reveals she also had a suit tailored for Bond. Vesper Lynd is eventually confirmed as Casino Royale’s Bond girl through her sincere affection and eventual love for Bond. Her costumes convey this internal change through a visual softening following her and Bond’s capture and release. Her costumes expose more skin and her hair is less tightly coiffed to convey a dropping of the facade previously noted by Bond. Her discard of a necklace from a past relationship is a final visual confirmation of her love for the spy—a longstanding indication of the Bond girl role. However, in the final scenes of the film Vesper Lynd is also revealed as a villain. This is in part due to her collusion with the criminal organization Quantum. Yet, it is Lynd’s refusal to be saved and her subsequent death that makes her the first female villain to foil Bond. She differs from other actresses within the franchise who have shifted between role of Bond girl and female villain in that she maintains her love of Bond in both roles. Her love was not a front. Through her death she both saves Bond, the threat of his affection for her is acknowledged in later films, and defeats him. Thus, she is simultaneously Bond girl and female villain. Vesper Lynd’s costumes hint at her dual roles. Several scholars draw parallels between the femme fatale archetype and Lynd’s duality (Garland 2009; Funnell 2011). Directly following the scene where Bond consoles her after an attack, a turning point in their relationship, her appearance is reminiscent of a 1940s iteration like Ava Gardner in The Killers (1946). As she begins to fall in love with Bond—making her a Bond girl—and as Bond begins to share her feelings— also making her a threat—her appearance fittingly mirrors the archetype. Her bias-cut, black evening dress visually nods to that era of cinematic history. The change from the first, traditional Bond-film-style gown to this more subdued look not only reflects a visual shift, but also signifies a departure from the traditional Bond roles.

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Quantum of Solace: Camille Montes as a female Bond This blurring of roles continues in Quantum of Solace (2008), where Camille Montes arguably reflects a female version of Bond, rather than a Bond girl. The Bolivian secret service agent is orphaned, equally reckless, and uses sex to accomplish her missions. Both agents seek revenge and eventually work alongside one another to accomplish their objectives. In previous films, women’s individual missions were secondary to or subsumed by Bond’s. In Quantum of Solace, Montes’s mission is accomplished first. The distancing of Camille Montes from the role of Bond girl is furthered by the fact that—despite a brief friendly kiss—her relationship with Bond remains platonic. The film’s costumes create visual parallels between Bond and Camille Montes. The Bolivian’s simple black dress, devoid of embellishments, aligns with Bond’s black tuxedo more than the ornate evening dresses traditionally worn by Bond girls and its shorter length physically allows for Montes’s pursuit of the film’s villains. Some might view Agent Fields as the Bond girl in Quantum of Solace, however, her smaller role and death indicate otherwise. Furthermore, the image of her oil-soaked body on the hotel bed visually parallels the gold-painted corpse of Jill Masterson in Goldfinger. This suggests she is, at most, a secondary Bond girl. The seeming absence of a Bond girl continues into the next film, as well.

Skyfall: M as a Bond girl In Skyfall (2012), the female character Sévérine visually aligns with the role of Bond girl. Her sexually charged banter with the spy and eventual agreement to assist Bond also point this conclusion. However, her lack of emotional connection with Bond and murder early in the film by the villain Silva—which should be distinguished from Vesper Lynd’s willful acceptance of death in Casino Royale—indicate she is not the film’s Bond girl. Instead, this role is fulfilled by Judi Dench’s M. M is rescued by Bond following Silva’s escape and later used as bait. Granted, in previous films villains do this to lure Bond into danger, not vice versa. Moreover, Bond girls are distinguishable by their affection for the spy. M fulfills this essential requirement. However, their relationship is characterized by motherly, rather than romantic, love. M’s maternal role is directly acknowledged by Silva and subtly referenced in M’s comment “orphans always make the best recruits,” placing M in the role of the absent mother. Daniel Craig’s Bond has a very intimate relationship with M and it develops like that of Vesper Lynd: shifting from contempt to trust and love. This emotional

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development is visually conveyed through M’s appearance. In Casino Royale, the majority of her costumes include black and grey suit jackets. Work wear is also worn in the next film, but the jackets are often discarded. The most notable shift is seen in the last film. Stiff suiting is replaced by knits and woven fabrics. Collarless blouses and open front jackets replace the structured suit jackets. This use of literally softer clothes results in a more vulnerable appearance, mirroring that of Vesper Lynd. These parallels are also accompanied by the same fate. The spy is ultimately unable to save M and her death in Bond’s arms, like Vesper Lynd’s, solidifies her role as one of the few Bond girls the spy truly loved.

Bond as a Bond girl Finally, Daniel Craig’s Bond is also positioned as a Bond girl in the recent films. This is primarily achieved through depictions that sexualize the spy. Vesper Lynd’s noted construction of Bond’s appearance in Casino Royale further objectifies 007 and her choice of a suit is notable. Garments that expose the body are generally considered sexy. However, it has been suggested that women find masculine garment like the suit far more erotic, having connotations of power and status (Steele 1989a: 62). Previous Bonds have also worn suits of various fits. However, Craig’s suits are particularly tailored and the tight garments reveal his more muscular figure. The alignment of Daniel Craig’s Bond with the Bond girl is also accomplished through visual parallels to the iconic female role. As Funnell (2011: 496) points out, the image of Bond emerging from the water in Casino Royale is strikingly similar to that earlier enacted by Honey Ryder in Dr. No with the clothed Vesper Lynd watching him signifying an objectifying, female rather than male gaze. Craig’s short light-blue trunks match those worn by Connery in Thunderball; however, the navy waist band alludes to the belt on Honey Ryder’s bikini in the earlier film. Furthermore, this scene flips the dynamics of earlier films where scantily clad women were exposed alongside a fully clothed Bond. These shifting covered-exposed dynamics continue in later films. In both Quantum of Solace and Skyfall Bond is shown bare-chested on several occasions, including the scene in Skyfall when Eve Moneypenny arrives at the spy’s hotel room. Daniel Craig’s towel wrapped body is reminiscent of numerous Bond girls emerging from the shower while Eve is fully clothed. The shifting power dynamics are further emphasized as Eve shaves the seminude Bond’s face when he is unable to hold the razor steady himself. He is not only visually exposed, but also physically vulnerable. This blurring of Bond iconography parallels that of other characters in the Craig films discussed and, arguably, indicates changes in contemporary culture.

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Recurring symbols associated with the women in the Bond films The recurring dress-based symbols associated with the Bond women offer insights into evolving contemporary views of women. After 50 years, the films continue to use many recurring symbolic dress items, however the surrounding scripts and meanings of the costuming has evolved and changed.

The bikini The iconic Bond girl bikini was introduced on the first Bond girl, Dr. No’s Honey Ryder in 1962. The bikini’s persisting appearance in the Bond films over time is notable. By covering women’s primary and secondary sexual characteristics and leaving the rest of their bodies exposed the bikini draws attention to that which is hidden. This highlights the women’s biological difference from the spy. The bikini also signifies the vulnerability of the early Bond girls. Their bodies are literally unprotected. In these films the bikini also seems to signify an inner vulnerability, particularly given its exclusion from the costumes of the less emotionally available female villains in the Connery films. This is heightened by the fact that the exposed forms of the Bond girls are frequently paired with a comparatively more, if not fully, clothed Bond. This covered-exposed dynamic contributes to their passivity and objectification. Constructing the women as to-be-looked-at diffuses any potential power they might draw from their sexuality. This physical and emotional vulnerability is central to the Bond-Bond girl relationship, necessary for the formulaic save and capture of the women and their eventual succumbing to the spy’s charms. Despite its continued use, the bikini also reflects changing views of gender. Casino Royale was not the first film to nod to the iconic introduction of the Bond girl bikini in Dr. No. In the Pierce Brosnan film Die Another Day, Bond girl Giacinta “Jinx” Johnson’s entrance from the sea visually parallels Honey Ryder’s in Dr. No. However, the women’s subsequent depictions are dramatically different. Jinx is positioned “from the outset of the film as sexually, and thus heroically, superior to Bond” (Funnell 2011: 466). Like the female villains in the Connery films, Jinx actively uses her body and sexuality to accomplish her own objectives. The association of this trait with a Bond girl suggests assertive, feminine sexuality holds more positive and powerful connotations than it once did. This change continues in the Daniel Craig films, where the feminine icon is replaced with a male version through repeated beefcake moments that sexually objectify the spy. This reflects an acknowledgement of women’s own sexual desires and ability to pursue them. While one could argue that the early films

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objectify Connery’s body through somewhat similar means, the two depictions differ. Connery’s 007 depiction of Bond’s body is traditionally masculine, whereas Craig’s is much more complex and, at times, plays with female gender codes. The visual contrast of Craig’s exposed body with fully clothed women signifies a more emotionally and physically vulnerable Bond, which may indicate changing cultural views of masculinity.

The evening dress Feminine affectation is repeatedly positioned as a threat to the men in the early films and is signified by the evening dress. Women like Fiona Volpe, the female villain of Thunderball, use the garment to lure or distract Bond. The SPECTRE agent’s sparkly blue dress is juxtaposed against her gun to signify the danger of feminine artifice. As noted, the early female villains assume a number of traditionally masculine roles and character traits, at least by Western standards, including violent acts and aggression toward others. Their evening dresses might be viewed as attempts to hide their true nature. Overly embellishing these feminine garments worn by female villains ensures that they are read by the audience as costumes hiding their true villainous natures, in marked contract with the more essential and seemingly authentic femininity of the Bond girls. This visually supports the clear delineation between the feminine Bond girls and the more masculine female villains in the early films. Evening dresses continue to be worn in the Craig films. Bond’s and Vesper Lynd’s dressing of one another in a revealing dress and a tightly fitted suit is a notable shift from the early films, where only the women’s appearance were repeatedly constructed by the men. The early Bond girls’ appearances were quite literally constructed according to men’s desires which contributed to their objectified and to-be-looked-at natures. The ultrafeminine nature of these garments also visually reinforced the early Bond girls’ adherence to traditional gender roles. While Vesper Lynd’s purple gown fits the visual stereotype, her objection to the garment and Craig’s subsequent acknowledgement of its necessity in their plan at least begins to address its negative connotation in the earlier Connery films. The noted parallel of Bond’s suit equates attractive masculinity with its feminine counterpart and conveys both can be used for deceptive means. Additionally, Vesper Lynd’s second evening dress diverges from the traditional iconography to convey the complexities of her character rather than a single danger. With this in mind, the eveningwear in Casino Royale acknowledges and begins to address the previous meanings associated with the garment. This is not to say femininity is no longer positioned as a threat in the Craig films. Like many female villains, Camille Montes uses sex and other feminine

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wiles as a weapon against men throughout Quantum of Solace. However, the visual parallels between the Bolivian agent and Bond are important. As with Vesper Lynd’s evening dress and Bond’s suit, presenting both gendered counterparts makes this artifice a tool rather than an inherently feminine threat. The visual significance of Camille Montes’s short, black dress should also not be underestimated. It reflects the iconic little black dress, whose utility in women’s wardrobes has been noted by those in the fashion industry for decades. Thus, the garment signifies its own practical role in Montes’s gendered facade and reinforces that this deceitful construction is a tactic utilized by both men and women in the Bond films.

Conclusion The review of the Bond girls and female villains, their costumes, and the divisions between the two roles reveals several trends. In the early Sean Connery films (1962–1967), there is little doubt about who is the Bond girl or the villain. The women’s moral character is established early in the script, reflecting clearly demarcated distinctions between the more masculine role of the villain, marked by more tailored dress styles and the more feminine Bond girls. The negative and threatening connotations conveyed by the masculine-leaning appearances of the female villains contrasted with the distinctly feminine styles of the Bond girls, which suggested a more traditional gender relationship with Bond. In contrast, the Daniel Craig films reflect a blurring of the traditional Bond roles, for both male and female characters. These later films suggest a changing of established social norms and constitute a challenge to the gender binary. They may also be indicative of the realities of postmodern society, where there is an arbitrary relationship between the signifier and the signified (Barthes 1957). Because the images on the screen are not bound to certain meanings, the traditional Bond iconography can be reused in new ways. Thus, Vesper Lynd can simultaneously be both Bond girl and villain and Craig’s Bond can be both spy and Bond girl.

Areas for further investigation In addition to analyzing additional Bond films, it would be beneficial to look beyond the movies themselves, focusing more heavily on the cultural contexts surrounding the Connery and Craig films. This has the potential to offer more insight into the relationship between the Bond women on the screen and broader cultural views of gender. The early Bond films starring Sean Connery seem to reflect a belief that men and women should embody distinctly different

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characteristic and assume certain roles. On the other hand, the Daniel Craig films suggest a more blurred definition of gender, with both men and women assuming traditionally masculine and feminine traits. This progression has not been linear. On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969) not only features a new Bond, with George Lazenby replacing Sean Connery, but also a more active and dynamic Bond girl. Tracy di Vicenzo—later Tracy Bond—has a more equitable relationship with the spy, with each rescuing the other. Her costumes utilize masculine and feminine garments to convey this relationship, as well as her complex nature. However, the films directly following feature incredibly passive and heavily objectified Bond girls. This may indicate an aversion to the multifaceted view of woman reflected in the Tracy Bond character. Haskell observed, “The closer women came to claiming their rights and achieving independence in real life, the more loudly and stridently films tell us it’s a man’s world” (1974: 363). In this analysis a consideration of the influence of the second wave feminist movement may offer particularly valuable insights into the significance of the Bond films. The most recent film, Spectre (2015), or the twenty-fifth anniversary Bond film Bond 25 should also be considered. To be noted, the 2015 release Spectre returned to the traditional blonde-haired Bond girl image established in Dr. No. However black actress Naomie Harris did reprise her role as Moneypenny, which was previously all played by white women. The evolution of Moneypenney as a character is a fascinating topic in and of itself. However, larger issues of race within the franchise should be explored. Women of color have largely been cast in secondary roles and portrayed as the “Other,” either as minor villains or exotic women the spy encounters on his missions. By the late twentieth century, the role of Bond girl did become more ethnically diverse. However, the most recent choice of Bond girl and discussions in the contemporary media surrounding future Bond films, especially those focused on possibly casting a black actor as Bond (Khatchatourian and Rainey 2015), highlight the racial tensions that still pervade the franchise.

Changes within a franchise and in a culture A survey of the Bond films indicates the iconic roles and symbols of the franchise are still present in the most recent films. However, the means used to signify them have changed. This seems to be in line with a postmodern view of meanings. That is to say, the signifier—costumes or actors—are no longer tied to the signified—the roles. It is arguably too soon to ascribe meanings to the most recent films given their proximity. Yet, this blurring of roles may reflect a blurring of our definition of gender—a step toward a culture in which being man or woman are less closely chained to certain roles, appearances, or characteristics

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References Ablow, R. (n.d.), “One Flesh,” One Person, and the 1870 Married Women’s Property Act. Available online: http://www.branchcollective.org/?ps_articles=rachel-ablow-oneflesh-one-person-and-the-1870-married-womens-property-act (accessed January 18, 2018). Banner, L. (1983), American Beauty: A Social History through Two Centuries of the American Idea, Ideal, and Image of the Beautiful Woman. New York: Knopf. Barnes, R., and J. Eicher, eds. (1993), Dress and Gender: Making and Meaning in Cultural Contexts. Oxford, UK: Berg Publishers. Barthes, R. (1957), Mythologies, trans. A. Lavers. New York: Hill and Wang. Bruzzi, S. (1997), Undressing Cinema: Clothing and Identity in the Movies. London: Routledge. Davis, F. (1992), Fashion, Culture, and Identity, 6th ed. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Die Another Day (2002), [film] Dir. Lee Tamahori, USA: Eon Productions. Dr. No (1962), [film] Dir. Terence Young, USA: Eon Productions. Fields, J. (2007), An Intimate Affair: Women, Lingerie, and Sexuality. Berkeley: University of California Press. From Russia with Love (1963), [film] Dir. Terence Young, USA: Eon Productions. Funnell, L. (2011), “ ‘I Know Where You Keep Your Gun’: Daniel Craig as the Bond–Bond Girl Hybrid in Casino Royale,” The Journal of Popular Culture, 44 (3): 455–472. Gaines, J., and C. Herzog, eds. (1990), Fabrications: Costume and the Female Body. New York: Routledge. Garland, T. (2009), “ ‘The Coldest Weapon of All’: The Bond Girl Villain in James Bond Films,” Journal of Popular Film and Television, 37 (4): 179–188. Goldfinger (1964), [film] Dir. Guy Hamilton, USA: Eon Productions. Haskell, M. (1974), From Reverence to Rape: The Treatment of Women in the Movies. Los Angeles, CA: New English Library. Kaiser, S. (1997), The Social Psychology of Clothing: Symbolic Appearances in Context. 2nd ed. New York: Fairchild Publications. Khatchatourian, M., and J. Rainey (2015), “Idris Elba ‘Too Street’ to Play James Bond, 007 Author Says,” Variety. Available online: http://variety.com/2015/film/news/ idris-elba-james-bond-too-street-author-anthony-horowitz-1201582692/ (accessed January 18, 2018). Kidwell, C., and V. Steele, eds. (1989), Men and Women: Dressing the Part. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. The Killers (1946), [film] Dir. Robert Siodmak, USA: Universal Pictures. Mulvey, L. (1975), “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” Screen, 16 (3): 6–18. On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969), [film] Dir. Peter Hunt, USA: Eon Productions. Quantum of Solace (2008), [film] Dir. Marc Forster, USA: Eon Productions. Roach-Higgins, M. E., and J. Eicher (1992), “Dress and Identity,” Clothing and Textiles Research Journal, 10 (4): 1–8. Skyfall (2012), [film] Dir. Sam Mendes, USA: Eon Productions. Spectre (2015), [film] Dir. Sam Mendes, USA: Eon Productions. Steele, V. (1989a), “Clothing and Sexuality,” in C. Kidwell and V. Steele (eds.), Men and Women: Dressing the Part, 42–63. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press.

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Steele, V. (1989b), “Dressing for Work,” in C. Kidwell and V. Steele (eds.), Men and Women: Dressing the Part, 64–91. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. Street, S. (2001), Costume and Cinema: Dress Codes in Popular Film. London: Wallflower. Thunderball (1965), [film] Dir. Terence Young, USA: Eon Productions. Tseëlon, E. (1995). The Masque of Femininity: The Presentation of Woman in Everyday Life. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Wilson, E. (1985), Adorned in Dreams. London: Virago. Wright, S., and C. Ellicott (2012), “The Secret Bond Girl,” Mail Online. Available online: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2206882/Bonds-secret-girlUnknown-artist-dubbed-voices-007s-best-known-beauties–know-shes-bannedmovies-spys-50th-birthday-party.html (accessed January 18, 2018). You Only Live Twice (1967), [film] Dir. Lewis Gilbert, USA: Eon Productions.

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4 MENSWEAR IN THE MILLENNIUM: BENDING THE GENDER BINARY Parker Bennett

Introduction One of the groups most affected by the dictates of the patriarchal postindustrial revolution were upper-class white men. During this time period upper- and middle-class men’s fashionable dress became confined to expressions of agonic work roles, with the traditional boxy, closed silhouette of the business suit emerging as a dominating symbol of hegemonic masculinity in the United States and Europe. More playful and indirectly powerful versions of hedonic attractiveness became largely restricted to womenswear collections and female style. Dress (Roach-Higgins and Eicher 1992)—the total sum of all modifications to one’s outward appearance—reflects the social systems and categories deemed acceptable and subsequently institutionalized by the power structure, but can simultaneously be an avenue for exploring transformation and social change. While women, for decades, were limited to using indirect hedonic power to attract attention and power, within the past century they have asserted their right to use both expressions of agonic and hedonic modes of power without stigma. Androgyny—a combination of masculine and feminine traits—has gained mainstream acceptance and appeal in womenswear for some time now (Kidwell and Steele 1989). In contrast, menswear collections remained conservatively boxed into expressions of work identity throughout the entire twentieth century and beginning of the twenty-first century. The recent shift toward male androgyny and the appropriation of historically feminine silhouettes in menswear may signal a turn toward more genuine gender neutrality in dress, and a new relationship between fashion and the body. This study utilizes the visual analysis system of Marilyn DeLong (1998) coupled with Rita Freedman’s (1986), and Susan Kaiser’s (1989, 1997) work

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on the agonic/hedonic gender dichotomy to analyze and compare twentyone European and American menswear collections from 2006 and 2016. The analysis systematically documents the transformation of recent menswear collections from a traditional postindustrial revolution focus on communicating agonic power to a more fluid and playful expression of hedonic power. Agonic power utilizes power in a hierarchical, direct, dominating way (such as the ability to physically and mentally complete an action) that is reflected in hegemonic masculinity. Hedonic power, in contrast, utilizes power in ways that are more submissive and indirect (such as the power to attract attention)—a playful role of dress often restricted to womenswear collections, and female style.

Ritual and the performativity of gender The focus on the fashion runway as a space to investigate gender performance rests partially upon Victor Turner’s conceptualization of ritual as an arena wherein conflict is displayed and resolved, leading to transformation (1988). The concept of the ritual as performative, with performance as a “paradigm of process,” includes the assertion that everything can be considered a performance within a social structure (8). These performances are often ritualized, and through this ritualization aspects of social life are redefined through “processes of regularization, processes of situational adjustment, and the factor of indeterminacy” (79). It is important to establish the fashion runway as a physical and sociocultural space of ritual and transformation that is distinct from the everyday. The runway is a formal, ritualized space of identity creation (be it gender, socioeconomic, etc.), where each season shown on the runway carries the symbols and meanings the designer has constructed through dress—creating identity to be recognized, sought, and consumed. Identity is re-created every season through the presentation of new clothing collections, and marks a continuation or transformation of identity in a ritualized cycle of spring/summer—fall/winter. Turner’s work folds into Judith Butler’s (1999) theory of gender performativity, where gender is a performance within restrictions of social boundaries. For Butler, gender is transformed and reconstituted through a “series of actions which are renewed, revised, and consolidated through time” (2004:  157). Focusing attention on stylization of the body through gestures, movements, and appearance, Butler argues that the body “becomes its gender” through a series of performances (157). Arguing there are no inherent connections between biological sex and gender identity, Butler instead identifies these connections as culturally constructed and enforced through a series of linkages and codes. The repetition of gender construction within society continually enforces the norms and codes associated with the dominant gender constructions, resulting

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in a highly restrictive, artificial gender binary. In this binary, masculinity is made up of the ideal qualities, behaviors, and actions associated with cis men, while femininity is made up of those associated with cis women. Transformation of gender occurs as individuals alter the performance (in this case, on the runway), subverting the dominant gender constructions by ignoring or purposefully violating the unstated rules of gender identity. To perform gender that does not fit strictly within the box expected of an individual due to their biological sex is a performance deemed abnormal by society, and subsequently disciplined. The runway—in its formal engagement with identity in front of an audience— is influential as to which traditional gender constructions are maintained or challenged. Gender is coded on the runway (as in the everyday) through dress, as various fabrics, colors, textures, and styles of clothing and adornment become associated as either masculine or feminine. Menswear and womenswear collections on the runway have traditionally represented the artificial gender binary within society at any given time, as interpreted and put out by individual designers and fashion houses. The ritualistic space of the runway is an important performance space, where current sociocultural constructions of gender are simultaneously thrown into conflict and resolved by either being maintained, challenged, and/or transformed by the dress presented to the audience. One may therefore look to the runway as both a place to identify shifts in the performance, as well as the conception of gender identity.

The artificial gender dichotomy: Agonic and hedonic power The construction of an agonic/hedonic power dichotomy was posited first by Rita Freedman, who borrowed the dichotomy from animal behavior studies and used it to describe the different ways in which men and women express power (1986). The definitions Freedman borrowed include “the agonic mode, which involves threat or direct use of force. Agonic power has aggressive overtones,” and “the hedonic mode, which involved indirect or covert influence. Hedonic power is often achieved through display” (72). Freedman adds “agonic power is commonly enhanced through weaponry, while hedonic power is enhanced through adornment” (72). The agonic can be understood as power that often takes the form of domination, while hedonic assumes the form of attraction. The overlay of these modes of power onto femininity and masculinity is a primary part of Freedman’s study on beauty. This understanding contributes to important insights into the restrictions traditional gender roles place on women, as “the exercise of direct [agonic] power by women continues to be seen as disruptive and illegitimate . . . in fact, females are subtly distinguished as either good or bad

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according to the types of power they employ” (74). Freedman elaborates on the inherent benefits of the agonic mode and how it has benefited men through patriarchal dominance within society. The primary usage of the agonic mode by men, while a restriction, has nevertheless resulted in a maintenance of traditional gender constructs and roles. The restriction of women to the hedonic mode also contributes, as its use without the use of agonic power results in “signals of femininity often [being] tantamount to those of submission” (78). Such ideas of agonic and hedonic power related to constructions of gender are expanded upon further by Susan Kaiser (1989, 1997). Kaiser conducted studies that “illustrate the nature of young girls’ developing symbolicassociative networks incorporating clothing styles, behaviors, and eventually traits” (1989:  54). Linking cultural associations with specific clothing items, Kaiser found that the dichotomy of agonic and hedonic power proved useful in identifying the cultural codes of gender embedded in dress. Kaiser observes that “Ideology tends to make gender seem more category-ical [sic] or consistent with cognitive distinctions than it actually is (Unger 1985), and traditional appearance imagery is likely to perpetuate this oversimplified version of reality” (55). This oversimplification is perpetuated by agonic and hedonic power being respectively equated with masculinity and femininity. In her discussion of the agonic/hedonic power system proposed by Freedman, Kaiser observes that a “frilly dress is likely to become associated with hedonic power, while pants may be viewed as more suitable for ‘doing’ kinds of activities as well as with agonic power” (47). Certain dress items become coded with gendered meaning, acting as conduits for the perpetuation of a false gender binary. Kaiser adds that physical effectiveness is equated with the “masculine mystique,” while physical attractiveness is equated with the “feminine mystique” (1997: 89). These constructions are upheld through media through the marketing of “adventure scripts emphasizing action, aggression, or strategical conquest” to men and the marketing of “romance scripts emphasizing the value of a woman’s beauty in attracting a male” (89). The forms in which the artificial gender dichotomy manifests are pertinent to the understanding of how cultural norms and constructions of gender are marketed and sold to members of a society. Kaiser further elaborates on agonic and hedonic power as the coding of gender through the dichotomy of “doing” vs. “being.” Table  4.1 illustrates the cultural codes that have been traditionally associated with masculinity and femininity. Agonic and hedonic modes of power act as enforcers of gender norms when they are acting within the “artificial gender dichotomy” (1997: 89). These divisions are often paradoxical and easily disproven in practice. Kaiser uses the example of cheerleading to illustrate how an activity requiring great physical strength and coordination can be coded as hedonic in order to fit into the artificial gender dichotomy. Men also see this “recoding” occurring when they are advertised clothing that includes intentional agonic coding in order to override the inherent

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TABLE 4.1  Coding of gender ideology: Doing versus being (an artificial dichotomy) Doing

Being

Emphasis on achievement and action

Emphasis on appearance and attraction

Physical effectiveness

Physical attractiveness

Adventure script in popular media

Romance script in popular media

Agonic (aggressive and active) power

Hedonic (indirect and attracting) power

Ideology of building character

Ideology of maintaining character (“placed on a pedestal”)

Source: S.  Kaiser, The Social Psychology of Clothing:  Symbolic Appearances in Context (New York: Fairchild, 1997).

hedonic aspect of a clothing advertisement. These examples showcase the hoops that must be jumped through in order to maintain the artificial gender dichotomy. For agonic and hedonic modes of power to be transformative and empowering, they must be utilized outside of the artificial dichotomy without attempts to conform to the dichotomy in other ways—in other words, being presented in an unapologetic, positive way that embraces the hedonic mode into a construction of masculinity. The performativity of gender and how gender identity is performed through ritualized space on the runway is a critical underpinning of this research. In order to disrupt the artificial gender dichotomy, one must acknowledge that gender is not inherently connected to biological sex. Gender constructions of masculinity and femininity are oversimplified in order to fit all the variations of gender expression (Connell 1987: 183). This simplification within a patriarchal society leads to the formation of a hegemonic masculinity that is “always constructed in relation to various subordinated masculinities as well as in relation to women” (183). Through subjugating femininity and “deviant” forms of masculinity, hegemonic masculinity acts as a force to bring men into an ideal set of traits and to push men who do not conform to the fringe. The way in which these traits are maintained and policed result in negative effects such as emotional disconnect, violence, and isolation for many men (Kimmel 2000). This artificial gender dichotomy is represented and strengthened through agonic and hedonic power distinctions, which helps maintain a relationship of domination and submission between men and women. This is not the only use of agonic and hedonic power however, as they provide crucial insight into the construction of gender through dress, a vital indicator of gender to analyze and disrupt in order to promote positive social change.

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Visual analysis of dress and the aesthetic form The system of visual analysis established by Marilyn DeLong (1998) is a framework for the aesthetic analysis of dress, capturing a significant set of cultural codes that affect how subjects view the dressed body, referred to within the model as the apparel-body-construct (ABC). The ABC includes the clothing involved in a form, but also “the body and how the clothing and the body interrelate” (11). This not only encompasses the physical aspects of the form, which includes “colors, textures, lines, and shapes that create a particular characteristic or look,” but also the abstract meanings associated with the physical characteristics (13). This is accounted for by including the cultural context of the form, as well as the personal background of the viewer. The inclusion of physical and abstract dimensions in the DeLong framework are vital for the analysis of embedded cultural codes—in this case, agonic/hedonic codes and the gender assumptions that they carry. The DeLong system identifies the formation of a whole via the ordering of distinct parts in the structure of the form. This structure is observed by the viewer as they try to discern relationships between the parts and the whole in an attempt to perceive order and meaning. The contrasts between various parts and the whole can focus the viewers’ attention on certain aspects that they then surmise meaning and/or relationships from. DeLong refers to this systematic way of seeking for meaning by the viewer as spatial prioritization. She deconstructs this prioritization into three main steps, containing five major categories of analysis used in assessing the ABC. Step one consists of “observing the silhouette and how its boundary is defined within the space” (80). This step utilizes the first category of ClosedOpen Silhouette, in which the boundary the form has with its surroundings is viewed as either closed (clear lines and separation from the surroundings) or open (interacting with the surroundings and lack of self-containment). Step two consists of examining the relationship of the parts to the whole, and observing “the way parts relate within the silhouette of the apparel-bodyconstruct” (81). This step consists of two categories, the first of which is wholeto-part forms, which assesses whether a form is viewed part-to-whole (where parts are perceived first, then the whole), or whole-to-part (the reverse). The second category is Figure-Ground Integration/Separation, which identifies the form and surrounding as a spatial relationship with a front and back, with the form in the front of the surroundings. Figure-ground integration then refers to a blending between form and ground, while figure-ground separation refers to a form that is well defined relative to the ground. Step three interrogates the “relation to the way the body’s surfaces appear, and then the way the apparel-body-construct surfaces appear to the viewer”

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(81). This step includes the final two categories, the first of which is referred to as Flat-Rounded. Flat forms are smooth, nonreflecting, and two-dimensional, while round forms are curved, reflecting, and three-dimensional. The final category is Determinate-Indeterminate, and deals with the perceived thickness and distance of shapes within the form to the viewer. Determinate forms have a plain, smooth surface, few but regular or no shapes, and no light/shadow effects. Indeterminate forms have more surface texture, many irregular shapes, and more light/shadow effects. The DeLong system provided a methodical way to examine the dressed body in order to discern meanings and patterns. This system enabled researchers to confront their own social and cultural preconceptions and biases, and allowed for more distance between the subjects being analyzed and the research team. A. Lynch, S. O. Michelman and J. E. Hegland moved the use of DeLong’s system into “cross-cultural and intra-societal contexts” (1998:145). Of particular significance for this research was the contribution of Jane Hegland’s use of the DeLong system to analyze drag queens, transvestites, and transsexuals which incorporated previous scholarly work on the conflation of certain dress and appearance traits with masculinity and femininity (152). Hegland takes care to stress the importance of viewing the categories in the DeLong system as continuums—not merely dichotomies—when applying the system to gender constructions. This conception of both the DeLong categories and gender as continuums is a key contribution, as “specifically, [Hegland] analyzed degrees of masculinity and femininity within each [Apparel-Body Construct]” (153). Expanding on this decision, Hegland states: It enabled me to make connections between the visual forms and their cultural meanings. In Euro-American culture, closed, determinate, and flat ABCs are defined as masculine; open, indeterminate, and rounded ABCs are defined as feminine. On an almost subconscious level we, as viewers, tend to make that general assumption. It was only through the use of DeLong’s framework that I was able to see more specific and subtle manipulations which are often accompanied by significant ramifications for the wearer. (154) Hegland utilizes the DeLong system as a way to examine dress as a symbolic representation of various social codes. Lynch, Michelman, and Hegland all examined “the relationships between aesthetic choices and cultural notions of appropriate gender roles” and found the DeLong system particularly useful in identifying these relationships. These findings were further corroborated by interviews with the dress subjects, who confirmed relationships between values/ attitudes and the aesthetic choices they made. With this, these three researchers provided a strong argument for the utilization of the DeLong system in assessing “dress as a reflection of cultural construction[s]‌of gender” (145).

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Strauss builds off of Lynch and others’ work for his utilization of the DeLong system to evaluate images of male bodies, specifically male civil war reenactors (2002). Strauss uses the DeLong system in order to establish pattern categorizations of authenticity of dress, creating the four categories of Hardcore, Progressive, Mainstream, and Farb (103). In determining dress authenticity, Strauss utilized the knowledge and expertise of a panel of civil war reenactors who were familiar with different aspects of dress authenticity in Civil War period dress. The panel’s knowledge of appropriate period authenticity was combined with the DeLong system, and in doing so revealed actions in line with how DeLong theorizes the way in which viewers perceive the ABC. Strauss notes that “as authenticity flaws in the images progressively increased there was a corresponding change in perception of the form [by the review panel]” (106). This is in line with DeLong’s idea that the viewer “discerns relationships by either grouping together or differentiating the components of a form’s structure,” and in this study was directly related to the perceived level of authenticity in dress (106). Strauss’s findings also support the theory undergirding the DeLong system through his confirmation that the review panel followed “a systematic process of spacial prioritization during assessment and categorization of the images” (106). Strauss’s study further confirms the flexibility of the DeLong system to be utilized in contexts outside of the original purpose of aesthetic evaluation. Numerous times throughout the review process aspects of the DeLong system were present in the panelists’ decision making. For instance, the focus on a closed silhouette in evaluating authenticity was highly significant, as panelists attributed a closed silhouette with Confederate soldiers’ aim to present themselves to the enemy as a smaller, compact target (106). The ability of a review panel to evaluate male bodies according to a specific set of criteria (dress authenticity) while utilizing the DeLong system indicated that evaluating male bodies according to agonic/ hedonic codes was feasible as well. Further explanations as to the adjustments made to the DeLong system in order to more accurately evaluate images on a hedonic/agonic scale for this study follow.

Transformation on the runway: 2006–2016 The methodology used for this study was primarily based upon the Delong (1998) system of visual analysis, and was influenced by the interpretation of this system by Strauss (2002). The framework of agonic and hedonic power posited by Freedman (1986) and elaborated on by Kaiser (1989, 1997) provides the primary cultural codes being evaluated in the various runway images. Images were selected from various menswear runway collections from spring/summer 2006 and 2016. The collections selected were based on their representative

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nature, as well the prominence of the fashion house. These prominent fashion houses were able to be compared between the two years. Other fashion houses were chosen based on their perceived predisposition toward more “gender fluid” collections. These fashion houses were selected in order to represent the current status of gender fluidity on the runway in their given year. Once specific runway collections from each year were selected (total nine from 2006 and twelve from 2016), images were selected from each collection that were deemed most representative of the collection as a whole, as well as images that showed specific design characteristics that represented the theme of the collection. After this process was completed using images of runway collections from Vogue.com, a total of 116 images were selected from 2006 collections, and 101 from 2016. Once selected, the evaluation of the images rested upon the major subcategories determined by DeLong (1998). Ranges of 1 to 5 were used for each category to allow for a more nuanced evaluation between the two options, incorporating Hegland’s continuum contribution. In addition to the categories provided by DeLong, two new categories were introduced in order to better evaluate the presence of agonic and hedonic cultural codes. These two additional categories were added because color and texture have been key features of gender-coded clothing within society (Kaiser 1997). Since women’s clothing within the past century or so has consisted of more variety in texture (such as damask, velvet, lace, and others that have more threedimensional shapes), texture was an important category to add when evaluating agonic and hedonic codes. Color was added as a category because bright colors, color patterns, and the amount of colors in one garment generally characterizes womenswear more than menswear. Menswear in this area has tended to stay within neutral, subdued color choices, with patterns that are traditionally found in suiting. The addition of these two categories offer a more balanced perspective when evaluating images for agonic and hedonic codes. In total seven categories were used to evaluate images, with total scores for each individual image ranging from a minimum score of seven to a maximum score of thirty-five (see Table 4.2 for the categories). Lower scores indicate more agonic coding, whereas higher scores indicate more hedonic coding. A total score for an individual image was calculated by adding up each individual category score, and comments were made for each image that included keywords to describe important characteristics about the dress captured in each image.

Masculinity in flux Results from the evaluation showed support for the premise that menswear is seeing a shift toward more gender-fluid and hedonic dress. An average score

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TABLE 4.2  Image evaluation system Original Categories Category

Range Placement: 1

Range Placement: 5

Closed/Open silhouettes

Closed

Open

Whole-to-part forms

Whole-to-part

Part-to-whole

Figure-Ground Integration/ Separation

Figure-Ground Separated

Figure-Ground Integrated

Flat/Rounded forms

Flat

Round

Determinate/ Indeterminate forms

Determinate

Indeterminate

Additional Categories Category

Range Placement: 1

Range Placement: 5

Color

Neutrals

Full, bright, vibrant

Category

R.P.: 1

R.P.: 2

R.P.: 3

Texture

Flat

Evident structure

Enlarged ThreeLoose; structure; dimensional; hanging flat raised off form

R.P.: 4

R.P.: 5

System created by author.

of all collections within a year was calculated for both 2006 and 2016, receiving average scores of 19.8 and 11.4 respectively (a growth of 8.4 points). Narrowing down to the average scores for individual houses present in both years, all houses showed a significant increase in score from 2006 to 2016. Five images from each year were selected to form a representative sample based on score and display of common traits for its respective year and runway collection. The results show there was a noticeable increase in hedonically coded dress in menswear on the runway over a 10-year period. This increase becomes apparent when comparing collections from the same fashion house, but is also indicative of a growth in “gender fluid” collections and fashion houses. Another noticeable change that occurred was a shift away from suit-centric collections. Houses such as Armani, Gucci, Prada, Comme des Garçons, Dolce and

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Gabbana, and Saint Laurent Paris all had 2006 collections that mainly consisted of suits and formalwear. However, when examining the 2016 collections, suiting and formalwear made up a smaller portion as compared to those from 2006. Most notably the houses of Gucci (see Figures 4.1 and 4.2), Prada, and Saint Laurent Paris were found to have moved away a great deal from suiting, with a majority of each collection lacking formal jackets, blazers, or suit ensembles. Instead, more casual wear was dominant, with the heavy presence of jeans, cardigans, sweaters, casual button-up shirts, and a variety of accessories.

Looking forward: Transforming masculinity and the hedonic The connection of feminism and dress has enabled gender studies to extend its analytical reach, expanding on Judith Butler’s work by connecting the performativity of gender with the inherent performative nature of dress (1999, 2004). Feminist work has illuminated how institutionalized gender norms affect men, women, and nonbinary individuals in ways that perpetuate inequality. Michael Kimmel sees this inequality as the cause of gender difference, stating “gender inequality produces difference, and the differences produced are then used to justify gender inequality” (2000: xi). The way in which dress interacts with gendered bodies and cultural norms is vitally important in fully conceptualizing these inequalities, as dress is often a cultural marker of these differences. Investigation into dress therefore enables us to see how gender is performed, how gender norms are enforced, and how dress can be a source of either oppression or empowerment. Despite this and other research showing that “appearance is tied to social definitions of masculinity and femininity,” research on the intersection of masculinity and dress is still lacking (Kimmel 2000: 124). This study is therefore significant both in its aim to add to the body of research on dress and masculinity, and by providing a quantitative measurement of the increase in gender fluidity in menswear collections on the runway. In order to work toward the feminist goal of disrupting and abolishing restrictive gender norms that place men and women into strict “boxes of gender,” both femininity and masculinity must be critically examined and challenged. The use of artificial dichotomies to reinforce traditional binary constructions of gender must be recognized as such. The binary construction of gender has been coded into consumer items, behaviors, and ideas that pervade our culture, reinforcing hegemonic masculinity and the “emphasized femininity” that is oriented in order to “accommodate the interests and desires of men” (Connell 1987: 183). Gender socialization of individuals occurs through the representation of these gender

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Figure 4.1  Gucci Menswear S/S 2006. An all-white double-breasted suit showcases a closed silhouette and traditional menswear. The addition of the oversized bag lends a less agonic trait to an otherwise agonic form. (Score: 8) Photo by Giuseppe Cacace, Getty Images.

norms in life’s institutions, such as the family unit where “the seeds of gender difference are first planted” (Kimmel 2000: 122). Individuals become gendered through “[learning] the ‘appropriate’ behaviors and traits that are associated with hegemonic masculinity and exaggerated femininity, and then we each, individually, negotiate our own path in a way that feels right to us” (16). However, we become gendered within institutions that police performances of gender and discipline those who are “deviant” (16). The way in which individuals are forced to negotiate gender identity, particularly in the case of young men and boys, can lead to negative consequences that become normalized. In the quest to maintain and maintain an idealized masculinity, negative manifestations abound that have become normalized within society. Agonic

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Figure 4.2  Gucci Menswear S/S 2016. A loose form, more open silhouette, and cut of the neck opening lend a feminine appearance. Additional points of significance include the model’s long hair and exposed legs/wrists, and the presence of jewelry and handbag. (Score: 18) Photo by Venturelli/WireImage.

power, with its current emphasis on being direct, aggressive, and dominant, has been embraced by hegemonic masculinity to devastating effect. The emphasis on physical performance and activity for boys starts at a young age, eventually leading to “manly” expectations of preferring aggression, viewing hesitation as weakness, and rewarding risky and violent behavior. In fact: In societies in which men were permitted to acknowledge fear, levels of violence were low. But in societies where masculine bravado—the posture of strength and the repression and denial of fear—was a defining feature of masculinity, violence was likely to be high. (Kimmel 2000: 245)

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Restriction placed on men by masculinity end up perpetuating and normalizing violence, a rejection of full emotional range, and the complete disavowal of hedonic power. When boys and men are subjected to a “culture of violence that exploits their worst tendencies by reinforcing and amplifying the atavistic values of the masculine mystique,” all of society suffers (263). Lynch explores this at length and its effects on women, and its support by the development of the “Unapologetic Bad Boy” pop culture icon (2012: 13). Misogyny is normalized through the milieu of cultural support for such “macho” definitions of masculinity through “sexual scripts casting women in sexually objectified and degrading roles” (33). In turn this has led to the fierce dismissal of hedonic power as “feminine,” that which is meant to be subjected to the male gaze. In order for male appropriation of the hedonic to occur in a mainstream way, this dominant cultural construction must be disrupted. Where more work is needed is in addressing how this disruption should occur. Androgyny has been posited as one way to address this restriction. Yet, in recent Western history it has only been primarily utilized by women in any mainstream sense (Kidwell and Steele 1989). The adoption of agonically coded clothing items (pants, button-up shirts, suits, garment cut/style, etc.) by mainstream femininity has become normalized over the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Despite these gains, women are still overwhelmingly trapped within a restrictive gender binary. On the other hand, mainstream adoption of hedonically coded dress items by men has been minimal. Any attempts have been met with marginalization, as hedonically coded dress has been identified as feminine and therefore “deviant” from the norm. This pushback against male androgyny occurs in part by linking such dress with “other” groups, such as gay or queer men, men of color, women, and so on. This is the power of the patriarchal system in action, as performances that are deemed outside of the hegemonic forms of masculinity are policed and disciplined. The disruptive potential of androgyny has therefore run into substantial barriers when attempting to break masculinity’s restriction to agonic power. On this point it is necessary to acknowledge the power and privilege agonic power has brought to men, privilege communicated in part through dress. The suit has been and continues to be a powerful visual emblem of power and male privilege. The strong lines, closed silhouette, and flat form create a distinct projection of holistic being, a projection that asserts the wearer’s ability to do. This projection distances the wearer from the viewer in a way that asserts power over the viewer, a contrast to hedonic power. The monopoly of agonic power and its coding in masculine dress have therefore bestowed great benefits to men. However, neither agonic nor hedonic power and their respective culturally coded behaviors and characteristics are inherently good or bad. The problems lie with the restriction to just one based upon membership of a certain gender and/or sex. Women have seen the restriction to only hedonic power prove oppressive, removing their

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agency to freely utilize agonic or hedonic power as they choose and positioning them as subservient to the desires of men on a societal and personal level. The reappropriation of agonic power by women has put women closer to regaining agency in gender and dress, yet that goal remains mostly unattained here. To achieve this goal, it is just as important for men to reappropriate hedonic power in the quest for healthier, equitable gender construction as it is for women to reappropriate agonic power. For men, hedonic power holds significant potential in allowing them to embrace the body they’ve traditionally been denied. While men are required to have strong, acting, sexually desiring and performing bodies, they are generally denied nurturing and loving ones. Hedonic power has also been associated with more vulnerable, emotional traits, providing an escape from the restrictive emotional stoicism that men are so often expected to embrace. Finally, hedonic power in dress allows for expression that is as playful and refreshing as it is liberating, a contrast from the strict professionalism that masculinity and male dress often embodies. The hedonic thus offers accessibility—accessibility perceived through the traits of hedonically coded dress. Presence of open silhouettes and soft boundaries, figure-ground integration, and indeterminate, rounded forms are visual manifestations of accessibility. No distance or hard boundaries are created between the viewer and the wearer, allowing for a disruption of traditional constructions of men as emotionally distant. Utilization of hedonic power can be understood to include an implicit communication of accessibility, be it emotional or physical. This aspect of hedonic power is highly significant considering the need for men to embrace emotional vulnerability in various facets of their lives. As society continues down the path toward a more gender equitable future, the new emotional expectations of men seem to outpace the current definition of masculinity. As parenthood becomes more egalitarian men are facing expectations to be present for their children in new ways, not just physically but also emotionally. Hedonic coding in dress traditionally restricted to womenswear can now be seen in a new light, where open, hedonic dress communicates a sense of access and connection between child and parent. Men, whom have long been regarded as distant providers in their role as fathers, have maintained this culturally expected distance in part by using agonically coded clothing that signifies a closed, distant figure. Hedonic dress therefore plays a significant role in presenting fathers as emotionally available, “huggable” figures. The dress men (and women) wear impacts the ways their gender is performed to the world. The convergence of mother’s and father’s roles has led to fathers “more than [doubling] time spent doing household chores and nearly [tripling] time spent with children since 1965,” and is an important dimension in which dress can play a key role (Parker and Livingston 2016). The hedonic offers an outlet for men to express themselves in an open, accessible way that has the ability to act as a conduit for men to embrace evolving concepts of fatherhood and manhood.

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The understanding of hedonic power as presenting oneself as accessible and open, an aspect connected to nurturing and trust, challenges the current dichotomy of agonic and hedonic power. The definitions of the agonic/ hedonic dichotomy by Kaiser describe it as “physical effectiveness” versus “physical attractiveness” (1997: 89). These definitions do well to establish the direct/indirect dichotomy of power that the two represent, but fall short in capturing all aspects when applying it to gender construction. To apply this adaptation of animal behaviorism to gender theory, redefining the hedonic to include “physical accessibility” and the agonic “physical inaccessibility” is needed. This inclusion better captures the positive and negative aspects of both modes of power, as restriction to just one mode has been shown to have negative effects on both men and women. This needs to be made explicit through an update to the current definitions through the lens of gender construction. The use of hedonic power through dress can provide a sense of empowerment and accessibility to men that they have long been lacking. In the quest to have men reappropriate hedonically coded dress, thereby balancing the use of androgyny in dress, this update is needed in order to disrupt current misconceptions about agonic and hedonic power perpetuated by the current restrictive gender binary.

Conclusion Future research into these concepts will help cultivate an environment in which constructions of masculinity move to a healthier expression of manhood that does not require subjugating women and other men. This is needed now more than ever, as this analysis of runway menswear collections signals a relatively rapid change of masculinity in dress. Runway shows are “blurring the lines between men and women” as “more designers combined their women’s and men’s collections . . . [raising] the questions of what is masculine and what is feminine, how much those distinctions matter, and who gets to decide” (Chira 2017). These explorations into less restrictive constructions of masculinity will be significant in helping to bring currently marginalized identities into the mainstream. A vision of a more just, equitable, and healthy society where constructions of gender are not restricted to two boxes and where nonbinary identities are empowered, is dependent on the intentional inclusion of masculinity in any relevant discourse. In pursuit of this goal, an updated definition of the agonic/hedonic power dichotomy is being proposed to better describe the ways in which we theorize and assess gender constructions within society. The broadening of definitions of agonic and hedonic power and how they relate to gender will be critical in furthering a

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nuanced, holistic view of gender construction, as well as the empowerment of all persons through dress.

References Butler, J. (1999), Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York and London: Routledge. Butler, J. (2004), “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution,” in H. Bial (ed.), The Performance Studies Reader, 154–166. New York and London: Routledge. Chira, S. (2017), “Gender Fluidity on the Runways,” New York Times, February 15. https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/15/fashion/gender-fluidity-new-york-fashionweek.html (accessed June 26, 2018). Connell, R. W. (1987), Gender and Power: Society, the Person and Sexual Politics. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. DeLong, M. (1998), The Way We Look: Dress and Aesthetics, 2nd ed. New York: Fairchild Publications. Freedman, R. (1986), Beauty Bound. Lexington, MA: Lexington Books. Kaiser, S. (1989), “Clothing and the Social Organization of Gender Perception: A Developmental Approach,” Clothing and Textiles Research Journal 7 (2) (Winter 1989): 46–56. Kaiser, S. (1997), The Social Psychology of Clothing: Symbolic Appearances in Context. New York: Fairchild Publications. Kidwell, C., and V. Steele, (1989), Men and Women: Dressing the Part. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution. Kimmel, M. S. (2000), The Gendered Society. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lynch, A. (2012), Porn Chic: Exploring the Contours of Raunch Eroticism. New York and London: Berg Publishers. Lynch, A., S. O. Michelman, and J. E. Hegland, (1998), “Cross-cultural and Intra-societal Application of DeLong’s Framework for Visual Analysis,” Clothing and Textiles Research Journal, 16 (4) (1998): 145–156. Parker, K., and G. Livingston, (2016), “6 Facts about American Fathers,” Pew Research Center, June 16. http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/06/16/ fathers-day-facts/. Roach-Higgins, M. E., and J. Eicher, (1992), “Dress and Identity,” Clothing and Textiles Research Journal, 10 (4): 1–8. Strauss, M. (2002), “Pattern Categorization of Male U.S. Civil War Reenactor Images,” Clothing and Textiles Research Journal, 20 (2) (2002): 99–109. Turner, V. (1988), The Anthropology of Performance. New York: PAJ Publications.

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DIALOGUES BETWEEN DRESS AND STRUCTURES OF POWER

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5 HIGH FLYING FASHIONS: GHANA AIRWAYS’ FEMALE FLIGHT ATTENDANTS AS EXEMPLARS OF THE NATION Christopher Richards

Visitors to Ghana by air lately sat up and stared when their plane landed at Accra. They thought they must be seeing things. But no, they weren’t dreaming. It was true. That beautiful girl in the neat uniform wasn’t a dream. She was there to welcome them to Ghana. “WHAT A WELCOME” (1958), DRUM—GHANA, 7.

Introduction To fully understand the significance of Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants as paragons of their nation, this chapter will explore a critical moment in the dress history of Ghana Airways: the controversial redesigning of their female uniforms in 1973. Intended to celebrate Ghanaian culture and heritage, the revised uniform immediately incited debate among Accra’s citizens, with individuals arguing that the garment was “not Ghanaian” and not representative of “true Ghanaian culture” (Manko and Asiama 1973: 5). Within a few weeks of the initial complaints, Ghana Airways drastically altered the redesigned uniform, creating a more globally informed garment that was lauded by the

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Ghanaian public as “smarter” and more stylish. The literal re-tailoring of this uniform attests to the complex role of Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants, particularly in relation to broader social and cultural transformations occurring in a postindependence nation. More than just a simple sartorial snafu, this incident illustrates how female flight attendants, however hindered by limiting descriptions and expectations of desirability and femininity, became powerful, symbolic embodiments of their nation, invoking notions of national pride, cosmopolitanism, progress, and ultimately a collective, carefully tailored Ghanaian identity. As unofficial, yet visually commanding ambassadors, Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants functioned as literal and figurative representations of their nation in complex and often contradictory ways. The prevailing, sexist rhetoric employed in historical descriptions characterized these women as passive objects for male enjoyment, however, they were equally portrayed as independent and empowered women. Following Ghana’s independence, Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants became symbols of their emergent, independent nation, exemplifying the blending of Ghana’s historically rooted cultural practices with a growing desire to create a postcolonial, modern nation. These women, and particularly their uniforms, embodied this complex transformation from colonized country to burgeoning nation-state, questioning and reconstructing the inherent power of women as expressed through their “uniformed” bodies.

“Ghana’s status symbol”: A historical overview of Ghana Airways Immediately following Ghana’s independence in 1957, the Ghana Airways company was established, serving as a marker of the nation’s prestige, sophistication and autonomy. The company began in 1958 as part of the West African Airways Corporation, which originally provided individual airlines for the Gold Coast, Nigeria, Sierra Leone, and Gambia (Cumming 1962:  35). These airlines subsequently merged into Ghana Airways and Nigerian Airways, with each company receiving capital investments from the British Overseas Airways Corporation (BOAC) (1961:  35).1 Between 1958 and 1961, Ghana Airways operated in conjunction with BOAC, which provided British aircraft for flights between Accra and London, with profits divided between the two corporations (1961:  36). In 1961, the partnership between Ghana Airways and BOAC was terminated; Ghana Airways purchased a small fleet of British and Russian planes and began operating independently.

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During the 1960s, Ghana Airways made an agreement with Nigeria Airways that allowed the airlines to share routes (Amankwah-Amoah and Debrah 2010: 644). In 1970, the African Airlines Association (AFRAA) was established, with Ghana Airways as the leading member of the organization (2010: 644). In spite of Ghana’s unstable and capricious governments during the 1970s and 1980s, Ghana Airways maintained its international relevance and functioned as a model for other African nations; “during this period, Ghana Airways’ sound business principles and wider route networks were the envy of many African governments who aspired to a similar larger carrier” (2010:  644). Although Ghana Airways remained one of the only airlines that flew from the United States to Ghana well into the 1990s, the company began to struggle internally with corruption and low profitability. In 2004, the government seized control of the company and by 2005, Ghana Airways had declared bankruptcy and the company was liquidated (2010: 645). As of 2014, Ghana Airways’ archive has been entirely lost or destroyed, save for the company’s personnel files, which are currently housed in Ghana’s National Archive. Due to the lack of internal documentation, the majority of information regarding the representation of Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants and the controversy surrounding their redesigned uniforms was gleaned from the following popular media sources:  periodicals like the Daily Graphic and the Sunday Mirror, and the Ghanaian edition of Drum magazine.

“A new Accra is being born”: Kwame Nkrumah and the modernization of postindependence Ghana Following Ghana’s independence from Great Britain, President Kwame Nkrumah and his government immediately embarked on an expansive campaign to revolutionize the country. Nkrumah exploited everything from postage stamps (Wilburn 2012) to highlife musicians (Plageman 2014) in the hopes of creating his vision of a model, independent African nation. Nkrumah’s ultimate goal was explained by a contributor to Drum—Ghana, who defended Nkrumah’s travels to the United States and Canada by stating that “the trips made those two powerful countries aware that a new personality has entered the arena of international politics, and that new personality was Black Africa” (“Are They Really Worth While?” 1958:  12–13). A  significant part of creating Nkrumah’s postindependence African nation involved rapid expansion and industrialization; by 1963, David Apter reflected that “industrialization and development have

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replaced independence as the basic political objective of party and state” (1963: 338). Apter’s mid-century observation is nuanced by Jean Allman, who argues that “in the postwar era, Nkrumah and the CPP’s ‘national dreams’ were very much entangled with ‘modernist visions,’ but visions which, once materialized through rapid modernization . . . would fast-forward Ghana into the arena of competing nation-states” (2014: 238). Nkrumah’s process of modernization and industrialization was further linked to developing a cohesive national identity “more than a top-down process designed to secure Ghana’s economic future: it was a means of facilitating the incomplete task of nation-building . . . and encouraging Ghanaians to develop a collective identity based around local rather than foreign cultural elements” (Plageman 2014:  245–246). The desire to transform Ghana into an archetypal, “modern” African nation was not limited to its government officials; Africans from other nations viewed Ghana’s rapid transformation with admiration and enthusiasm. Following his visit to the newly independent nation, Kenyan nationalist Tom Mboya reflected: “Yes, it is a country with a future. Ghana, under an African government, is bringing new hope and democracy to the people of Africa” (Mboya 1958: 39). An unidentified Nigerian journalist echoed Mboya’s sentiments: “Whatever your tastes and whatever your loyalties, you come away from Ghana’s capital convinced that a new Africa is in the making. Accra mirrors this new Africa in dazzling light and brave lines” (“A New City of Accra Is Being Born . . .” 1961: 15). Ghana and its capital city were viewed by Ghanaians and other Africans as exemplars of African independence; the pressure to succeed was high and Nkrumah instituted sweeping reforms in an attempt to fulfill local and global expectations. Three years following independence, Drum—Ghana published the article “A New City of Accra Is Being Born” which highlighted the efforts of Mummuni Bawumia, Ghana’s Special Development Commissioner charged with modernizing the city. Bawumia expressed the need for urgency in refashioning Ghana’s capital: “I want results within six months . . . the slogan of the year is ‘Double Action’. But my mission calls for TRIPLE ACTION and I  have given myself a deadline—31st October—to give the public visible signs of things to come” (“A New City of Accra Is Being Born . . .” 1961: 11). One of Bawumia’s most extensively publicized ventures, and a further extension of the status invoked by the country’s own airline, was the construction of Ghana’s international airport. Described as “the most breathtaking of all these projects” and “a superbly stylish gateway to Ghana,” the popular media suggested that “with its three-tier restaurant and bar—including a roof garden—being built to overlook all the activity, it’s more than likely to be a tourist attraction in itself” (1961:  13). Ghana’s international airport was ultimately celebrated for its ability to “present a brave face for the nation that will impress overseas travelers and visitors with the progressiveness of our capital city” (1961: 11–13).

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“For modern people”: The significance of Ghana Airways to an independent Ghana It was during this time of Bawumia’s “triple action” and the celebration of Ghana’s forthcoming “beautiful” and “futuristic” airport (1961:  12) that Ghana Airways separated from BOAC; a key moment in the company’s history that received extensive criticism. Duncan Cumming, the BOAC representative, argued that Ghana Airways’ acquisition of their own planes was “a very heavy investment for a country of Ghana’s size and the operations of a fleet of this kind cannot but mean the incurring of considerable losses” (1961: 36). Hans Heymann, a representative of the RAND Corporation, echoed Cumming’s sentiments that “aviation appears to hold a special fascination for governments everywhere, particularly for the ruling elite in less developed countries . . .” (Heymann 1962: 387). Despite these disparaging, potentially biased criticisms, Cumming did acknowledge that Ghana Airways’ decision to “fly solo” had symbolic significance “imponderables such as ‘national prestige’ are involved . . .” (“A New City of Accra Is Being Born . . .” 1961: 39). The importance of Ghana Airways in a postindependence context is explained by FLIGHT magazine, which declared the airline a “status symbol” and suggested its newly found autonomy served as a “reflection of Dr.  Nkrumah’s desire for the minimum of foreign influence in Ghana’s affairs, and of his regard for the nation’s airline as a symbol of Ghana’s national adulthood” (“Ghana’s Status Symbol” 1961: 65). Ghana Airways was considered “one of the symbolic airlines of postcolonial Africa and occupied a unique place in postcolonial African history” (Amankwah-Amoah and Debrah 2010: 638). Not only was the success of Ghana Airways directly linked to its country’s active transformation into a thriving and independent African nation, it figuratively mirrored the country itself: technologically advanced, globally connected, and sovereign. The potency of Ghana Airways and its ability to serve as an indicator of Ghana’s advancement and modernization is best indicated by a sampling of its advertisements from the early 1960s. A  1962 advertisement juxtaposes a man wearing kente cloth and a woman dressed in a kaba with the following caption: “For business and pleasure trips the modern man flies by Ghana Airways. Speed, comfort, prestige—you enjoy them all when you fly” (“Everybody Flies by Ghana Airways” 1962: 14).2 A second advertisement from 1963 proclaimed “in modern Ghana everybody flies by Ghana Airways,” further asserting that “for modern people, air travel’s the thing. It’s quicker, more comfortable, more businesslike, and so very inexpensive” (“Everybody Flies by Ghana Airways” 1963:  15). The accompanying illustration depicts one of Ghana Airways’ smartly dressed female flight attendants, while passengers in business suits and kente cloth wait to board a plane. A  second advertisement from 1963,

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featuring a photograph of a female flight attendant with a Ghana Airways plane in the background, proclaimed:  “Good Ghanaians fly Ghana Airways! It’s the modern way to travel on business or pleasure!” (“On Business or on Holiday” 1963: 16). Additional advertisements positioned Ghanaian men wearing kente cloth in front of airplanes emblazoned with the Ghanaian flag, accompanied by the following slogan:  “Africa’s most progressive airline” (“Fly by Africa’s Most Progressive Airline” 1962: 21). Unapologetically promotional and enticing, these advertisements and their slogans attest to Ghana Airways’ associations with modernity and progress. An additional facet to the promotional narrative of these advertisements was the suggestion that Ghana Airways and its passengers were globally connected. Some slogans read: “On the Ghana Airways big jets you are only hours away from the capitals of Europe and Africa” and “between Accra and London and Accra and Khartoum, the fastest and most direct routes are by Ghana Airways” (“Ghana Airways Bring the World to Your Door” 1964: n. page, “Fly by Africa’s Most Progressive Airline” 1962:  21). These advertisements were frequently accompanied by a list of the international destinations that could be reached via Ghana Airways, including cities throughout Europe (Rome, Zurich, Prague, and Moscow) and West Africa (Lagos, Abidjan, and Freetown). The ultimate message of these promotions is encapsulated by the following slogan: “Ghana Airways brings the world to your door” (“Ghana Airways Brings . . .” 1964:  n. page). This notion of globalism had a supplementary effect; as an unknown contributor for Drum—Ghana stated that “forming the airline was a bold venture for Ghana, and one of which we can all be justifiably proud. And we will be ever prouder in the future as more and more big planes, flying the colours of Ghana and carrying Ghanaian crews, land on the world’s big airports” (“Flying High in Ghana” 1958: 27). As these promotional publications suggest, Ghana Airways was viewed as a conduit for connecting Ghanaians to foreign nations, while simultaneously showcasing and promoting Ghanaian culture in an international setting. Of equal importance to the advertisements’ emphasis on progress, modernity, and globalism was the inclusion of culturally significant forms of Ghanaian dress. The “ideal” travelers were repeatedly shown wearing iconic forms of local attire that functioned as immediate indicators of Ghanaian identity and cultural heritage during the postindependence era. These advertisements created a specific narrative—that highly visible, sartorial expressions of Ghanaian culture could coexist with the latest advancements in technology. The juxtaposition of progress with the celebration of a distinctly Ghanaian identity was instrumental in creating a holistic representation of Ghana as a thriving, newly independent African nation. This emphasis on particular forms and materials of clothing, specifically in relation to Ghana Airways advertisements, hints at the potency of Ghana Airways’ flight attendant uniforms as indicators of Ghana’s cultural

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heritage and globalism. With progress, modernization and a celebration of culturally significant forms of dress as tenets of Ghana Airways’ promotional materials, it is not surprising that its employees were expected to reflect and embody similar values.

Ghana’s “glamour girls”: The importance of appearance and attractiveness If Ghana Airways represented the modernity, progress, and global-connectedness of postcolonial Ghana, then its female flight attendants were physical and symbolic manifestations of their newly independent nation. As stated in the 1961 Drum—Ghana article “Air-Girls of Ghana,” “no girl is more a part of the modern age than the Air-hostess” (“Air-Girls of Ghana” 1961: 20). A significant element of the “modern age air-hostess” was her physical appearance, which reflected a global trend of glamorizing the occupation of flight attendants during the 1950s and 1960s (Barry 2007:  36). As explained by Kathleen Barry, “stewardesses labored to craft bodies and personalities that met their employers and customers’ expectations of respectable and alluring femininity to the last detail” (2007: 37). The female flight attendants of Ghana Airways were not immune to these global trends, in fact, early newspapers referred to these women specifically as “glamour girls” (“Meet the Airport’s ‘Glamour Girls’—They Make Flying Easy” 1958: 1; “Learning to Be Air Hostesses” 1959: 13). The importance of physical appearance for female flight attendants is further reflected in early corporate documents. During the late 1950s and early 1960s, Ghana Airways’ captains were required to complete confidential reports on their crew, including the flight attendants. Categories such as “operational competence” and “technical knowledge” were considered along with “personal appearance.” The importance of physical beauty was emphasized even before being hired as a flight attendant; when women were initially interviewed, they were judged by a litany of specific criteria. Not surprisingly, the first areas to be assessed by the interviewers were the applicant’s hair, dress, complexion, build, walk, stance, and carriage—elements that directly related to the appearance and overall attractiveness of the potential employee. The comment of one interviewer is particularly telling and illustrates the primacy placed on physical characteristics deemed as appealing: “She ought to take care of her weight and try to be more cheerful. She certainly deserves a trial.” Global airlines’ expectations of femininity and attractiveness were often entangled, both intentionally and inadvertently, with a degree of sexuality. According to Barry, “sexual suggestiveness offered an increasing unrisky way to tout the happiness and gratification that customers could expect from a

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product or service. The airlines in particular had a ready-made corps of young, single, attractive bodies with which to eroticize their corporate personalities” (2007: 100). The sexualization of female flight attendants, specifically in Ghana, is encapsulated by a quote from an unidentified American tourist who stated: “Boy, Ghana couldn’t find a better or more lovely ambassadress for visitors. You sure know how to pick them. The guy who chose her did his country a real big service” (“What a Welcome” 1958:  7). The latent meaning of this comment illustrates that Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants were frequently sexualized by male travelers, but to suggest that as their only characterization would be reductive and inaccurate. In spite of the emphasis placed on their physical attractiveness and the sexually charged language used to describe them, Ghana Airways female flight attendants were equally portrayed as both informed and skillful, exemplified by the Drum—Ghana article “Air-Girls of Ghana”:  “they must know how to catch flying fish from a rubber dinghy, build a hut from branches and leaves and identify poisonous fruits” (“Air-Girls of Ghana” 1961: 21). Additional articles highlighted their comprehensive eight-week training, which included lessons on the following subjects: catering, deportment, elocution, aviation, history, first aid, immigration regulations and currency (“Learning to Be Air Hostesses” 1959: 13). In order to effectively communicate with Ghanaian and foreign travelers, the women were also expected to speak English, Ga, Twi, and Fanti (1959: 13). The role of women in a postindependence context, particularly that of female flight attendants, is further complicated by the political rhetoric of Kwame Nkrumah, which actively promoted the importance and inherent power of women in reflecting notions of a modernized, postindependent nation. Nkrumah believed that women were the barometers of independence and often described them as “architects of the nation” (Biney 2011: 101). In his Handbook of Revolutionary Warfare, Nkrumah stated that “the degree of a country’s revolutionary awareness may be measured by the political maturity of its women” (Botwe-Asamoah 2005:  154). Nkrumah echoed this sentiment in the Ghanaian Woman when he wrote “a strong and reliable womanhood is a firm and worthy foundation for the building of any nation” (Soothill 2007: 87). Nkrumah believed Africa was in need of a “new woman . . . a woman who reflected the heritage of Africa’s mothers and grandmothers whilst making her presence felt in the modern nation state” (2007:  87). A  significant part of Nkrumah’s vision of a “new woman” was someone who adeptly blended historical and modern practices through her dress and appearance. As explained by Nate Plageman, “to a wide degree, such efforts focused on regulating women’s public appearance and dress . . . [and] encouraged women to reject foreign fashion, transform ntama and kente into new forms of dress, and to wear such outfits to work, recreational events, and social gatherings” (2014: 248). Nkrumah’s political propaganda, coupled with the aforementioned popular media articles, indicate the crucial role of women in the development and

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expression of Ghana as a newly independent African nation. As the most visible and internationally mobile women, Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants were particularly significant, becoming physical and symbolic embodiments of Nkrumah’s constructed nation. It is this complex constellation of concepts: modernity, progress, sexual attractiveness, and an informed, confident selfsufficiency that was ultimately expressed by Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants and visually invoked by their uniforms, the most immediate and visible indicator of their profession.

“Is it Ghanaian?” The Ghana Airways’ uniform controversy Since the introduction of Ghana Airways in 1959, the female flight attendants’ uniforms were continually highlighted. As part of the Sunday Mirror front page feature “Meet the Airport’s ‘Glamour Girls’—They Make Flying Easy,” a concise column was devoted to their uniforms, described as “tight-fitting, sleeveless and snow white dresses with lapel and collar, and straight skirts reaching about eight inches below the knee” (Tsedze 1958: 1). The contributor continued, providing detailed explanations of the uniform’s accessories, which included a matching belt and hat (1958:  1). The uniforms were undoubtedly influenced by BOAC, albeit adapted for Ghana’s warmer climate. In the early 1960s, while a fervor erupted over a request for British flight attendants to shorten their skirts, Ghana Airways avoided the controversy, with a spokesperson stating that “the present uniforms are ideal and their lengths are good” (“Show-More-Leg Order Is Given” 1961:  np). Ironically, a decade later the skirt length of Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants would become a major part of the uniform controversy. Although by the early 1970s Nkrumah was no longer in power, many of his ideals regarding progress and modernity were deeply entrenched in the culture and psyche of Ghana. The continued prominence of these ideals was reflected in the mythology of Ghana Airways, which endured as a symbol of a progressive and modern nation. It is within this cultural context that Ghana Airways unveiled a new uniform for their female flight attendants informed by the following belief that “every organization which helps promote international friendly relations must at least portray something about its culture” (“New Attire . . .” 1973:  9). On August 8, 1973, the airline debuted a seemingly conventional ensemble consisting of a wrapped skirt and blouse sewn from a locally produced wax print fabric. The wax print pattern was a design created exclusively for Ghana Airways featuring their logo surrounded by botanical and geometric motifs. Ghana Airways considered the redesign of the uniform progressive, as “still in the right direction of Ghanaianization and cutting down expenditure, the Ghana Airways

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scored another mark when it introduced for the first time the national costume ‘Ntama and Kaba’ for its female workers”; the Ghanaian public’s reactions were markedly different (Manko and Asiama 1973:  5). Following its public unveiling and the publication of a photograph of the new uniform in the Daily Graphic, which described the ensemble as a “new traditional attire,” negative reactions were swift and immediate (“New Attire . . .” 1973: 9). An entire article, “New Dress for our Stewardesses . . . Is it Ghanaian?” was devoted to the subject. The authors of the article said that “we thought some nice chic style was going to be made out of this to drape the shapely girls of the Ghana Airways. But no, nothing good came out of this. The public does not seem to be impressed. They say the attire is not Ghanaian” (Manko and Asiama 1973:  5). The article included several comments from readers, ranging from Liberty Abedi’s opinion that “they look like peacocks with the wrong feathers,” to Nana Serwaa’s comment that “the motive behind the change over from the old to the new Ghanaian uniform is a good idea [but] I don’t think there is anything Ghanaian in the uniform . . . it is very obvious with the pace at which fashion keeps changing that this uniform will soon go out of fashion” (1973: 5). The article even included the opinions of dressmaker Ernestine Owusu, who stated that “from [a]‌fashion point of view, I think one will describe the uniform as with it. But how long will it last? A dress of that nature will be good for a party or evening out but for work, I don’t think it is an ideal one” (1973:  5). The article concluded with a brief statement from Mike Anamzoya, the Ghana Airways’ public relations officer. Anamzoya acknowledged the controversy, stating that “Ghana Airways corporation has taken note of all such criticisms and is now engaged on re-designing new types of uniforms, which, it is hoped, will be more acceptable . . . we wish to appeal to the public . . . to come out with suggestions on improving the present uniforms to make them more smart and attractive” (1973: 5). The general distaste for the uniform is best illustrated by a Daily Graphic cartoon, drawn by an unidentified artist who employs an exaggerated, slightly grotesque style for representing his figures (Figure 5.1). Three men with bulky bodies and clothing stand in the background, their heavily lined faces showing expressions of surprise and disgust. The target of their reactions is a Ghana Airways female flight attendant who, standing in the foreground, commands the viewers’ attention through her highly patterned ensemble. The woman is more attractive than her male counterparts, yet her uniform (the same one that was only recently unveiled) clings unflatteringly to her body, making her upper torso appear lumpy and uneven, while her full-length skirt seems impractical for her job. In contrast to the men’s baggy garments, the Ghana Airways uniform is drawn as restrictive, a quality that is invoked by the accompanying caption, which is presumably being uttered by the male figure posed in a gesture of disbelief: “I am not against culture . . . but how can she climb the gangway into the plane”? (“I’m Not Against Culture” 1973: 9). This particular cartoon powerfully distills the critiques regarding the new uniforms,

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Figure 5.1  Cartoon by unknown artist satirizing Ghana Airways redesigned uniforms,  1973. Courtesy of the Daily Graphic Archives.

suggesting that the garments were equally restrictive in terms of physical ability and appearance, championing cultural significance over practicality and style. The continued public criticisms resulted in a second article, “Ghana Airways New Dress,” written by Anamzoya. The tone of the article was defensive and included a summation of the selection process for the new uniforms. According to Anamzoya, seamstresses throughout Accra were invited to design the new uniform, with only six submissions received. From these six designs, which were all conservative in style, the new uniform was selected. To provide further proof of this process, a photograph of seven Ghana Airways flight attendants wearing the various designs was published with the article (Figure 5.2). Anamzoya continued to publicly defend the uniforms, stating that “these uniforms have the quality of making our girls slimmer, smarter, and attractive,” and that the company

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Figure 5.2  Photograph of the seven silhouettes submitted for Ghana Airways’ initial new uniform; the chosen (and subsequently controversial) uniform is third from the left, 1973. Courtesy of the Daily Graphic Archives.

“succeeded in using locally made African print, thus making a fantastic saving . . . [which] should gladden the heart of every Ghanaian” (1973: 3). Despite Anamzoya’s extensive explanations, on August 22, 1973, Ghana Airways unveiled a revised uniform nicknamed “short cut.” A photograph of the new uniform was published in the Daily Graphic accompanied by a brief column summarizing the controversy (Figure  5.3). The unknown contributor asserted that “the idea behind the change in the uniform from European to Ghanaian style was to portray—through the stewardesses—something of the Ghanaian culture. The idea was generally accepted, but it appeared the general public was against the way the uniform was designed” (“New Uniform . . .” 1973:  3). The contributor continued, “the critics condemned the uniform as un-Ghanaian, un-feminine, and not smart enough for girls who move among people from all over the world . . . the Ghana Airways accepted the criticisms in good faith and decided to create a new uniform” (1973: 3). The reflections of this unknown contributor are significant, as they provide two key points regarding the uniform controversy: the garment needed to immediately exemplify Ghanaian culture, while simultaneously evoking a stylish, global style. This is further indicated by an aforementioned criticism which stated the uniform was supposed to be a “chic style,” suggesting the original design did not resonate with global fashions. Upon comparing the two uniforms, the major differences were the skirt length, with the new uniform’s skirt ending above the knee, and the new uniform’s more tailored silhouette, particularly the removal of the longer, ruffled sleeves. These two revisions are simplistic, yet significant. By creating a shorter, tailored garment, the silhouette alluded to global fashions, while the wax print fabric suggested a specific, collective Ghanaian identity. Additionally, the shorter

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Figure  5.3  The redesigned new uniform, featuring a shorter skirt and tailored sleeves, reflecting both global and local fashions, 1973. Courtesy of the Daily Graphic Archives.

and more tailored uniform accentuated and displayed the body in a flattering manner, emphasizing the physical attractiveness of the flight attendants without hindering mobility. Ultimately, the controversy over Ghana Airways new uniforms was not necessarily that it was “un-Ghanaian,” but the way in which the female flight attendants were being “uniformed.” As representatives of their nation, the female flight attendants needed to reflect a worldliness and attractiveness without belying their Ghanaian heritage and identity.

“Even more than the national flag”: Ghana Airways’ kente cloth uniforms Ghana Airways’ wax print “short cut” was not the first uniform to evoke a blending of Ghanaian heritage and global fashion; an earlier uniform functioned in a similar, and potentially more powerful manner. Extensive research in the Drum archives

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revealed that immediately following the creation of Ghana Airways, several female flight attendants wore a version of the airline’s original, European-styled uniform sewn from kente cloth. Photographs provide convincing evidence that Ghana Airways female flight attendants did wear kente cloth uniforms, if only for a limited time or for special occasions. The importance of this stylistic flourish is explained by a Drum—Ghana article highlighting kente cloth that “the Kente even more than the national flag, has become the emblem of Ghana all over the world. It has become a symbol of the Ghanaian personality, and of the Ghanaian culture, expressing simultaneously the gaiety and the love of colour of the Ghanaian; as well as a great cultural tradition” (Bossman 1963:  17). Following Ghana’s independence, Nkrumah employed kente cloth as a means for reincorporating local forms of dress into everyday practices and to indicate a collective Ghanaian identity. According to G. P. Hagan, “African dress had to live side by side with the European dress . . . and Nkrumah showed them how” (Ross 1998:  15). Hagan continued, “he [Nkrumah] put on kente for formal ceremonies. In so doing, he used elements of cultural attire to show that customs from different ethnic cultures were merely different aspects or manifestations of one cultural identity, the Ghanaian identity” (1991: 15). Kente not only symbolized Ghana and its diverse peoples, it became synonymous with the concept of Pan-Africanism and eventually, broader notions of African ancestry. By creating exact copies of Ghana Airways European-style uniforms sewn from kente cloth, the uniforms made an immediate statement regarding Ghana’s vibrant cultural practices and furthered Nkrumah’s goals of creating immediately recognizable indicators of Ghanaian culture and heritage that would, in theory, be seen all over the world.

Conclusion: The emblem of Ghana all over the world As Hildi Hendrickson argues, “clothing and other treatments of the body surface are primary symbols in the performances through which modernity—and therefore history—have been conceived, constructed, and challenged in Africa” (1996: 13). As the most visible aspect of Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants, their uniforms made an immediate and powerful statement regarding the wearer, and more importantly, the nation. As values shifted, so did the uniforms, although the overall message remained consistent: to create a garment that indicated a stylish and modern Ghanaian woman, thereby evoking an equally modern and globally connected nation. Jean Comaroff believes that women and their dress play a powerful role in reflecting specific cultural values and practices. In her chapter “Fashioning the Colonial Subject,” Comaroff discusses the changing

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dress styles of the Tswana in South Africa, arguing that the “ordinary people, especially women,” developed a style of dress that was “neither straightforwardly Western nor ‘authentically’ indigenous, this style combined elements of both to signify a novel sense of anachronism: that of membership in a marginalized ‘ethnic’ culture” (1996:  34). In a similar fashion, the Ghana Airways uniforms are amalgamations of global and local styles that instead of indicating ethnic marginalization, become symbols of a collective and national Ghanaian identity. As suggested by Comaroff, women become the bearers, and the wearers, of their constructed cultures. The complication becomes whether this status as a “wearer” of culture is empowering or reductive to women’s social and cultural contributions. In the case of Ghana Airways’ revised female uniforms, it could be interpreted as empowering that women were considered essential components to the independence and subsequent modernization of Ghana, becoming symbols of their progressive and autonomous nation. An equally plausible argument is that Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants were subsumed by existing power structures, their bodies manipulated by the public and state to evoke particular, constructed notions of womanhood and the nation. It was ultimately the collective agency of the Ghanaian populace, including both men and women that challenged a particular interpretation of Ghana Airways’ female flight attendants that was viewed as being an inaccurate and limiting representation of Ghanaian womanhood. Their bodies and representations may not have been self-determined, but the public ensured that their image remained a blending of local practices with global forms, resulting in a representation that invoked hybridity and an inherent complexity that challenged existing stereotypes of African nations. Therein lies the power, to complicate existing narratives and present a more nuanced understanding of Ghanaian women and their country’s culture, suggesting that Ghana Airways female flight attendants were not merely wearers of their country’s culture, but active tailors in the fashioning of a postindependence nation.

Notes 1 According to FLIGHT magazine, Ghana Airways began with a capital of 400,000 pounds, 60 percent supplied by the Ghanaian government and 40 percent by BOAC (“Ghana Takes to the Air,” 1958: 58). 2 T he kaba is a historically rooted form of attire that is considered to be the national style of dress for Ghanaian women. It was particularly important following independence, as it was imbued with a particular Ghanaian heritage. For a more extensive discussion of its history and significance, see Suzanne Gott’s chapter “The Ghanaian Kaba” in Contemporary African Fashion (2010).

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References “Air-Girls of Ghana,” (1961), Drum—Ghana, (March), 20, 21, 22. Allman, J. (2014), “Modeling Modernity: The Brief Story of Kwame Nkrumah, a Nazi Pilot Named Helena, and the Wonders of Motorless Flight,” in P. Bloom, S. Miescher, and T. Manuh (eds.), Modernization as Spectacle in Africa, 229–243. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Amankwah-Amoah, J., and Yaw A. Debrah, (2010), “The Protracted Collapse of Ghana Airways: Lessons in Organizational Failure,” Group & Organization Management, 35: 636–665. Anamzoya, M. (1973), “Ghana Airways New Dress,” The Mirror, (September 7), 3, 7. Apter, D. E. (1963), Ghana in Transition. Princeton: Princeton University Press. “Are They Really Worth While?” (1958), Drum—Ghana, (December), 11–13. Barry, K. M. (2007), Femininity in Flight: A History of Flight Attendants. Durham: Duke University Press. Biney, A. (2011), The Political and Social Thought of Kwame Nkrumah. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Bossman, M. (1963), “Kente,” Drum—Ghana (April): 3, 17–20. Botwe-Asamoah, K. (2005), Kwame Nkrumah’s Politico-Cultural Thought and Policies: An African-Centered Paradigm for the Second Phase of the African Revolution. New York: Routledge. Comaroff, J. (1996), “The Empire’s Old Clothes: Refashioning the Colonial Subject,” in D. Howes (ed.), Cross-Cultural Consumption: Global Markets, Local Realities, 19–38. London: Routledge. Cumming, D. (1962), “Aviation in Africa,” African Affairs, 61 (242): 29–39. “Everybody Flies by Ghana Airways,” (1962), Drum—Ghana, (December), 14. “Everybody Flies by Ghana Airways,” (1963), Drum—Ghana, (May), 15. “Fly by Africa’s Most Progressive Airline,” (1962), Drum—Ghana, (March), 21. “Flying High in Ghana,” (1958), Drum—Ghana, (September), 25–27. “Ghana Airways Brings the World to Your Door,” (1964), Drum—Ghana, (November), np. “Ghana Takes to the Air,” (1958), FLIGHT, (July 11), 58. “Ghana’s Status Symbol,” (1961), FLIGHT, (January 13), 65. Gott, S. (2010), “The Ghanaian Kaba: Fashion That Sustains Culture,” in S. Gott and K. Loughran (eds.), Contemporary African Fashion, 11–28. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Hendrickson, H. (1996), Clothing and Difference: Embodied Identities in Colonial and Post-Colonial Africa. Durham: Duke University Press. Heymann, H. (1962), “Air Transport and Economic Development: Some Comments on Foreign Aid Programs,” Economic Review, 52 (2): 386–395. “I’m Not Against Culture . . .,” (1973), Daily Graphic, (August 16), 9. “Learning to Be Air Hostesses,” (1959), Sunday Mirror, (January 4), 13. Manko, Y., and W. Asiama, (1973), “New Dress for Our Stewardesses . . . Is it Ghanaian?” Daily Graphic, (August 18), 5, 7. Mboya, T. (1958), “What They Think of Us Way Over in East Africa,” Drum—Ghana, (December), 38–39. “New Attire for Our Air Hostesses,” (1973), Daily Graphic, (August 2), 9. “A New City of Accra Is Being Born . . .,” (1961), Drum—Ghana, (August), 11–14. “New Uniform for Airways Stewardesses,” (1973), Daily Graphic, (August 22), 3.

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“On Business or on Holiday,” (1963), Drum—Ghana, (October), 16. Plageman, N. (2014), “The African Personality Dances Highlife: Popular Music, Urban Youth, and Cultural Modernization in Nkrumah’s Ghana, 1957–1965,” in P. Bloom, S. Miescher, and T. Manuh (eds.), Modernization as Spectacle in Africa, 244–267. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Ross, D. H. (1998). Wrapped in Pride: Ghanaian Kente and African American Identity. Los Angeles: UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History. “Show-More-Leg Order is Given,” (1961), Sunday Mirror, np. Soothill, J. E. (2007), Gender, Social Change, and Charismatic Power in Ghana. New York: Brill Academic Publishers. Tsedze, O. (1958), “Meet the Airport’s ‘GLAMOUR GIRLS’—They Make Flying Easy,” Sunday Mirror, (March 30), 1. “What a Welcome,” (1958), Drum—Ghana, (January), 6–7. Wilburn, K. (2012), “Africa to the World! Nkrumah-era Philatelic Images of Emerging Ghana and Pan-Africanism, 1957–1966,” African Studies Quarterly, 13 (1/2): 23–54.

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6 FIRST LADIES OF THE RAJ: STATUS AND EMPOWERMENT IN BRITISH INDIA Donald Clay Johnson

Introduction Great Britain at the end of the nineteenth century ruled a worldwide empire upon which the sun never set. Given the modest population of the country, having enough people to administer such a vast realm sometimes meant that extremely small numbers of British ruled over huge colonies. India certainly was such an example. The Indian Civil Service, for instance, never had more than 1,000 staff from Great Britain and overwhelmingly relied upon vast numbers of Indians to take care of most aspects of administration. Given such a small population when compared to the enormous population of the Indian subcontinent, there was a constant need to both highlight British identity and demonstrate that they were indeed the rulers of India. The British adopted the approach of the Mughals, earlier rulers of India, who dressed distinctively in order to draw attention to themselves. Upon the demise of the British East India Company in 1858 administration of India fell to parliament and the British throne. With official position defined as second in command to the British monarch the head of the Government of India, the viceroy, and his wife, the vicereine, determined all things political and social for the European community in India. With but one exception, all viceroys came from the British aristocracy and at best had minimal knowledge of India before they assumed their exalted position. The viceregal couples functioned very much as a team in India, husband and wife jointly fulfilling various roles and responsibilities. With precious few exceptions the viceregal couples cooperatively

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used their status as a vehicle of empowerment. Their clothing served several roles in defining and maintaining British power in India. Two notable events of British rule in India, Queen Victoria’s assumption of the title Empress of India in 1877, and the coronation of King Edward VII in 1903, splendidly show the roles of the viceregal couples in using dress as a vehicle of empowerment among the British community in India and form the focus of this chapter. An imperial durbar, or ritual court function of the greatest importance and pomp, celebrated each event which overwhelmingly demonstrated the relationship between the rulers of the native states of India and the British monarch. Not all viceregal couples, however, functioned well as a team and I conclude with one such example to provide a contrast to the team approach.

Edith and Robert Lytton Robert Lytton, viceroy from 1876 to 1880 and son of the noted Victorian novelist Edward Bulwer-Lytton, had served in numerous diplomatic positions previous to being appointed viceroy, but always thought of himself as a poet and playwright rather than a statesman. Lacking his father’s literary brilliance his viceregal appointment gave him the opportunity he so craved to indulge his desire to live in a world focused upon pomp and splendor. Loving drama and the stage so intensely Lord Lytton certainly was the most bohemian viceroy, particularly in the way he dressed. He often wore clothing which starkly varied with that worn by all previous or subsequent viceroys. Velvet smoking jackets, for instance, were some of his favorite garments. Lytton caused such a sartorial stir it prompted the journal Vanity Fair to declare “his strange indolence, love of personal ease, and petty egotism, his fanciful eccentricities of dress and bizarre love of finery, through all these we regard as beneath the dignity of one who fills so high a position” (Fowler 1987:  211–212). The Vanity Fair rebuke clearly states the expectation that people who held high office in India had to dress in a manner that demonstrated and maintained their status. In his administrative responsibilities Lytton also demonstrated his variant approach to how things should be done. “I am treading on eggs at every step,” Robert (wrote to his wife) Edith, and in those first days, he broke quite a few. “I am told that I  have already shocked all the social proprieties of Calcutta,” he blithely told Lord Salisbury, Secretary of State for India, “by writing private notes to members of Council, calling on their wives, holding levées by night instead of by day, and other similar heresies” (Lutyens 1979: 183). Lytton didn’t confine his sartorial eccentricities to his personal attire but strangely (debate has raged for over a century as to whether it was Lytton or individuals in England who prompted the action) even got authorities in England to declare British prestige in India could only be maintained if women coming to official events

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at Government House in Calcutta, the official residence of the viceroy, wore trains on their gowns and curtseyed to the viceroy (Barr 1976: 170). While the unexpected expense of acquiring new gowns with trains was one thing, no one connected with the decision showed concern about the strain the additional layers of cloth necessitated by such an enhancement to attire would cause in the tropical climate of Calcutta. Thus, to Edith Lytton fell the task of moderating or buffering the negative perceptions of the viceroy among the British community of Calcutta. Robert and Edith certainly worked as a team to fulfill societal expectations. Edith consciously used dress to counter Robert’s relaxed attitude to clothing. To prepare for her new responsibilities, while en route to India, Edith went to Paris and concluded an arrangement with the House of Worth, by far the most prestigious fashion house in the world during the last half of the nineteenth century, in which she periodically would receive gowns appropriate for the numerous functions over which she would preside. The vicereine thus not only always appeared magnificently dressed but set the fashion of feminine attire for the British community in India. Edith amply demonstrated that she was conscious of her role on the viceregal team to uphold and determine fashion among the British community in India. Serving at the apex of European society in India presented challenges. While on their way to India, their ship met the ship of the Prince of Wales, who was returning from the first ever visit to India by a member of the royal family. While the royal visit was a huge success, particularly among the princes and elite groups of India, the Prince of Wales told the Lyttons that he found British society in India to be most mediocre. The Prince in fact told Edith that “she would have to do as much as her husband in India to improve society,” for “he seemed to have found some curious types among the ladies” (Lutyens 1979: 25). Whereas the British in India felt they could lead the lives aristocrats lived in Britain, their middle-class backgrounds constantly manifested themselves, which the Prince of Wales observed during his visit as his comment to Edith Lytton shows. In a letter to England written soon after hosting their first dinner and ball Edith both verified the observation of the Prince of Wales of British society in India, as well as confirmed her patronage of the House of Worth: The people were asked for half-past nine, and soon after ten the whole staff came to fetch us and walked before us which was very grand and made me rather shy, at the same time inclined to giggle. We went straight to the Ballroom where R[obert] danced the first Quadrille and I had a chair to look on as I was not going wriggle across a Quadrille and look ridiculous. I wore my Worth red Ball gown as being rather old fashioned it didn’t expose one’s figure so . . . We went to supper at half-past twelve. One big centre table held 18—then there were 16 little round tables and it looked very well as there must have been 150 there at once. There were 300 asked to the Ball but I don’t think

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more than 250 came in all and there were not more than 200 at supper time. Private What spoilt all to me though were the people—Oh what a contrast to the foreign societies we have been in—so vulgar, so badly drest, so cold, so flat, and dancing so badly, it made me feel so low after as it will be so difficult to congregate them often. (Lutyens 1979: 46, emphasis in the original) Edith’s observation that women were badly dressed reflected the extensive time interval that occurred between the adoption of a new fashion in London and its subsequent adoption by British ladies in India. Contemporary writers on India observed that fashion in India was at least six months out of fashion with trends in London and often a year or two behind. A major component of the challenges Edith felt derived from the fact British society in India was extremely structured as precedent and protocol dominated all aspects of life. The official Warrant of Precedence, an administrative manual, painstakingly defined the rank and status of every European in India. Such rigidity resulted in the same people sitting beside the same people at all events, inducing excessive boredom after a handful of trite conversation topics ended, not to mention the challenges when couples not speaking to each other constantly found themselves at the same table. Robert and Edith felt this situation needed attention and introduced a convention in which they eliminated the formal receiving line at dinners but had an aide de camp escort them after the meal to each table and introduced the guests to them. Edith’s generously giving her full attention and empathy to each guest, humanized what had previously been an excessively formal situation (Fowler 1987: 209). Unquestionably, the high point of Lord Lytton’s viceroyship was the Imperial Assembly, or, durbar in 1877. Several factors influenced the decision to have an extravagant durbar honoring Queen Victoria. The visit of Prince Edward was a huge success thanks to his great interest in hunting, his great interpersonal skills, and his interest in India which resulted in strengthened, positive relationships between the princes of India and the British royal family. He of course primarily met native princes who uniformly reacted positively to the royal visitor and subsequently when visiting Britain spent time with the royal family. The unification of Germany with the subsequent change in title of the King of Prussia to Kaiser prompted factions in both England and India to feel it appropriate to elevate Victoria to the title of Empress as a rebuttal to Continental actions. Lytton, with his love of drama and ceremony, saw the chance to have an unforgettable event which would make his term as viceroy long remembered. He declared there would be a durbar, although he used the term Imperial Assemblage, in Delhi at the start of 1877 to mark the transition of Victoria’s status from queen to empress. Robert knew the spectacle of sixty-three Indian princes paying homage to Victoria would be unforgettable as after 1858, the British encouraged Indians to dress in as “Indian” a manner as possible. The native rulers indeed

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had delighted in wearing costumes unique to their kingdoms during the Prince of Wales’ visit, thus showing the royal visitor the distinctive sartorial traditions within their kingdoms. Their actions on the clothing front had an unexpected benefit as it attracted widespread media coverage of their exotic attire which highlighted life in the native states of India (Power and Resistance 2012: 112). Edith amply fulfilled her role on the viceregal team at the Imperial Assemblage thanks to the House of Worth. Her diary contains entries such as her description of the gowns she wore: Worth . . . sent me a lovely gown of purple blue silk and velvet stamped with blue velvet brocade—the bonnet was a sort of wreath of feathers with rim of pearls making it a Marie Stewart shape which was so becoming and I wore my pearl and diamond bracelet round my neck–the body and skirt fit quite beautifully and made me look so slim. It was handsome and picturesque without being too gaudy. (Luytens 1979: 83) At the dinner in the evening on the day of the formal ceremony Edith wore another Worth gown, which drew the attention of Indian notables since their sartorial traditions for such formal events dictated wearing enormous amounts of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. Hence their interest in Edith’s gown, which they thought was similarly opulent and contained real jewels in its motif: I wore a lovely white ball gown of Worth’s. All the front was done with gold and pearl fringe. The natives thought the front was all real jewels I’m sure as I saw them looking at it. The party was very amusing—there were lots of Native Chiefs and all the swellest Europeans, and all mixed so well. I was presented to several Native Chiefs who seemed in excellent spirits. Nearly all asked to be presented to me which is a great change, but I have been more brought forward than any lady yet in India. (Lutyens 1979: 85) The attire of the sixty-three princes at the Imperial Assembly with its extravagance of gold and jewels presented such a stunning sight that “[d]‌espite her experience with extravagant displays of riches and splendors in Europe and while touring the princely states, Edith was truly bedazzled by the glittering spectacle of the Assemblage” (Beaumont 2010:  206). Particularly noteworthy about the Imperial Assemblage was Robert’s insistence that Edith participate in events that included both British and Indians. Since Indian women never appeared in public, the British had reciprocated by making formal events for men only when Indians were present. Although this new attitude to formal events that included Indians shocked Anglo-Indian opinion the Lyttons were delighted to introduce this new approach. In fact, one of the justifications Robert used for including Edith was that the Imperial Assemblage honored Victoria, a woman, hence it

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was appropriate that Edith, the vicereine, play a significant role in the activities (Raymond 1980:  151). Combining the attire provided by the House of Worth and the great charm of Edith, the viceregal couple amply showed the important relationship between fashion and power in British India.

Mary and Nathaniel George Curzon In contrast to Lord Lytton’s administration that of Lord Curzon from 1898 to 1905 marked the high point of British rule in India particularly the Durbar of 1903 which celebrated the coronation of King Edward VII. Whereas Lytton was the bohemian literary dilettante, George Nathaniel Curzon most distinctively lived up to his upper crust aristocratic heritage. While an undergraduate at Oxford a popular ditty of him stated: My name is George Nathaniel Curzon, I am a most superior person My cheek is pink, my hair is sleek, I dine at Blenheim once a week. (Goradia 1993: 3) His term as viceroy certainly marked the high point of active British dominance of the political and social life of India. Pictures of him show an imperial figure well aware of his importance. Not shown in the pictures is the intense pain he constantly suffered thanks to a riding accident in his youth which left him in a constraining iron back frame for the rest of his life. As a dedicated imperialist, he spent incredible amounts of time attending to political and administrative affairs and left to his wife, Mary, the duties of serving as head of the British social structure in India. This team approach to responsibilities allowed Mary to present a face or approach that modified the aloofness Lord Curzon generated. Lady Mary Curzon, the only American to serve as vicereine, was the daughter of the business partner of Marshall Field whose department store was the most prominent shopping venue in Chicago for well over a century. Thanks to the financial generosity of her father, Lady Curzon defined fashion and elegance among the British in India. Although she liberally patronized the House of Worth for her outfits, in contrast to her predecessors Lady Curzon sought out distinctive Indian textiles which she then sent to Paris to be made into some of her gowns. This patronage combined European fashion with Indian fabrics that contained distinctive motifs such as the lotus and peacock. By the end of the nineteenth century the social demands upon the viceregal couple had grown to incredible proportions, which necessitated Mary having a very large wardrobe. In their first two months in India, Mary participated as vicereine

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over a Drawing Room, a garden party, a state ball for 1,600, a state evening party for 1,500, several smaller balls for 600 or so, and many official dinners with a minimum of 100 guests, as well as many smaller “private” dinners and informal evening dances. She shone brightly at each one, usually wearing one of the many Worth gowns, which were rarely seen more than once, and various sets of jewelry, each outfit highlighting her youthful beauty. (Beaumont 2010: 179) The physical demands of such a demanding social calendar in the challenging tropical climate of Calcutta completely ruined Mary’s health, she in fact died at age thirty-six, less than a year after they returned to England. In a letter to her parents she recorded how challenging these social responsibilities were for someone with extremely frail health: I nearly fainted twice dressing, and nothing but my will carried me through. I was carried to the carriage and had to drive 3 ½ miles to the house. I thought at times that I should die, as when I arrived I had to shake hands with 70 people and talk all through dinner, and afterwards I had to talk to each lady. The only thing I ate was a water-biscuit and a teaspoonful of brandy. I collapsed in a heap in the carriage on our way home. Our doctor met me at the door and I was carried up to bed. (Fowler 1987: 265) Unfortunately, inaccurate information often appeared about her in the media, particularly accounts of what she wore. Thus, accounts such as “I wore a white gown with white flowers embossed in velvet on it, . . . [but] the papers had printed ‘foolish accounts of imaginary bejewelled dresses covered with real stones’ appear in her letters to her parents” (Goradia 1993:  188). Media coverage of Lady Curzon’s gowns for the events of the 1903 Coronation Durbar were so inaccurate that the account of what she wore to the climax event contained a major error that, unfortunately, has been perpetuated by subsequent writers. Mary wanted the cloth of her gown to reflect Indian textile traditions and wore what immediately became the most famous dress ever worn by a Westerner in India. Its gold brocade with a motif of peacock feathers was enhanced by translucent beetle wings (Beetle Elytra) which produced a shimmering green effect that mimicked the iridescence of peacock feathers. The gown thus incorporated a distinctive Indian textile enhancement, iridescent beetle wings, as well acknowledged the fabulous Peacock Throne of Moghul emperor, Shah Jahan. But Mary’s dedicated efforts to relate her gown to Moghul tradition both by the use of beetle wings and using the peacock as decorative motif were totally lost on the Western media covering the Durbar. In an extravagant misperception the media reported Lady Curzon’s stunning gown encrusted with emeralds and made no mention of the relationship to the Peacock Throne. Subsequent

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writers on the event have incorporated this error into their accounts, which amply points out the need for present-day scholars to undertake direct observation and analysis of noted garments whenever possible rather than trusting contemporary media accounts. The gown fortunately is on permanent display at Kedleston Hall, the Curzon family home in Derby, England. In another perspective of the empowering role of fashion Lady Curzon played a second notable role in the coronation of Edward VII. Given the long reign of Queen Victoria 71  years had passed since the coronation of the last Queen Consort, Queen Adelaide. Queen Alexandra had a very independent mind and declared “I know better than all the milliners and antiquaries. For the coronation I shall wear exactly what I like, and so shall my ladies” (Gernsheim 1962: 137). Having seen and been impressed with the gowns made of Indian cloth worn by Lady Curzon during a brief visit to England from India, she requested Lady Curzon to make not only her coronation gown, but suitable attire for several other coronation events. Her only stipulation of Lady Curzon was that the coronation gown contain the rose, the thistle, the shamrock, and the lotus in its decorative motifs. The material for Queen Alexandra’s coronation gown, woven and embroidered in India under the supervision of Lady Curzon, was virtually a state secret as the queen did not want anyone to have a gown that in any way resembled it.

Marie and Freeman Willingdon Both Edith and Robert Lytton as well as Mary and George Curzon demonstrate how effective viceregal husband and wife functioning as a team could be in maintaining the social and political structure of British India. Alas, not all viceregal couples worked so well as a team. Lord Willingdon served as viceroy from 1931 to 1936. In contrast to Lytton and Curzon whose administrations were centered in Calcutta, Lord Willingdon served in the just completed new capital of India, New Delhi. Dominating the new capital was Viceroy’s House, a gigantic palace larger than Versailles. Marie Willingdon loved the color purple and used her authority as vicereine to revise the color scheme of Viceroy’s House. She started at one end of the edifice and proceeded to the other, changing the color of most rooms to her favorite shades of purple. This demonstration of empowerment and personal taste shocked the British community and after the Willingdons left India in 1936 Sir Edwin Lutyens, the architect of the building, was invited to New Delhi to restore the Viceroy’s House to its original decorative color scheme (Bence-Jones 1982: 272). In another never-forgotten incident Marie happened to be seated at a formal dinner next to the Maharajah of Alwar. She complimented him upon the

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diamond ring he was wearing and asked if she might examine it more closely. The Maharajah took the ring off his finger and gave it to her. Marie carefully examined it in great detail and after admiring it handed it back to the Maharajah. He refused to accept it from her, called one of his servants who promptly brought a finger bowl, took the ring, and elaborately washed it before giving it to the Maharajah. While the Maharajah was merely following principles of the Hindu caste system which defined all non-Hindus as Mleccha (untouchable) and thus anything touched by such an outsider to this tradition needed to be ritually cleaned or purified. The Maharajah’s actions, however, left everyone at the table speechless (Beaumont 2010: 186). Was it thus an example of fashion and power that, not long afterward, the Maharajah was removed from his throne by the British? Fashion and perceptions of authority and power among the first ladies of the Raj certain raises intriguing questions.

Conclusion The success of British administration in India relied upon dedicated effort of both the viceroy and vicereine with husband and wife working as a team. Robert and Edith Lytton as well as Mary and Nathaniel George Curzon illustrate this team approach. Whereas Robert was a bohemian who delighted in theatrical display, Edith steadfastly served as a counterbalance. Her patronage of the House of Worth amply fulfilled the sartorial expectations of the British in India. In contrast to Lord Curzon’s concentration of his time and effort upon administrative matters, Mary assumed the role of grand social hostess. Her interest in India also resulted in incorporating Indian cloth into a number of her gowns, which drew favorable praise from Indians. Both couples certainly worked as a team, which is in contrast to the administration of Lord Willington. Marie Willingdon did whatever she wanted to do and the resulting controversies surrounding her reduced the esteem both the British and Indian communities had of the viceregal couple.

References Codell, J. F. (2012), Power and Resistance: The Delhi Coronation Durbars 1877, 1903, 1911. Ahmedabad: Mapin. Barr, Pat, (1976), Memsahibs: The Women of Victorian India. London: Secker & Warburg. Beaumont, Penny, (2010), Imperial Divas: The Vicereines of India. London: Haus Publishing. Bence-Jones, Mark, (1982), The Viceroys of India. London: Constable.

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Fowler, Marian, (1987), Below the Peacock Fan: First Ladies of the Raj. New York: Viking. Gernsheim, Helmut, (1962), Edward VII and Queen Alexandra: A Biography in Word and Picture. London: Frederick Muller. Goradia, Nayana, (1993), Lord Curzon: The Last of the British Moghuls. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Lutyens, Mary, (1979), The Lyttons in India: An Account of Lord Lytton’s Viceroyalty, 1876–1880. London: John Murray. Raymond, E. Neill, (1980), Victorian Viceroy: The Life of Robert, the First Earl of Lytton. London: Regency Press.

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7 A LADY IS A MSHOZA: FEMALE AGENCY AND EMPOWERMENT IN SOUTH AFRICAN PANTSULA DANCE AND CULTURE Daniela Goeller

Introduction Pantsula (or isipantsula) is a historical South African subculture significant within the black community. It is expressed in a dance form, but also through a dress code, language, music, and a certain philosophy of life. Men who identify with the culture are called pantsula (or amapantsula) and women are called mshoza (or abomshoza). Today, pantsula is known mainly as an urban dance form featured in music videos by various international artists such as American popstar Beyoncé (“Run the World (Girls)” 2011), British jazz-band Sons of Kemet (“In the Castle of my Skin” 2015), or young French singer-songwriter Jain (“Makeba” 2016). Dressing to impress is a dominant element of popular culture in the South African townships and is essential to pantsula. In the 1970s, mshozas cultivated a very feminine dress style and challenged social norms by adopting fairly independent lifestyles, buying expensive clothes, partying, dancing, smoking, and drinking as much as their male counterparts. Mshozas were considered “bad girls,” yet they were admired. Nokuthula Mazibuko, director of the documentary A Lady Was a Mshoza, (from which the title of this chapter is borrowed), explained in a 2014 conversation that what motivated her to make the film was that while growing up in the township she had been intrigued and fascinated by mshozas who were elegantly dressed, appeared independent, and seemingly enjoyed their lives to the fullest.

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South Africa was colonized by the Dutch from the early seventeenth century. The Dutch introduced slavery and forced labor. Apartheid, which was established in 1948, continued to uphold institutionalized racial segregation and discrimination. It guaranteed the white minority full power and access to resources. It only collapsed in 1991 because of growing internal protests and conflicts, as well as sanctions and political pressure from the outside world. Apartheid was enforced by legislation that regulated all aspects of people’s lives—where they were allowed to go (Pass laws), who they were allowed to interact with (Population Registration Act), and where they were allowed to live (Group Areas Act). The duality in the assessment of independent urban women, as “bad” and outsiders to society, and yet seemingly admirable dates from the early 1950s and is a product of apartheid. This duality is tangible in the articles of Todd Matshikiza, a jazz pianist, composer, and journalist for Drum magazine, whose writings about women oscillate between respect and objectification (Pyper 2005). Drum magazine was established in 1951 as the first lifestyle magazine directed toward black readers. It employed some of South Africa’s finest photographers and writers, was highly influential and had a large readership. It represented the image of the new African who was modern and urban, instead of traditional and rural. Famous for its investigative journalism, Drum covered societal topics, entertainment, sport, and the conditions of urban living under apartheid. Matshikiza, for example, was reporting on women’s life in the jazz milieu and in the buzzing netherworld of the shebeens. Shebeens were illegal bars, originally operated by women, where people could meet, discuss social and political issues, and drink homemade alcohol. Under apartheid, access to pubs and bars was reserved for whites and the sale of alcohol to blacks was restricted to government-sanctioned beer halls, where women were prohibited. The shebeens provided music, dance, and entertainment and were vital meeting points for the black community. They were spaces where artists and activists, such as singers and Drum magazine cover girls Dorothy Masuka, Dolly Rathebe, and Thandi Klaasen, could meet and express themselves through dance, song, and fashion. In the 1940s and 1950s, the multiracial Johannesburg suburb of Sophiatown was the setting for a social, cultural, and artistic revolution, similar to the Harlem Renaissance. It was a place where all kinds of people coexisted. It was home to jazz musicians like internationally acclaimed trumpeter Hugh Masekela. Legendary jazz diva Miriam Makeba’s exceptional international career also started in Sophiatown with the popular singing group Manhattan Brothers. Writers like Can Themba, a writer of short stories such as “The Suit” and “Sophiatown Requiem,” or Arthur Maimane, who had a regular column in Drum magazine titled “The Chief” in which he wrote about gangsters and life in the

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shebeens, also called Sophiatown home. The artistic and intellectual elite would interact there with antiapartheid political activists like Anglican bishops Trevor Huddleston and Desmond Tutu. Notorious gangsters like Kort Boy, whose famous gang was called the “Americans,” mainly because of their dress style, also operated in the suburb. Sophiatown, nicknamed “little Paris,” “little Harlem,” or “Chicago of South Africa” (Nixon 1994: 13) was under a strong international, especially US influence. It was the time of “African jazz” and “marabi,” an eclectic but unique musical style that included a dance form, mind-set and subculture associated with people of low social status or immorality (Coplan 2007: 115). Sophiatown was completely destroyed by the apartheid government during the 1950s and the majority of its black population was forcefully relocated to newly created townships west of Johannesburg, mostly to Meadowlands, a suburb of Soweto (South Western Township). It was in these “locations” that pantsula developed. Pantsula has largely been considered a men’s world, despite the fact that the subculture has always included women. In this chapter, I will show the different ways in which women have engaged with pantsula creating their own niche in the subculture. I  will focus on female panstula dancers’ dress-style and its significance in asserting female agency.

Dress symbolism in postapartheid South Africa The use of the symbolic power of clothes as signifiers of identity has a long tradition in both colonial and postcolonial contexts in Africa, particularly in urban environments (Martin 1995: 154–172; Thomas 2003). Wearing American or British imported luxury fashion brands was an act of resistance, as it meant rejecting the lowly social status that the black South African population was assigned to by apartheid. Through the appropriation and transformation of the very culture that had been imposed on them, they were regaining what Aimé Césaire called “the initiative in history” (Maunac and Santos 2014: 155). It also meant embracing and identifying with African American culture through movies and jazz music and the imitation of the fashions worn by American Jazz musicians such as Charlie Parker, Thelonius Monk, or Ella Fitzgerald. These artists’ styles were copied from photographs on the covers of imported records, as television was only introduced in South Africa in 1976. Embracing US black culture and identifying with the images of US gangsters and underdogs meant embracing resistance to apartheid state repression and violence (Fenwick 1996).

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Data collection sources This research is based on participant observation. It also involved formal and informal interviews and regular conversations with pantsula dancers. In addition, the author has ten years of professional experience working with pantsula dancers in the role of a manager, administrator, researcher, and a founding director of the dance foundation Impilo Mapantsula. Impilo Mapantsula is run jointly by a number of dancers and serves as a nationwide organization for pantsula. We work toward the historical recognition of the pantsula culture and dance form and support the professional development of its practitioners.

Research on South African black urban culture The lack of documentation of South African urban art and culture is the unfortunate consequence of the country’s legacy of colonialism and apartheid. Despite this, there are some exceptions that followed the emergence of cultural studies in Europe. Cultural studies gained importance in the 1960s and 1970s when academics like Stuart Hall and Dick Hebdige started to study popular culture and subcultures in the postcolonial context. Parallel to the rise of cultural studies, a new academic discipline—anthropology of dance—was established. In his description of black popular culture, Stuart Hall defined the “black repertoire” as composed of style, music, and the visual and performative use of the body, with style being at the very core of this “body politics”: First, I  ask you to note how, within the black repertoire, style—which mainstream cultural critics often believe to be the mere husk, the wrapping, the sugar coating on the pill—has become itself the subject of what is going on. Second, mark how, displaced from a logocentric world—where the direct mastery of cultural modes meant the mastery of writing, and hence, both of the criticism of writing (logocentric criticism) and the deconstruction of writing—the people of the black diaspora have, in opposition to all of that, found the deep form, the deep structure of their cultural life in music. Third, think of how these cultures have used the body—as if it were, and it often was, the only cultural capital we had. We have worked on ourselves as the canvases of representation. (Hall 1993: 109) There was a lack of research on South African urban culture in the 1960s and 1970s because of international sanctions imposed on the apartheid state. This has changed since the end of apartheid, as important research has

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been conducted on popular culture and music in South Africa, particularly by cultural anthropologist David Coplan (University of the Witwatersrand), ethnomusicologist Veit Erlmann (University of Texas), and media theorist Adam Haupt (University of Cape Town). Despite this, only one scholarly article has been written on pantsula. That was in 2001 by Gerard Samuel, who is today head of the School of Dance at the University of Cape Town. Related to this issue, dance journalist Adrienne Sichel is compiling an extensive archive of dance at the University of the Witwatersrand and has also written the first comprehensive book on the history of dance in South Africa, but it is still awaiting publication. In addition, Erica de Greef has conducted valuable research on how past fashion has been reinterpreted in the present and used for “fashioned identity constructions” in postapartheid South Africa (De Greef 2014: 1).

Gender and pantsula In his article about pantsula, Samuel addressed the change it had undergone from a subculture to a dance form which made it more accessible, especially to women. He came to the conclusion that “as they shift notions of public and interior spaces young boys and girls of South Africa are already celebrating a less gendered and race reflection of pantsula” (Samuel 2001: 57). Nevertheless, pantsula remains a male-dominated space. In fact, Samuel interpreted the appearance of women in pantsula as a new phenomenon linked to the end of apartheid and new performance conditions. Although they had a strong influence, Samuel’s description failed to mention the mshozas. The meaning and origin of the word mshoza is unclear. It is traditionally used as a female equivalent to the term pantsula, which is most likely derived from the IsiZulu word pentsa (to protrude). It refers to a characteristic posture of the dance, also found in many indigenous African dances. Traditional dances practiced by migrant workers to maintain and preserve their culture in the cities were influenced by modern European and US music, fashion and dance styles. Pantsula, the “chameleon culture” (Samuel 2001: 54) is a direct result of such “cross-fertilization” (Glasser 1991: 114). It has to be considered as a modernist culture and identity of choice, not one of ethnic or local determination (Buckland 2010: 338). According to its most popular translation, pantsula means to waddle like a duck. It was also used to describe a group of young fashionistas called abopentsayo (the ones who protrude), who used to parade and pose in the streets of the townships. According to pantsula dancer Sicelo Xaba, since the streets were made of dirt it was necessary to walk carefully in order not to be covered with dust and ruin one’s immaculate clothes and fine leather shoes. The

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resulting posture—the torso bent forward, accompanied by movements to dust off the bottom of one’s trouser with one hand, while the other hand rests on the lower back—became a characteristic movement for bragging and showing off and was quickly considered stylish. All these movements can still be found in pantsula dance. The posture was even more obvious in the dance style of the mshozas, who used to dance in heels. It is likely that the term pantsula was initially used as a mockery by onlookers before it was proudly adopted by the practitioners themselves.

The early days: Dressed to kill Pantsula started as a fashion culture in the 1970s and for many, its main attraction was its dress code (A Lady Was a Mshoza 1991). Pantsula followers were young people who loved dressing up and partying on weekends. They dressed in expensive imported clothes mostly from the United States (i.e., Arrow), Britain (i.e., Daks of London), or Scotland (i.e., Pringle), combined with fine Scottish (i.e., Saxone), US (i.e., Florsheim) and Italian leather shoes. Pantsulas were sometimes also clad in more casual, Ivy League style sportswear. The ladies wore the same labels as the men to match their male counterparts. Women also liked to wear pleated skirts, particularly the reversible skirt called phenduka from the highly popular and influential British label Gor-ray, heavily advertised in Drum magazine (Lunn 1986: 199). The skirts, which were rather ample and long, covering the knee, were at times augmented by a thick leather belt loosely slung around the waist. They were ample for a reason—allegedly they were used for shoplifting. An anecdote of shoplifting is cited in interviews with former mshozas and also features in the 1998 musical Bozzoli . . . Like Pantsula . . . Like Mshoza. Shoplifting, like most other cases of theft, was tolerated by the community and considered as “repossession” (stealing from the white oppressor). In a review of the musical in the Mail & Guardian on January 15, 1999, Philipp Kakaza underlined the crucial importance of clothing items as identity markers: Mshoza, a female pantsula, has learnt to live a dangerous life. To survive, she goes out on shoplifting sprees, returning to the shebeen with an assortment of outfits hidden under her plaid dress. Mshoza’s shoplifting becomes a necessity to the pantsula womenfolk since, without their plaid dresses, Arrow shirts and two-tone shoes they would not have the female pantsula image. The mshozas wore “stack-heeled shoes with a stub toe and a thin gold band, or a classical court shoe” (Lunn 1986:  199), fashionable blouses (i.e., Arrow), combined with a tailored jacket and an expensive large hat. More commonly they wore berets or a big turban, tied with a shawl and stuffed with old clothes (A Lady

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Was a Mshoza 1991). The elegant pantsula dress code reflected the style of the US and British middle- and upper-classes. It was considered modern, urban, and feminine for women who lived in the cities and had gained a certain independence from traditional gender roles, previously only defined in the context of the family. Through their clothes mshozas showed that the apartheid state was unable to disfranchise them. The mshoza’s dance and dress styles also distinguished them from their male counterparts. However, the elegant dress code almost completely disappeared in the 1980s. It was discontinued (by men and women alike) because the clothes became unaffordable (Lunn 1986: 199). Even though financial reasons might have influenced this change, there was more to it.

Gangsterism and the struggle: “You simply cannot separate crime and politics . . .” In the 1980s, a new generation engaged with pantsula and put great emphasis on the dance form. According to members of “Vibrations,” a Katlehong crew founded in 1986 and famous for their 1989 victory at the music talent show “Shell Road to Fame” broadcast on South African national TV, pantsula was dissociated from marabi and the shebeens and transformed into an urban dance style. Formerly a single dance, it was now adapted to groups, its movements polished and given specific names. Patterns for formations and spacing were also created. The choreographies were collectively developed by the groups and often addressed social and political issues or the conditions in the townships. Thus, pantsula became a genuine form of expression competing with other artistic forms practiced by the youth like acting, or traditional and contemporary dances. Because the youth at the time didn’t have resources to spend on costumes, some danced in their school uniforms in order to obtain a unified look for their group. Other contextual elements also came into play. A new look was needed to visually distance young practitioners from the old. So the youth adopted a more casual look composed of US workwear (i.e., Dickies) and sneakers (i.e., Converse). Together with a cotton “pot” hat with a smaller brim, called a sporti, it became the new, unisex signature look of pantsula. Work clothes and sneakers were not only more practical for dancing, but also provided a certain advantage in the streets where violence was omnipresent. At a time when apartheid was at its height, violence was the normal means of conflict resolution at all social levels (Simpson 1993; Hamber 1998; Collins 2013). Violence was generated by the apartheid system and the response was political protests and gang activity. In a 1991 paper presented at the Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation, Steve Mokwena showed that the second half of the 1970s saw

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a new wave of gangsterism, parallel to the birth of pantsula culture. In the late 1980s pantsula was performed in television shows and on theater stages, while gangsters took advantage of the pantsula subculture and political uprisings to commit crimes, including “jackrolling,” the systematic harassment and abuse of women (Vogelman and Lewis 1993). These events, although unrelated, impacted the image of pantsula negatively. Pantsula became a dominating subculture in a general climate of violence, at a time when all aspects of life were highly politicized and it was impossible to separate crime and politics (Schmitz and Mogotlane 1991: 28). The awardwinning 1988 movie Mapantsula, by Oliver Schmitz and Thomas Mogotlane, tells the story of a gangster who gets involved in politics against his will. The film doesn’t feature the dance, which became a lasting disappointment for many pantsula dancers, but shows a relationship between pantsula, gangsterism, and the struggle against apartheid. The exiled South African poet and Black Consciousness Movement activist Mongane Wally Serote argued that pantsula “combines the skill of survival found in the underworld, acquired by some of the oppressed communities and developed into a subculture in the township, with the spirit of the struggle. In the 90s this struggle opened the possibility of a new South Africa” (Schmitz and Mogotlane 1991:  7). At that time, in the general perception, gangsterism and violence became an integral part of pantsula culture. So much so that kwaito music producer M’du Masilela labelled it as “South Africa’s traditional dance for thugs” (Samuel 2001: 54). Often separated from their men and left alone in the cities at the mercy of their employers, women were exposed to harm and had to learn to defend themselves. They adopted a caricatured male outlook—bragging, assertive, and aggressive. In an increasingly violent society in a state of civil conflict, where women had a limited scope of agency, these skills were essential to survival. They were also necessary tools to defend one’s family and fight the racism and oppression of the political system. The ensuing ANC armed struggle came with the script of the “tomboy” and the guerrilla woman. It led to the adoption of a more masculine dress code, creating new opportunities for women to express an alternative femininity.

Uniform and display: Asserting gender difference Since the 1970s, women had been integrated into the armed forces on all sides of the conflicts caused by apartheid, but were generally excluded from combat. Again, dress and fashion—in this case represented by the female uniform—played

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a significant role and can partially explain the appearance of a masculine dress code for women in the 1980s and 1990s. Brenda Schmahmann pointed out that the education of white women in the army of the apartheid state was strongly focused on developing and retaining their femininity even in the army. The organization of army fashion shows and displays of women’s military training made the uniform a fashion statement and led to the creation of a trend for more masculine style clothing inspired by the military (Schmahmann 2005: 70–71). The attraction of a uniform stems from its protective and unifying quality, the sense of confidence, pride and belonging it projects and its association with order and neatness. Pantsula dancers were attracted to it because the pantsula crews are governed by a strong sense of unity and strict respect of discipline. Commitment, punctuality, an orderly lifestyle, respectful behavior and the neatness of dress are core values that were useful during the political turmoil of the 1980s and 1990s. They continue to be important today as well. At all times, becoming part of a pantsula crew meant engaging in a meaningful activity and giving young people a purpose in life. It provided a certain form of protection from the evils brought by gangsterism, violence, and drugs. For the contemporary mshozas, wearing the pantsula “uniform” has both historical and gendered connotations. Lee, a female pantsula dancer, who is also the founder and codirector of the Soweto dance crew “Intellectuals Pantsula,” says that wearing her pantsula “attire” makes her feel strong and different because of the significance of clothes. Pantsula is one of the most difficult and physically exhausting dance forms. As such, it is a particularly rewarding outlet for women to prove their physical strength and endurance. For Star (see Figure 7.2) and Dinzaro, two female pantsula dancers with the Soweto dance crew “The Perfect Storm,” pantsula’s technical difficulty was their main motivation for learning the dance. While in some pantsula dance crews, the female dancers learn easier movements, neither Lee, nor Star or Dinzaro ever want to be given such preferential treatment. This experience is also confirmed by Swedish female dancer Mari Raudsepp, who learned to dance pantsula with the dance crew “Real Actions Pantsula” in a Johannesburg township called Orange Farm. She was informed by her female colleagues that dancing pantsula means to enter a space that was formerly reserved to males, adopting a different lifestyle, and creating new opportunities. Female pantsula dancers assert their femininity by showing that they can stand up to men and by demonstrating that pantsula can be danced by women too. To visually underline this, they dress the same as do the male pantsula dancers. The contemporary pantsula costume comprises elements from all the historical pantsula dress styles. Male and female costumes are sometimes differentiated by color or cut and a uniform look is important. Over the years, pantsulas have appropriated a number of different fashion items and styles, for instance the mathanda-kitchen (kitchen-suit), which is a servant’s uniform worn by men and women alike and is a relic from the days of the apartheid. It is sold in many colors

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Figure 7.1  Real Actions Pantsula, Orange Farm, 2015. Image by Chris Saunders. Courtesy Chris Saunders and Impilo Mapantsula.

and even comes with floral patterns by City Outfitters, which for three generations has been one of the main retailers for pantsula fashion in Johannesburg. Rather than buying off the rack, a number of dance crews have created their own costumes and are collaborating with local fashion designers to create original costumes. The yellow and orange unisex outfit of shirt and trousers, designed by costume designer “Macdonald ‘Macdee’ Mfolo,” has become the trademark of the crew “Real Actions Pantsula” from Orange Farm (see Figure 7.1). The costume is changed on an annual basis or according to the creation of a new dance piece, or dance routine. It functions to identify the group and represents structure, discipline, and a sense of belonging. The dance group is a protected space where women can prove their equality. Being dressed like their male counterparts in masculine or unisex clothes emphasizes the sameness of skill, talent and endurance.

Feminism and emancipation: “I try to behave like a lady” Middle-class Western feminism, with its narrative of a gender struggle between men and women, women as victims and survivors, and its emphasis on sexuality rather than politics, appears to “ignore the history of African women which

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speaks of agency and achievement” argued African women in the 1980s and 1990s (Morell 2001: 5). Black women saw Western feminist ideas as divisive and concerned with extending (white) privilege (Cock 1991: 21). For women in South Africa the family was not considered to be the source of a woman’s oppression, but something to defend against destruction by apartheid laws (Cock 1991: 47). In the contemporary context, gender equality was important because it gave women the right to take up arms and to fight for racial equality. The 1960s brought women’s sexual, economic and social independence in the Western world—which was expressed through unisex dress styles (Steele 1997:  49). Such tangible examples of “second-wave feminism” (Fraser 2009) influenced the black communities in South Africa only in the 1990s (Gilbert 2005), parallel to the rise of popularity of pantsula and kwaito in the mainstream culture. Kwaito is the predominant postapartheid musical genre that combines house music with samples of African music and lyrics that are either sung, rapped, or shouted. Today, most mshozas are pantsula dancers—young girls and women in their twenties, some with children, who dance in amateur or professional companies. Being called a mshoza is always a compliment and a token of respect and appreciation within the pantsula community. Still, some of the younger women don’t like the name because they believe that it belongs to a past era when mshozas were feared for being violent and picking fights. Young women today do not want to be viewed as “tomboys” or masculine, or to be associated with Nomasonto Maswanganyi, a controversial South African starlet and kwaito singer, better known by her stage name “Mshoza.” After her initial success as a singer, she has been associated with skin lightening, cosmetic surgery, an unfortunate marriage and a suicide attempt, which has created negative associations for the word mshoza. Being a mshoza implies being assertive and determined, especially in front of a man, while maintaining one’s female identity. This is today often interpreted as a form of entitlement rather than independence and has direct implications on social relationships. Pantsula dancer Sicelo Xaba describes a mshoza as a woman who is an equal partner to a man and is not waiting for a man to take care of her. Xaba refers to financial relationships between men and women, where sex and affection are granted in exchange for gifts of various types. Mshozas say that young girls must not depend on men for money, because “if a man gives a woman money and buys her clothes, he will think he owns her” (A Lady Was a Mshoza 1999). It is not an easy decision to take on pantsula for women. Star and Dinzaro believe that the bad image of pantsula and its reputation as a male culture persists. They assume that most men wouldn’t be tolerant enough to allow them to carry on with pantsula once they are in a committed relationship or marriage, because it is not considered to be feminine and suitable for a woman. While these

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women care for pantsula dancers, they wouldn’t want to date them, because they believe they are inclined to have romantic affairs with several women, and will not commit to any one relationship. When Star completed her studies in accounting and started working, she still hoped to pursue her dance career by rehearsing or performing in the evenings and on weekends. She became a professional accountant to help her family, yet if she could earn a living as a dancer, she would have chosen that instead. Her dream is to teach pantsula at a dance academy and train children. Lee, a female pantsula dancer from Soweto, decided to drop her studies in favor of the dance, despite the lack of support from her parents, who had been part of pantsula culture in their youth. However, she was fortunate to have the support of her partner, who is a pantsula dancer. None of the younger mshozas interviewed for this project ever mentioned any gender-based violence directed against them. They stated that they were

Figure 7.2  Masabatha “Star” Tete, Katlehong, 2016. Image by Chris Saunders. Courtesy Chris Saunders and Impilo Mapantsula.

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generally treated as equals and their efforts were respected, although they did mention occasional incidents when they would hear dismissive comments regarding their dance skills or endurance. This suggests that pantsula may not have the same levels of gender-based violence as that associated with hip-hop culture. Mshozas are protected and often made to feel special by their male colleagues. According to Impilo Mapantsula, mshozas represent only 15  percent of pantsula dancers today. Many girls start dancing when they are still in school, but very few of them continue dancing as adults. Most of them drop out as they pursue other jobs because of low wages and the lack of future prospects as a pantsula dancer. Feminism has its own history in Africa. The struggle against apartheid in South Africa made it necessary to support men and not fight them. Men were not seen to be the primary threat to women—the apartheid state was. The end of apartheid came in 1994 in the form of a democratic republic and an exemplary constitution that brought about women’s sexual, economic, social and legal equality. In this context, becoming a mshoza is claiming equality with men and identifying with a genuine South African subculture that is linked to the struggle for political freedom and modern African urban culture.

Conclusion Pantsula is not a masculine form of expression, although it is numerically dominated by men. However, women identified with the subculture for different reasons at different times. The subculture provided them with an alternative script to the limited options assigned to black women. In the process, female panstula dancers have used the signification of clothes to declare their position. In the 1970s, the exclusive feminine dress code allowed women to show independence from traditional gender roles and identify with the modern African urban culture. Today, wearing the masculine or unisex pantsula costume on stage makes mshozas feel empowered because they appear equal to their male colleagues and because they embody a unique African urban culture. In this culture a mshoza is perceived as a strong, self-determined and independent woman. The dualities in the perception of women as “bad girls” and independent women, the tension between respect and objectification, the image of the “tomboy”— all can still be found in postapartheid South Africa. Although South Africa now has a progressive constitution that provides social, gender and legal equality, the country is equally famous for its rape culture and domestic violence directed against women. The South African situation has been described as a “crisis” that can only be adequately addressed in another revolution (Moletsane 2008). Over time, different reasons for this crisis have been brought to the fore. One of them

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has been a blind acceptance of Western feminism that overlooks the specificities of local masculinities. The other is an entrenched discrepancy between the laws governing gender relations in the public space and the customs ruling in the private space (Morell 2001 and Gqola 2007). However, the crisis is more likely related to the transformation of South African society, from an oppressive apartheid state to a liberal democracy and the adoption of the social organization of neoliberal capitalism (Fraser 2009: 99). Under the new transnational and neoliberal model many things have been transformed into commodities. This development has also affected pantsula, which is now changing from a historically significant subculture to an internationally recognized dance form, and from a form of expression of progressive cultural identity to a professional career.

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Leballo, Lenela “Lee” ( 2015 ), mshoza and pantsula dancer and choreographer, codirector of the company Intellectuals Pantsula (Soweto), Soweto: July 21 (transcript). Lunn, H. (1986), “Antecedents of the Music and Popular Culture of the African Post1976 Generation,” PhD diss, University of the Witwatersrand, 1986. Martin, P. M. (1995), Leisure and Society in Colonial Brazzaville. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Maunac, S. and M. Santos (2014), “A Dream of a Return Journey: The Congolese Sape,” in Mediavilla, H. S.A.P.E., 152–157, Paris: Éditions Intervalles. Moletsane, R. (2008), “Review: Calling for Feminist Solidarity, Vigilance and Accountability in the Fight against Gender Inequality in Contemporary South Africa,” Feminist Africa, 13: 137–140. Morell, R., ed. (2001), Changing Men in Southern Africa. Pietermaritzburg: University of Natal Press. Nixon, R. (1994), Homelands, Harlem and Hollywood: South African Culture and the World Beyond. New York: Routledge. Pyper, B. (2005), “ ‘To Hell with Home and Shame!’: Jazz, Gender and Sexuality in the Drum Journalism of Todd Matshikiza, 1951–1957,” in C. Walton and S. Muller (eds.), Gender and Sexuality in South African Music, 19–26. Stellenbosch: SUN ePReSS, 2005. Samuel, G. (2001), “Shifts in Pantsula in a Performance Context in KwaZulu-Natal: A Case Study of Pearl Indaba’s Golden Dancers between 1998–2001,” Footsteps across the Landscape of Dance in South Africa, Shuttle 02, 53–58. Schmahmann, B. (2005), “ ‘Never Stop Being a Woman’: Fashioning the Female Soldier in South Africa,” in J. Van Eeden and A. Du Preez (eds.), South African Visual Culture, 69–89. Pretoria: Van Schaik. Schmitz, O. and T. Mogotlane, eds. (1991), Mapantsula. Screenplay and Interview. Johannesburg: Congress of South African Writers. Simpson, G. (1993), “Women and Children in Violent South African Townships,” in M. S. Motshekga and E. Delport (eds.), Women and Children’s Rights in a Violent South Africa, 3–13. Pretoria: Institute for Public Interest, Law and Research, Community Law Centre. Steele, V. (1997), Fifty Years of Fashion: New Look to Now. New Haven: Yale University Press. Tete, Masbatha “Star” and Dineo “Dinzaro” Mphuthi ( 2015 ), mshozas and pantsula dancers, members of the company The Perfect Storm (Soweto), Katlehong: July 18 (audio recording). Thomas, D. (2003), “Fashion Matters: ‘La Sape’ and Vestimentary Codes in Transnational Contexts and Urban Diasporas,” Modern Language Notes, 118.4: 947–973. Vibrations (2016), pantsula dance company (Katlehong). Katlehong: April 16 (video recording). Vogelman, L., and S. Lewis, (1993), “Gang Rape and the Culture of Violence in South Africa,” The Centre of the Study of Violence and Reconciliation. Available online: http://www.csvr.org.za/index.php/publications/1631-gang-rape-and-theculture-of-violence-in-south-africa.html (accessed March 31, 2017). Xaba, Sicelo T. (2016), pantsula dancer and choreographer, director of the company Red for Danger (Mohlakeng), and founding director of Impilo Mapantsula, Johannesburg: April 20 (transcript).

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8 PENETRATING KNITS: FEMINISTS KNIT “CUNTY FIRST” AND “THE PUSSYHAT” Rebecca E. Schuiling and Therèsa M. Winge

Introduction As a result of the sea of pussyhats at the 2017 Women’s March in Washington, the media declared that pink craftivism was a new phenomenon. We argue, however, that the pussyhat is not the first time that craftivism and ideas of craftivism have taken shape as a knit object. In fact, this was not even the first time female genitalia was the subject of craftivism. In March 2012, ABC News reported that knitted, crocheted, and sewn uteruses were sent in the mail to Congress (Bingham 2012). Members of Government Free VJJ1, a women’s rights activist group, sent the uteruses to members of Congress to discourage them from passing laws and regulations impacting women’s bodies (Bingham 2012). Crafters sent each Congress member her/his own uterus to control, encouraging them not to try to control other women’s uteruses (Winge and Stalp 2014). In this chapter, we highlight several earlier examples of craftivism, drawing at length on Lisa Anne Auerbach’s Cunty First (2008), juxtaposed against the pussyhat. The examination of these “penetrating” knits reveals the intimacy of knits and how they become the means/vehicle of empowerment when used as visual political rhetoric. In addition, we acknowledge the ways knit material culture addresses sociopolitical rhetoric confronting contentious social mores and assumptions regarding feminism. We begin by establishing the vulnerable position of knits and how the status of knits parallel and are entangled with the position of women and their lack of agency in Western culture.2 Knit items carry many of the same stereotypes, biases, and encumbrances associated with

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women. We offer examples in order to discuss the themes of politics, power, sex, and gender.

Patriarchy and knits Cloth can be a compelling visual medium. Accordingly, Peter Stallybrass states, “Cloth . . . [is] powerfully associated with memory, or to put it more strongly, cloth is memory” (2012:  70). Michael Carter writes “[c]‌lothes are the outward manifestation, the external condition, of our sociality [and] our ideas” (2003: 6). As one of the three primary structures used to clothe the body (woven and nonwoven being the other two), knits are closely associated with dress (i.e., body modifications and supplements) (Eicher and Roach-Higgins 1992). This obvious connection tends to marginalize them. The familiarity with the medium, even if only in a tactile sense, makes knits accessible for the wearer and viewer. Nearly everyone has intimate experiences with knits. Most undergarments are knits. Most clothing that is worn closest to the body—leggings, tanks, and tees—are also almost always knit. Because of its ubiquity, knit is a commonly understood medium. Knit fabric is laden with historical, familial, and feminine connections. The memories associated with knits could include:  the T-shirt souvenir from a treasured family vacation; the leotard worn to a dance recital; the Goodwill reindeer sweater worn in irony (or pride); the first knitted scarf as a gift or showcasing one’s creativity; a baby blanket knit by a new mother. In addition to these memories, the structure of knitted fabric is comforting in itself. Indeed, the knit fabric is the preferred choice for many who want to put on their “comfortable clothes.” Unlike woven fabrics, which stand off the body slightly and require manipulation to fit the body closely, knits are more like a second skin. They receive the imprint of our bodies, moving with the body rather than constricting it. Because of this familiarity, knitting is often discounted as a medium for art precisely because of its typical association with clothing and is, therefore, considered superficial. Indeed, as Joanne Turney notes, “knitting is often relegated to the kitsch and the banal” (2009:  3). A  medium that is commonly worn on the body and carries the imprint of the activities of daily life and mundane tasks, does not carry the same cache as a sculpture or a painting. In addition, knitters are assumed to be female, so by association, knitting is presumed to be a domestic activity. It is commonplace for objects in the public sphere to be deemed valuable only when they are considered to be salable commodities. Handcrafted objects are associated with the domestic realm which connotes mundaneness and amateurism.

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In a historical context, knits and knitting have not been well documented. But, despite the lack of documentation, the traditions and techniques of knitting have been passed down from generation to generation. Recently, knitters are beginning to expand the creative possibilities associated with the knit structure. Artist, Karen Searle notes, “knitting as a technique has existed for about 900 years as a practical means of making clothing and household textiles; only rarely has it been used conceptually” (2008:  9). Contemporary crafters are returning to making, and utilizing, knit as a medium. They are “. . . part of an ancient lineage of women around the globe who have transformed fibers into clothing to protect their families for tens of thousands of years” (Murphy 2009: 4). Artists, designers, and crafters are using the medium of knit to question the stereotypical notions of gender and sex, protest wars, as an alternative to mass consumption and rampant consumerism, and to bring awareness to environmental issues, while also using knits’ negative connotations to express sociopolitical ideologies and lack of empowerment. S.  Minahan and J.  W. Cox suggest that knitting is a subversive vehicle for cultural commentary on gender, politics, and the commoditization of society and technology (2007).

Crafts parallel the positions of women The position of crafts, such as knitting, crocheting, and quilting are entangled with the history of women. In Western culture, craftivists challenge and expand the position of women and crafts in society. In recent years, craftivists are introducing controversial subject matter through crafts, such as political debates around women’s genitalia, which is often considered taboo in public discourse, among other issues concerning women. The process of bringing domestic (feminine) craft into the economic (masculine) realm is positioned as a third-wave feminist endeavor (Dawkins 2011). Third-wave feminism “. . . is an expression widely used to talk about the contemporary moment in self-identified feminist thinking and practice in North America (Canada and the US) and to distinguish this moment and its emphasis from second-wave feminism” (Brathwaite 2002: 335). “Third-Wave feminists are reclaiming domestic arts that have been shunned because of their association with oppressive domestic labor by many Second-Wave feminists” (Chansky 2010: 681). “Knitting . . . can be used for feminist goals because it is grounded in a gendered cultural practice that can readily be politicized for different purposes by different groups and individuals” (Pentney 2008). Second-wave feminists feared that handcrafts were moving women once again toward “feminine arts,” as depicted by the dissatisfied housewife stereotype

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in Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique (1964). Debbie Stoller, cofounder of the third-wave magazine Bust and author of Stitch’n Bitch, asserts that these people who looked down on knitting, were not being feminist at all. In fact, they were being anti-feminist, since they seemed to think that only those things that men did, or had done were worthwhile. Why couldn’t we all—men and women alike—take the same kind of pride in the work our mothers had always done as we did in the work of our fathers? (2004: 27–29) Thus, knitting, redeployed for feminist goals, has the power to subvert traditional binaries bound up in gendered and heterosexist norms (Pentney 2008). In Western culture, there is the explicit notion of separate gendered spaces, specifically public and private spaces. Knitting is understood to be a domestic act (private) created within the home and therefore labeled as a female activity; however, the Women’s March of 2017 brought knits en masse to the public arena, and such a public explosion of knits subverted its traditional associations.

Craftivism In growing numbers, contemporary crafters identify themselves as advocates within the broader sphere of social activism (Winge and Stalp 2014). In Knitting for Good:  A Guide to Creating Personal, Social, and Political Change Stitch by Stitch (2008), Betsy Greer coined the term “craftivist,” which is now part of crafters’ and activists’ lexicons. Craftivism is the activity of creating and using crafts to perform acts of activism, which ranges from guerilla yarn bombing (e.g., decorating trees and architecture with yarn and crafts), to wearing handmade garments (e.g., reaction to mass consumerism), to stitching quilts in public (e.g., protesting against war) as acts of activism. Within the contemporary craft movement there are individuals and groups who pick up knitting needles, crochet hooks, and sewing needles in order to express their political views through the medium of creative products (Winge and Stalp 2014).

Cunty first Lisa Anne Auerbach is an American artist based in Los Angeles, California, and an Assistant Professor of Art in Photography at Pomona College. Auerbach’s work combines her interest of photography, knitting, politics, and self-published zines and blogs (Dambrot 2006: 44). Attracted to both the immediacy and portability of knits, Auerbach finds the knitted sweater to be a rich medium to engage with

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sociopolitical issues. She achieves this through texts that are emblazoned on her knits. Auerbach stated that she was inspired by the musical group Cheap Trick, in particular, the sweaters worn by lead singer Rick Nielsen (Searle 2008: 105). In the following quotation, Auerbach explains why she was drawn to the use of knit sweaters as an expressive medium: What struck me about his sweaters was the friction between the permanence of the material and the liveliness of the language and content. Unlike T-shirts, sweaters are worn for decades, and handed down through families. (Searle 2008:105) Auerbach uses recognizable associations (visual, tactile, and memory) to draw in the viewer. The impactful text displayed on her dress items triggers emotions and thoughts. Shana Nys Dambrot of Fiberarts Magazine notes that Auerbach “. . . recast[s]‌knitting from its traditional role . . . to an idiomatic armature on which to pin sociopolitical commentary” (2006: 44); that is, Auerbach creates wearable clothing as living billboards of her political beliefs. Auerbach’s work titled Cunty First (2008) is a navy blue knitted sweater dress with gold lettering, stars, and pistols. Her work is a critique of Sarah Palin, the 2008 vice presidential candidate of presidential candidate John McCain and the former governor of Alaska. Cunty First was part of a series of garments displayed by suspension in various art galleries. In the work, Auerbach tackles both the professional and personal personas of Sarah Palin by mocking her overuse of specific terms and spoofing on their meaning and context. Auerbach drew inspiration from Palin’s quotations, which Auerbach then incorporated into her own sociopolitical message into the garment. In reference to Palin’s opinion on America’s use of oil, Palin appropriated the term “drill baby drill” (Kurtz 2012). In response to this, Auerbach knitted an ensemble, which includes phrases such as “SHILL BABY SHILL” (the word “shill” means “swindler”), and “HALF BAKED ALASKA,” which is wordplay based on the dessert, as well as meaning “ill-planned or foolish.” The titular text “CUNTY FIRST” is knitted across the lower half of the back bodice, a riff on the term “Country First,” a phrase frequently repeated by the 2008 Republican presidential ticket. The knitted text and phrasing reveals Auerbach’s political vitriol with Palin and her candidacy in a presidential race, and also represents social commentary via the knit sweater. Auerbach subverts traditional expectations of textual motifs that have been found in crafts for centuries. Cunty First reveals Auerbach’s political agenda and sociopolitical leanings (see Figure 8.1). She uses art to disseminate propaganda. In Cunty First, Auerbach’s sociopolitical ideas mesh with fashion, craft, art, gender, and power. Despite the fact that the sweater and skirt set meet the criteria of clothing, the knit garments are meant to be pieces of art for display in a gallery setting or other art venues. This

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Figure  8.1  Cunty First (2008) is a navy blue knitted sweater and skirt ensemble that critiques Sarah Palin, the 2008 vice presidential candidate of John McCain’s United States presidential bid. Courtesy of Lisa Anne Auerbach, 2017.

means that Cunty First exists not only as a knit garment, but as an unconventional vehicle for political commentary, as well as an example of craftivism.

Pink Craftivist Movement In recent years, there is evidence to suggest that craftivism takes shape as the Pink Craftivist Movement (PCM), where crafts, primarily made from pink materials, are challenging dominant and often hegemonic power structures (Winge and

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Schuiling 2017).3 Issues addressed with PCM not just directly impact women but often stem from concerns from spheres inhabited and visited by women. Evidence of the PCM is apparent in Government Free VJJ (i.e., reproductive rights uteri), Guerilla Woolfare (i.e., a seven-mile peace scarf), and Pink M.24 Chaffee (i.e., an antiwar tank cozy). Marianne Jorgenson, Danish crafter and artist, used the internet to request crafters around the world to send her pink “granny” squares in order to create the Pink M.24 Chaffee (2006) in Copenhagen, Denmark. Jorgenson and community craftivists stitched together more than 4,000 pink granny squares to handcraft a large tank cozy to cover a Second World War military tank as a visual antiwar statement against the Danish military’s involvement in the Iraq war (KKArt 2008). When wrapped in hues of pink hand knitted/crocheted yarns, which feminize, emasculate, and render the tank flaccid, the tank ceases to be a potent machine of war and destruction. The PCM capitalizes on the understanding in Western society that hues of pink are stereotypically being associated with girls and women. More mainstream initiatives have also capitalized on this:  consider Breast Cancer Awareness campaigns using pink ribbons, knit T-shirts, scarves, and hats to visually communicate the recognition and support for women with and/or surviving cancer. In a similar manner, the PCM uses pink in crafts, such as hats, scarves, and even uteruses (with happy faces stitched on them), as a way of disarming the viewer while s/he is recognizing its activist political message. Crafters are aware of the symbolism of pink hues and the association with girls/women, as well as marginalized positions of crafts in Western society. They use pink to empower ubiquitous crafts and to transform them as political weapons and invest the wearer with pink agency.

The pussyhat On January 21, 2017, the Women’s March became the largest activist march in US history, with an estimated 4.6 million people marching in multiple locations across the country (Waddell 2017). Furthermore, the march and its activists were supported in more than 650 cities worldwide (Waddell 2017). According to the official website, “The Women’s March on Washington will send a bold message to our new government on their first day in office, and to the world, that women’s rights are human rights” (Women’s March website 2017).4 In addition, the Women’s March organizers’ primary goal was to promote equal rights for women and to defend marginalized groups and, to this end, they partnered with more than 200 organizations seeking to protect women’s rights, LGBTQ issues, racial equality, the environment, and so on (Women’s March website 2017).

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Krista Suh and Jayna Zweinman launched the Pussyhat Project in support of the Women’s March, as a way of connecting with other activists and supporting those marching (Pussyhat Project 2017). The specific shape and color of the pussyhat are in reaction to the Access Hollywood leaked audio of Donald Trump, stating, “Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything,” which was released during the 2016 presidential campaign (Drum 2016). The pussyhat serves as a

Figure  8.2 Pussyhat on Fearless Girl. The Pussyhat Project inspired the pussyhat’s construction and use as symbol for the current trends of political resistance within the Pink Craftivist Movement (PCM). Courtesy of Niki Sullivan, 2017.

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visual pun for “pussycat,” and the color pink for its associations with girls and female genitalia. The Pussyhat Project encouraged crafters to knit, crochet, and sew square-shaped pink hats for themselves and others. The soft pink knit hat shaping to the head and forming kitten ears with the square corners is a juxtaposition against the Trump’s “Make America Great Again” red baseball-style hat with a rigid visor (see Figure  8.2). These two hats offer themselves for further comparison extending from feminine versus masculine, to handmade/one-of-a-kind versus corporate/mass-produced in China, to shared/given as gifts versus those sold for profit, to activism versus capitalism/consumerism. Accordingly, these two hats have become visual representations for two disparate political positions representing the current political divide in the United States.

Wearing politics Both Cunty First and the pussyhat are wearable knit garments with subtext of visual language suggesting and representing associations to female genitalia. Wearing politics becomes possible because of the nonverbal language of dress. Cloth can be “read” by the viewer for social messages and encoded meanings (Barber 1994: 149). Knitters are utilizing the power of the knit structure and its visual semiotics to create knit symbols of activism. Artist, Jim Drain notes his interest in the semiotics of knits and the ability to use the stitches to create syntactic images, Knitting is a living tradition—it’s physical knowledge of a culture. Knowledge of language dies so quickly. It’s awesome to find a sweater and look at the language of it—to see how it’s made, what yarn was used, and how problems were solved. A sweater is a form of consciousness. (Gschwandtner 2008: 274) Notably, there are many craftivists interested in exploring the historic connections found in knitting, as well as the inherent power of creation, transmitted through handmade, domestic textiles. Wearing Cunty  First or a pussyhat is literally donning one’s politics. Furthermore, reading these garments calls on an understanding of Western symbolism and semiotics within the prevailing contentious political landscape. At the Women’s March in 2017, the visual from an overhead showed a sea of pink suggesting a huge number of people wearing pink hats, most being pussyhats. The pussyhat is the latest symbol of the PCM, but it is unlikely to be the last.

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Penetrating knits Drawing on stereotypical notions of what it means to be female (i.e., nurturing, caring, giving), the process of knitting itself is similar to these characteristics. The act of bringing forth life, or making, draws parallels between femininity and fabric creation. By engaging in a slow process of creation like knitting, the crafter, artist, or designer feels connected to the medium through its therapeutic and meditative qualities that draw on stereotypical maternal qualities. Knitting is an intimate activity done in the home with repetitive motions, reiterated much like a mantra. The feel of the yarn is soothing as it moves around the needles and through the fingers. The clicking of the needles provides comfort through the repetition of sound that accompany the expected and anticipated motion. The knitting needles are phallic in appearance and penetrative in their purpose. The needles are forced into the opening of the V-shape “legs” of the knit stitch. Then the yarn wraps around the needle and is brought through the opening. The yarn itself is often warm, soft, and fuzzy, metaphorically conjuring images of pubic hair. The very act of knitting impacts the senses intimately. In addition, there is a social or communal aspect to knitting that draws on the legacy of knitting to speak to issues in contemporary culture. These two crafted objects of material culture, Cunty First and the pussyhat share many commonalities, such as being knit with yarns, being outlets for channeling activism, and sharing associations with female genitalia. The comparison of these constructed examples offer opportunity for critique regarding the positionality and intersectionality of female genitalia within activism. Cunty First is a one-of-a-kind machine-knit dress created by one artist (Auerbach), while the pussyhats were created by thousands of people using numerous patterns and improvisational variations (i.e., knit, crochet, or sewn). Subsequently, Cunty First was worn by one person (the artist) versus the pussyhats, which were worn by thousands. The sharing of individual patterns and the crafted hats was encouraged by the organizers of the Women’s March, who created a website to share patterns, instructions, and even provide supplemental printable documents to accompany the pussyhat when given to someone. As a result, the pussyhat has the potential to be seen by more people and continue to spread its political and activist messages. Both knit garments are cute and intertwine humor and activism. Cunty First’s silhouette is similar to a cheerleader knit dress; the pussyhat has adorable kitten ears made from square corners. Auerbach designed and constructed Cunty First to include a text referencing a derogatory term for female genitalia to critique another woman (i.e., Sarah Palin), which has the ability to startle and accost the viewer with the use of the word “CUNTY.” Auerbach’s play on Palin’s quotations in texts knit throughout the dress offers a sarcastic sense of humor. In

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contrast, thousands of women (and men) created and wore pink hats critiquing the commentary of one man (i.e., Donald Trump) about grabbing women in the “pussy” and to reclaim the term as a visual pun, which uses humor as a means to reclaim ownership over a derogatory word for female genitalia. In both cases the use of humor and cuteness assist with making the objects’ activist message more palpable. The pussyhat has connections to the PCM in its use of primarily pink yarns and fabrics and inherent activism in the visual pun of the hat’s shape. People continue to wear the pussyhat after the Women’s Marches in everyday life to visually communicate their political leanings and activism. Furthermore, the Michigan State University Museum’s Shirley Wadja and Mary Worrall are now collecting these hats to create an archive for the historic Women’s March and highlight the role of the pussyhat in its material culture (Wadja and Worrall 2017). Similarly, the Pussyhat Project offers a digital tracker for hat makers and/or wearers to register their hat and its location on their website.

The V-Word Terminology for female genitalia, such as “vagina” and “pussy,” are under scrutiny and being censored in specific spaces. In 2012, female politician Lisa Brown was banned from addressing the Michigan House of Representatives on a subsequent bill, due to her use of the word “vagina” during a debate over an antiabortion bill (Jones 2012). Her comments:  “Mr. Speaker, I’m flattered that you’re all so interested in my vagina, but no means no” (Jones 2012). Her comments were condemned by male Republican members of the house. In response to the ban, Brown stated, “If I can’t say the word vagina, why are we legislating [on] vaginas?” (Jones 2012). Within the larger context of Western popular culture, the term “pussy” is commonly a reference for female genitalia, but it is also understood and used to refer to someone who is considered weak (Davies 2012). While “pussy” is commonly used in film and music by males as a derogatory term for persons they perceive as weak, people are less comfortable using the term in connection to women’s genitalia. For example, reporters were uncomfortable and avoided saying “pussy” on air when the story first circulated about Trump’s comments despite the quotation being printed on the screen (Drum 2016). Furthermore, many media entities blurred the word “pussy” on protest signs during the Women’s March. The ease of the use of the word “pussy” in popular culture for films, songs, videos, and so on, versus its suppression and obfuscation in news programs (even when it is the subject of a news story) suggests that when the word is heard/viewed through the casual male lens it is more acceptable than

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when it is more directly connected to female genitalia. Still, the unacceptable nature of the term “pussy” and its derogatory association with female genitalia is part of its appeal to activists.

Dropped stitch Derogatory terms for women’s genitalia remain problematic in public discourse whether those terms are “cunty” or “pussy.” Our examples point to the power dress has to demean and empower its wearer through knit garments. Auerbach’s use of the term “cunty” in a knit dress is not only an empowering political expression and a form of activism, it is also an attack on another woman. By using this pejorative term in this context, Auerbach goes beyond calling out Palin and her right-wing folksy commentary. She also attacks Palin being a female through the use of “cunty.” While wearing the pussyhat reclaims the term, providing agency to the wearer and visually communicating the politics of craftivism, the pussyhat also draws attention to the derogatory term “pussy” from Trump’s quotation associated with sexual assault.

Snag in the knit Some groups felt excluded from the Women’s March and the Pussyhat Project; however, the only persons officially excluded were pro-life supporters (Women’s March website 2017). Still, transgender persons expressed feeling left out or not fully included because the march suggested that a vagina was essential to womanhood (Solis 2017). In recent years, however, women’s genitals have become highly politicized. Legislative actions and the controlling of terminology focused on female genitalia demonstrate the need for more open discourse on women’s issues. The pussyhat at the Women’s March served as a powerful symbol in defense of women and issues surrounding women genitalia. It became a means of reclamation and reexamination of the hegemonic masculine lens through which female genitalia is currently viewed.

Conclusions Knitting, considered the domain of women or belong to the realm of the domestic, through its associations with women’s work continues to be deemed pejorative (Stalp and Winge 2008). Consequently, knits and knitting carry gendered notions, stereotypes, and condemnations. Crafters, however, understand that knits are not just used in the domestic realm but may be used as a vehicle for

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public expression. They know that knit garments have the potential to effectively communicate controversial political and social issues without being directly confrontational. Thus, PCM crafts frequently bridge dress, gender, craft, visual, and material culture. Cunty First and the pussyhat are objects of craftivism embodying secondwave feminist ideology with the use of a third-wave feminist vehicle. Furthermore, the pussyhat functions as a subtle and even adorable feminist rallying symbol against President Donald Trump and the associated hegemonic power structures. Both objects are knit objects of material culture that function as vehicles to present sociopolitical positions and challenge accepted norms. As a result, knit craft with its autonomous position may be used to represent and disseminate sociopolitical ideologies and agenda. Both Cunty First and the pussyhat reveal how knits are a medium, which addresses and critiques culture. Where Cunty First and the pussyhat truly differ is how the latter is firmly positioned in the PCM and attempts to draw attention to women’s issues, while the former harshly critiques a female politician through an object that can be read as art when displayed in a gallery. The pussyhat demands to be seen as a visual message of resistance and agency, while at the same time it reminds us of the hands that made it. Conversely, Cunty First borrows from a known silhouette and motifs, and does not reveal the hand of the maker. Cunty First and the pussyhat share a common knit structure typically associated with clothing; they are examples of activists seeking a new mode of expression with the potential to function as a medium for the activism. In 2013, Auerbach created a sweater titled We are all Pussy Riot, We are all Pussy Galore, which has motifs and text reflecting themes of women challenging powerful and hypermasculine men: President Vladimir Putin and fictional secret agent James Bond (Goldfinger 1964). Inspired by the Women’s March and the Pussyhat Project, knit hats with science-related themes are being crafted for the upcoming Science March on Earth Day 2017, which supports women in STEM fields, science funding, and scientific research (March for Science website 2017). Finally, the fashion industry already co-opted the pussyhat for fashion shows, such as Missoni with mass-manufactured pussyhats being distributed to guests with the slogan #pinkisthenewblack (Moussavian 2017). Knits and politics have an intertwined future in which soft and comforting objects offer a visual forum for publicly challenging politics and patriarchy’s misogyny.

Notes 1 T he term “VJJ” became part of Western vernacular when Oprah Winfrey exclaimed “Va Jay Jay” in a video clip that went viral on the internet; however, it was first

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used on Grey’s Anatomy (February 12, 2006) by character Miranda Bailey (Rosenbloom 2007). 2 T he terms “women” and “females” in this research refer to anyone who identifies/d as a woman, girl, female, and so on. This research is not exclusionary; we did not find in our research that the Women’s March or the Pussyhat Project were exclusionary based on sex or gender (according to observations and participants’ accounts). 3 T herèsa M. Winge introduced the concept of the Pink Craftivist Movement (PCM) in a presentation with Rebecca E. Schuiling, given at Eli and Edythe Broad Art Museum. 4 T his quotation was first stated by Hillary R. Clinton in a speech given in Beijing, China on September 5, 1995 (Clinton 1995).

References Auerbach, L. A. (2005), “Knitting for the New Millennium Manifesto,” KnitKnit, 6 (Winter): 16–17. Auerbach, L. A. (2008), Cunty First, knit ensemble photograph. Barber, E. W. (1994), Women’s Work: The First 20,000 Years: Women, Cloth and Society in Early Times. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Bingham, A. (2012), “Activists to Congressmen: If We Knit You a Uterus: Will You Stay out of Ours,” ABC News, March 27, 2012. Available online: http://abcnews.go.com/ Politics/OTUS/activists-sending-knitted-vaginas-congressmen/story?id=16014922#. UdBAC1NQ15g (accessed March 10, 2017). Brathwaite, A. (2002), “The Personal, The Political, Third-wave and Postfeminism,” Feminist Theory (3): 335–344. Carter, M. (2003), Fashion Classics: From Carlyle to Barthes. New York: Berg Publishers. Chansky, R. A. (2010), “A Stitch in Time: Third Wave Feminist Reclamation of Needled Imagery,” The Journal of Popular Culture, 43 (4): 681–700. Clinton, H. (September 5, 1995), Speech to 1995 United Nations 4th World Congress on Women in Beijing, China. Dambrot, S. N. (2006), “Lisa Anne Auerbach: Fear No Sweater,” Fiberarts Magazine, (Jan./Feb.): 44–45. Davies, M. (August 29, 2012), “Can we Reclaim and Redefine ‘Pussy’? Sure, Why Not,” Jezebel. Available online: http://jezebel.com/5938811/can-we-reclaim-and-redefinepussy-we-dont-see-why-not (accessed: March 10, 2017). Dawkins, N. (2011), “Do-it-Yourself: The Precarious Work and Postfeminist Politics of Handmaking (in) Detroit,” Society for Utopian Studies, 22 (2): 261–284. Drum, K. (2016), “Trump on Tape: ‘Grab ’em by the Pussy. You Can Do Anything’,” Mother Jones, October 7, 2016. Available online: http://www.motherjones.com/ kevin-drum/2016/10/trump-tape-%E2%80%9Cgrab-them-pussy-you-can-doanything%E2%80%9D (accessed March 2, 2017). Eicher, J. B., and M. E. Roach-Higgins. (1992), “Definition and Classification of Dress,” in R. Barnes and J. B. Eicher (eds.), Dress and Gender: Making and Meaning in Cultural Context, 8–28. Oxford: Berg Publishers. Friedan, B. (1963), The Feminine Mystique. New York: Norton.

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Government Free VJJ. (2014), Government Free VJJ website. Available online: www. governmentfreevjj.com (accessed October 26, 2014). Greer, B. (2008), Knitting for Good: A Guide to Creating Personal, Social, and Political Change Stitch by Stitch. Boston: Trumpeter. Gschwandtner, S. (2008), “Knitting is . . .,” The Journal of Modern Craft, 1 (2): 271–278. Jones, S. (2012), “Vaginagate: US Politician Banned for Saying Vagina in Abortion Debate,” The Guardian, June 15, 2012. Available online: https://www.theguardian. com/world/2012/jun/15/michigan-politician-banned-using-word-vagina (accessed March 10, 2017). Jorgenson, M. (2006), Pink M.24 Chaffee. Nikolaj Contemporary Art Center, Copenhagen, Denmark. KKArt. (2008), Pink M.24 Chaffee: A Tank Wrapped in Pink. Available online: http://www. marianneart.dk/ (accessed May 2008). Kurtz, J. (2012), “ ‘Drill, Baby, Drill!’ Almost Didn’t Happen,” E&E News, August 29, 2012. Available online: http://www.eenews.net/stories/1059969331 (accessed March 10, 2017). March for Science. (2017), March for Science website. Available online: https://www. marchforscience.com/ (accessed March 2, 2017). Minahan, S., and J. W. Cox. (2007), “Stitch ‘n bitch: Cyberfeminism, a Third Place and the New Materiality,” Journal of Material Culture, 12 (1): 5–21. Moussavian, A. (2017), “ ‘Pussyhats’ make their Runway Debut,” New York Post, February 25, 2017. Available online: http://nypost.com/2017/02/25/pussyhats-maketheir-runway-debut/ (accessed March 7, 2017). Murphy, N. (2009), Knitting the Threads of Time: Casting Back to the Heart of Our Craft. Novato, CA: New World Library. Pentney, B. A. (Summer 2008), “Feminism, Activism, and Knitting: Are the Fibre Arts a Viable Mode for Feminist Political Action?” Thirdspace: A Journal of Feminist Theory & Culture, 8 (1). Available online: http://journals.sfu.ca/thirdspace/index.php/journal/ article/viewArticle/pentney/210 (accessed March 2, 2017). The Pussyhat Project. (2017), Pussyhat website. Available online: https://www. pussyhatproject.com/ (accessed March 1, 2017). Rosenbloom, S. (2007), “What Did You Call It?” The New York Times, October 28, 2007. Available online: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/28/fashion/28vajayjay.html (accessed March 6, 2017). Searle, K. (2008), Knitting Art: 180 Innovative Works from 18 Contemporary Artists. Minneapolis, MN: Voyageur Press. Solis, M. (2017), “How the Women’s March’s ‘Genital-based’ Feminism Isolated the Transgender Community,” MIC, January 23, 2017. Available online: https://mic.com/ articles/166273/how-the-women-s-march-s-genital-based-feminism-isolated-thetransgender-community#.hwQcL8ToE (accessed March 10, 2017). Stallybrass, P. (2012), “Worn Worlds,” in J. Hemmings (ed.), The Textile Reader, 44–51. Oxford: Berg Publishers. Stalp, M. C., and T. M. Winge. (2008), “My Collection Is Bigger Than Yours: Tales from the Handcrafters’ Stash,” Home Cultures: The Journal of Architecture, Design and Domestic Space, 197–218. Oxford: Berg Publishers. Stoller, D. (2004), Stitch ‘n Bitch: The Knitter’s Handbook. New York: Workman. Sullivan, N. (2017), Pussyhat on Defiant Girl (photograph). Turney, J. (2009), The Culture of Knitting. Oxford: Berg Publishers.

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Waddell, K. (2017), “The Exhausting Work of Tallying America’s Largest Protest,” The Atlantic. Available online: https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2017/01/ womens-march-protest-count/514166/ (accessed March 9, 2017). Wadja, S., and M. Worrall, (2017), Personal communication on February 17, 2017. Winge, T. M., and R. E. Schuiling, (2017), #pussyhats: Knitting Resistance and Agency lecture, Eli and Edythe Broad Art Museum, East Lansing, Michigan. Winge, T. M., and M. C. Stalp, (2014), Virtually Crafting Communities: An Exploration Fiber and Textile Crafting Online Communities. Textile Society of America: Los Angeles, CA. Available online: http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/tsaconf/889/ (accessed March 1, 2017). Women’s March. (2017), Women’s March website, March 2, 2017. Available online: https://www.womensmarch.com/mission/ (accessed March 3, 2017).

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9 THE CHOLI AND THE EMPOWERMENT OF INDIAN WOMEN Vandana Bhandari

Introduction The long and complex history of India, and its dearth of written records, makes it difficult to trace the origins of upper clothing worn by women. In Sanskrit literature, the progenitor of the choli is referred to as kancuka, kanculika, kurpasa, kurpasaka, angia, and choli itself. Throughout the history of dress in India there is continuous evidence of draped attire alone, and it is only during the beginning of the Christian era that stitched upper garments came into being. India’s ancient literature, paintings, and sculpture have a myriad reference to the upper body being left either bare, or else covered by a piece of cloth artfully tied around the bust. Vedic texts also provide a record of clothing dating back to 1500 BCE–500 BCE, and though ambiguous, lead us to conclude that the style of dress was mostly draped, or wrapped around the body. Later scholastic writings reiterate this fact (Sahay 1975). Breast bands started appearing around 100–200 CE, as noted by the scholar Moti Chandra (1973). He cites his visual study of Gandhara sculpture from the first to fourth centuries CE, which provided evidence of women wearing the breast bands, noting however that these bands were conspicuously absent in the Mathura sculptures (style of Buddhist art in Mathura, Uttar Pradesh, India, from the second century BCE to the twelfth century CE). These sculptures provide visual references to the type of clothing used during these periods. Based on these studies of early sculptures, the stitched bodice was possibly introduced in India, between 100–300 CE, by the Kushan and Saka invaders hailing from the colder parts of Central Asia. Later, these bodices were adapted to the Indian climatic conditions and local tastes across the country. No evidence as to what drove the styles of this transformation is available, however these variations could be observed in different regions till the middle of the twentieth

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century and are detailed in this chapter. By the time of the Gupta period (300– 550 CE), kanchli—woman’s stitched upper garment—was in use, and which in due course was transformed into varying regional styles (Goswamy 2010: 186). Though examples of kanchlis are mentioned in Indian literature, the unstitched breast cloth also existed during this era. The playwright, Kalidasa, describes the young princess Shakuntala in his famed play—the eponymous Shakuntala (400 CE)—with her breasts covered in a tight bark cloth (Ryder 1912). A lady friend, at the request of the princess, loosens the cloth—indicative of it being a tied fabric, as opposed to a stitched item. The play also suggests that when a young girl entered puberty, her breasts were covered with a piece of material: Beneath the barken dress Upon the shoulder tied In maiden loveliness Her young breasts seem to hide. (Ryder 1912) During the rule of Harshvardhan (600 CE), Banabhatt—a court poet— mentions women wearing a long kancuka (Bhandari 2004). Kalidasa has also described the latter as a winter garment. Distinctions in women’s dress were present from early times, and Vinay Bahl writes: One Sanskrit manual, entitled The Guide to Religious Status and Duties of Women, which was written between 600 and 400 BCE, and later compiled in 1720–1780, stated that married women (and not widows) of higher status should wear a bodice. Women of the middle strata should wear no bodice but should cover their breasts with the loose end of the sari. Women of lower status should leave the breast uncovered. (2005: 8) There is additional evidence that stitched wear was already in use in India during 600–700 CE, when Muslim invaders entered the country. R. Kumar posits that “stitched clothing may have become an integral part of Indian attire long before the advent of Islam, but overall the royalty of India retained its preference for the unstitched garment, particularly in the southern and central regions” (1999: 33).

Colonial influence By the late nineteenth century, colonial rule had brought about significant changes in the style and usage of the upper garment. “The Christian morality of missionaries and social reformers, who saw frontal and midriff nudity as indecent

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and seductive, had already paved the way for Hindu women to cover their breasts, which had previously been simply enwrapped in the sari, with blouses” (Kawlra 2011:  119). This was seen across the country and in an example in Travancore—which was a kingdom that included parts of modern-day Kerala, Kanyakumari, and Tamil Nadu—“the breast was bared in deference to those of higher status as a symbol of respect. In the elaborate hierarchy of caste ranking, the Nairs for example, bared their breasts before the Nambudiri Brahmins, and the Brahmins did so only before the deity. The Nadars like all the lower castes, were categorically forbidden to cover their breast at any time” (Hardgrove 1968: 176). The British colonial administrators however gave “permission to the women converting to Christianity to cover their breasts with a short bodice or jacket as was worn by the women of the Syrian Christian and Muslim Mopla communities” (Hardgrove 1968: 176–177). The British officials attempted to use the breast covering as a means of marking higher caste status but soon the practice of wearing upper garments became popular, and Hindu women of lower classes also started to cover their breasts, either using a cloth or short jackets. During the colonial rule in India (1858–1947) many families across India began to view stitched clothing as superior to the draped apparel prevalent before British rule (Tarlo 1996). Tarlo also mentions that, “While in religious context they saw them (stitched clothing) as defiling, in a secular context they saw them as proof of educational advancement and sophistication” (1996: 29). European traders, missionaries, and colonial administrators became a source of validation for the newly adopted dress styles. Prioritizing this Western style stitched garment was a sign of embracing a colonial mentality, but with the passage of time the garment was seen as a more practical and modern garment which was therefore more in sync with the current times. The blouse was worn in multiple styles during this period and during postindependence by the Indian maharanis who were style icons. During this era the blouse was often used to show empowerment or advancement for women. For example, one women wearing the blouse was Maharani Gayatri Devi of Jaipur (1919–2009) a liberal and modern woman, who advocated against the purdah system of the era. The blouses she wore with her chiffon saris had long sleeves and handmade buttons. Though she lived in a conservative society, as an independent and empowered woman she had the ability to experiment with dress even within a very traditional society.

Regional styles of choli The geographical location, weather, local customs, political, economic influences, personal attitudes—as well as the style of draping a sari—all played a defining

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role in the evolving design of the upper garment as worn in the different regions of India. The various patterns and relevance of the choli, and some styles which emerged in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, are discussed in the following section of the chapter. In the northwestern part of India, the choli manifests itself in diverse forms— Rajasthan, Gujarat, Himachal Pradesh, and Punjab being the states where an upper garment became widely used at an early stage. The breast attire— known by names like angia, kanchli, kacali, or kacava—was commonly used in Rajasthan and in the adjoining regions of Saurashtra and Gujarat. The kanchli, designed to enhance a woman’s body, symbolized beauty and sexuality and was worn only after marriage. “Among most communities in Rajasthan, a girl changes her puthia for a kanchli only when she is married. This is done after completing the fourth phera, the fourth of the seven circles around the sacred fire in the traditional Hindu Wedding ceremony” (Bhandari 2004: 78). Every community in the states of Rajasthan and Gujarat had a distinctive style of choli fabrication, and most were highly embellished. The basic choli or bodice comprised patterned pieces which were geometric in shape. The material was fully utilized, with the left-over scraps used as trimmings. Necklines varied between a “sweetheart” and a high round with a V-shape down the center; some were deep and revealing and only slightly wider than the modern brassiere. Sleeve lengths differed, depending on the ethnic group. The tassels—using beads, mirrors, shells, and metallic thread—served the dual function of fastenings, and of adding grace and beauty to the garment (see ­Figure 9.1). “The cutting and the construction of the garment supports the breasts and gives the body a pleasing silhouette. The garment is designed to enhance—and thus draw attention to—what is generally considered to be one of the most beautiful and seductive part of a woman’s body” (Bhandari 2004: 78). The wearing of the choli traditionally was part of coming of age and was used along with other visible markers to proclaim a woman’s status as a married woman. Unmarried women and widows wore a puthia, a more asexual garment. The choli was thus linked to marriage and the child-bearing years of a woman’s life and gave her an enhanced status in society. In Himachal Pradesh, the choli was made of eleven pieces of fabric—two sleeves, four front pieces, two gussets, one petia, and two back pieces. Most early examples were colorful, and adorned with hand embroidery. Traditionally, Punjabi and Sindhi women wore a long-sleeved shirt called saluka—fitted closely over the bosom, waist, and hips—and, reaching down to the mid-thigh, it was worn over a full skirt or flared trousers (sharara). According to S. S. Khar and S. M. Ayachit (2013), this shirt seems to have been introduced toward the end of the Nawabi rule (middle of nineteenth century). Upper garments were not common among tribal women, as is evidenced by early photographs from late nineteenth to early twentieth century and writings of

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Figure 9.1  Kanchli with embroidery done using pom-poms, mirrors, beads, and so on, worn by a Banjara tribal woman from southern India, c. 2015. Courtesy Yathindra Lakkhana.

scholars such as Moti Chandra and G. Ghurye. The Gond tribe of Madhya Pradesh continued without them even through the colonial period. Similarly, women of the Santhal tribe of Eastern India covered their bosom by hoisting the upper end of their sari from the right side over the left shoulder, leaving exposed the right shoulder and arm as well as a part of the right breast. Social norms dictating dress codes were very strong, and women of these tribes were ostracized by elders and asked to leave the community if they wore a blouse (Ghurye 1951). The coastal belt of Karnataka and Maharashtra have similar dress traditions. In Karnataka, the bodice is denoted by the word kuppas or kupsa from the Sanskrit word kurpasaka (literally a tight-fitting bodice). Following the same pattern as the Maharashtrian choli—with a fastening in front, just below the breasts—a knot is tied with the edges of the two flaps. The choli of Maharashtra, in turn, was akin to the style worn in Gujarat where the two states shared borders.

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Though the choli gained popularity, the practice of wearing a sari without it continued in northern and southern India, the sari serving to cover the chest as well. “The only covering for the bosom consisted of the portion of the sari passing over it. No special breast garment was donned” (Ghurye 1951: 169). In southern India the Nambodri, Kshatriya, and Nayar women used their scarves as a cover, wrapped around the breasts and tucked under the armpits. Ibn Battuta, a Moroccan traveler and writer visiting South India in the second quarter of the fourteenth century observes: “The women of this town and all the coastal districts wear nothing but loose unsewn garments, one end of which they gird round the waists, and drape the rest over their head and shoulders” (Ghurye 1951: 135). In Tamil Nadu, the torso was generally not covered with any separate piece of apparel. While Tamil folk songs do mention an upper garment—termed ravikkai, iravikkai or ravikalu—it is conceded that it was a recent import from the northern areas.

Choli in Bollywood Styles worn by movie stars deeply influence audiences in their own choice of apparel and appearance, while ongoing fashion trends established by professional designers are in turn adopted by the stars. Over a long history, Indian films have reflected the socio-religious and cultural aspects of society through their scripts and costumes: India is the largest producer of feature films in the world which are a close reflection of popular culture. In its early years, Indian cinema showcased the culture and traditions of the country, with mythology, religion, and history providing the predominant themes. Fashion and Cinema have been inextricably connected in India. Clothes play an important role in building identities on and off screen. (Bhandari 2011) In particular, the very popular Bollywood films have been singularly associated with trend setting, and are among India’s most influential sources for new dress styles, inspiring the fashions of the masses. The contemporary choli is similar in design to its earlier avatars. Its evolution in the twentieth century can be traced through Bollywood films, having made its first noticeable appearance in the 1930s. The exotic actress Devika Rani (1908– 1994) wore the choli style of blouse with daring knee-length skirts, and became the quintessential image of the gaon ki gori (village belle). The puffed-sleeve blouses worn by her in the early 1950s were revived by Sharmila Tagore in the film Amar Prem (1971). Bhanu Athaiya also created a realistic image of a rustic

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woman in the film Reshma aur Shera (1971), where the choli was shown as a beautiful, although utilitarian, garment. It appears from such representations, that the choli was commonly used in North India by rural women, along with a ghaghra (generic term for skirt-gathered/ flared /paneled, fastened with a drawstring at the waist) and odhni (woman’s draped garment which covers the body). Nargis, a famous Bollywood actress, sported a set of unusual blouses in the film Awara—one styled after a button-down shirt, another resembling a knitcropped jumper, some short-sleeved versions, and a very sexy front-tie cropped choli. Her shirt-blouses—with stripes or checks, and sometimes with motifs or dots—caused a style revolution during the 1950s. Based in part on this stylistic impetus the modern blouse developed an identity of its own, different from the traditional choli, and became known as also the blouse worn by Western women. This Western influenced blouse became more fitted, with tight sleeves and along with these style changes the waistlines rose, revealing more of the midriff, accompanied by varied necklines, including a high neckline style. This intimate garment became a symbol of empowerment for its creators and users as their dress styles and designs were no longer dictated by social norms and instead became tools of self-expression. The 1960s did not bring about any major transformation in female upper body styling, but a sleeveless blouse was created as worn by Nutan. In the 1970s, with the film Hare Rama Hare Krishna (1971), the ruffled and flared look entered Bollywood costumery influencing the blouse style as well. Until this time, the blouse had remained invisible—traditionally draped with an odhna (woman’s draped garment which covers the body), dupatta or sari—to the extent that in certain Rajasthani communities only one sleeve was embroidered as the other was rarely exposed (Bhandari 2004: 76). In early photographs of rural women, it is impossible to spot their cholis, with the covering of the odhna—resembling a fan—spreading out across the blouse. The blouse worn by actress Madhuri Dixit of Hindi Cinema in Khalnayak (1993), changed all that. It was used to great effect in revealing the feminine form, creating quite a stir when the song “Choli ke Peeche kya hai” (literally— “what is behind the blouse”) was released. This was perhaps the boldest instance of popular culture highlighting the female breast and the cloth covering it, traditionally considered a taboo subject in India, causing quite some controversy in Bollywood. This trend in films objectified women and though it did a lot for making the garment trendy, it drew criticism from many quarters. This juncture in popular culture marked the beginning of the trendy blouse carving a place for itself, and the fashion for it being left uncovered by the sari or odhni. This movement of a choli from a garment intended to cover sexuality to one that flaunted a women’s sexuality dramatically increased the significance of the garment in fashion collections.

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Choli as a designer garment Between 2005 and 2010, blouses designed to be worn with saris started to become more sumptuous, using richer fabrics and heavy embellishments. Bollywood showed the way with low-cut and back-baring styles, made popular by leading Indian actresses. Seizing the moment, fashion designers like Sabyasachi Mukherjee, Manish Malhotra, and Tarun Tahiliani (see ­Figure 9.2) helped to convert the choli from a basic garment to a sensual one, and to give a new fashion forward face to ethnic Indian wear. This is an important step in the evolution of the choli from a traditional garment to a designer item. It is important also to emphasize that during this time period choli grew in stylistic importance in relationship to the sari, which was the dress Indian women were known for around the world. Of significance during this time of Indian dress evolution, the sari remained traditional and largely unchanging, whereas the choli as an item focused on by designers became an ever changing and stylistically prominent fashion item. In a 2015 interview Indian fashion designer Mukherjee commented: At one point of time the choli was the subset of the entire garment, right now the choli has become a garment on its own. The sari used to sell the blouse,

Figure 9.2  Bridal ensemble with intricate embroidery on the upper garment by designer Tarun Tahiliani, c, 2014. Courtesy of Tarun Tahiliani.

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but in the modern market the blouse sells the sari. The silhouette remains the same but the choli has gone through dramatic modifications. The choli has become a corset, it’s become experimental in terms of volume so you have the fitted choli, the loose choli, the KDR blouse, a Victorian collar blouse, and you have sleeveless and backless blouses. (Mukherjee 2015) Manish Malhotra, hailed for his unparalleled craftsmanship in blouses—where he effortlessly fuses the Western look to an Indian cut—asks, “The wrap blouse, the crisscross back and halter look, could anyone imagine a blouse with such bold looks some years ago? Today’s woman demands an appreciative glance and wants to feel satisfied with the way she looks” (Tiwari 2010). A very recent change, in the last few years, is the level of attention the choli has captured when compared with other dress items. For example, when you look at women’s wedding costumes, and of the wedding guests—all are seen to proudly flaunt their cholis. Women are slowly coming into their own, and creating their own social rules. This is indicated and referenced by their dress choices and by prioritizing a more versatile, fashion forward item such as the choli over the large unchanging sari. The enlightened Indian woman is open to experimentation and dress is becoming a medium through which she voices her thoughts. She uses the blouse to express this freedom when wearing a traditional Indian outfit. Women are accepting and proclaiming their own sexuality, and becoming comfortable and assertive about it. This stance, in many cases, is equated with boldness and independence. These days blouses are objects of awesome beauty and style; they are cut well, richly embellished, and as dear to the heart of the women—if not more—than the sari itself. The designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee says that design is a manifestation of social need, and it cannot be successful if not needed by society. He asks, “Why is a designer embellishing the choli and not the sari anymore? Because the designer is also realizing women, they do not want to cover up the way they have been dictated so many years. We, as designers want to address this attitude and thus are embellishing the cholis and keeping the sari simpler” (Mukherjee 2015). This development has also reflected the changing expressions of sexuality and empowerment of Indian women: In India, sexuality is all about the waist and the curves, and the areas where the curvature of the body is more. So that is probably one of the reasons that Indian women express their sexuality through their bust and their torso. It allows the women to experiment with the top of the body which is still more adaptable to change than the bottom half. This is one of the reasons why the choli has gone through such a big transformation. (Mukherjee 2015)

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Sanjay Garg of Raw Mango, a brand of contemporary Indian handwoven textiles, a design company that is one of the main drivers of the modest, anti-fit sari blouse movement, says that traditionally “Showing skin used to say you’re liberal. To me, it’s no longer needed to be said. You can wear a covered blouse and still be liberated” (Betigeri 2017: 5). Bombay-based designer Anavila Misrais, another designer offering loose silhouettes, was driven to rework the fit and style of the choli based on the personal experience of wearing saris daily, and suffering through the suffocating embrace of the too-tight blouse. She wanted to feel as comfortable in a sari and blouse as she is in jeans and a T-shirt. Maybe the younger crowd who don’t want to wear a fitted blouse might like experimenting and making efforts to redefine and reconsider how the blouse can look under the sari. While challenging aesthetics and comfort are key drivers of the fit, these changes are also indicative of the fact that women in India are gradually rewriting the traditional dress code to their own liking.

Conclusion Contemporary Indian women’s sexual expression is no longer dictated by the morality of the colonial forces, they do not bow to caste stratification, they express their sexuality on their own terms. Indian women today embrace their bodies and revel in them. All this has captured the imagination of designers who, for this reason, or because they want to express and underline women’s newly found sexual power, spend more time designing cholis than any other garment. The choli has been transformed from a plain garment, mostly used to cover the breast, into a versatile, changing fashion item that links tradition and the modern woman.

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Ghurye, G. (1951), Indian Costume. Bombay: Popular Book Depot. Goswamy, B. (2010), Indian Costumes in the Collection of the Calico Museum of Textiles. Ahmedabad: Calico Museum of Textiles. Hardgrove, R. (1968), “The Breast-Cloth Controversy: Caste Consciousness and Social Change in Southern Travancore,” Indian Economic and Social History Review, 5 (2): 171–187. Kawlra, A. (2011), “The Sari,” in J. Dhamija, (ed.), The Encyclopedia of World Dress and Fashion, 115–128. Oxford: Berg Publishers. Khar, S. S., and S. M. Ayachit, (2013), “Looking Backwards to Go Forward—Use of Traditional Indian Pattern Making to Develop Contemporary Methods for Global Fashion,” International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology and Education, 6 (3): 181–189. Kumar, R. (1999), Costumes and Textiles of Royal India. London: Christies Mukherjee, S. (2015), “Discussions on Dress in India.” [Interview] (February 2015). Ryder, A. W. (1912), Kalidasa: Translations of Shakuntala & Other Works. London: J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd. Sahay, S. (1975), “Female Dress,” in S. Sahaya (ed.), Indian Costume, Coiffure, and Ornament, 31–55. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers Pvt Ltd. Tarlo, E. (1996), Clothing Matters: Dress and Identity in India. London: Hurst. Tiwari, N. (2010), “Choli ke peeche kya hai!” Times of India, June 15.

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NARRATIVES OF OBJECTIFICATION AND SELFOBJECTIFICATION

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10 THE PROWESS OF A VIRGIN GODDESS AND A SEDUCTRESS: ANALYZING THE IDEALS OF FEMALE SEXUALITY OF PRINCESS DIANA AND KATE MIDDLETON Caroline McCauley

Introduction: The Iconic Images of Princess Diana and Kate Middleton The images of Diana, Princess of Wales, and Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge, have reached an extreme level of prestige. Years after her death, Princess Diana is still widely discussed, and her fashions serve as inspiration to many. Diana’s self-fashioned image continues to appear in several contemporary women’s magazines and in articles, such as “A Shoppable Look Back at Princess Diana’s Iconic Style,” informing readers how they can emulate her. Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge, also known as Kate Middleton, is gaining a comparable fashion star status, as noted in Man Repeller’s article “Inside the Cult of Kate Middleton Fashion” and shown in the blogs What Kate Wore and Kate Middleton Style. Indeed, Princess Diana and Kate Middleton’s style choices often are referred to as iconic, or their images are so well known that they have obtained the distinction of icons.

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In a Cosmopolitan article “The 101 Most Iconic Dresses of All Time,” Diana’s dresses make an appearance twice; her wedding dress is ranked at number eleven, and the black dress she wore to the Serpentine Gallery in 1994 is listed at number forty-five. Kate does not fall far behind from Diana’s footsteps. Kate’s ranking is even more impressive as her wedding dress is praised as the tenth most iconic dress, and the dress she wore to announce her engagement in 2010 claims spot number thirty. While the infamous ensemble “The Art of Seduction” that Kate wore while walking down the runway at a University of St. Andrews charity fashion show is marked at number seventy-six. Diana and Kate are worshipped as if they are deities. Why do the fashionable images of Diana and Kate spark an infatuation that is comparable to the veneration of a goddess? The almost religious exaltation surrounding Princess Diana begs closer analysis. Camille Paglia, an academic and social critic, writes, “It is increasingly obvious that Diana’s story taps into certain deep and powerful strains in our culture, strains that suggest that the ancient archetypes of conventional womanhood are not obsolete but stronger and deeper than ever” (1994: 164). While traditional portrayals of a woman as a virgin goddess or tempting seductress are commonly associated with mythology, literature, and art, these age-old archetypes are clearly present in the images of Diana and Kate. What long-standing feminine ideals do Diana and Kate subscribe to and perform prior to and throughout their reigns? In this chapter, I discuss how Diana and Kate’s embodiment of the paragon of femininity are indicative of cultural ideologies at large. The cult-like images that both Diana and Kate elicit are ones that are carefully articulated to meet the cultural script of idyllic femininity. In enacting an ideal femininity, to what degree, do Diana and Kate satiate the public’s desires and conform to royal guidelines? How much agency do Diana and Kate have over their images? Can they fashion a self apart from the femininities they perform? I argue that the images that Diana and Kate engender are not simply inscribed on them by social constructions or the prescriptions of the royal family. However, neither Diana nor Kate is independent of the image of femininity she performs.

Ruling by image: Diana’s fashioning of a virgin Before and throughout her reign, Diana was worshipped for her purity and innocence. When Diana was first rumored to be Prince Charles’s future bride both the public and the monarchy demanded her virgin status. Only 19 years old, Diana had a clean public image, with no previous lovers to spark salacious

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stories. Even with her reputed innocence, the monarchy and public were fixated on verifying her virtue. In her biography The Diana Chronicles, Tina Brown notes that the public became infatuated with ensuring Diana’s untouched state to the degree that it “developed a life of its own” (Beggs and Handy 2011). Diana’s uncle, Lord Fermoy, commented in an interview with the Daily Star: “Purity seems to be at a premium when it comes to discussing a possible bride for Prince Charles at the moment . . .. Diana, I can assure you, has never had a lover” (Beggs and Handy 2011). Diana would further confirm her purity by performing a chaste image through dress. Similar to many royal women, fashion became a means of expression, image, and performance for Diana. Throughout her reign, Diana was attentive to dressing herself in saint-like ensembles. In 1985, Princess Diana fashioned herself in a full-length black lace dress with a matching veil. Similarly, on a trip to Egypt to visit Mother Teresa, she wore a crème veil and dress that had “saintly overtones” (Howell 1998: 196). Self-fashioning herself in symbolically divine ensembles, Diana “knew how to get this [spiritual] aspect across to the public through the camera lens” (Howell 1998:  196). As with religious icons, Princess Diana’s image had a lasting impact. She had a tactile, yet surreal effect that caused people to exclaim, “[Diana] touched me” even though they might never have met her, or even seen her in the flesh (Cashmore 2006: 28). Diana’s image possessed the power of a divine being that moved people both physically and emotionally. It was in her wedding dress that Diana would communicate the security of purity that the public yearned for. S. Gilbert and S. Gubar write of a bride, “In her bridal costume she bears herself as a gift to the groom:  her whiteness, vulnerability made palpable presents itself to be stained, her intactness—her self enclosure—to be broken” (2000:  616). This description depicts a bridal gown as a trapping of subordination; it is a thin layer only made to exist for and be shredded by the groom. Diana’s dress, though it conveys traditional ideals associated with a bride, does not convey this fragility. While Gilbert and Gubar discuss virginal vulnerability, they also recognize virginal power, writing, “the word virginity, because its roots associate it with the word vir, meaning manliness or power, images a kind of self-enclosing armor” (2000:  616, emphasis in the original). The sheer mass of Diana’s wedding dress with its wide crinoline skirt and 25-foot train acted as “a kind of self-enclosing armor.” The Victorian style dress and enormous puffed sleeves, reminiscent of Renaissance kings’ leg-of-mutton sleeves, engulfed Diana in a sense of timelessness and divinity. A  1996 Chicago Tribune article reported that the presentation of “Diana as a 20-year-old virgin bride merely added to her mystique and her novelty” (Gornstein 2011). This wedding dress, with its ivory silk taffeta, trimming of antique lace, and excess of tulle and bows, symbolized a virginal magnificence that largely contributed to the worshipping of Diana as a Madonna-like figure.

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The Eve beneath the veil of the Madonna: Diana’s subtle eroticism It is important to note that Diana’s virginal image in her wedding dress had a strong undercurrent of sexuality. As in most of her public appearances, Diana would perform the ideal of a chaste royal, but this portrayal of purity would be tinged with a soft sensuality. Beatrix Campbell in Diana Princess of Wales: How Sexual Politics Shook the Monarchy calls Diana’s wedding dress “a symbol of sexuality and grandiosity” noting, “Diana’s body was displayed and desired by millions, the collective witness to her sexualization—the world penetrated her with its gaze, and infused what it could not see with its own fantasies” (1988: 111). The padded hips and fitted bodice of the crinoline transformed Diana’s thin frame into that of a fertile feminine figure. The feminine silhouette of the wedding dress gave the illusion of a voluptuous woman, concealing Diana’s size ten frame that was reduced from a size fourteen a few months before the wedding. Her exaggerated feminine figure can be seen as “[becoming] a mythic repository for the cultural ideals of immediacy and community” (Bathrick 1990: 79). In her wedding dress, Diana’s virginal persona and the sensuality of her hyper-feminine frame served both as a site for the confirmation of a culture’s values and the indulgence of its desires. To both abide by the virginal ideal required of her and satiate the public’s clandestine pleasures, Diana would vacillate, between a royal image, connoting purity and class, and a seductive image, evocative of a Hollywood siren. Diana’s conservative trademarks of her style, such as her puritan collars, strands of pearls, large bowed blouses, polka dot prints, and diplomatic tweeds, masked her more seductive ensembles of one-shoulder, backless, or strapless dresses worn with a choker necklace. Fluctuating between the Madonna and seductress archetype, Diana’s docile looks were often followed by a more seductive appearance or vice versa. Throughout her understated experimentation with provocative ensembles Diana deviated from her predominant virgin persona early in her reign. For instance, she subverted the chaste image of her official engagement photograph. For this engagement portrait taken in 1981 at Buckingham Palace, Diana wore a matching blue calf-length skirt and suit jacket with a bowed blouse. In the photograph, her thick tights, flat shoes, and leather watch make her appear reserved and business-appropriate. The bow on her blouse is tied tightly around her neck, revealing no skin. A belt is also placed around her waist, in an attempt to create a more feminine silhouette. With the exception of the belt, the skirt suit seems loose fitting, concealing any feminine curves she may have had before her pre-wedding diet.

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However, Diana’s first official public appearance accompanying Prince Charles would undermine this conservative look. J.  Laver writes, “The safe, matronly look of her blue off-the-peg suit in her 1981 engagement photo-call was almost immediately put in the shade by her public appearance in a revealingly lowcut, strapless black evening gown” (2012:  24). For her initial public outing at Goldsmiths’ Hall, Diana faced the slew of photographers in a heart-shaped neckline dress that revealed an unseemly, yet press-worthy, amount of cleavage. The voluptuousness of this dress was enhanced with a corseted waist and full skirt. In the press photographs, Diana’s head is bowed, and her shoulders are rounded, most likely due to her unease with the vulture-like press, though with her blue eye shadow, glossed lips, and rosy cheeks, she would appear to be, to the public eye, more of a coquette than a camera-shy girl. Diana’s blue eye shadow and eyeliner would be a recurring symbol of her soft, suppressed eroticism throughout her reign. While she was successful at piquing the press’s attention with her voluptuous fashion performances, the royal family was not fond of Diana’s alter ego to her virginal ideal. G.  Howell writes of Diana’s black strapless dress, “the palace was annoyed and it was a long time before Diana dared to wear a low-cut neckline again” (1998:  30). Like other female royals, Diana was one of the stateliest ornaments of the monarchy; thus, her body was not under her control, but rather was owned by the monarchy. While the public did covertly desire Diana’s sensuality, the monarchy wished to construct her as a virginal figure throughout her reign. Indeed, Diana was to be seen as “magically ever-virgin” (Paglia 1994: 167–168). It was not until after her reign that Diana was able to free herself from the performance of a chaste royal. With her divorce from Charles and break from the royal family, Diana fully realized her sensuality. After years of only having snippets of a seductive glamor hidden by a proper royal purity, the media indulged in this unrestrained sexuality or what would later be referred to as Diana’s “Revenge Couture” (Howell 1998:  151). The dress that marked Diana’s “Revenge Couture” would aptly be called the “I’ll Show You” dress, “Vengeance Dress,” the “Serpentine Cocktail,” and/or the “Revenge Dress” (Howell 1998: 154).

The “Revenge Dress”: Diana’s post-reign sensuality The “Revenge Dress” was worn to the Serpentine Gallery summer party on the same day that Prince Charles confessed to having an affair. Instead of cowering in shame, Diana arrived sauntering in a figure-hugging black silk dress with a

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Figure  10.1 Diana’s “Revenge Dress”:  Princess Diana (1961–1997) arriving at the Serpentine Gallery, London, in a gown by Christina Stambolian, June 1994. Courtesy Jayne Fincher, Getty Images.

pearl choker necklace, black pumps, and scarlet lipstick and nail polish. Diana’s “Revenge Dress” (see Figure  10.1) was far from the sexually repressed virgin identity she embodied during her reign: The Telegraph Magazine was to describe it as The piece de resistance . . ..the brave, wicked, historic little “Serpentine Cocktail,” possibly the most strategic dress ever worn by a woman in modern times. This was the devastating wisp of black chiffon with which Diana flipped her husband clean off the front pages the morning after his damaging televised interview. This is a dress that shows Diana, Princess of Wales fully in command of a sense of her own value. (Howell 1998: 154)

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With the “Revenge Dress,” Diana would reclaim ownership of her own body and announce her autonomy from the constricting formalities of royalty. While some magazines welcomed her “Revenge Couture,” many people were appalled by its flagrant physicality. Howell comments that the reception of Diana’s sultry look “oscillated between adulation and recrimination” (1998: 174). In France in 1995, she traded her white gowns in her Paris appearances for black ones. Some people saw this abandonment of an angelic ideal as duplicitous; the Sun ran headlines such as “Two-faced Diana” (Howell 1998: 174). Diana was increasingly criticized after she stopped her charity work and ceased to project a saint-like image. A comment from the Sunday Telegraph exposes how the public needed to position Diana as a self-abnegating woman in order to accept any aspect of her feminine beauty or physicality: “As long as the Princess’s great beauty was shown compassionately, tending the sick and the needy, it was beauty matched with goodness” (Howell 1998: 174). While her post-reign dress seduced some and provoked the press’ attention, it was also unsettling to many, who were not used to her sensuality, without the veil of purity. After her reign, Diana was still unable to freely fashion her body how she wished, without criticism and censure.

From the cult of virginity to sexualization: The changing ideals of femininity The polarizing reception of Diana’s sexuality after her reign, and the demand for a chaste image of her during her reign speaks to ideals inscribed on women in the late twentieth century. Similar to Diana, Kate Middleton’s image before and throughout her reign is representative of cultural norms surrounding femininity in the twenty-first century. However, the standards of virginity and ideas surrounding self-sexualization were very different for Kate Middleton. The tale of how Kate bewitched William with her runway debut and “Art of Seduction” (see Figure 10.2) ensemble points to newly emergent cultural norms surrounding selfobjectification and sexual agency in the twenty-first century.

Winning the Crown: The “Art of Seduction” tale in a post-feminist culture A handful of biographies and the press claim that Kate Middletown won over William’s heart while walking down the runway at a 2002 University of St. Andrews charity fashion show. Sources, including a 2011 Glamour article titled

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Figure 10.2  The “Art of Seduction Dress,” designed by Charlotte Todd and worn by Kate Middleton at St. Andrew’s University charity fashion show in 2002. Courtesy John Phillips UK Press, Getty Images.

“The See-Through Dress that Sparked a Royal Romance Hits the Auction Block,” state that Kate enamored William with an outfit that was designed by Charlotte Todd for a class project called “The Art of Seduction,” thus the title of Kate’s runway ensemble and the media story to follow. William is rumored to have paid £200 for a front row seat and is said to have approached Middleton at the end of the show. In a photograph taken of her at the charity fashion show, Kate struts across the runway in a black knitted, see-through strapless gown, with black bottoms and a bandeau worn as exposed undergarments. The only accessories included in the ensemble were a pair of black pumps and a ribbon woven into Kate’s chestnut curls. “The Art of Seduction” has been called both a sexy lingerie piece and a swimsuit cover up; with some magazines referring to the bottoms as underwear, while others called them a bikini. Whether the dress

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and undergarments beneath were intended for the beach or bedroom is still unresolved. Though, a post-feminist, sexualized culture prefers to call the “Art of Seduction” lingerie rather than beachwear, as it fits better with ideas of agency through exploitation of one’s own body. The story of how Kate captured William’s attention encompasses the values of post-feminism, including reclaiming ownership of the body through selfobjectification. Designer Charlotte Todd commented in the Daily Mail 2010 article “£100,000: Astonishing Value of the Dress that Won a Prince’s Heart,” “If it hadn’t been see-through William might not have noticed her. I definitely think it played a part in the royal love story.” The belief that Kate fashioned her “royal love story” with the transparency of her outfit aligns with the thought process of the post-feminist culture that views objectification as a means of subjectification and power (Gill and Scharff 2011: 12). Kate’s self-sexualization with her transparent ensemble engenders the post-feminist value of championing women’s ability to exploit their bodies to their own advantage. The Guardian article titled “Kate Middleton Dress that Sparked Royal Wedding Sells for £65,000” reported, “Fashion graduate Charlotte Todd designed the piece as a skirt, but organizers decided Middleton should wear it as a dress” (Batty 2011). However, many biographers and journalists cast Kate as the ultimate decision maker in how this seductive dress, which reputedly won her the title of princess, should be worn. Katie Nicholl in her chapter “An Undie Graduate at St Andrews” from Kate: The Future Queen positions Kate as an active subject wearing and modeling the “Art of Seduction” ensemble. Nicholl claims that Kate “decided to dispose of the chunky knitwear” she was supposed to be wearing over the long skirt, and instead “hoisted the skirt up and made it a much better-looking dress, which she wore over her black underwear” (2013: 102). She calls Kate’s bottoms “underwear” without adding the possibility that the outfit could have been swimwear, and even titles the chapter “Undie” in homage to Kate’s so-called lingerie catwalk debut. In trend with “a post-feminism culture that presents women as active, entrepreneurial subjects” she depicts Kate as having an agenda when ditching the dowdy knitwear top and creating a translucent dress, worthy of the crown (Gill and Scharff 2011: 23). Constructing Kate as the author of her own provocative image and subsequent fate, Nicholl comments, “And maybe it was because Kate knew William would be there, in the front row, that just before it was her turn to take center stage” she made these last-minute adjustments (2013: 102). Kate’s exploitation of her own body to secure her prey, or in this case prince, and create her own fairy tale story is apparent throughout Nicholl’s “Undie” chapter. Nicholl describes Kate objectifying her body, “Whatever she did, it worked—as she shimmied down the runway, her long, curled hair braided with ribbons, her slender waist, washboard stomach, and toned legs visible through the sheer dress, William barely knew where to look” (Nicholl 2013: 102). Nicholl’s portrayal of Kate as a seductress using her feminine charms to bewitch William and solidify

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her place in the monarchy is influenced deeply by a post-feminist culture that glorifies the self-objectification of a woman’s body. The manner in which the “Art of Seduction” ensemble was auctioned off at the Kerry Taylor Auctions is also indicative of a post-feminist, sexualized culture. The auctioneer sold the piece, at an estimate of £8,000–£10,000, as part of The Passion for Fashion Auction, as the revealing slip that “caught a prince’s eye and then his heart” (Daily Mail 2010). Comparable to how Nicholl portrayed Kate as seducing William in her transparent “Art of Seduction,” the auctioneer sold the “Art of Seduction” as a sexy ensemble that promoted Kate to princess status. Due to its supposed role in Kate becoming a royal, many people, including the bidder, considered this see-through knitted dress, to be an “iconic” and history-making piece (Daily Mail, 2010). Coincidentally, at the auction, the “Art of Seduction Dress” was placed next to Diana’s “Revenge Dress.” Both the “Art of Seduction Dress” and the “Revenge Dress” can be seen by a post-feminist culture as a source of agency and empowerment for its wearer. However, as noted before, in the late twentieth century when the dress was worn, Diana’s undisguised sensuality caused many people unease. In an increasingly sexualized culture, Diana’s “Revenge Dress” is no longer considered distressingly risqué, but rather is seen as Diana’s “best decision ever,” as evident in the Marie Claire article “Princess Diana’s Dresses: The Truth behind Her Most Famous Fashion Moments” (Ramsdale 2013). Our over-sexualized culture finds it surprising that Diana had doubts about wearing the cleavage baring, off-theshoulder dress because it was “too-daring,” as apparent in the 2013 British Vogue article “Which Dress Did Diana Say Was ‘Too Daring’?” The placement of the “Revenge Dress” next to the “Art of Seduction Dress” imparted Diana’s “Revenge Dress” a new meaning; the “Revenge Dress,” similar to the “Art of Seduction” dress, became valued by a post-feminist culture for its ability to empower the wearer by endowing her with a sexual prowess that gave her agency to fashion a new identity. Popular culture paints Kate as a scheming seductress in the tale of the “Art of Seduction Dress.” This “Art of Seduction” story was re-created in the film Kate & William: The Movie 2011. The film dramatizes Kate’s catwalk scene to the extent of making her appear as if she were competing in a Miss America swimsuit contest. The film director takes liberties with Kate’s “Art of Seduction Dress” making it more provocative than the actual piece, with its lower décolletage, thigh length, diamond-studded lace, and purple taffeta wrap. With the ensemble’s exaggerated sex appeal, it is Kate’s body rather than her dress that is for auction. When Kate arrives on stage and throws off the purple wrap the announcer says, “Now our final girl. Let’s unwrap that gift that keeps on giving” (Kate & William: The Movie 2011). As she unwraps herself till she is wearing just a lace black slip, Kate displays her body as a gift for William that will confirm her a place on the throne. After the show, William is seen at the bar with Kate, who

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is still in her lace negligee, with a fuchsia wrap draped over her shoulders. With a glass of champagne in her hand, Kate entices William by tugging on his tie. In the film, Kate’s auctioning off her body as a present for William, an action that will eventually win her a royal title, satisfies a post-feminist culture’s wish to see her as a powerful temptress, who uses her sexual prowess to her advantage. Considering the public reception of the “Art of Seduction Dress” it seems Diana was as much esteemed for her purity as Kate was for her sensuality. Diana enchanted the nation and procured her tiara due to her virgin status. In contrast Kate, as an embodiment of the norms of the post-feminism era, seduced William and acquired her royal status through sexual agency. When comparing the image and ideals that Kate and Diana embodied at the beginning of their reigns it is crucial to analyze the requirement of virginity or lack thereof. Diana’s virginity had to be certified by a surgeon-gynecologist to the queen. A Daily Mail article in 1993 wrote, “Lady Diana Spencer, was the girl next door. Their families had known each other all their lives and for generations past. She had been vetted, guaranteed immaculate by the admirable Mr. Pinker, surgeon-gynecologist to the Queen; she was the very definition of the word ‘pure’ ” (Gornstein 2011). With more tolerant ideas of sex in the twenty-first century, Kate did not have to be deemed “immaculate” by a gynecologist. Martin Bashir, MSNBC’s Royal expert, said, “I think one has to assume that she [Kate] is not going to get such an exam. She’s spending most of her time living with her partner” (Gornstein 2011). Unlike Diana, Kate was not chosen for William at the young age of nineteen, but rather she was depicted as seducing William into a state of passivity. Transforming a long skirt into a see-through piece of lingerie, Kate was described as the modern woman, who with agency and claim over the presentation of her body paves her own path. Kate’s sexuality was not as repressed, as Diana’s was when she was first introduced to the world. In contrast to the unease that Diana’s provocative dresses after her reign caused, a twenty-first-century culture demanded full revelation of Kate’s body, wishing to possess it. This obsession with knowing a royal’s body on an intimate level, especially a sexual level, is emblematic of an increasingly sexualized culture. Gill writes, “Brian McNair argues Western society has become a ‘striptease culture’: preoccupied with confession, revelation and exposure. This is connected to an ongoing breakdown or renegotiation of the boundary between public and private, which is itself the outcome of multiple, intersecting factors including the (partial) success of the women’s and sexual liberation movements” (Gill and Scharff 2011:  7). Obsessed “with confession, revelation, and exposure” the media is continually trying to capture Kate’s skirt flying up, spot her topless on vacation or zoom in for a budding baby bump. A September 2012 issue of the French magazine Closer writes of a topless Kate on a yacht with William, “Like you have never seen them before. Gone are the fixed smiles and the demure dresses. On holiday Kate forgets everything.” The

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public longs to see beyond Kate’s princess performance of “fixed smiles and the demure dress” and to have complete possession of her body. As shown in William & Kate:  The Movie, Nicholl’s Kate:  The Future Queen, and at the auction of her “Art of Seduction Dress,” Kate is often over-sexualized. With the emergence of post-feminism, Kate has the ability to express her sexuality and rid herself from the trappings of virginity. Although, with an increasingly sexualized culture, moments of eroticism, revelation or exposure are highly sought after by the media, causing Kate to become over-sexualized and consumed till she is entirely transparent. Both Diana and Kate’s bodies serve as sites of corporeal agency and submission. Though she was restrained by ideals of chastity, Diana received the love of her subjects, gained a cult following, and achieved deification through embodying the archaic, patriarchal persona of the virgin. Similarly, though she became over-sexualized, the construction of Kate as a sultry seductress in the tale of the “Art of Seduction” positioned her as the heroine of a post-feminist culture and gained her devoted subjects before she began her reign. Along with being worshipped for her royal seduction in her “Art of Seduction Dress” Kate is often praised for performing “her role seamlessly, [and] embracing the royal rule book,” with her pillbox hats, matching suits, pointed-toe pumps, white gloves, and docile dresses (Nicholl 2013: 20). Kate and Diana are master manipulators of the media with both fashioning sought after images of the virgin (Diana) and the seductress (Kate) and by so doing cementing their place in the monarchy. However, it must also be noted that media has exerted a great amount of control over their bodies during this process. Before Diana emerged on the throne, the media avidly policed and monitored her virgin status. Likewise, the press devoured Kate’s risqué debut in her “Art of Seduction Dress.” Whether possessing an irresistible innocence or an uncontrollable seductive prowess, both Diana’s and Kate’s sexuality is pursued by the media and public to the degree that their bodies, sexualities, and persons are not their own.

Conclusion: Unpacking the virgin and seductress dichotomy The fact that Kate is over-sexualized, and Diana was bound to the ideal of chastity is both the result of the historical reduction of women to pernicious, feminine archetypes and the control of the sexuality and identity of these female emblems of the monarchy by patriarchal power structures. When considering how the media consume and magnify not only Kate’s sauntering down the runway, but also every semi-erotic moment from her topless photos to her skirt slips, her person is very much regulated. Comparably, Diana was not able to display her

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sexuality, without public censorship. Diana’s sensuality was taboo, yet deeply coveted during her reign. It was not allowed to emerge from the veil of virginity until after her rule. In fact, when Diana embodied this lusted-after power in her “Revenge Dress,” once loyal subjects saw her as dishonest. The regulation of the female body and sexuality into the binary categories of the virgin or seductress points to a woman’s inability to have full claim over her own identity. In fact, these conflicting constructs operate as tools that allow a hegemonic system to maintain power over the female body and desire. The polarizing binary of the virgin/seductress has historically and culturally defined femininity. In fact, the very definition of a good and bad woman is based on this binary system. Thus, if a woman escaped these categories, she would be challenging the socially constructed category of woman itself. When thinking about how women can subvert these categories and expand the definition of female sexuality it may prove useful to analyze the dichotomy of the virgin/whore more closely, noting both its trappings and its power. Can women use the tools of patriarchy, in this case, the archaic archetypes of the virgin and the seductress to their advantage? Luce Irigaray in This Sex Which Is Not One writes, “until such a time as men and women are regarded as being truly equal, women should deliberately sequestrate their feminine role and emphasize or exaggerate it so as to parody and destabilize patriarchal stereotypes of what a woman should be or do” (Jobling 1999: 120). Re-envisioning and parodying the ancient archetypes of the virgin and the seductress with a feminist agenda may provide a solution.

References Bathrick, S. (1990), “The Female Colossus: The Body as Façade and Threshold,” in J. Gaines and C. Herzog (eds.), Fabrications: Costume and the Female Body, 79–100. New York: Routledge. Batty D. (2011), “Kate Middleton Dress that Sparked Royal Wedding Sells for £65,000,” The Guardian, March 12. Available online: http://www.theguardian.com/uk/2011/ mar/17/kate-middleton-see-through-dress-sold (accessed August 7, 2015). Beggs, A., and B. Handy. (2011), “A Very Different Engagement: The Cult of Diana’s Virginity,” Vanity Fair, April 12. Available online: http://www.vanityfair.com/ news/2011/04/a-very-different-engagement-the-cult-of-dianas-virginity (accessed August 7, 2015). Brown, T. (2007), The Diana Chronicles. New York: Broadway Books. Campbell, B. (1988), Diana: Princess of Wales: How Sexual Politics Shook the Monarchy. London: The Woman’s Press. Cashmore, E. (2006), Celebrity/Culture. New York: Routledge. Daily Mail Reporter, (2010), “£100,000: Astonishing Value of the Dress that Won a Prince’s Heart (and Has Hung in a Wardrobe for Eight Years).” DailyMail.com, November 2010. Available online: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1332588/

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Kate-Middletons-100k-dress-won-Prince-Williams-heart.html (accessed August 7, 2015). Gidick, Sarah (2017), “To Get: A Shoppable Look Back at Princess Diana’s Iconic Style,” HollywoodReporter.com, August. Available online: https:/www.Hollywoodreporter. com/lists/princess-diana-style-2017-1026256 (accessed August 7, 2015). Gilbert, S., and S. Gubar (2000), The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination, 2nd ed. New Haven: Yale University Press. Gill, R., and C. Scharff, (2011), “Introduction,” in R. Gill and C. Scharff (eds.), New Femininities: Postfeminism, Neoliberalism and Subjectivity, 1–15. New York: Palgrave. Gornstein, L. (2011), “Will Kate Middleton Have to Prove She’s a Virgin?” Eonline, April 8. Available online: http://www.eonline.com/news/235462/will-kate-middleton-haveto-prove-she-s-a-virgin (accessed August 7, 2015). Howell, G. (1998), Diana: Her Life in Fashion. London: Pavilion. Irigaray, L., and Burke, C. (1985), This Sex Which Is Not One. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Jobling, P. (1999), Fashion Spreads: Word and Image in Fashion Photography Since 1980, New York: Berg Publishers. Kate & William: The Movie (2011), [Film] Dir. Mark Rosman, USA: Lifetime. Karmali, S. (2013), “Which Dress Did Diana Say Was ‘Too Daring,’ ”? Vogue, July 10. Available online: http://www.vogue.co.uk/news/2013/07/10/princess-dianadocumentary-channel-4–too-daring-revenge-dress-1994hannel-4–too-daringrevenge-dress-1994 (accessed August 7, 2015). Laver, J. (2012), Costume and Fashion: A Concise History Fifth Edition. London: Thames & Hudson. Nicholl, K. (2013), Kate: The Future Queen. New York: Weinstein Books. Paglia, C. (1994), Vamps and Tramps. New York: Vintage Books. Ramsdale, S. (2013), “Princess Diana’s Dresses: The Truth behind Her Most Famous Fashion Moments,” Marie Claire, July 16. Available online: http://www.maireclaire. co.uk/blogs/suzannah-ramsdale/543592/princess-Diana-s-dresses-the-truth-behindher-most-famous-fashion-moments.html (accessed August 7, 2015).

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11 DRESS AND PLACE IN SEX WORK: ATTRACTING CUSTOMERS THROUGH VIRTUAL ENVIRONMENTS Tasoulla Hadjiyanni and Kim K. P. Johnson

Introduction Many sex transactions often start with someone placing an online advertisement and someone else viewing that advertisement and securing a meeting using a phone, a computer, or a mobile device. Opportunities to post advertisements for sex are provided through web sites, such as www.backpage.com1, with fees that start for as little as a $1 a week. Much like advertisements for any product, words and imagery are used as marketing tools to attract customers. In combination with the individuals shown, this imagery presents dress and place to inform, persuade, and induce viewers to action. B. L.  Fredrickson and T.  A. Roberts in their theory of objectification noted that objectification occurs when a woman’s “body is separated from her person and is regarded as representing her” (1997: 177). When dress has been studied relative to objectification, it is often featured as something that facilitates the objectification of women primarily because the dress featured is body-revealing and perceivers objectify others who wear such clothing (e.g., Nezlek, Krohn, Wilson, and Marusken 2015). Objectifying experiences teach women to internalize an outsider’s view treating themselves as objects (i.e., self-objectifying) and leading to continual self-monitoring, feelings of shame, and diminished awareness of internal states. The role of place in objectification and sexualization, however, has not been explored. As bodies are situated in places, an understanding of how dress and place intersect in objectifying and sexualizing women is of utmost importance, particularly in efforts to curb the sexual exploitation of youth.

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The focus of this exploratory research was to analyze online advertisements for sex to explore how dress and place are used in the construction of narratives involving sex and power. By interrogating how sexuality manifests itself and how it is constructed, the chapter begins to unravel how sex work could attain a sense of “normalcy” in the lives of sexually exploited youth. Questions asked include: How are dress and place, through both presence and absence, used to communicate sexuality within these advertisements? To what extent do these advertisements align with fashion media representations of “sexiness”? In what ways is place employed to complement the images created by dress? And what are the implications of these associations for how the contextual factors (poverty, abuse, isolation, mental and physical illness, and loss of self-identity) surrounding the sexual exploitation of youth are obscured? Fashion and places can be mediums for social justice, ones used by educators and advocates to help initiate conversations that can support efforts to combat trafficking and help survivors regain dignity. The authors posit that questions around fashion, place, sex, and power should be pursued in relation to all forms of cultural meaning and social practice, including sex trading. Attention to how fashion, place, sex, and power interrelate in sex work can lead to analytical insights that could otherwise remain unseen. Through a detailed examination of the multiple ways by which dress and place come together in online advertisements meant to solicit customers for sex, the chapter illustrates how these two cultural expressions can create a symbolic system from which the practice of sex trading derives form. By reflecting on the disconnect between the lived reality of the people portrayed on the online ads and the dress and place imagery used to attract customers, findings highlight the variables that must be accounted for in studies of objectification and sexualization.

Background on sex trafficking Sex trafficking discourse is steeped in debate, partly around the vocabulary used to define and communicate the experience. Among the narratives that create tension are “victim” versus “choice” narratives. The victim narrative aligns with the United Nations’ definition of trafficking as “the recruitment, harboring, transportation, provision, or obtaining of a person for the purposes of a commercial sex act, in which the commercial sex act is induced by force, fraud, or coercion, or in which the person induced to perform such an act has not attained 18 years of age” (www.unodc.org). The choice narrative builds on the notion that people have free will and life options. Given the fact that this chapter relates to adolescents, whose choices are often limited, the authors

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adopt the “victim” narrative. In addition, it is beyond the scope of this chapter to elaborate on the differences between voluntary prostitution and sex trafficking. However, the following summary can enable the reader to better understand how adolescents can become victims of sex trafficking and what that experience can mean for their lives. The numbers are shocking—it is estimated that 27  million people, mostly girls and young women, are trafficked each year in what is projected as a $32 billion dollar global industry (Polaris Project 2010). In Minnesota alone, anywhere from 8,000–12,000 victims are involved in sex trafficking and prostitution daily. Estimations are that approximately 213 adolescents (e.g., mean age of 13 years) are sold an average of five times a day (Women’s Foundation of Minnesota 2012). Victims come from all socioeconomic strata, ages, races, ethnicities, geographic locations, and backgrounds. Some are coerced into the trade by a trafficker who promises them a better life. A  girl’s boyfriend for example, may convince her that prostitution is going to provide for their future. Family members or friends might force others into trafficking by threatening to hurt them or their loved ones if they do not comply. And still others, particularly those who have experienced sexual abuse earlier in life, might come to view sex work as an expectation or a “normal” course of life (Bales and Lize 2005; Rand 2010). The context of human sex trafficking involves extensive physical, sexual, and psychological abuse, further complicated by the often forced use of illegal drugs and alcohol. Victims struggle to “survive under extreme and at times life-threatening conditions” (Yakushko 2009: 161) and experience a wide range of physical and psychiatric issues even after being released from their trafficker.

Dress and sexuality Dress and states of undress have long been tools for constructing and eliciting sexuality (Grammer, Renninger, and Fischer 2004; Durante, Li, and Haselton 2008; Guéguen 2012). Yet, how dress relates to sex work and trafficking has been uninvestigated. Over the past several decades, emphases have been placed on “sexiness” through the availability of merchandise and practices designed to enhance the sexualized body parts of women and girls (Goodin, Van Denburg, Murnen, and Smolak 2011). Such merchandise includes stiletto heels that enhance the length of women’s legs; surgeries resulting in large breasts; and “thong” underwear and other forms of clothing (e.g., short skirts, tight shorts) that draw visual attention to body parts (e.g., breasts, buttocks) (Murnen and Seabrook 2012). This trend is consistent with viewing the body as an object or objectification of the body (Franzoi 1995).

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Researchers have documented that inferences of sexiness for women have been tied to various combinations of dress and body including amount of skin exposure, tight clothing, see-through clothing, underwear, body hair removal, and high heels (Smolak, Murnen, and Myers 2014) as well as the color red (Guéguen 2012; Pazda, Elliot, and Greitemeyer 2012). In addition, researchers have concluded that individuals intentionally use specific items of dress to communicate their sexuality. K. Grammer, L. Renninger, and B. Fischer (2004) reported that women intentionally wore sheer clothing to attract a partner, meet new people, and flirt. Similarly, L. Smolak, S. Murnen, and T. Myers (2014) found in their focus groups with women that tight clothing was worn as well as low-cut shirts, special underwear, clothing that showed skin, push-up bras, and high heels to signal sexual intentions. The objectification of women and use of “sexy” products has increasingly appeared in media depictions of adult women and of girls (Graff, Murnen, and Krause 2013) particularly within fashion advertising (e.g., Millard and Grant 2006; Stankiewicz and Rosselli 2008) communicating to women that their body is an important commodity and can influence life experiences. The use of sex in advertising in general, including its use in marketing fashion, can be explained simply; sex sells (Merskin 2004). But using sex in fashion magazines does more than promote sales. What is important about the use of sexual images in advertisements in general, and fashion advertisements in particular, is that these advertisements are a means of socialization (Baker 2005; Kim and Lennon 2006) used by young women and adolescents. They provide ideals to be striven for, as well as serve as the basis for making social comparisons (Adomaitis and Johnson 2008) and repeatedly send the same message, that is, that women and girls should appear sexy, a practice referred to as “costuming for seduction” (Duffy and Gotcher 1996). Advertisements are also one indicator of what is desirable and what is normal (Gannon and Lawson 2010) as they shape and reflect idealized lifestyles and ways of being that include sexual scripts that establish norms and expectations concerning how to be sexual (Unger and Crawford 1992). Put another way, advertising serves to frame reality (Goffman 1979). Fashion advertisements along with images located in social media and the popular press often fuse fashion with both money and beauty to construct women’s social power, normalizing sexualization. Recent examples include Kim Kardashian’s book Selfish and appearances at the 2015 Met Gala where celebrities like Jennifer Lopez and Beyoncé appeared in sheer, body hugging gowns that left little to the imagination (Met Gala 2015). However, rather than making women and girls powerful, D. Merskin argued that the objectification and sexualization of women’s and girls’ bodies supports “an ideology of lower regard and class status for women and children” (2004: 122). When the sexualization of women and young girls is “normalized” in the media or within a culture, self-sexualization follows. This “normalization” and

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“glorification” of sexuality can have devastating effects (see the American Psychological Association Task Force on the Sexualization of Girls, 2007, for a summary of negative outcomes). Young girls often emulate models in fashion spreads, viewing them as powerful, self-determined, and accomplished women who can do whatever they want in life. By emulating fashion models, adolescents and young women can feel that they are also powerful, when the reality can be vastly different. Through explorations of how dress is used in online advertisements for sex work, this paper increases awareness of the impacts of “normalization” of sexuality on vulnerable youth.

Places and sex trafficking Research on how places and trafficking relate is also limited. Traffickers thrive by keeping their victims on the move and rarely in one place for long. Victims are frequently transported from city to city and across state borders so that they remain in a mentally disoriented state. Less able to defend themselves, victims become dependent on their traffickers for guidance, food, and shelter (Logan 2007). As a result, all kinds of everyday places are associated with different stages of trafficking, from hotels to parks, gas stations, private residences, and truck stops. These are places where youth are recruited, places where ads are posted online, places used by purchasers to meet victims, places used by law enforcement to stop trafficking, and places where victims can transition (Hadjiyanni, Povlitzki, and Preble 2014). Hotels and private residences are among the primary places associated with trafficking. Both are places that imply comfort and safety, elements that are desirable in sexual transactions. An article published in Hospitality Magazine warns lodging staff that sex trafficking is increasing: “Hotels and motels are often the unfortunate and yet logical replacement location, with their ever-changing parade of guests and . . . let’s face it . . . all the right furnishings come as standard equipment” (Smith 2011: 7). The privacy and anonymity offered by hotels and motels are added benefits to traffickers (Polaris Project 2012). In parallel, private residences are implicated in sex trafficking in multiple ways. Typical urban and suburban neighborhoods can be harbors for sex traffickers, who in order to avoid detection, “deliberately seek out obscure venues” (Hodge 2008: 148), ones that can easily be “camouflaged by their normal, middle-class surroundings” (Landesman 2004: np). Homes and apartments are the second most frequently reported venue for sex trafficking (after brothels) (Newton, Mulcahy, and Martin 2008). Answering the call for “innovative studies and new methodologies that move beyond the victim narrative and produce conclusions that can be applied beyond each specific sample” (Brunovskis and Surtees 2010:  2), the current study

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explores both victims’ dress and place. An exploration of how dress and places are used in online advertisements to create and evoke sexiness and attract customers expands understandings of meanings and messages of “normalcy” sent from the media as well as those associated with the built environment for a population that remains hidden from public consciousness—the sexually exploited youth.

Methodological approach The sample was drawn from online advertisements placed on the web site backpage.com—Minneapolis Escort, a popular means for soliciting customers by sex traders, including traffickers, at the time of the research. As the study’s purpose was to better understand how dress and place could potentially be used in sex trading of sexually exploited youth, ads were screened and narrowed down to those that noted ages of 18 or 19  years old. Twenty images were identified from 250 ads placed between April 10 and April 15, 2015. There are four inherent limitations with this study. First, while the viewer may infer that the posted advertisement was created by the individual pictured, that may not be the case—instead, others may have created and posted the picture or forced the woman shown to take the photograph and make it publicly available. Second, the age of the person shown in the photograph may not be truly 18 or 19 years old as regardless of the true age of the person depicted, all are said to be of legal age to hide trafficking of minors. Third, it is impossible to know if that person is trafficked or not. Signs of trafficking include the faces of the women being hidden or cut off as well as photographs taken in hotel rooms (Brennan 2005). And lastly, the study relies on visual analysis of the images posted. With no interviews of the actual people shown in the photographs, no light can be shed on their perspective and reasoning for the images used. Instead, only hypotheses can be made as to why they appear as they do in the advertisements. As the goal of the study is to raise awareness about trafficking and start conversations among academics and scholars about how dress and place relate to trafficking, future researchers can delve deeper into the questions raised here and reduce these limitations. The study has ethical concerns the researchers recognize. As noted, some of the photographs used for the study may have been posted without the consent of the individuals featured therein. In parallel, the photographs were posted for the purpose of soliciting customers. Although backpage.com is a public forum and can be accessed by anyone, the researchers acknowledge that the subjects did not formally consent to the analysis of photographs that formed the basis of this study. These ethical implications are counterbalanced by the fact that this

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study can be used to educate scholars, educators, and advocates about the urgency of the issue and call for potential interventions. While for legal reasons the images could not be reproduced there, the study utilized M. Bank’s (2001) ideas for the visual analysis of images, focusing primarily on assessing contents of the image (i.e., what is the image of? What is the content and why does it look that way? What is the subject doing? What is in the background?). In the case of dress, variables noted included how the body is positioned, specific dress utilized (e.g., high heels, short skirts, low-cut tops, underwear, use of makeup, styled hair), fit (e.g., tightness), transparency of clothing (e.g., sheerness), and amount of total body exposure. In terms of places, factors examined included types of places, furniture, colors, lighting levels, material finishes, interior characteristics, and elements as well as decorations.

Findings and discussion Of the twenty images analyzed, one appeared to be professionally done (i.e., use of backdrop) and the remainder appear to be amateur images (e.g., black edges, out of focus). Included in this latter category are images that appear to be selfies shot with the help of a mirror. Most of the photographs were shot in private spaces (e.g., bedrooms, bathrooms) rather than in public ones (e.g., on the street, in a park). In addition, nearly half of the posted images were photographs of body parts (e.g., women pictured from the waist down, pictured from the breasts up, photograph with the woman’s head cut off) rather than full body photographs. Thus, there was clear evidence that the selected images featured objectified these women.

Findings related to dress To answer the question of how dress is used to communicate sexuality in online ads for sex work, consideration was given to Kang’s (1997) analyses of the portrayal of women’s images in magazine advertisements. Four categories are particularly relevant to displays wherein women lack social power. Relative size refers to how much physical space a woman takes up within the image. “Deference of women” refers to lowering oneself physically (e.g., kneeling, laying down) and is interpreted as submissive and accepting of subordination. “Licensed withdrawal” refers to images that depict women as removed from the social situation (i.e., looking off camera) and dependent on others. Finally, “bodily display” refers to the use of body revealing clothing (e.g., short skirts, tight clothing) and nudity.

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Fifteen of the images that presented a woman’s complete body were photographed with the subject standing up but often leaning against a wall or bending over as if they are not capable of standing unassisted. There were two women pictured laying down (on a bed), one sitting (on a bed), and two kneeling on the ground. Thus, within the images there is some visual evidence of deference and the portrayed women having limited social weight. Identification of the women was made difficult, as only eleven women faced the camera while the other nine withdrew from the camera or had their heads cut off by the position of the camera. Therefore, there was clear evidence of licensed withdrawal. Images containing other physical identifiers tied to dress such as tattoos or unique piercings were also very limited. This practice of obscuring or limiting identifiers is consistent with the idea that these women are being trafficked and that there was perhaps, interest on the part of the people in control that the young women not be identifiable and consequently locatable. Limited use of faces and of other identifiers may also suggest an attempt to make these women into easily interchangeable body objects. Bodily display was evident in all of the images. Fourteen of the women wore clothing that drew the viewer’s eye to body parts associated with sexuality (e.g., buttocks, breasts). Specific items of dress used to confer sexuality were most often undergarments as half of the women were photographed in their underwear. One woman was topless and one wore a top but no panties. One woman wore a bikini swimsuit. Six of the women wore matching sets of underwear (a la Victoria’s Secret) suggestive of glamour, while the rest wore unmatched panties and bras. Thong underwear was worn by four of the women. Brassieres shown appeared functional rather than as items of dress used to accentuate breasts and cleavage. Thus, one could classify the dominant type of dress featured in the ads as private rather than public. Perhaps this public display of private dress is used to enable the viewer to infer that he will have easy access to private areas of life. Overall, the photographs examined were not images of powerful seductresses but, rather, the viewer was almost to assume the role of window peeper clandestinely viewing a young woman through her bedroom window. The seven women pictured wearing clothing wore outfits and styles that were tightly fitted to the body and that exposed body shape and skin (e.g., skinny jeans, leggings, short knit dresses, bare midriffs). This finding is consistent with research reporting on what women wear to appear sexy or to attract sexual attention (Grammer, Renninger, and Fischer 2004; Smolak, Murnen, and Myers 2014). Overall, lack of dignity comes to mind when viewing the photographs of these young women. Unlike fashion advertisements featuring sexuality that are professionally done and where there are often background indicators that these women have high-status lifestyles and live glamorous lives, there is little opulence reflected in the images of these women. Rather, with few exceptions, these

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women appear to be lacking in social power, stripped of their unique identity, and objectified.

Findings related to places Of the places shown, eight were bathrooms; four bedrooms; three included a door; two were unidentifiable, one was a living space; one a hotel room; and one was placeless. In half of the images, equal emphasis exists between the person featured and the place, even if the place is viewed partially. As noted previously, nearly half of the images appear to be selfies that were taken in front of a mirror. In one of these images, the place covers more area in the photograph than the person whereas in the rest of the nine images, the woman, and specifically body parts associated with sexuality, dominates the image. The following discussion explores how those places, (i.e., bathrooms, bedrooms) and the use of mirrors relate to the construction of sexuality and in turn, objectification. All of the images were of interior and “private” environments, which is consistent with the hidden nature of sex trafficking—interior environments are spaces not easily accessible or visible from the outside. Privacy is a concept that has almost attained the status of an unquestionable right in American life. Defined by Altman as “selective control of access to the self or to one’s group” (1975: 18), understandings of privacy are ambiguous when applied to women in sex work. On the one hand, these women are exposing themselves publicly and projecting outward expressions of intimacy while on the other hand, the images and place selection allude to secrecy and are often used to construct a sense of self definition.

Bathrooms As private spaces that focus on the body, bathrooms are tied to sensuality and sexuality. A sense of secrecy and shame often accompanies the acts that take place in a bathroom. Spatially, this secrecy is reflected in bathrooms being the only rooms in a residential environment that are not required by code to have a window or other connection to the outside world. The closed-in nature of bathrooms aligns with the need for discretion that is required in sexual transactions. Courtesy also has it that discussing bodily functions such as using the toilet is not a socially acceptable practice. It is no wonder then that of the fixtures that are accommodated in a bathroom, only one of the photos explicitly showed a toilet. In this photograph, the woman is bent over a toilet with its seat cover down. This unconventional pose makes it difficult to understand what is

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going on, and why one would use this picture to solicit sex customers. Combined with the lack of visibility of the woman’s face, the seemingly crude character of this photograph translates to a sign of trafficking. This image appears to be the only one of the bathroom images that is not a selfie. In the rest of the bathroom images, the woman depicted appears in front of a mirror, taking a selfie. The reflection makes bathrooms recognizable from showers, shower curtains, and the tile that typically lines the walls or shower areas. As spaces where nudity is expected, showers evoke sensual imagery that can entice the male fantasy. A  viewer can reflect on the woman’s image and “picture” her nude in the shower, objectifying her in the process. For the purposes of this study, it is difficult to know if bathrooms were chosen for their sensuality and secrecy or for the practicality of having access to a mirror, which is discussed subsequently.

Bedrooms The presence of a bed in the photograph alludes to the space in which the photograph was taken as being either a bedroom in a private residence or a hotel. Bedrooms are tied to sexuality through their private nature and the bed, the piece of furniture most closely associated with sexual activity. Just like bathrooms, bedrooms have become the quintessential symbol of American individualism—a room to call one’s own. One of the women in the photographs used the bed as a prop—featured in a reclined position allowing her to showcase her buttocks, extending an invitation to customers. The double bed is squeezed against a wall, not a typical position for a bed meant to accommodate easy access for two people. The walls around the bed are stark and devoid of personalization, which alludes to the photograph of a rented place, maybe an apartment or hotel room used exclusively for sexual encounters. The starkness of this image is juxtaposed with another picture that encompasses an entire room that looks to be a private bedroom. This is the only one of the twenty pictures wherein the viewer can see more of the place than the person featured, perhaps providing a glimpse into the life of that person. Standing next to the bed, the woman photographed is surrounded by clothing on the floor. A plastic bin holds toiletries and what seems like few possessions as the drawers appear empty. Empty and full glasses, leftover food, and cans of soft drinks line the top of the bin and surround a small television that sits on a table next to the bed. An orderly environment implies a sense of control and self-worth. Clutter and disorder are indicators of a life in disarray or transient. Neuroscience research adds fuel to this interpretation by highlighting the negative impacts of such an environment including restricting the brain’s ability to focus and process information (McMains and Kastner 2011).

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The use of plastic containers as furniture further adds to the notion of a transient lifestyle. Stability and commitment to a place typically translate to solidly built chests of drawers and beds on a frame rather than on the floor. The personalized wall behind the woman challenges this perception as an adorned wall with photographs, a cross, and “Christmas” lights can point to feelings of attachment to a place and the creation of a home environment. Only one of the featured bedrooms is recognizable as a hotel room. The standard-type carpeting and bedding, including the bed skirt, along with the size of the room are defining characteristics. Time appears to be of essence in this fuzzy photograph. Ease and speed, two elements valued in sex trading, are reflected in the bag on the bed and the fully dressed subject that seems ready to go.

Mirrors Mirrors were used to take a selfie for almost half of the images in the sample. Part of the reason could be its ability to display one’s self, something that comes in handy when the goal is to solicit customers for sex. In the mirror, self and place blend and become one, albeit in an immaterial world, a reflection. Transcending the lived reality of the victim/subject, the mirror allows for the private to become a public marketing tool. Selfies are now produced in unprecedented quantities, normalized through the availability of technology and social media—everyone, from ordinary citizens to celebrities and politicians publicize selfies as mediums for constructing their own representational narratives. Anthropological inquiry into the meaning of selfies points to their role in self-making. According to Shipley: Taking selfies in the mirror creates another type of critical doubling of the self that works as a form of unintentional inversion. It collapses the sitter and the artist and then resplits them into oppositional, mirror images, creating a form of self-recognition that is at the same time alienating. (2015: 407) Understandings of the selfie multiply when the purpose behind the image is to transform a human body into a commodity that is for sale. Selfies that embody popular imagery, such as Kim Kardashian’s selfies, to elicit sexuality challenge the agency of the person involved to craft their own story and relate their own memoir. For victims of trafficking, the illusion of the self that is created in the mirror can provide a “safe” distance between the “real” self and the one that is sold. “Alienation” in these cases provides a method to protect levels of identity that are being stripped away. Theorizing mirrors as an element of interiors that can both

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collapse and expand a person’s ability to construct and define his/her identity can complicate how trafficking is understood and studied.

Conclusions and implications for future research Through a review of twenty online ads on backpage.com meant to solicit customers for sex trading, the paper exposed how dress and place are implicated in the process. Dress becomes a medium for inferences of sexuality as well as privacy. Forms of dress linked to this age group (e.g., tattoos) were not evident, providing a means to mask identity. Place complements dress in constructing narratives of privacy, pleasure, and sexiness. The private spaces of bathrooms and bedrooms, spaces associated with the body, nakedness, and sex evoke expectations for the sensual experience that is to come. The study showcases a different side of the implications of media obsession with sexuality. When employed to sell sex, dress and place are not used to glamorize but instead to strip power away from these women, obscuring the lived reality of women who may be caught in trafficking. This study is a call for educators, researchers, students, and professionals to reimagine how dress and place can be used and misused. Readers of this chapter can be active and conscientious community members, ones who are willing to join what promises to be a long and arduous journey. Many questions remain that future studies can explore. Future research can expand understandings of how purchasers of sex view these ads. Studies can solicit insights from men who engaged in or are engaged in sex trading and better understand how these visual cues are interpreted. Exploring how age, race, education and income level, as well as life-cycle stage factor into these perceptions will increase awareness of how a person becomes a commodity through online ads and the implications of that relationship for gender and power discourses. Equally important are studies that shed light on the role of these women in selecting the photographs featured on backpage.com. The visual analysis of the online ads left undetermined whether the person featured on the ad is the individual that actually resides in the space in which the photograph was taken. With deeper insights into the agency of women engaged in sex work, scholars and advocates can better relate to the choices they make. Why was that pose, clothing, location chosen? What were the parameters considered? What meaning do those choices of dress and place hold for the women themselves and why? And how do those images relate to their construction or deconstruction of self and womanhood? Studies that engage the subject should consider the potential

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to be “greedy” and dehumanizing and therefore, must approach the topic with respect and dignity (Brunovskis and Surtees 2010; Martin 2015). In closing, the authors recognize that sex trafficking cannot be tackled in the singular, by any one agency or one solution or one factor; it must be approached in the plural. Dress and place are just two aspects of a complex puzzle that makes up the sex trading world. The disciplines of interior design and retail merchandizing can fuse together to unleash the power of collaboration and the many new and exciting opportunities it provides. This is a journey that is just beginning and it is guided by the power to imagine a world in which all women matter.

Note 1 I t should be noted that since the writing of this article, the adult section of backpage. com has been suspended due to trafficking concerns (US Senate Report 2016). The website has been used by other researchers working with trafficking, including Kennedy (2012) and Gow, Barlott, Quinn, Linder, Soler, Edwards, and Hossain (2015).

References Adomaitis, A., and K. K. P. Johnson (2008), “Advertisements: Interpreting Images Used to Sell Young Adults,” Journal of Fashion Marketing and Management, 12 (2): 182–192. Altman, I. (1975), The Environment and Social Behavior: Privacy, Personal Space, Territory, Crowding. Monterey, CA: Brooks/Cole Publishing Company. American Psychological Association, Task Force on the Sexualization of Girls, (2007), Report of the APA Task Force on the Sexualization of Girls, Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. http://www.apa.org/pi/women/programs/ girls/report.aspx (accessed on January 19, 2016). Baker, C. (2005), “Images of Women’s Sexuality in Advertisements: A Content Analysis of Black- and White-Oriented Women’s and Men’s Magazines,” Sex Roles, 52 (1/2): 13–27. Bales, K., and S. Lize, (2005), Trafficking in Persons in the United States: A Report to the National Institute of Justice. Croft Institute for International Studies, University of Mississippi. https://www.ncjrs.gov/App/Publications/abstract.aspx?ID=233446 (accessed on September 15, 2012). Banks, M. (2001), Visual Methods in Social Research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Brennan, D. (2005), “Methodological Challenges in Research with Trafficked Persons: Tales from the Field,” International Migration, 43 (1/2): 35–54. Brunovskis, A., and R. Surtees, (2010), “Untold Stories: Biases and Selection Effects in Research with Victims of Trafficking for Sexual Exploitation,” International Migration, 48 (4): 1–37. Duffy, M., and J. Gotcher, (1996), “Crucial Advice on How to Get the Guy: The Rhetorical Vision of Power and Seduction in the Teen Magazine YM,” Journal of Communication Inquiry, 20: 32–48.

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Durante, K. M., N. P. Li, and M. G. Haselton, (2008), “Changes in Women’s Choice of Dress Across the Ovulatory Cycle: Naturalistic and Laboratory Task-Based Evidence,” Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 34: 1451–1460. Franzoi, S. L. (1995), “The Body-as-Object Versus the Body-as-Process: Gender Differences and Gender Considerations,” Sex Roles, 33: 417–437. Fredrickson, B. L., and T. A. Roberts, (1997), “Objectification Theory: Toward Understanding Women’s Lived Experiences and Mental Health Risks,” Psychology of Women Quarterly, 21: 173–206. Gannon, Z., and N. Lawson, (2010). The Advertising Effect. London: Compass. Goffman, E. (1979), Gender Advertisements. New York: Harper and Row. Goodin, S., A. Van Denburg, S. K. Murnen, and L. Smolak, (2011), “ ‘Putting on’ Sexiness: A Content Analysis of the Presence of Sexualizing Characteristics in Girls’ Clothing,” Sex Roles, 65: 1–12. Gow, G. A., T. Barlott, K. Quinn, J. Linder, A. Soler, G. Edwards, and S. Hossain, (2015), “Project Backpage: Using Text Messaging to Initiate Outreach Support for Victims of Human Trafficking and Sexual Exploitation,” Journal of Human Trafficking, 1 (4): 259–274. Graff, K. A., S. K. Murnen, and A. K. Krause, (2013), “Low-cut Shirts and High-heeled Shoes: Increased Sexualization across Time in Magazine Depictions of Girls,” Sex Roles, 69 (11–12): 571–582. Grammer, K., L. Renninger, and B. Fischer, (2004), “Disco Clothing, Female Sexual Motivation, and Relationship Status: Is She Dressed to Impress?” Journal of Sex Research, 41: 66–74. Guéguen, N. (2012), “Color and Women Attractiveness: When Red Clothed Women Are Perceived to Have More Intense Sexual Intent,” The Journal of Social Psychology, 152: 261–265. Hadjiyanni, T., M. Povlitzki, and H. Preble, (2014), “The Placeness of Sex Trafficking— Instilling Consciousness through Minnesota’s Experience,” Journal of Interior Design Special Issue on Interior Design Collaboration, 39 (1): 1–16. Hodge, D. R. (2008), “Sexual Trafficking in the United States: A Domestic Problem with Transnational Dimensions,” Social Work, 53 (2): 143–152. Kang, M. (1997). “The Portrayal of Women’s Images in Magazine Advertisements: Goffman’s Gender Analysis Revisited,” Sex Roles, 37: 979. Kennedy, E. (2012), “Predictive Patterns of Sex Trafficking Online.” Senior Honor Thesis, Carnegie Mellon University, Pittsburgh. Available online: http://repository.cmu.edu/cgi/ viewcontent.cgi?article=1153&context=hsshonors (accessed January 19, 2016). Kim, M., and S. Lennon, (2006), “Content Analysis of Diet Advertisements: A CrossNational Comparison of Korean and U.S. Women’s Magazines,” Clothing and Textiles Research Journal, 24 (4): 345–362. Landesman, P. (2004), “The Girls Next Door,” The New York Times. January 25. Logan, T. K. (2007), “Human Trafficking in Kentucky,” University of Kentucky. Available online: http://virtuallibrary.cincinnatilibrary.org/lib/25/1599/human-trafficking-inkentucky.pdf (accessed November 4, 2012). Martin, L. (2015), “Sex and Sensibilities—Doing Action Research while Respecting Even Inspiring Dignity,” in H. Bradbury (ed.), The Sage Handbook of Action Research, 505–511. London: Sage. McMains, S., and S. Kastner, (2011), “Interactions of Top-Down and Bottom-Up Mechanisms in Human Visual Cortex,” Journal of Neuroscience, 31 (2): 587–597.

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Merskin, D. (2004), “Reviving Lolita? A Media Literacy Examination of Sexual Portrayals of Girls in Fashion Advertising,” American Behavioral Scientist, 48 (1): 119–129. “Met Gala 2015: Best and Worst Red Carpet Looks on Fashion’s Biggest Night” (2015). Available online: http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/met-gala-2015-best-worstred-carpet-fashion-biggest-night-gallery-1.2210091?pmSlide=1.2210287 (accessed February 22, 2017). Millard, J. E., and P. R. Grant (2006). “Stereotypes of Black and White Women in Fashion Magazine Photographs: The Pose of the Model and the Impression She Creates,” Sex Roles, 54 (9): 659–673. Murnen, S. K., and R. Seabrook, (2012), “Feminist Perspectives on Body Image and Physical Appearance,” in T. Cash (ed.), Encyclopedia of Body Image and Human Appearance, 438–443. London: Academic Press. Newton, P. J., T. M. Mulcahy, and S. E. Martin, (2008), “Finding Victims of Human Trafficking,” National Opinion Research Center (NORC) at the University of Chicago. Available online: https://www.ncjrs.gov/app/publications/abstract.aspx?ID=246353 (accessed December 1, 2012). Nezlek, J., W. Krohn, D. Wilson, and L. Maruskin, (2015), “Gender Differences in Reactions to the Sexualization of Athletes,” The Journal of Social Psychology, 155 (1): 1–11. Pazda, A., A. J. Elliot, and T. Greitemeyer, (2012), “Sexy Red: Perceived Sexual Receptivity Mediates the Red-Attraction Relation in Men Viewing Women,” Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 48: 787–790. Polaris Project (2012), “Human Trafficking in Hotels and Motels Victim and Location Indicators.” Polaris Project Website Resources. Retrieved December 2, 2012, from www.PolarisProject.org. Rand, A. (2010), “It Can’t Happen in My Backyard: The Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls in the United States,” Child & Youth Services, 31 (3–4): 138–156. Shipley, J. W. (2015), “Selfie Love: Public Lives in an Era of Celebrity Pleasure, Violence, and Social Media,” American Anthropologist, 117 (2): 403–413. Smith, M. (2011), “Lodging Industry Fights Child Trafficking,” Lodging Minnesota: Fall. Available online: http://ezmag.documation.com/MLAMagazineFall2011/ (accessed January 20, 2013). Smolak, L., S. Murnen, and T. Myers, (2014), “Sexualizing the Self: What College Women and Men Think about and Do to Be Sexy,” Psychology of Women Quarterly, 38 (3): 379–397. Stankiewicz, J. M., and F. Rosselli, (2008), “Women as Sex Objects and Victims in Print Advertisements,” Sex Roles, 58: 579–589. Unger, R., and M. Crawford (1992), Women and Gender: A Feminist Psychology. New York: McGraw-Hill. United States Senate. (2016), “Resolution Directing the Senate Legal Counsel to Bring a Civil Action to Enforce a Subpoena of the Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations.” Available online: https://www.congress.gov/114/crpt/srpt214/CRPT114srpt214.pdf (accessed February 22, 2017). Women’s Foundation of Minnesota (2012), “MN Girls Are Not for Sale: Help End the Prostitution of Minnesota Girls.” Available online: www.MNGirlsNotForSale.org (accessed September 8, 2012). Yakushko, O. (2009). “Human Trafficking: A Review for Mental Health Professionals,” International Journal for the Advancement of Counselling, 31: 158–167.

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12 STRIPPING OF POWER: DRESS AND UNDRESS OF AFRO-BRAZILIAN WOMEN IN THE SCIENTIFIC WORK OF LOUIS AND ELIZABETH AGASSIZ Kelly Mohs Gage

Introduction Elizabeth Cabot Cary Agassiz is probably not a recognizable name to many. What about Louis Agassiz? While his name has faded into relative obscurity in comparison to his famed contemporary, Charles Darwin, 150  years ago Swiss-born scientist Louis Agassiz (1807–1873) was a name most observers would have recognized. In the mid-nineteenth century, Agassiz was a scientist of rock star proportions. His name drew audiences to large, public lecture halls, commanded respect (for a time) in the upper echelons of the scientific academic elite, and brought cutting-edge scientific and anthropological information to the masses. His zoological studies were groundbreaking; his ability to raise money to fund his specimen gathering expeditions around the world was legendary; and he was a respected professor and researcher at Harvard University. However, even in his own time, there was a growing shadow of unease surrounding an area of his research—the division of humankind into “species” based on race. Although this type of scientific research based on phrenology and the premise of polygenetics was not atypical in late nineteenth century sociological (and zoological) research, Agassiz’s persistence and his manner

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of data collection was extreme even for the time moving into the theory of degeneration, a theory that held that mixed races did not carry the best characteristics of their forebears, but rather that miscegenation resulted in degeneration and infertility (Machado 2012). Among the most shocking (from a twenty-first-century perspective) components of Agassiz’s research are collections of photographs of slaves in states of full-dress to nudity. The images are unemotional, seemingly nonprovocative in nature, containing none of the typical poses or signifiers of lust used in the pornography of this period. They were taken, it was argued, for the detached reason of scientific research.1 He first conducted such a study in South Carolina in 1850 (see Wallis 1995; Rogers 2006) and continued this manner of research in 1865 when he traveled to Brazil. Agassiz and his wife, Elizabeth Cabot Carey Agassiz, spent a little over a year in Brazil (April 1865 to August 1866) and published a narrative of their time there that purported to serve as an academic document based on Louis Agassiz’s scientific research.

Travel narratives Travel narratives2 were a popular form of published writing in the nineteenth century. While some twentieth-century scholars discredit such writing as minor evidence of a period and place, often based not in reality but with an eye to publication and satisfaction of public curiosity, travel journals are valid primary accounts of cultures, places and people deemed “exotic” in the nineteenth century (see Jones 1986; Wheeler 1986; Clapp 2004). Wheeler (1986) asserts that as the traveler was a stranger, since he (or she) rarely visited a place twice and was writing for the purpose of publication, it is equally, and possibly more importantly, true, that the writer’s gut reaction and lack of analytic approach to new experiences gives the reader a more profound picture of the time period in which it was created and of the subjects presented. For this reason, travel narratives are considered unique and important sources of evidence for some types of research. The personal and genuine manner in which travel writers provide detailed information on society, place, and material culture link to emotions, struggles, and imagery rarely witnessed in other historical documents. These accounts are formatted just as one would expect, including the date, location, and any observation the author felt noteworthy. The travel accounts include sometimes simple remarks about meals, excursions, or descriptions of surroundings, but can, as in the case of the accounts used for this research, provide period- and site-specific observations of practices difficult to find in other sources, such as attitudes toward and real observations of slavery as an institution and a practice. Writers at times provide transcripts of conversations with individuals, detailed information on flora and fauna, or specific information

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about governing bodies and systems. Some travel narratives are matter-of-fact, dry recordings, while others vividly showcase the personality of the writer. The character of the writer is particularly evident when describing living conditions (their own and others’) as well as the differences between life in their country of origin and the country they are visiting. Some maintain an objective sense of adventure, while others find fault in everything related to their experience. The narratives used for this study provide highly emotional responses to observing the brutal treatment of slaves and clues to slave environments, such as how they lived and how they dressed. This type of information and personal reaction to the appearance of slaves is lacking in most other written documents of the nineteenth century. The Agassizs’ publication of A Journey in Brazil in the late 1860s was not unique. Such writing was marketed to the masses and had been prevalent since the early part of the century. It was not their first work produced for the public, as Louis Agassiz had earlier written “science for the masses” articles in the popular magazine the Atlantic Monthly. Arnold Guyot recounted Agassiz’s contributions to public education late in life, saying: Public education had no better friend. He published an excellent little volume on the method of study in natural history. He was one of the corps of able teachers gathered together by the genial and intelligent State Secretary of Education of Massachusetts, Dr.  Barnas Sears, which, by means of the Teachers’ Institutes, actually revolutionized the methods of instruction. (1878: 71) There was a strong interest in the public of this period to expand their personal horizons, particularly in terms of countries and lands considered foreign and beyond the scope of normal experience. While Brazil had a growing population and expanding metropolitan cultures by the 1860s, it was still considered exotic and especially interesting because of its unfamiliar and alien people, plants, and fauna. The intentions of travel narrative authors, like the Agassizs, differed greatly from other written sources of the nineteenth century that document slave dress, and as such, give a vastly different perspective. In addressing slaves, slavery, and slave appearance, the reactions ranged from disgust to awe of beauty, from a complete disregard for the humanity of the person to respect for the slave as an individual. As a group, these writings highlight perspectives toward slavery and the dress of slaves by viewers who were generally from countries or regions, like the northern part of the United States, with strong antislavery movements or where slavery was outlawed. Authors range in gender, socioeconomic status, and areas of cultural interest and country of origin, which provides for ready comparison of attitudes toward slavery and the colony of Brazil. The wealth of

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information in the narratives is far-ranging even when one limits the scope to reactions to and descriptions of clothing. My analysis included fifteen travelogues about Brazil from 1815 to 1860 written by a mix of both female and male travel writers.3 Twelve men and four women with an age range of twenty-three to fifty-eight wrote these narratives. The average age of the women during their time in Brazil was thirty, while the average age of the men was thirty-three. Five of the narratives were written by individuals from Great Britain (one from Scotland, four from England), seven from the United States (including the Agassizs’ account), two from Germany, and one from France. The three women authors represent the United States, France, and Great Britain. The majority are single-authored works (exception being the Agassizs’) that were embarked upon because of the interest of the author, not through any commissioning body, be it government, or academic, or publishing house. It was not unusual for a woman to start the journal because of travel related to her husband’s work. Such narratives and travel often continued after the death of their spouse, as was the case for Adele Toussaint-Samson and Maria Graham.4 The men traveled for a variety of reasons, but mainly in an official capacity as a diplomat or member of the military. For others, the trip began for personal enjoyment or enrichment—as an aristocrat or a naturalist. For some, it was a calling. This was particularly true for missionaries. The topics were as varied as the travelers. They focused on plants, transportation, daily life, and so on.

A time of respite: The Agassiz journal The Agassizs’ sojourn in Brazil came about as a result of Louis’s ill health in the early 1860s. Brazil was deemed an advantageous locale due to its temperate climate but more so because Louis wanted to take advantage of the forced time off from academia to continue his research on Brazilian fish species. He mounted a brilliant fundraising campaign and garnered adequate funds to bring his wife and a group of researchers with him (Guyot 1878; Bergmann 1995). A Journey in Brazil was published with an eye to educating the public on his research and as a precursor for his studies of the human race. It is unique in that it was published coauthored by him and his wife, with Louis naturally placed in the position of first author and Elizabeth noted as Mrs. Louis Agassiz. However, with Elizabeth serving as the main transcriber of her husband’s scientific analysis and notes and as the main writer of the journal, her personal observations of Brazilian life, including reactions to slaves, provide an important glimpse into American reactions to slavery in Brazil. Often her words contradict the work of her husband and her own assessment of the culture within the volume.

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While Louis Agassiz was a known name in scientific circles in the nineteenth century, Elizabeth’s reactions to the dress and undress of slaves maintained a clearer and truer picture of the stripping of power from these individuals, while projecting a sexualization on them that was often in stark contrast with reality. An analysis and interpretation of Elizabeth’s words in comparison to her husband’s scientific research brings to light differences in descriptions of skin exposure and reaction to the dress and undress of the slave body. Elizabeth Agassiz’s reactions to the simple, subordinate, and insufficient clothing, common to the slave strata, and commentary on the character of the individual based on race, are often contradictory. They identify beauty and physical power in the appearance of slaves, while at the same time place blame on the black population for the degradation of Brazil and openly accept her husband’s use of them for scientific research. Elizabeth especially disapproved of many black women’s lack of clothing and uncovered skin, calling them out with shock, disgust, and disbelief, labeling them immoral and deliberate in their temptation of white men. Women in the Victorian era, regardless of color or place in society, were the moral backbone of society; they were expected to do all in their power to set the moral compass of men in the correct direction. The fact that the slave women often had little choice in being put into the position of prostitute or mistress or in a state of undress was not acknowledged, recognized, or considered of any importance. The involvement of Elizabeth Agassiz in her husband’s professional life fits neatly with the commonly expected roles of women, particularly female relatives of famous scientists of the time. Historian Debra Lindsay sums up this relationship succinctly, noting that, “for a woman who married such a singleminded man, her husband’s work became her work too. Her husband’s life was her life” (1998: 633). Lindsay’s research concludes that “home life and the kinship-based scientific career—or what is also known as the ‘two person, one career’ phenomenon—were more prosaic” than if the woman was not involved (1998: 635). This idea that the woman does what she can to make the work of the man possible, seamless, and profitable is not unique within the scope of Victorian sensibilities. Elizabeth Agassiz fits this frame work well. As the second wife of Louis, she stepped naturally into the role of mother to his three children from his previous marriage and just as quickly began to manage the family’s finances. Her husband soon began to rely on her as a recorder of his lectures, translator of his writing from French to English, and transcriber of his research notes. This acceptance of the wife as a partner in science brought Elizabeth into a sphere largely unavailable by other means, giving her a foot in the door to do work that was socially ensconced in the male sphere. With this entry many women went on to navigate the realms of academia and the male-dominated field of science, with Elizabeth for example eventually becoming the first president of Radcliffe College. Arnold Guyot publicly recognized the value of Elizabeth Agassiz in his

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Memoir of Louis Agassiz presented to the National Academy of Sciences in 1878. In his final summation, speaking of Louis’s providential marriage to Elizabeth, Guyot said Agassiz would have been unable to perform his work without “her sound and firm judgment, her well-balanced mind” giving “him a much-needed help and encouragement in the midst of sometimes complicated circumstances” (1878: 72). While A Journey in Brazil was presented to the world as a valuable recording of Louis Agassiz’s research in Brazil, it must be recognized that it was written by Elizabeth as a near daily transcription of her travel experiences as well as recording of her husband’s research notes and discoveries. In some instances, it is quite obvious whose voice she is capturing as she describes the events that happened from the point of view of her husband or herself. These clearly place each in their socially expected sphere—such as talking about having lunch with the senhora of a fazenda (farm) and the number of new species of fish gathered that day. Or she literally refers the reader to Louis’s scientific notes as a footnote, an appendix, or a direct quote within the text. She is quite aware and direct in stating that she felt her assessment of their travels were inferior to those of her husband’s. In a letter to a friend she wrote, “. . . I  am conscious that what is beautiful and picturesque in his studies interests me more than what is purely scientific and sometimes I am afraid that in my own appreciation of that side of the subject I shall weaken his thought and in it insert a rather feminine character” (Bergmann 1989: 5). Perhaps it is for this reason that her words related to the treatment, appearance, and character of slaves in Brazil differ so greatly from those of her husband.

Reaction to slave appearance The Agassiz journal is not directed toward recording interactions with, or reactions to, slavery. Quite the contrary. A careful reading of the 540-page book must be conducted to find these mentions. Due to the purpose of the travel and the locations during their stay, the Agassiz couple’s exposure to slaves was relatively limited. However, on seventeen separate occasions, Elizabeth Agassiz recorded her thoughts on slaves and their appearance. These recorded observations of slaves in Brazil, when coupled with her commentary about her husband’s slave photographs, reveal wild contradictions that highlight the lack of control slaves had over their own lives and bodies. Her words coalesce in eight broad themes: nudity, intelligence, beauty, strength, clothing items, work ethic and character, mixture of races, and sexual relations. In these seventeen occasions, there are forty-five reflections on nudity, intelligence, beauty, strength, clothing items, work ethic and character, mixture of races, and sexual relations. Work ethic/character are mentioned eleven times in seven different

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interactions, and clothing items eight times in six interactions. In total, nudity, with the lowest number of mentions accounts for only 7 percent (n=3) and beauty only accounts for 9 percent (n=4) of the comments on slave appearance. Work ethic/ character account for the highest percentage, 24 percent (n=11). I include work ethic in slave appearance because Elizabeth uses the comments to reflect on the overall demeanor and appearance of the slaves—making mention of body postures and facial expressions as determinants of their attitude towards work, or the overall moral and ethical qualities of the individual. She describes one male vendor lying on a wall as “too indolent to lift a finger even to attract a purchaser” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 50) and labels slaves helping her through the mud as “shoeless, halfignorant blacks” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 461). Comments on specific items of dress are second most common (behind work ethic and character) with eight mentions, comprising 18  percent of the total. Twelve of the last twenty-three comments relate to lack of intelligence and poor work ethic/character. The ratio of disparaging comments to interactions suggests evidence of her decreased interest, or possibly growing ease with, slavery and treatment of slaves during her time in Brazil. Elizabeth’s first recorded reaction to slaves in Brazil describes “half-naked figures” and “unintelligent faces” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868:  49). Her second description again broaches the exposure of bare skin in describing “halfnaked black carriers” and seeing “a black woman on a curbstone, almost without clothing . . .” with a “naked child asleep across her knees” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 50). However, while these early interactions resulted in the crass assessment of the individual, they also pointedly address beauty and strength in the people she is viewing. She describes the “black carriers” as “straight and firm as bronze statues under the heavy loads which rest so securely on their heads” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 50). Her tone is such that the reader is lured into thinking that her attitude toward slavery and the slaves will be somewhat more generous than those of most individuals who wrote about Brazil in the nineteenth century, whose initial reactions leaned more toward revulsion than any type of appreciation. Elizabeth’s contemporaries also described both male and female slaves as having very little clothing and commented on the great deal of bare skin they exposed. Men are noted time and again as bare chested. Toussaint-Samson wrote, “This was one of my first surprises, that the blacks, naked to the waist, brutal and beastly faced, marked with large scars” (2001: 27). Reverend Walsh stated, “Here was a large number of beings entirely naked, with the exception of dirty rags tied around their waists” (1830: 82). G. Von Langsdorff saw the slaves as going about “almost without any covering” with the men wearing only short pants (1993: 26). In describing male coffee and sugar carriers, George Musalas Colvocoresses, a United States Naval officer noted, “They go about almost naked . . .” (1855:  31). The observations of male skin exposure are generally

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presented as mere remarks on the norm of the place and culture rather than a judgment of morality or depravity of the people. While the female writers may express surprise at the sight of bare male skin, it is often done as commenting on the exotic rather than in disgust. This is not the case when it comes to descriptions of female skin exposure. The three female writers regard the lack of clothing or uncovered skin of women as immoral or worse, a deliberate temptation of white men. Toussaint-Samson’s attitude is clear, saying, “There is nothing more debauched than these Minas negresses; they are the ones who deprave and corrupt the young people of Rio Janeiro; it is not rare to see foreigners, especially Englishmen, maintain them and ruin themselves for them” (2001:  34). Her opinion is one that was commonly held by many Europeans at the time. Many female travelers believed the seduction occurred due to the clothing, or lack thereof, that female slaves wore. This relates to the levels of modesty that were expected in the nineteenthcentury. The female writers talk of slaves’ exposed breasts, nursing infants in public and intentional use of clothing and accessories for drawing attention to themselves—all things that flew in the face of nineteenth-century ideas of decorum. Male writers also comment on female slaves’ dress. However, their attitudes differ greatly from that of the women and differ from one another. While the majority of women uniformly spoke with a negative tone about the nudity or near nudity of the women, male writers run the gamut—from simple observation of the near naked state of the women, to obvious appreciation for the form of the woman’s body. Von Langsdorff’s observation of slave dress within a home sits on one end of the spectrum: “The Negro slaves go almost without any covering.. . . the women (wear) only short skirts and at the most old blouses or rags hanging from their shoulders over their breasts” (1993: 26). Thomas Ewbank (1856) sits on the opposite end, using words like “nymphs” when describing a group of washerwomen in a stream. Elizabeth Agassiz’s inclusion of the word “unintelligent” in a description is not flattering, to put it mildly. That said, her acknowledgment of any beauty and strength is unique in relation to others of her generation. As noted by Bergmann (1995), Elizabeth was “able to observe the multi-racial society of Brazil without disgust and to describe her experiences . . . without displaying fear of danger or degradation” (86). Her choice of words in many instances suggests some level of esteem for the individual. In describing one woman she writes, “I have never seen such effective-looking negroes, from an artistic point of view, as here” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 50). Another interaction about a month later brought this entry:  “The women especially are finely made and have quite a dignified presence. I am never tired of watching them in the street and market” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 82). Both of these are from the first few months of her time in Brazil.

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These observations also include picturesque descriptions of clothing items. Colors, fit, jewelry, and headwraps are items that catch Elizabeth’s eye. One of the “effective-looking negroes” she referred to in the earlier quote is described in this manner: “Today a black woman passed us in the street, dressed in white, with bare neck and arms, the sleeves caught up with some kind of armlet, a large white turban of soft muslin on her head, and a long bright colored shawl passed crosswise under one arm and thrown over the other shoulder, hanging almost to the feet behind’” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 50). The other fine women she talks about are said to wear high turbans and long, multicolored shawls as in Figure  12.1, a woodcut based on a photograph by Augusto Stahl that Louis

Figure 12.1  Mina Negress Woodcut illustration from A Journey in Brazil, p. 83 from the photograph by Augusto Stahl. Commissioned by Prof. Louis Agassiz. Courtesy of Author.

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Agassiz commissioned as part of his study of Afro-Brazilians.5 In speaking about the shawls, Elizabeth writes: The amount of expression they throw into the use of this shawl is quite amazing. I  watched a tall, superbly made woman in the street to-day [sic] who was in a great passion. Gesticulating violently, she flung her shawl wide, throwing out both arms, then, drawing it suddenly in, fold it about her, and stretched herself to her full height; presently opening it once more, she shook her fist in the face of her opponent, and then, casting one end of her long drapery over her shoulder, stalked away with the air of a tragedy queen. (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 50) This entry is one that can be read as positive toward the character or personality of the person. It is interesting to note that while these early descriptions can be read, on some level, as complimentary, this is not the case as the travels and time progress. As noted when introducing the themes within her writing, she moves chronologically from beauty to mixture of race and sexual relations while her final comments focus on clothing items, a lack of intelligence, and poor character, and work ethic. Words of admiration (beauty and strength) are only noted in the first few interactions. Beyond this period (only a few months into her stay), the reader is presented with reactions that predominantly focus on the lack of intelligence, poor work ethic, low moral character, and negative influence of slaves on the Euro-Brazilian population—including the mixture of races. In speaking of the appearance of slaves, 15  percent of Agassiz’s comments relate to the mixture of races and the correlation of the mixture of races to the use of female slaves for sex by their masters. The first of these comments is encountered in a mid-June entry, about four months after they arrived in Brazil in 1865. In viewing slaves at a fazenda, she remarks, “While the music was going on, every door and window was filled with a cloud of dusky faces, now and then a fair one among them; for here, as elsewhere, slavery brings its inevitable and heaviest curse, and white slaves are by no means uncommon” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 116). And again, several months later: “Children are of every hue; the variety of color in every society where slavery prevails tells the same story of amalgamation of race” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 292). She is correct in her summation, writing, “They are told that the relation between man and wife is a sin, unless confirmed by the sacred rite of marriage; . . .” while “side by side with their own children grow up little fair-skinned slaves to tell them practically that the white man does not keep himself the law he imposed on them” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 130–131). These examples appear rather benign on the surface—Elizabeth is decrying the hypocrisy of the white slave owners in preaching and teaching morality to the slaves while they do not practice it themselves. However, look a little closer and

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you see that her ridicule does not address the lack of dignity afforded to slaves, but the destruction of the purity of the ruling class. While early recollections of encountering slaves present picturesque platitudes, later reactions pull any positive power from them. Playing into the research of her husband, Elizabeth remarks multiple times on the debilitating and “enfeebling” nature of the mixture of races in Brazil. In recounting a conversation with a prosperous landowner and slaveholder, she states “he says that free blacks compare well in intelligence and activity with the Brazilians and the Portuguese. But it must be remembered, in making the comparison with reference to our own country, here they are brought into contact with a less energetic and powerful race than the Anglo-Saxon” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 129). She states repeatedly and believably that she does not support slavery and believes that it is the cause of the “evil work, debasing and enfeebling whites and blacks alike” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 129). However, she places the blame for this degradation of the population firmly on slaves, stating, for example, that Brazilians must send their children away to be educated “on account of the injurious association with the house-servants” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 129) and the diminishing of intelligence due to negro blood.

Purpose of the viewer and the viewed This basis of observation and reaction plays neatly into the scientific account of Louis, particularly his attention to race identification and the use of photographs as means to establish species of humans. Elizabeth makes mention of her husband’s race work, talking about the photographers used, how and where they encountered the individuals they photographed, and what Louis’s thoughts were on the mixture of race. But nothing she says in her own words can compare to the severity of her husband’s. His scientific notes on “mixture of races” are encountered in directly quoted individual sentences, a full three and one-half page section, and one full appendix. If one looks at them in a detached manner, it may be feasible to read parts of his pages for the prevailing cultural attitudes of the period in which they were written. However, it is virtually impossible to pass statements such as “pure types fade away . . . engendering a mongrel crowd as repulsive as mongrel dogs” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868:  296), without pause. This is the mind-set in which Agassiz conducted his photographic study and to which the individuals he examined were subjected. Elizabeth seems perplexed at the lack of enthusiasm expressed by the subjects when approached with the notion of being part of the study, although she was well aware of the nature and purpose of the photographs. Women, men, and children were first photographed fully clothed and then literally stripped of their clothing and photographed in frontal, side, and back views in order to analyze their body conformation. Elizabeth expresses excitement at the

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opportunity for her husband to record a complete set of photographs, since “nowhere in the world can the blending of types among men be studied so fully as in the Amazons, where mamelucos, cafuzos, mulattoes, cabocos, negroes, and whites are mingled in confusion that seems at first inextricable” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 296). The expressions on the faces of the individuals photographed display something far from excitement (see Figure  12.2). While expressions typical of nineteenth-century photographs—stoic and unsmiling—must be considered, a comparison of the Agassiz’s race photographs shows radically different expressions and eye contact in the clothed versus unclothed images. The photographs in Figure 12.2 were taken by Walter Hunnewell, a student at Harvard, who traveled as a scientific assistant to Louis Agassiz in Brazil. These three subject examples are typical of the group of photographs shot by Hunnewell. The images on the left show each woman’s face when she was fully clothed. The images on the right were taken when the woman was fully nude. Note the downcast eyes in each of the unclothed images and the furrowed brows of the woman on the center right and the woman on the bottom right. While it cannot be determined exactly what these women were thinking, the shift in comfort level is palpable in each of the unclothed images. Elizabeth Agassiz touched on this idea of discomfort when she noted there was “a prevalent superstition among the Indians and the Negroes that a portrait absorbs into itself something of the vitality of the sitter . . .” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868:  276). She goes on to say that the courage of a few “emboldened the more timid, and models are much more easily obtained now than they were at first” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868:  277). While stated to be purely scientific in purpose, descriptions from the photographer and other firsthand witnesses lend an air of unease to the studio space, suggesting the women were “cajoled” into undressing. Although the women were not “sluttish” they “consented to the utmost liberties being taken with them” (Monteiro 2012). Engraver William James described the atmosphere of the studio as one charged with an erotic aura and significantly devoid of any scientific content (Monteiro 2012). Elizabeth and Louis were living in the studio space when these photographs were taken. It is unimaginable that Elizabeth did not witness some of these disquieting scenes. The disconnect between Elizabeth’s observations and the countenances presented in the images is nowhere more apparent than when looking at images of Elizabeth’s housemaid, Alexandrina. She is mentioned in two separate entries about a month apart. In the first, Elizabeth states Alexandrina is a mixture of Indian and Negro and deems her to have “the intelligence of the Indian with the greater pliability of the negro” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868:  224). Some twenty pages later, Elizabeth describes Alexandrina in more physical detail and mentions that they did a portrait of her because her hair was such a unique combination of her Indian and black background. As seen in Figure 12.3, her

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Figure 12.2  Facial expression comparison of details of slave photographs commissioned by Prof. Louis Agassiz. Left-hand images are clothed. Right-hand images are unclothed. Courtesy of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard University, PM# 2004.1.436.1.3, PM# 2004.1.436.1.4, PM# 2004.1.436.1.7, PM# 2004.1.436.1.8, PM# 2004.1.436.1.36, PM# 2004.1.436.1.37.

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hair was certainly made a center point of the images. It is important to note that while the images are both of Alexandrina, they are not taken from the same book. The image to the right in Figure 12.3 is from the French version of the book, Le Tour de Monde: Voyage au Bresil, while the image to the left is from the English version, A Journey in Brazil. The text describing Alexandrina is identical in the books, but as is immediately apparent, the images are not. It is not clear why the publishers (or the authors) chose different images to accompany the same description, but the contrast in the facial expressions of the young woman cannot be missed, nor can the fact that she is fully clothed in one image and not in the other. Elizabeth states that Alexandrina did not want her portrait taken, that she resisted and that it was only “after a great deal of coy demur” that she consented to sit for a portrait (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 246). Her hair was intentionally combed out as witnessed in both images because that is what interested Louis Agassiz—as an example of the comingling of racial features, describing it as “the length and texture of the Indian hair, and a sort of wiry elasticity of the Negro hair” (Agassiz and Agassiz 1868: 246). As far can be determined, her images were only drawn, she was not photographed. It does not take a great deal of effort, when looking at these two representations, to sense Alexandrina’s change in comfort level from being drawn fully clothed to being drawn wearing nothing.

Figure  12.3 Left:  Alexandrina Woodcut illustration from A Journey in Brazil, p.  245. Commissioned by Prof. Louis Agassiz. Courtesy of Author. Right: Alexandrina Woodcut illustration from Le Tour de Monde: Voyage au Bresil, p. 258. Commissioned by Prof. Louis Agassiz. Courtesy of Author.

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She looks passively at the viewer in the left-hand portrait but showcases a vastly different demeanor in the right-hand portrait—downturned mouth, uncomfortable expression in the eyes, shoulders, and arms hunched forward. The value of Alexandrina was not in her as a person. Although noted as useful in gathering materials on botanizing excursions, her ultimate value was in her stripped body, as a case study of the mixture of races and its resulting appearance.

Conclusion Elizabeth Agassiz was a product of her time and of her husband’s research. Her work in the nineteenth-century, male-dominated domain of science presented her with a level of empowerment unique for women in the period. However, she disempowers other women through her descriptions of their appearance and perceived lack of morality. This is particularly true of her attitude toward black women. As noted, the presentation of the black body as overly sexualized for the period was commonly mentioned in travel narratives. S. Gilman described the portrayal of black subjects in art, medicine, and literature in the nineteenth century as “mythic extensions through association with the qualities of a class” (1985: 204). He goes on to chart the movement of “commonplace” stereotypes regarding black women’s morals, beauty and sexuality found in early travel literature into a “scientific context” being employed to indicate the innate difference between the races; in this view of mankind, the black occupied the antithetical position to the white on the scale of humanity. This polygenetic view was applied to all aspects of mankind, including sexuality and beauty. The antithesis of European sexual mores and beauty is embodied in the black, and the essential black the lowest rung on the great chain of being, is the Hottentot. (1985: 212) While some of Elizabeth’s written reactions to slave appearance are positive, they do not outweigh her overwhelming support for her husband’s use of the stripped human body to support his work and quest for scientific fame. In fact, her ability to see beauty and dignity in the individual magnifies the fact that she was able to disconnect that from the use of authority to induce (or force) slaves to partake in an experience that literally stripped them of all power.

Notes 1 I have personally viewed the photographs in The Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology collection at Harvard and can attest to the clinical feel of the images.

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While I was allowed to photograph the images, I respect the policies of the Peabody to not allow publication of the nude images. 2 T itles of such works in the nineteenth century include words such as “voyage,” “traveler,” “travels,” “journal,” “life,” “travel account,” and “notices.” There is no consistency in how the records are termed. Nor is there consistency in how scholars refer to these works (narrative, diaries or journals). Guyot (1878) refers to the Agassizs’ writing as a journal. I have chosen to mainly use the words narrative and journal as by definition they encompass each individual’s approach to recording their travels. 3 N umerous examples exist that are written about other countries. These fifteen are the only ones that I have found that focus solely or mainly on Brazil. 4 N one of the women indicate that their husbands had any influence on their writing. In fact, Maria Graham (1824) was an accomplished travel author prior to her sojourn in Brazil, having published narratives of her time in India and Rome. Adele ToussaintSamson was a Parisian living in Brazil in the nineteenth century. 5 A ugusto Stahl was a well-known German photographer who practiced his trade in Brazil in the mid-nineteenth century. His craft was so highly regarded that Dom Pedro II, Emperor of Brazil, presented him with the office of Photographer of the Imperial House in 1862. Louis Agassiz commissioned numerous portraits from him of female and male Afro-Brazilians for inclusion in his study of race in Brazil.

References Agassiz, L., and E. Agassiz, (1868), A Journey in Brazil. Boston: Ticknor and Fields. Agassiz, L., and E. Agassiz, (1869), Le Tour de Monde: Voyage au Bresil. Paris: Librairie de L. Hachette et Cia. Bergmann, L. (1989), “Widows, Hacks, and Biographers: The Voice of Professionalism in Elizabeth Agassiz’s Louis Agassiz: His Life and Correspondence,” Journal of American Culture, 12 (1): 1–21. Bergmann, L. (1995), “A Troubled Marriage of Discourse: Science Writing and Travel Narrative in Louis an Elizabeth Agassiz’s A Journey in Brazil,” Journal of American Culture, 18 (2): 83–88. Clapp, E. (2004), “Black Books and Southern Tours: Tone and Perspective in the Travel Writing of Mrs. Anne Royall,” The Yearbook of English Studies, 34: 61–73. Colvocoresses, G. (1855), Four Years in the Government Exploring Expedition: Commanded by Captain Charles Wilkes, to the Island of Madeira, Cape Verd Island, Brazil . . . [etc.]. New York: J. M. Fairchild and Company. Ewbank, T. (1856), Life in Brazil. New York: Harper & Brothers Publishers. Gilman, S. (1985), “Black Bodies, White Bodies: Toward an Iconography of Female Sexuality in Late Nineteenth-Century Art, Medicine, and Literature,” Critical Inquiry, 12 (1): 204–242. Graham C. M. (1824), Journal of a Voyage to Brazil and Residence There During Part of the Years 1821–1823. London: Longman. Guyot, A. (1878), Memoir of Louis Agassiz, 1807–1873. Washington, DC: National Academy of Science.

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Jones, K. (1986), “Nineteenth Century British Travel Accounts of Argentina,” Ethnohistory, 33 (2): 211. Lindsay, D. (1998), “Intimate Inmates: Wives, Households and Science in NineteenthCentury America,” Isis, 89 (4): 631–652. Machado, M. (2012), “Nineteenth-Century Scientific Travel and Racial Photography: The Formation of Louis Agassiz’s Brazilian Collection,” (May 8) http://mirrorofrace.org/ machado/ (accessed May 5, 2015). Monteiro, J. (2012), “Mr. Hunnewell’s Black Hands: Agassiz and the ‘Mixed Races’ of Manaus,” (May 8) http://mirrorofrace.org/monteiro/ (accessed May 5, 2015). Rogers, M. (2006), “The Slave Daguerreotypes of the Peabody Museum: Scientific Meaning and Utility,” History of Photography, 30 (1): 39–54. Toussaint-Samson, A. (2001), A Parisian in Brazil: The Travel Account of a Frenchwoman in Nineteenth-Century Rio de Janeiro. Wilmington, DE: SR Books. von Langsdorff, G. (1993), Remarks and Observations on a Voyage Around the World from 1803 to 1807. Fairbanks, Alaska: Limestone Press. Wallis, B. (1995), “Black Bodies, White Science: Louis Agassiz’s Slave Daguerreotypes,” American Art, 9 (2): 38–61. Walsh, R. (1830), Notices of Brazil in 1828 and 1829. London: Westley. Wheeler, V. (1986), “Travelers’ Tales: Observations on the Travel Book and Ethnography,” Anthropological Quarterly, 59 (2): 52–63.

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13 TURNING SELF TO OBJECT: COSTUME, IDENTITY, AND GENDER ROLES IN ALICE AUSTEN’S PHOTOGRAPHIC SELF-PORTRAITS Keren Ben-Horin

Introduction Monday, September 19, 1892, was a beautiful sunny day; twenty-six-year-old Alice Austen (1866–1952), a Staten Island native, donned her favorite yellow dress with red trim and set in front of a large wooden camera box to have her picture taken (Figure 13.1).1 The sweeping hemline of her dress, the tight pointed corset, the nicely pulled-up hair, and the eclectic furniture that surround her indicate that young Alice Austen has means and a sense for fashion. Yet, in contrast to what this photograph might suggest, she was not a conventional, affluent Victorian lady; when she looked directly into the camera, Austen did not meet the gaze of a male photographer, a family member, or even a friend. Hidden in her bouquet of flowers, were a wire and a bulb which she used to release the shutter of the camera. Austen was taking her own picture.2 Years later, when she was in her mid-eighties, Austen described it as “the very best picture that was ever taken of me.”3 The control Austen asserted over her own image is noteworthy; she perfectly exploited the relatively new medium of photography to study herself and her peers. As a prolific and mostly self-taught photographer, she created a vast body of work of over 7,000 negatives spanning six decades. Her collection, housed today at the Staten Island Historical Society and the Alice Austen House Museum, captures life in America during the Gilded Age.

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Figure 13.1  Alice Austen (1866–1952), Self-Portrait, September 19, 1892. Collection of Historic Richmond Town.

Gendered spaces The nineteenth century was an era of rigidly defined boundaries of class and gender which meant women, for the most part, were bound to the domestic sphere. It was through art, consumerism, and sports that women gradually started to negotiate an entry into the public sphere, but not without obstacles. This was particularly challenging for women artists whose work was often

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evaluated and valued via “feminine” and “domestic” lenses. According to author Whitney Chadwick, women’s art of the period was characterized as “biologically determined or as extension of their domestic and refining role in society” (2012: 40). She goes on to quote an 1860 Gazette des Beaux-Arts article saying: Let men conceive of great architectural projects, monumental sculpture, and the most elevated forms of painting, as well as those forms of the graphic arts which demand a lofty and ideal conception of art. In a word, let men busy themselves with all that has to do with great art. Let women occupy themselves with those types of art which they have always preferred, such as pastels, portraits, and miniatures. Or the painting of flowers, those prodigies of grace and freshness which alone can compete with the grace and freshness of women themselves. (Chadwick 2012: 40–41) Women artists working in the last two decades of the nineteenth century often depicted subject matter from their immediate surrounding, which generally meant the domestic sphere. It was through these same subject matters however, that artists like Mary Cassatt, Marie Bracquemond, Eva Gonzales, and Berthe Morisot, were able to study, and by extension question, these gender exclusive notions. The gaze and the act of looking were instruments through which women artists reasserted power over their own space and visibility both in public and private. Chadwick explains further that “feminist theory has often held to the premise that the viewing field is organized for a male subject who exercises power through looking, and in this way asserting visual control over the subjects of his desire” (2012:  241). The painting In the Lodge (1878) by the American impressionist Mary Cassatt (1844–1926)4 depicts a crowded opera house; at the foreground a young woman dressed in black gazes through her opera glasses onto a stage outside of the viewer’s sight, while a male in the audience gazes back at her. Subsequently, the woman is no longer just a “subject of desire,” she is not just a spectacle— a beautiful object to look at—rather, she becomes a spectator herself. By turning the observed into the observer, Cassatt challenges her era’s boundaries of feminine versus masculine roles.

Turning self to object While Cassatt and her female peers continued to challenge a traditional male gaze within the established art world, it was the technological advance of photography that allowed a trove of unprofessional women to further explore, challenge, and defy their era’s notions of “femininity.” Even in its earlier, cumbersome versions, the camera allowed immediacy and speed and was an easy-to-master

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instrument. The scholar Frances Borzello suggests that “exploration of gender appears earlier in women’s photographic self-portraits than it does in painted self-portraits, where it has to wait until the twentieth century” (1998: 115). She explains that because of the ephemeral nature of photography and it being on a blurry line between art and craft, women not only took to it enthusiastically, but also turned it on to themselves (Borzello 1998: 115). It is worth noting, however, that photographic equipment was costly and therefore photography, much like painting, was available mostly to middle and upper-middle classes. Alice Austen’s collection perfectly exemplifies this privilege and access. Her interest in photography can only be described as a hobby, since women of her time and standing did not usually work for a living. Yet, it shows a remarkable dedication to documenting her personal life, as well as the social and cultural changes that transpired around her. Each glass plate includes the date, location, and time of day the picture was taken, the names of the subjects if known, and technical information such as the type of lens she used and the duration of exposure. Many photographs feature a close circle of female friends and among them several in which Austen herself makes an appearance. When Austen is in the frame, she either releases the shutter remotely with air release, or she lets someone else release the shutter for her after she set up the frame and took her place (Novotny 1976: 45). These self-portraits, capturing Austen in different ages, settings, and social contexts, allow a unique access to her multifaceted life. On the one hand, they illustrate the life of leisure enjoyed by the uppermiddle class in Gilded Age America, and on the other, they challenge accepted ideas of feminine behavior in the late-Victorian era. Austen’s extant collection of photographs allows studying the tension between the private and public spheres during her lifetime. It also underlines how the camera allowed women of her generation to assert power over their own depiction simply by turning the camera onto themselves. This chapter examines two aspects of Austen’s work. First, the presence and visibility of women in the late Victorian era in the public sphere, their dress, and the social context in which it was worn. Second, the private world Austen shared with her female friends in which they allowed themselves to break the strict Victorian code in how it pertained to dress and decorum. It will become clear that Austen used her artistic medium of photography to create carefully thought-through staged works. Costume and dress play a key role in these photographs, especially in those featuring Austen herself. The self-portraits in particular have an underlying criticism against the limiting boundaries of her era in relation to gender. Instead of relying on others to photograph her, Austen took full control of her own on-camera representation by assuming different roles; in one photograph she is dressed like a nun, in another like a Spanish dancer, another photograph features her in a man’s suit with a fake beard, while another

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shows her demurely pouring tea into her male-friend’s cup. Austen exploited clothes’ ability to communicate a clear, nonverbal message; with a witty sense of humor she traveled between identities simply by changing her costume. The fact she took such care in staging her photographs suggests they were artistic means for self-expression and self-exploration.

Freedom through photography Most of what is known about the life of Austen comes from the 1976 book Alice’s World. The Life and Photography of an American Original: Alice Austen, 1866–1952 by Ann Novotny. In the preface, editor Oliver Jensen recalls how he came across her photographs. In 1951, the Staten Island Historical Society in Richmond town invited Jensen and his assistant to look at thousands of glass plates and negatives in their possession, donated to them several years prior by Austen herself. Jensen developed and enlarged some of the glass plates and headed to one of the Staten Island Historical Society meetings in search of more information on the photographed subjects. An older lady he encountered was curious as to why Jensen did not ask Miss Austen herself. Shocked to find Austen was still alive, Jensen searched and found Austen, by then eighty-five and bed bound, in a Staten Island poor house. At first hardly responsive, Austen quickly awakened to the sight of her photographs, the young faces of her childhood friends, and the landscapes of her hometown. In the next few months, Jensen frequented Austen’s bedside and was able to document her memories and recollections. The photographs unfolded the story of her life, of the women of her generation, and of the life of leisure on Staten Island. Alice Austen’s life began on March 17, 1866 at “Woodbine Cottage” on Staten Island (Novotny 1976:  16). Her mother, Alice Cornell Austen, had married the English Edward Stopford Munn three years earlier (Novotny 1976: 16). However, the father sailed to England before his child was born and never returned (Novotny 1976:  16). The abandoned young mother and child moved into the maternal grandparents’ estate Clear Comfort and never mentioned the father again. There, the young Austen had the undivided attention of six adults— her mother, her grandparents, her mother’s sister Mary with her husband Captain Oswald Müller, and her mother’s younger brother, Peter Austen (Novotny 1976: 17). Novotny credits the family for pampering Austen’s talents and inclinations and for educating her in history, chemistry, literature, geography, and sports. Captain Müller introduced her to photography when she was only ten years old (Novotny 1976: 17). He brought a wooden box camera to Clear Comfort and showed the little girl how to operate it and handle the heavy glass plates. When the captain sailed again, he left the camera with Austen, a gift that changed her life.

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Uncle Peter, a chemistry professor at Dartmouth College and later Rutgers, taught Austen how to mix the chemicals, and when she got older one of the rooms of the house was converted into a darkroom (Novotny 1976:  17). For most of her adult life, as the thousands of photographs she produced indicate, the camera did not leave her side. Austen exhibited precision and dedication for recording everyday life that indicate she took a scientific approach to photography. First and foremost, she documented her surroundings—the family’s estate Clear Comfort, her family, her close friends, and the landscapes of Staten Island. Focusing on the familiar and available allowed her to study the effect of light in different hours of the day and to experiment with exposure and equipment. In addition, she also carefully recorded the technical variables; on a photograph from 1895 at a private bowling alley on Staten Island she noted “flash 1 1/2 boxes, Waterbury lense, 25 feet” or on another from 1889 taken at the Ward family estate she writes “Carbutt 25 light, Flash, Stop 11.” Keeping track of the technical aspects allowed her to improve from one photograph to the next. Austen’s pursuit of photography was not unusual; women were involved in photography since its earliest days (Ward et  al. 2015). Constance Fox Talbot, wife of William Fox Talbot inventor of the calotype process, was experimenting with photography as early as 1839 (Kennedy 2012) and Anna Atkins and Theresa Llewelyn were both botanists who documented their work through photography in the mid-nineteenth century (Ward et  al. 2015). By the time Austen was introduced to the camera, many photography studios were run by women both in Europe and the United States (Ward et al. 2015). Unlike many of her contemporaries who were confined to a studio, Austen’s photographs indicate she traveled extensively across the East Coast and Europe and that she used her camera to study the people and neighborhoods of New York City. The Library of Congress has a collection of twenty-five of Austen’s photographs titled collectively Street Types of New York City; examples dated 1896 and 1897 include an array of street scenes capturing everyday life in the bustling metropolitan city.5 During her lifetime, Austen saw photographic equipment change and become lighter and easier to use. Earlier photographs required the subjects to stand still for several minutes, else the result was blurry. Yet even her earlier photographs, when she still had to carry around heavy glass plates, a wooden camera box, and a tripod—together weighing close to 50 pounds (Novotny 1976: 44, 138)— were able to capture a fleeting moment in time. They have a snapshot quality to them whether they are taken on the lawn at Clear Comfort in 1886, in New York’s Lower East Side in 1895, or aboard a ship to Finland in 1909. Austen also produced early examples of unique photojournalistic work. In May 1901, for instance, she documented immigrants from a smallpox ship held in quarantine at Hoffman Island, New York.6 The photographs indicate that

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Austen visited the quarantine islands Hoffman and Swinburne off the coast of Staten Island several times, beginning in the mid-1890s. These photographs are historical records and evidence to Austen’s unique choice of subject matter. According to Laura Wexler, a professor at Yale University, some of the photographs taken on these occasions were commissioned by the health officer of the quarantine islands Dr.  Doty (Wexler 2016). The photographs showing the disinfecting process were used to illustrate his work and they are strikingly different in their architectural, almost modern, composition from the rest of Austen’s body of work. Another example are photographs taken at the Chicago World’s Fair held in the summer of 1893. Austen spent two weeks in Chicago and copyrighted twenty-five photographs from the fair.7 The Chicago World’s Fair included a separate Woman’s Building to showcase both professional and amateur works of women from around the world. Many of the artifacts on view were naturally associated with feminine pursuits such as embroidery, clothing, and textiles (Chadwick 2012:  249–251) which elicited criticism from the suffrage movement, condemning the building as further segregating women from the male-dominated public sphere (Chadwick 2012: 251). A self-portrait with her dog, Punch, inscribed in her handwriting “self-starting for Chicago”8 indicates that Austen was, nevertheless, excited about the adventure. Her inscription implies not only self-empowerment and emancipation (Wexler 2016), but also suggests the speed and movement of locomotives. This expensive means of transportation would have been available only to a privileged woman like herself.

Sports and the new woman When Austen came of age, Staten Island was already bustling with wealthy families who enjoyed a lively social scene and an array of sports activities. The photographs illustrate that sports were part of the many social engagements on the island and were often practiced in mixed company. That Austen chose to carefully stage photographs of her friends with their bicycles or rackets shows that pursuing sports was part and parcel of their identity. Lawn tennis was introduced to the United States when Austen was nine years old and became a favorite pastime for many men and women of her generation. “I played tennis from almost the day I could walk,” she recalled (Novotny 1976: 23). Austen became an accomplished member of the Staten Island Tennis Club and participated in national tournaments. Her achievements were reported on the local Staten Island newspaper9 and many photographs show Austen and her friends before and after tennis matches. For example, a photograph taken on Thursday, August 5, 1886, at a small tennis ground on Clear Comfort shows

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a group of men and women in their tennis gear.10 Austen herself sits on the lefthand side, holding her dog Punch in one hand, and the bulb of the camera in another. The pneumatic cable connecting the bulb and the shutter is haphazardly hidden under a racket at the foreground of the frame. Several photographs reveal that women playing tennis in the 1880s had to do so in restricting clothes, which were essentially street styles rendered in stripes. Besides the addition of specialized apron with pockets to hold balls, tennis dresses were worn like any other day dress of the period, over layers of undergarments including a chemise, a corset, a petticoat, and a bustle. The dresses of the era had floor-sweepings hemlines, which made it difficult to chase balls or retrieve them from the ground. Tennis dresses tended to be a couple of inches shorter yet when Maud Watson, the winner of the first ladies Wimbledon championship in 1884, shortened her skirt to ankle length, it created quite a stir among the audience who objected to such undignified exposure (Pendergast and Pendergast 2004). Stripes worked beautifully with the fashion to drape a puff of fabric over a bustle. In 1888, Austen was photographed by her uncle Captain Oswald Müller in a striped dress with the fabric draped gracefully toward the back, creating a playful, athletic appearance with the stripes going in different directions.11 Another photograph of Austen from the previous year shows her in the same dress.12 The Costume Institute at The Metropolitan Museum of Art has a similar dress dated 1885–1888.13 This extant example, which according to the museum would have been worn for tennis, yachting, or walking at the seaside, is striped in cream and navy and the skirt (with stripes cut horizontally) is pleated all around.14 Similar to Austen’s dress, it has a mass of voluminous fabric draped over a bustle to create a protruding rear and emphasize a small waist. The Victorian era was marked by strict dress codes for every social occasion and hour of the day, with women changing their clothes several times a day (Font et  al. 2015).  Every public outing mandated proper attire; even a day at the seaside required a modest appearance. In her memoir My Life, the avant-garde dancer Isadora Duncan described the contrast between her seaside outfit and those of her contemporaries. While Duncan wore a “light blue tunic of finest crepe de Chine, low necked, with little shoulder strap, skirt just above the knees, with bare legs and feet . . . the costume of the ladies of that epoch was to enter the water severly [sic] garbed in black, with skirt between the knees and ankles, black stockings, and black swimming-shoes” (Duncan 2013: 91). Several photographs show that Austen and her friends did not deviate from these accepted notions. A  photograph taken at Staten Island’s South Beach on September 15, 1886,15 shows a group of male and female friends with bathing suits very similar to those described by Duncan. Austen herself sits at the back; the cable of the camera is visible along the sand at the right-hand

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side of the frame. The Costume Institute at The Metropolitan Museum of Art has several extant examples of bathing suits from the same period. Those often include either a tunic worn belted or a bodice and a short skirt, usually in navy trimmed with white stripes, and worn on top of knee-length bloomers. As Austen’s photographs corroborate, this outfit was coupled with dark stockings. A  photograph from September 17, 1885, of Austen with four female friends in bathing costumes16 shows that although some variations in details existed, bathing suit styles were virtually identical, and remained so with very little change until the early days of the twentieth century. Bicycling was another leisure activity which tested notions of dress and modesty. Starting from the late-1880s bicycling by both men and women became a national craze (Grossbard and Merkel 1990). For women in particular it was perceived as a vehicle for independence (Grossbad and Merkel 1990; Gruber Garvey 1995); Austen herself used a bicycle to get around the island and into Manhattan (Novotny 1976: 44). Contemporary sources debated the challenges facing women cyclists with regard to propriety in the public arena (Gruber Garvey 1995). In addition to skirts billowing in the wind and exposing the cyclist’s legs, longer hemlines run the risk of getting caught in the wheels and causing injuries. The cycling craze proved hard to resist and fashion publications were quick to guide and suggest proper dress codes by way of specialized bicycling outfits. Vogue, for example, advised in 1895 that: The bicycling skirt should measure only some two to two and a quarter yards around the hem. The most convenient shape is buttoned up either side; these buttons should be left undone while riding from the knees only, be it understood, and the cloth should be course, have a very wide wrap so that no possible peep at the knickerbockers can be obtained. (Vogue, October 1895) Among Austen’s closets friends was Marie E. (Violet) Ward, who wrote the 1896 book Bicycling for Ladies. The book showed women the proper ways to mount and dismount, how to fix and maintain their own bicycles, and advice on the kind of clothes and materials that are suitable for long bicycle rides. Ward’s writing also emphasizes the link between bicycle riding and women’s suffrage: Riding the wheel, our own powers are revealed to us… You have conquered a new world, and exultingly you take possession of it . . . You become alert, active, quick-sighted, and keenly alive as well to the rights of others as to what is due yourself . . . To the many who wish to be actively at work in the world, the opportunity has come. (Gruber Garvey 1995) The illustrations for the book were based on Austen’s photographs. Austen shot their friend Daisy Elliot in several positions including mounting, wheeling, and

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dismounting, and those were later rendered into engravings. A  photograph of Elliott and Ward, taken in 1893 three years before the publication of the book, shows the two in fashionable cycling suits comprising a floor-length skirt and jacket with exaggerated sleeves.17 Photographs for the book however show Elliott in a cycling suit of a long-sleeved bodice worn with matching voluminous bloomers reaching below the knee. The Costume Institute at The Metropolitan Museum of Art has an almost identical suit from the American maker A.  G. Spalding dated ca. 1902.18 While the earlier photograph showcases an everyday outfit worn for visiting or getting around the island, Elliott’s bloomers in the later, are a specialized outfit for athletic cycling and probably would not have been worn for daily use. An 1895 caricature from Puck magazine illustrates how gendered the debate over bicycling was at the time. It shows a man and a woman shaking hands over a bicycle. Both of them wear tailored breeches and jackets; illustrated behind them are the changing fashions of the nineteenth century from the empire style, through the enormous cage crinoline, the two bustle periods and the cinched waist and gigantic sleeves of the 1890s. The caption reads “The bicycle—the great dress reformer of the nineteenth century!”19 Despite what this caricature might suggest, bloomers were not generally worn as pants, and women’s clothes were still much more restrictive than those of men. Dress reformers have sported bloomers under skirts shortened to calf or underthe-knee length since the 1850s (Ribeiro et al. 2015) with little, if any, penetration to mainstream fashion. When women started to ride bicycles, bloomers were worn under skirts as a protective layer for modesty; most female riders did not wear bloomers as a stand-alone item. Bicycling itself did not single-handedly influence women to discard their bustles and shorten their skirts; rather, a more gradual evolution of taste made clothing for sport seem proper and attractive at that period in time. Gymnastics, unlike bicycling, was practiced in a closed all-female setting that allowed young women to experiment with less formal clothing. Women’s colleges in particular provided safe environment to wear less restrictive outfits for sports without compromising one’s respectability. At the women’s college Mount Holyoke in Massachusetts, for example, an 1883 mandatory gymnasium suit was bloomers under a skirt reaching seven inches above the floor (Schrock 2004: 92). On Staten Island, it was Austen who documented this private sphere of athletic, young women as they started to break free from the strict social controls of the Victorian era. In a photograph from May 23, 1893, titled by Austen Gymnastics, Daisy Elliot and a group of her young students are seen with their exercising outfits comprising a high-collared bodice with fashionable leg-of-mutton sleeve, and pleated, voluminous bloomers reaching just below the knee and worn over dark stockings.20 Elliot,

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captured holding the rings mid-air, embodies a new type of strong, selfassured, and empowered woman.

A private sphere Austen frequently documented a small group of female friends who included Julia Martin, Julia Bredt, Trude Eccleston, Sue Reply, and the Ward sisters Maria Emily (Violet) and Caroline Constancia (Carrie)—all of them daughters of the most wealthy and distinguished Staten Island families. Austen, Bredt, Eccleston, and Reply were so inseparable that young men living on Staten Island prevented from joining their ranks referred to them as “the darned club” (Novotny 1976: 45). A name, according to Novotny, that they happily adopted. A photograph titled by Austen with the same name, shows the four friends hugging on the lawn at Clear Comfort. A significant photograph that opens a crack into the private world of Austen and her friends was taken on August 6, 1891. It shows Austen and Eccleston in their underwear, their hair down, faces covered with masks, each holding a

Figure 13.2  Alice Austen (1866–1952), Trude and I masked, short skirts, August 6, 1891. Collection of Historic Richmond Town.

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cigarette and blowing smoke into each other’s face (Figure 13.2). This photograph raises questions that make it difficult, from the distance of the years, to decipher Austen’s work in general. Is this a youthful amusement of childhood friends, or two young women privately exploring their freedom and sexuality? Austen most likely set the frame, light, and exposure length, but who was there behind the camera to release the shutter? Who else was present in the room and what was the social context in which this photograph was taken? Biographical details which Novotny touched on, but did not fully explore, might help to shed some light on another facet of Austen’s life and by extension on her work. In 1899, while staying at the Twilight Rest hotel in the Catskills, Austen met a kindergarten and dance teacher from Brooklyn, named Gertrude Amelia Tate (Novotny 1976:  46). The Alice Austen House Museum has in the collection a photograph documenting the day the two women met. Tate became a frequent visitor to Clear Comfort, where, after the death of the grandparents, the upstairs bedroom was available for guests’ use. The two women shared a friendship which was to last until the death of Austen in 1952. They traveled to Europe together every summer until the outbreak of the First World War and it is clear from Novotny’s account that Tate was a welcomed presence in the Austen household. Austen’s teenage cousin Patty recorded in her diary in September 1901, that she “went sailing every day with Cousin Loll [Austen] and Miss Tate”(Novotny 1976:  39). In 1917, Tate moved into Clear Comfort permanently, neither of the two ever married and they shared the household until they were forced to sell the estate in the 1940s, after years of financial struggles, a result of losing all of the Austen family assets in the 1929 stock market crash. Jansen in his research and Novotny in her book did not address whether the relationship had a sexual or romantic nature and the archives that house Austen’s collections were reluctant, until recently, to discuss her sexual identity.21 Novotny may have been restricted from addressing these issues by her publisher or the Staten Island Historical Society which provided the photographs, however, in a 1977 article she published in the magazine Lesbian Art and Artists she uses the word “lover” to describe Tate (Novotny 1977). Whether or not the relationship was romantic in nature, it is clear from both Jansen’s and Novotny’s accounts, and from the extant photographs, that Tate and Austen shared a strong and lasting friendship. Scholar, Marilyn F. Motz, explains that women of Austen’s generation who had creative or intellectual aspirations were forced to forgo traditional marriage and motherhood (1989).22 Further, explains Motz, “Articles urged women to consider forming a household with another woman as an alternative to marriage, and many women did establish long-term relationships with other women. These relationships were not subject to the sexual innuendos that would greet them today, and often were accepted by family and friends as substitutes for marriage”

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(1989). The 1886 novel The Bostonians by Henry James, may have inspired the term “Boston Marriage” to describe such female companionship. The plot, revolving around a female and the male cousins who court the young, attractive Verena Tarrant, alludes to “a living arrangement that was an acknowledged cultural phenomenon among unmarried, well-to-do American women”23 during that period. Artistic or professional women were often forced to favor their vocation over making a family. The distinguished impressionist painter Mary Cassatt, who from the age of sixteen devoted her life to the study and practice of painting, chose not marry in order to maintain her successful career (Mowll Mathew 1998: 58). For Austen, singlehood and female companionship may have also been a result of an unwillingness to give up her artistic pursuits in favor of domestic duties. This further supports the idea that for Austen photography was more than a hobby, it was an artistic path she dedicated her life to. The photographs reveal the level of intimacy Austen and Tate shared and the endurance of their relationship. In ca. 1900 Austen took a picture of Tate at the piazza in Clear Comfort, an almost identical setting to that of her own selfportrait taken eight years prior.24 Another photograph from ca. 1917 shows Tate wearing an evening gown, leaning against a chair and staring straight into the camera (Figure 13.3). Since clearly it was Austen at the other end of the lens, the photograph is a powerful indication of the closeness the two shared. Several photographs exist that show an older Tate at Clear Comfort; one taken in 1925, another in the mid-late 1930s, and a photograph from 1944 of Tate, Austen, and her wooden camera taken by Richard O.  Cannon M.D., a visitor to Clear Comfort. The latter was sent to Life magazine by Dr.  Cannon himself, after the story of Austen was published in 1951; Jensen initiated the publication in hopes to raise money to move Austen from the poor house to a better nursing home on Staten Island by selling copies of her photographs. Like the photograph of Austen and Eccleston in their underwear, the photographs of Tate are an intimate documentation of a private female sphere that challenges the conventions of the period. Austen’s camera allows a feminine gaze into a world that would not have been available to a male photographer. In her work Austen exercises a sense of humor that could easily pass as mere amusement, yet it is marked by defiance against traditional women’s roles. One example is an 1891 photograph of Julia Martin, Julia Bredt, and Austen herself dressed in men’s costumes, including fake moustaches and beards.25 The demeanor of all three women is transformed by the masculine suits, and Bredt, seated in the middle, has an umbrella sticking between her legs, clearly alluding to a male’s phallus. An intriguing example from 1892 shows a lunch party after a match of tennis, a woman in the center of the frame leans back with her arms and legs spread out in a typical masculine way, with one hand resting on the knee of a

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Figure 13.3  Alice Austen (1866–1952), portrait of Gertrude Tate, ca. 1910. Collection of Historic Richmond Town.

female friend seated next to her.26 It is a subtle detail, but once identified the masculine possessiveness of it is undeniable. In addition, the woman wears a dark tie paired with a white shirt and a dark jacket which furthers her masculine appearance. Another photograph shows Violet Ward and a friend in a very similar arrangement.27 Ward, who also never married and spent her old age with her sister Carrie at the family’s estate (Novotny 1976: 46), is dressed in a masculine suit comprising a dark jacket and skirt, a white shirt, and a patterned tie; she sits with her arm rested on the thigh of a female friend. In contrast to these photographs in which Austen and her tight-knit friends are questioning, if not defying, their gendered roles, a photograph from August

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1892 shows Austen seated on a bench with a male identified as Mr. Hopper.28 Austen serves Hopper a cup of tea in what seems to be a perfectly domesticated scene. These contradictions might suggest that unlike her photojournalistic work, Austen’s private photographs are staged and often include role play that is meant to amuse, challenge, and deceive the viewer. It also becomes evident that, whether consciously or not, Austen’s photographs are more than a hobby for private consumption, they are carefully constructed works of art, with both personal and social commentary. Several self-portraits show Austen in fancy dress and those support even further that role playing is key to her work. Examples include a photograph taken on May 29, 1886, in a Spanish costume which like all of her street clothes “was ‘run up’ by a dressmaker who came to the house and stayed until the job was done.”29 Another shows Austen and a friend in a costume party in 1889 dressed as nuns; and emphasizing further that she continued to enjoy social life and dress up, a photograph from the 1930s shows the older Austen in medieval costume.

Conclusion Austen’s vast collection exposes the viewer to a multilayered study of life in America at the last few decades of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century. When examined as a whole, the photographs offer a panoramic view from the public to the private, from the objective to the subjective. Austen’s work went beyond the domestic sphere in more than one dimension; first, by literally stepping outside and documenting public domains from her personal female point of view; second, by turning the camera inward, allowing an alternative domesticity to be exposed. The latter is a historical evidence that women at the turn of the twentieth century challenged the restrictive social norms in regards to sexuality and selfexpression—if not publicly, at the very least privately.

Notes 1 A lice Austen House Museum, http://aliceausten.org/self-portrait-0 (accessed August 11, 2015). 2 Ann Novotny, Alice’s World. The Life and Photography of an American Original: Alice Austen, 1866–1952 (Old Greenwich, CT: The Chatham Press, 1976), 27. 3 Quoted in Alice Austen House Museum, http://aliceausten.org/self-portrait-0 (accessed August 11, 2015). 4 I n the Lodge (1878), Mary Cassatt (1844–1926), Oil on canvas seen at Museum of Fine Art Boston, http://www.mfa.org/collections/object/in-the-loge-31365 (accessed June 8, 2017).

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5 “ Street Types of New York City,” Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/ item/2005689940/ (accessed June 8, 2017). 6 A lice Austen (c. 1901) “Immigrants from a Smallpox Ship, Held in Custody for Observation, behind Wire Fence, Hoffman Island, N.Y.” Library of Congress, https:// www.loc.gov/item/2006690316/ (accessed June 8, 2017). 7 A lice Austen (1893) “Chicago World’s Fair,” Alice Austen House Museum, http:// aliceausten.org/chicago-worlds-fair-3 (accessed August 11, 2015). 8 A lice Austen (1893) “Self Starting for Chicago Punch Also,” Historic Richmond Town http://bit.ly/2r1chq7 (accessed June 8, 2017). 9 Newspaper clipping, Staten Island Historical Society, viewed by author, undated. 10 A lice Austen (1886) “Group on Tennis Ground,” Alice Austen House Museum, http://aliceausten.org/group-tennis-ground (accessed June 16, 2017). 11 C aptain Oswald Muller (1888) “Alice Austen,” Alice Austen House Museum, http:// aliceausten.org/alice-austen-1 (accessed June 8, 2017). 12 P hotograph dated 1887 by an unknown photographer found by author at the Staten Island Historical Society Collection. 13 D ress (American), 1885–88. Brooklyn Museum Costume Collection at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, http://bit.ly/2rbiCPg (accessed June 8, 2017). 14 Ibid. 15 A lice Austen (1886) “South Beach Bathing Party,” Historic Richmond Town, http:// bit.ly/2rpOnF7 (accessed June 16, 2017). 16 A lice Austen (1885) “Bathing Suits,” Alice Austen House Museum, http:// aliceausten.org/bathing-suits (accessed June 16, 2017). 17 A lice Austen (1895) “Violet Ward and Daisy Elliot,” Alice Austen House Museum, http://aliceausten.org/bike-1 (accessed June 8, 2017). 18 C ycling Suit (American), ca. 1902. A. G. Spalding & Bros, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, http://bit.ly/2rGTt29 (accessed June 8, 2017). 19 P uck, August 7, 1895. https://www.loc.gov/resource/ppmsca.29031/ (accessed June 8, 2017). 20 A lice Austen (1893) “Gymnastics,” Alice Austen House Museum, http://aliceausten. org/gymnastics (accessed June 16, 2017). 21 P hone conversation with Janice Monger, Alice Austen House Museum Director, April 9, 2015. 22 M arilyn F. Motz, “Visual Autobiography: Photograph Albums of Turn-of-the-Century Midwestern Women,” American Quarterly, 41 (1) (March1989): 63–92, http://www. jstor.org/stable/2713193 (accessed August 1, 2015). 23 “Boston Marriage,” Oxford English Dictionary, http://public.oed.com/the-oedtoday/recent-updates-to-the-oed/june-2017-update/new-words-notes-june-2017/ (accessed July 9, 2017). 24 A lice Austen (c. 1900) “Gertrude Tate,” Alice Austen House Museum, http:// aliceausten.org/gertrude-tate-2 (accessed June 8, 2017). 25 A lice Austen (1891), “Julia Martin, Julia Bredt and Self-dressed up, Sitting down,” Historic Richmond Town, http://bit.ly/2rB0Ols (accessed June 16, 2017).

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26 A lice Austen (1892) “The Roosevelts, Nellie Janssen, Gertrude Williams, Mr. Randolph Walker, Lunch Party,” Historic Richmond Town, http://bit.ly/2s9NdS7 (accessed June 8, 2017). 27 A lice Austen (1892) “Violet Ward and a Friend,” Alice Austen House Museum, http://aliceausten.org/violet-ward-and-friend (accessed June 8, 2017). 28 A lice Austen (1892) “Lunch out of Doors,” Alice Austen House Museum, http:// aliceausten.org/lunch-out-doors (accessed June 8, 2017). 29 A lice Austen (1886), “Alice Austen in Costume,” http://aliceausten.org/alice-austencostume (accessed August 11, 2015).

References Borzello, F. (1998), Seeing Ourselves: Women’s Self-Portraits. New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc. Chadwick, W. (2012), Women, Art, and Society. New York: Themes & Hudson. Duncan, I. (2013), My Life. New York and London: W. W. Norton & Company. Font, L., B. McMahon, C. Gero, A. Poulson, N. Deihl, D. Clemente, and C. Sauro (2009), “Fashion: Categories of Design.” http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/ grove/art/T2082538 (accessed August 12, 2015). Grossbard, J., and R. S. Merkel, (1990), “ ‘Modern’ Wheels Liberated ‘The Ladies’ 100 Years Ago,” Dress, 16 (1): 70–80. Gruber Garvey, E. (1995), “Reframing the Bicycle: Advertising-Supported Magazines and Scorching Women,” American Quarterly, 47 (1) (March): 66–101, http://www.jstor. org/stable/2713325 (accessed June 27, 2018). Kennedy, M. (2012), “Bodleian Library Launches £2.2m Bid to Stop Fox Talbot Archive Going Overseas.” http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2012/dec/09/bodleianlibrary-bid-fox-talbot-archive (accessed July 28, 2015). Motz, M. F. (1989), “Visual Autobiography: Photograph Albums of Turn-of-the-Century Midwestern Women,” American Quarterly, 41 (1): 63–92, http://www.jstor.org/ stable/2713193 (accessed August 1, 2015). Mowll Mathew, N. (1998), Mary Cassatt: A Life. New Haven: Yale University Press. Novotny, A. (1976), Alice’s World: The Life and Photography of an American Original: Alice Austen, 1866–1952. Old Greenwich, CT: The Chatham Press. Novotny, A. (1977), “Alice Austen’s World,” Lesbian Art and Artists. http:// heresiesfilmproject.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/heresies3.pdf (accessed July 9, 2017). Pendergast, S. and T. Pendergast (2004), “Tennis Costume,” in Fashion, Costume, and Culture: Clothing, Headwear, Body Decorations, and Footwear through the Ages, 628–630. Ed. Vol. 3: European Culture from the Renaissance to the Modern Era. Detroit: UXL, Gail Group, Inc. Ribeiro, A., M. Scott, H. Granger-Taylor, J. Bridgeman, D. de Marly, and E. Gawne (2003), “Dress.” http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/ T023637pg8 (accessed August 12, 2015). Schrock, J. (2004), “Fashion,” in The Gilded Age, 79–96. Santa Barbara, CA: Greenwood.

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Ward, J. P., G. W. R. Ward, M. Warner, A. H. Moor, and I. L. Moor (2015), “Photography,” http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T067117pg2 (accessed July 28, 2015). Ward, M. E. (1896), The Common Sense of Bicycling: Bicycling for Ladies, New York: Bertano’s. https://archive.org/details/commonsensebicy00wardgoog (accessed June 27, 2018). Wexler, L. (2016), “New Eyes on Alice” [Panel discussion, Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, March 31, 2016].

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INDEX

Note: Boldface page numbers refer to tables, italic page numbers refer to figures and page numbers followed by “n” refer to endnotes. abuse, sexual 118, 172, 173 advertisements 6, 15, 19, 87–8 clothing 67 fashion 174, 178 Ghana Airways 88–9 online 5, 171, 172, 176 for sex 171, 172, 174–6 “A Fly Girl” group 29 African Airlines Association (AFRAA) 85 African American Culture 113 Millionaire 13 pop culture 39 women 13 Agassiz, Elizabeth 190–2, 194, 196, 197, 201 Agassiz, Louis 6, 187–8, 190–2, 198, 199 agency 6, 24, 77, 118, 133, 138, 139, 165, 166, 181, 183 consumer 18, 23 corporeal 168 cosmetics as potential outlet of 13 fashion 32 female 113 of Ghanaian populace 97 personal 5 sexual 164, 167 storytelling 32 in Western culture 127 of women in sex work 182 agonic power 64, 76 defined 65 dichotomy 65–7 monopoly on 77 reappropriation of 77

Aitkens, Laurel 34 Alexandrina Woodcut 200 alienation theory 5 Altman, I. 174 amapantsula 111 Amar Prem film (1971) 148 Anamzoya, M. 93, 94 Anavila Misrais 152 Andress, Ursula 47 androgyny 63, 76 Angelo, Frank 15 Anti-Slavery Society (1833) 11 apartheid 112 apparel-body-construct (ABC) 68 appearance 5, 12–14, 16, 19, 23, 35, 39, 40, 46, 51, 55, 56–9, 63, 64, 66, 69, 75, 93, 115, 119, 136, 148, 158, 160, 161, 163, 174, 189, 191, 201, 208, 212, 218 and attractiveness 89–1 Bond girls 50 slave dress 192–7 Apter, David 85 “Art of Seduction Dress” 163, 166 in post-feminist culture 164–8 Auerbach, Lisa Anne 127, 130, 131, 136, 138, 139 Austen, Alice 6, 216, 219, 218, 218 photographic self-portraits 205, 206, 208 freedom through photography 209–11 gendered spaces 206–7 portrait of Gertrude Tate 218 private sphere 215–19 sports and the new woman 211–15

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trude and i masked, short skirts 215 turning self to object 207–9 Awara film 149 Ayachit, S. M. 146 bad girl vs. good girl 5 Bank, M. 177 Barry, Kathleen 89 Bartky, Sandra Lee 5 Bashir, Martin 167 “Battle of the Kangols” 42 beauty industry, black millennials women effect on 19–21, 21 beige 15 Ben-Horin, Keren 6, 205 Bennett, Parker 3, 63 Berger, John 6 Bergmann, L. 194 Bermuda Casual 36 blues 1, 33–4 Bhandari, Vandana 4, 143 bikini, dress-based symbols 56–7 The Birth of Cool: Style Narratives of the African Diaspora (2016) (Tulloch) 32 black dandyism 30, 31–2 Black Lives Matter 14, 19 black masculinity performance of stylized 31–2 stereotypical notion of 30 black men 3, 30–2, 39–41, 43 black millennials women affinity for MAC 15–18 consumers, characteristics 18–19 and cosmetics marketplace 14–15 effect on beauty industry 19–21, 21 black people representation 32 black repertoire 114 black urban culture, South Africa 114–15 black woman 11–24 cosmetics and 12, 13 historical context 13–14 life in United States 11 political identity of 14 blouse 145 Bobbi Brown 20, 21 bollywood, choli in 148–9 Bombshell 22 Bond girls 48, 56 Bond as 55 Bond films 47–9

Index

Lynd, Vesper 52–3 M as 54–5 Montes, Camille 54 Boogie Boys group 29 Borzello, Frances 208 Bracquemond, Marie 207 Bredt, Julia 215, 217 Brazil Agassizs’ sojourn in 190 colony of 189 multi-racial society of 194 population 189 slaves in 190, 192, 193 race in 202n.5 British administration in India 109 community in India 103 ladies in India 104 rule in India 106 British colonial administrators 145 British East India Company 101 British Overseas Airways Corporation (BOAC) 84, 91 British Royalty 104 Brosnan, Pierce 56 Brown, Cecil 33 Brown, Tina 137, 159 Bruzzi, S. 46 Bulwer-Lytton, Edward 102 Butler, Judith 64, 73 Campbell, Beatrix 160 Cannon, Richard O. 217 capitalism, cultural 24 cappuccino 15 Carter, Michael 128 Casino Royale film (Lynd, Vesper) 52–5, 57 Cassatt, Mary 207, 217 Césaire, Aimé 113 Chadwick, Whitney 207 chameleon culture 115 Chico, Beverly 31 choli in bollywood 148–9 as designer garment 150, 150–2 regional styles 145–8, 147 cinematography 46 cinnamon 15 civil rights movements, Black Power and 14

225

Index

clothing items, as identity markers 116 colonial influence 144–5 colonial rule, India 144–5 colonization 84, 112 color caste system 1 Colvocoresses, George Musalas 193–4 Comaroff, Jean 96 consumer agency 18, 23 Cool J LL 41, 42 corporeal agency 168 cosmetics 2, 3, 11–24 dangers of 22–3 as potential outlet of agency 13 Makeup Art Cosmetics (MAC) 2, 3, 12, 22, 24 black millennials women affinity for 15–18 philanthropic 1994 Viva Glam collection 16 RiRi for 16, 23 Tajj 20 cosmetics marketplace, black millennials and 14–15 CoverGirl 17, 20, 21 Cox, J. W. 129 craftivism 127, 130 Crew, Get Fresh 29 Crow, Jim 14 Crowns: Portraits of Black Women in Church Hats (Marberry) 31 cultural capitalism 24 cultural norms 1, 2, 6, 66, 73, 164 culture “Art of Seduction Dress” in post-feminist 164–8 franchise and 59 western 129, 130 Cunningham, Michael 31 Cunty First (2008) 127, 130–2, 132, 135, 136, 139 Curzon, George Nathaniel 106–8 dance 111–124, 128, 216 dancers, pantsula 119 Daniel Craig (Bond films) 45, 52, 54–8 dandyism black 30, 31–2 transnational 37 Darwin, Charles 187

225

Davis, Michaela Angela 32 Dee, Kool Moe 41, 42 “Deference of women” 177 defiant girl, pussyhat on 134 degeneration theory 188 de Greef, Erica 115 DeLong, Marilyn 3, 63, 68–71 Dench, Judi 52 Devika Rani 148 Diana (Princess) 5, 35, 157–8 fashioning of virgin 158–9 post-reign sensuality 161–4 “Revenge Couture” 161 “Revenge Dress” 161–4, 162, 166 sexualization 164 subtle eroticism 160–1 Diana Princess of Wales: How Sexual Politics Shook the Monarchy (Campbell) 160 dichotomy artificial gender 65–7, 67 seductress 168–9 Die Another Day film 56 dignity 102, 172, 178, 183, 197, 201 divorce 161 Donna Marie Beauty 20 Drain, Jim 135 dress 63 aesthetic form 68–70 “Art of Seduction Dress” 163, 166 in post-feminist culture 164–8 evening dress 57–8 feminism and 73 and film 45–6 Ghana Airways 83 hedonic coding in 77–8 hedonic power in 77 researchers 46 and sexuality 173–5 slave dress appearance 192–7 and structures of power 3–4 symbolism in South Africa 113 visual analysis of 68–70 Drum magazine 112, 116 DuBois, W. E. B. 40 Duncan, Isadora 212 Eccleston, Trude 215, 217 Eicher, Joanne B. 2–4, 6–7 Elitou, T. 20

226

226

Ellington, Duke 40 Elliot, Daisy 214 Ellison, Ralph 40 emancipation, feminism and 120–3 empowerment 1, 73, 127, 145, 166, 201 choli and 143–52 demonstration of 108 dress as vehicle of 102 envision style as narrative to 40 expressions of sexuality and 151–2 fashion as challenge and 2–3 modes of using style as 35 of persons through dress 79 self-empowerment and emancipation 211 sense of 78 sociopolitical ideologies and lack of 129 strategies for individuals and groups 2 Engels, Friedrich 1 Estée Lauder Company 15, 16 expression, facial 199 eye shadow 12 facial expression 199 fashion advertisements 174, 178 army 119 black masculinity in 31 and body 63 as challenge and empowerment 2–3 cycling suits 214 designers 120, 150 global 94, 95 houses 65, 71, 73, 103 imitation of 113 industry 139 influential transmitter of 5 leg-of-mutton sleeve 214 media representations of sexiness 172 of nineteenth century 214 pantsula 120 and places 152 political 4 and power 106, 109 risk 37 role of 1, 2, 108 runway 64 self-fashioning 157, 159 shows 119, 139

Index

fashion media 172 Fashion and Jazz: Dress, Identity and Subcultural Improvisation (McClendon) 33–4 female flight attendants, Ghana Airways 83–5, 87, 88 physical appearance for 89 sexualization of 90 female villain 45, 47, 49–53, 56–8 feminine ideals 46, 158 “feminine mystique” 66 feminine narcissism 5 The Feminine Mystique (1964) (Friedan) 130 femininity changing ideals of 164 gender constructions of 67 visual communication of 45–6 feminism and dress 73 and emancipation 120–3 third-wave 129 western 120, 124 feminist second-wave 129–30 theory 13, 46, 207 Field, Marshall 106 Fischer, B. 174 Fisher, Walter R. 31 Fitzgerald, Ella 113 flight attendants (female), Ghana Airways 83–5, 87, 88 physical appearance for 89 sexualization of 90 franchise and culture 59 Fredrickson, B. L. 171 Freedman, Rita 63, 65, 66 Fresh, Doug E. 29, 36 Friedan, Betty 130 Friedman, David 37 Funnell, L. 49, 55 Gage, Kelly Mohs 6, 187 Gandhara sculpture 143 gangsterism 117–18 Gardner, Ava 53 Garland, T. 49 garnering 20 Gebreyes, Rachel 32

227

Index

gender ideology, coding 67 norms, representation 75 and pantsula 115–16 ritual and the performativity of 64–5 theory 64, 78, 79 transformation of 65 gender binary 3, 53, 58, 65, 66, 76, 78 gender dichotomy artificial 65–7 agonic/hedonic 64 gender difference, asserting 118–20 genitalia, female 127, 129, 135–8 Ghana economic future 86 emblem of 96–7 glamour girls 89–91 holistic representation of 88 modernization of postindependence 85–6 Ghana Airways dress history of 83 female flight attendants 83–5, 87, 88 interpretation 97 physical appearance for 89 sexualization 90 historical overview of 84–5 kente cloth uniforms 95–6 potency of 87 redesigned uniforms 91, 93, 95 significance of 87–9 uniform controversy 91–5 Ghanaian womanhood, representation of 97 Ghurye, G. 147 Gibson, Laureen 3, 45 Gilbert, S. 159 Gilded Age 205, 208 Gill, R. 167 Gilman, S. 201 glamour girls, Ghana 89–91 The Godfather and J. D.’s Revenge film 35 Goeller, Daniela 4, 111 Gonzales, Eva 207 good girl vs. bad girl 5 Graham, Maria 190, 202n.4 Grammer, K. 174 Greer, Betsy 130 Grieg, Eileen 35

227

Gubar, S. 159 Gucci Menswear S/S 2006 74 Gucci Menswear S/S 2016 75 Guyot, A. 202n.2 Guyot, Arnold 189, 191 Gymnastics 214 Hadjiyanni, Tasoulla 5, 171 Hagan, G. P. 96 Hall, Stuart 114 Handbook of Revolutionary Warfare (Nkrumah) 90 Hare Rama Hare Krishna film (1971) 149 Harris, Nic 43 Haskell, M. 46 hats 29–41, 133, 135–7, 139, 168 Hats and Headwear Around the World (2013) (Chico) 31 masculinity of lyrical 33–4 headwear 29–35, 39, 43 Hebdige, Dick 114 hedonic coding, in dress 77–8 hedonic power 63, 64, 78 dichotomy 65–7 in dress 77 utilization of 77 hegemonic masculinity 76 Hegland, J. E. 69 Hendrickson, Hildi 96 Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969) 59 Heymann, Hans 87 Hip Hop 3, 29, 30, 33, 35, 40, 41, 123 Hip Hop Black Dandyism 35–8 Hopper 219 Howell, G. 161, 163 ideals of beauty 160, 168 identity markers, clothing items as 116 Impilo Mapantsula 114, 123 independence 13, 39, 41, 59 postindependence Ghana 85–6 Indian women 143–52 blouse 145 choli in bollywood 148–9 as designer garment 150, 150–2 regional styles 145–8, 147 colonial rule 144–5 Irigaray, Luce 169

228

228

isipantsula 111 Ivy League style sportswear 116 Jackson, Samuel L. 43 James Bond films 3, 58 bond girls and villains 47–9 Connery, Sean (1962–1967) 45, 49–51, 58 Craig, Daniel 45, 52, 54–8 depiction of women in 49–52 dress and 45–6 iconic look of 47 recurring dress-based symbols associated with bikini 56–7 evening dress 57–8 value of studying 47 James, Henry 217 Jay, Jam Master 35–6 Jazz 33, 34, 111–13 Jezebel stereotypes 11 Johnson, Donald Clay 4, 101 Johnson, Jack 40 Johnson, Kim K. P. 5, 171 Jorgenson, Marianne 133 Kaiser, Susan 47, 63–4, 66, 70, 78, 104 Kakaza, Philipp 116 Kalidasa 144 Kanchli 147 Kang, M. 177 Kangol 29–43 brand 30 evolution of 34 Kangol’s Bermuda Casual 36, 37 marketing strategy 40 Slick Rick’s styling of 40 Kardashian, Kim 181 Kate & William: The Movie 2011 166 Khalnayak film 149 Khar, S. S. 146 The Killers (1946). 53 Kimmel, Michael 73 Klaasen, Thandi 112 Klebb, Rosa 52 knits fabric 128 patriarchy and 128–9 penetrating 127, 136–7

Index

snag in 138 knitting 128–31, 135, 136, 138 Knitting for Good: A Guide to Creating Personal, Social, and Political Change Stitch by Stitch (2008) 130 Kumar, R. 144 A Lady Was a Mshoza 111 late Victorian 3, 208 Latifah, Queen 17, 21 Laver, J. 161 Lazenby, George 59 Lewis, Shantrelle P. 31 The Life and Photography of an American Original: Alice Austen, 1866–1952 (Novotny) 209 Lindsay, Debra 191 lingering effects, of servitude 14 lipsticks 21, 22 literal and figurative representations 84 Lutyens, Edwin, Sir 108 Lynch, Annette 1, 4–5, 69, 70, 76 Lynd, Vesper (Casino Royale film) 52–5, 57 Lyons, Billy 33 lyrical hats, masculinity of 33–4 Lytton, Edith 102–6, 108 Lytton, Robert 102–6, 108 MAC. see Makeup Art Cosmetics (MAC) MACista lifestyle 22 Madhuri Dixit 149 Madonna 160–1 Maharani Gayatri Devi (Jaipur) 145 mahogany 15, 16 Maimane, Arthur 112 Makeup Art Cosmetics (MAC) 2, 3, 12, 22, 24 black millennials women affinity for 15–18 philanthropic 1994 Viva Glam collection 16 RiRi for 16, 23 male gaze 5, 46, 55, 76, 207 mammy 11 Manish Malhotra 150, 151 Marberry, Craig 31 marriage 121, 146, 191, 192, 196, 217 Married Women’s Property Act 52 traditional 216 Martin, Julia 215, 217

229

Index

Martin Luther King, Dr. Jr. 40 Masabatha “Star” Tete 122 “masculine mystique” 66 masculinity black performance of stylized 31–2 stereotypical notion of 30 in flux 71–3 gender constructions of 67 hegemonic 76 of lyrical hats 33–4 transforming 73–8 Masekela, Hugh 112 Masuka, Dorothy 112 Maswanganyi, Nomasonto 121 matriarch 11 Matshikiza, Todd 112 Maybelline 16 Mazibuko, Nokuthula 111 Mboya, Susan 18 McCain, John 132 McCauley, Caroline 5, 157 McClendon, Alphonso D. 33–4 MC Ricky D group 29, 30 Medvedev, Katalin 1–3, 11 menswear 3, 4, 63–5, 70, 71, 73, 74, 75, 77, 78 Merskin, D. 174 methods approach 176–7 beauty 5 capitalist methods of production 5 DeLong system 69, 70 of study in natural history 189 visual method of communication 30–1 Mfolo, Macdee 120 Michelman, S. O. 69 micro-aggressions 11 Middleton, Kate 5, 157–8, 163 self-sexualization 165 sexuality 167 millennials black 23, 24 black millennial community 22–23 black millennials women affinity for MAC 15–18 consumers, characteristics 18–19 and cosmetics marketplace 14–15 effect on beauty industry 19–21, 21

229

and cosmetics marketplace 14–15 millennium photography 5 Miller, Monica 31, 32 Minahan, S. 129 Mina Negress Woodcut 195 Mingus, Charles 34 mirrors theory 181–2 misogyny 76 missionaries 144, 145, 190 Mleccha 109 mocha 15 modernization of postindependence Ghana 85–6 Mogotlane, Thomas 118 Mokwena, Steve 117 Monáe, Janelle 17 Moneypenney, evolution of 59 Monk, Thelonious 34, 113 monopoly, on agonic power 77 Montes, Camille (Quantum of Solace film) 54, 57–8 Morisot, Berthe 207 Mother Teresa 159 Moti Chandra 143, 147 Motz, Marilyn F. 216 mshozas 111, 116, 119, 121, 123 Mughals 101 Müller, Oswald 212 Murnen, S. 174 Myers, T. 174 narcissism, feminine 5 nationalism 95–6 naturalistas 19 Nicholl, Katie 165, 168 Nielsen, Rick 131 nineteenth century 6, 101, 103, 106, 144, 146, 187, 188, 189, 191, 193, 194, 198, 201, 206, 207, 210, 214, 219 Nkrumah, Kwame 90, 91 modernization of postindependence Ghana 85–6 Novotny, Ann 209, 216 O’Barr, W. M. 19 Objectification narratives of 4–6 theory 171 omnichannel shoppers 18

230

230

online advertisements 5, 171, 172, 176 oppressed groups 15 oppression, defined 15 Paglia, Camille 158 Palin, Sarah 131 pantsula 111, 113, 115, 117 dancers 119 gender and 115–16 Parker, Charlie 113 patriarchy and knits 128–9 PCM. see Pink Craftivist Movement (PCM) Peacock Throne of Moghul emperor 107 penetrating knits 127, 136–7 phenduka 116 photography 5, 6, 130, 205, 207, 208 Austen 217 freedom through 209–11 millennium 5 Pink Craftivist Movement (PCM) 4, 132–3, 135, 137 places and fashion 152 and sex trafficking 175–6 in sex work 179 bathrooms 179–80 bedrooms 180–1 mirrors 181–2 political structures 2, 4, 108 popular culture 2, 32, 33, 37, 38, 111, 114, 115, 137, 148, 149, 166 Porn Chic: Exploring the Contours of Raunch Eroticism (Lynch) 4–5 post-feminism 165, 167, 168 post-feminist culture, “Art of Seduction Dress” in 164–8 postfeminist ideology 5 postindependence Ghana 85–6 power agonic 64, 76 fashion 106, 109 hedonic 63, 64, 78 structures 2, 4, 6, 63, 97, 132, 139, 168 poverty 172 princess (Diana) 5, 35, 157–8 fashioning of virgin 158–9 post-reign sensuality 161–4 “Revenge Couture” 161

Index

“Revenge Dress” 161–4, 162, 166 sexualization 164 subtle eroticism 160–1 pussyhat 127–39, 134 Putin, Vladimir 139 Quantum of Solace film (Montes, Camille) 54, 57–8 QueenLyfe 20 race 13, 19, 131, 182, 187, 190, 191 Agassiz’s race photographs 198 in Brazil 202n.5 issues of 59 “mixture of races” 196, 197 racism 13, 14, 18, 40, 118 racist practices 11 Rathebe, Dolly 112 Raudsepp, Mari 119 “Real Actions Pantsula”, Orange Farm 119, 120 Rebel 22 Reed, Jalessa 3, 11 Renninger, L. 174 Reply, Sue 215 “repressed satisfaction” model 5 Reshma aur Shera film (1971) 149 “Revenge Dress”, Diana 161–4, 162, 166 Revlon 16 Richards, Christopher 4, 83 Rick, Slick 30, 36, 37, 38, 40 Rihanna 16 RiRi collection 12 RiRi, for Makeup Art Cosmetics (MAC) 16, 23 Roberts, T. A. 171 Roth, L. 17 Run-DMC 35, 36 Runstedtler, Theresa 40 Ryder, Honey 47, 55, 56 Sabyasachi Mukherjee 150, 151 Samuel, Gerard 115 Saunders, Chris 120, 122 Schmahmann, Brenda 119 Schmitz, Oliver 118 Schuiling, Rebecca E. 4, 127 Sean Connery (Bond films) 45, 49–51, 58 Searle, Karen 129

231

Index

Sears, Barnas, Dr. 189 “second-wave feminism” 121 seductress 158, 160, 165, 166, 178 dichotomy 168–9 selfies 181 self-empowerment and emancipation 211 self-identity 172 self-perception and representation 12 self-objectification 164, 166, 171 narratives of 4–6 Serote, Mongane Wally 118 servitude, lingering effects of 14 sex advertisements for 171, 172, 174–6 transactions 171 sex trading 172, 176, 181–3 sex trafficking 172–3 places and 175–6 sexual agency 164, 167 sexuality 3–6, 24, 45, 47, 50, 53, 56, 89, 120, 146, 149, 151, 157–69 dress and 173–5 and empowerment 151–2 sexual objectification 2, 5 sex work dress in 177–9 places in 179 bathrooms 179–80 bedrooms 180–1 mirrors 181–2 Shakuntala 144 Sharmila Tagore 148 Shipley J. W. 181 Sichel, Adrienne 115 skirts 91, 94, 95, 116, 146 calf-length 160 knee-length 148 long 165, 167 reversible 116 sweater and 131, 132 wide crinoline 159 Skyfall film (2012) 54–5 slave dress 189, 194 appearance 192–7 slavery 11–15, 32, 112, 188–90, 192, 193, 196, 197 Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity (2009) 32

231

Smith, James Todd 36 Smolak, L. 174 social codes, symbolic representation of 69 social order 1, 40 societal roles 1, 14, 19, 23, 24, 46, 47, 58, 64–7, 76–9, 133, 148 soft power brokers 1 South Africa black communities in 121 black urban culture 114–15 dress symbolism in 113 SPECTRE agent 57 Spectre film (2015) 59 Spreiregen, Jacques 34 Stahl, Augusto 195, 202n.5 Stambolian, Christina 162 Sterling, Alinor 5 Stetson, John B. 33, 35, 39 Stoller, Debbie 130 Stone, Gregory 23 Strauss, M. 70 Street, S. 46 styles 3, 15, 16, 24, 30, 32–8, 41, 50, 53, 58, 63–6, 92–4, 96, 97, 112–17, 119, 121, 135, 141, 143, 145, 178, 181, 212–14 black men’s dress black millennials’ lifestyle 16 choli regional 145–8, 147 envision style as narrative to empowerment 40 European-style dress 4 hair 15 Ivy League style sportswear 116 MACista lifestyle 22 modes of using style as empowerment 35 Red 38–40 Suh, Krista 134 symbolism 41, 133 dress 113 Western 135 Tahiliani, Tarun 150 Tajj Cosmetics 20 tan 16 Tarlo, E. 145 Tarun Tahiliani 150

232

232

Taylor, Kerry 166 theory alienation 5 black beauty in 20 degeneration 188 DeLong 70 feminist 207 feminist film 13, 46 gender 64, 78, 79 mirrors 181–2 model 5 objectification 171 This Sex Which Is Not One (Irigaray) 169 Thompson, Marvin 35, 36 Todd, Charlotte 163 Tom boys 86 Top 7 Black-Owned Lipsticks (Elitou) 20 Toskan, Frank 15 Toussaint-Samson, A. 190, 193, 194 Tracy Bond 59 traditional male 50, 52, 207 traditional marketing campaigns 16 traditional marriage 216 traditional masculine 52, 57, 59 traditional women 45, 217 transnational dandyism 37 travel narratives 188–90 tribes 20 Trump, Donald 139 Tulloch, Carol 32 Turner, Victor 64 Turney, Joanne 128 United States, black woman’s life in 11–13 Untouchable Force Organization (UTFO) 29–30, 36 Vanity Fair 102 villains 47–9 Casino Royale film 52–3

Index

Vinay Bahl 144 virgin, fashioning of 158–9 visual analysis Delong system of 70 of dress 68–70 visual communication 30–1 of femininity 45–6 Volpe, Fiona 57 Von Langsdorff, G. 193 voyeurism 46 V-Word 137–8 Walker, Madame C. J. 13 Walsh, R. 193 Warrant of Precedence 104 Watson, Maud 212 wearing politics 135 West African Airways Corporation 84 western culture 129, 130 Wexler, Laura 211 Wheeler, V. 188 White Beauty Industrial Complex 12, 13, 17 Wilde, Oscar 37 wilde stylin’ in ’85 35–8 Wild Style America film 35 William 165–7 Williams, Cheryl Hudgins 17 Williams, Derrick L. 3, 29 Williams, Eddie D. Jr. 29, 30 Willingdon, Freeman 108–9 Wilson, Elizabeth 46 Winge, Therèsa M. 4, 127 whore 169 Woodcut, Alexandrina 200 Woodcut, Mina Negress 195 Xaba, Sicelo 115, 121 Zedong, Mao 1 Žižek, Slavoj 24 Zweinman, Jayna 134