fashion literature

Here’s a scene that plays out in all my “Researching Costume and Fashion History” classes:

PAB: What’s the number one problem with the Internet?
Pause. Finally someone speaks out tentatively…
Student: You can’t trust everything you read on it?
PAB: Yes! Quality Control!

When I first agreed to do a blog on fashion and design history, with special reference to that fact that everything old is new again, I knew I would have a problem right away. While the Internet is full of material, much of it is commercially-related or new in topic. The simple truth is that authoritative reference sources just haven’t made it online yet, and when new ones are made they may or may not get on the Web. Most historical reference tools and resources are still in book format. The reference publishing industry is pushing more and more titles online, but this is a fairly recent development.

But there really aren’t that many really impeccable sources to link you up with for some of the topics I choose to cover. Heather was right to remind me that Wikipedia isn’t terribly reliable or accurate; I tend to use it as a link, however, because it comes up early in the Google search engine optimization. The fact is that I’ll link you somewhere appropriate when I can, but otherwise you’ll find that I just keep on referring you to good old-fashioned books.

My correspondent Heather Vaughan turns out to a fashion historian, at www.fashionhistorian.net and she reports that she usually does a Wednesday post in the blog www.wornthrough.com. Check out her commentaries for another perspective on fashion issues.

And speaking of books, one of the best reference sets we have is found at the Art Reading Room (Room 300) desk: Encyclopedia of Clothing and Fashion. Now, if only tools like this would be put online as soon as they’re published. Sigh.

I’m hoping you may remember my post last month on the term “fashion victim.” I had a reply from Heather, who went out and did some proper research on where the phrase came from. She’d been rightfully suspicious that the term arose as recently as a comment by the designer Oscar de la Renta, and her doubts proved correct.

Heather’s research took her back as far as 1828. She searched journals in ProQuest and found references in a fiction piece in 1853, a racist cartoon in Harpers Bazaar dating to 1883, and newspaper mentions from the Chicago Daily Tribune in 1913 and then in the 1970s. The term appears regularly in literature from the 1970s on. I followed her trail, and found the same results; then I realized that I couldn’t spare the time this summer for a really serious expanded search into Newspapers Index and other periodical databases.

My apologies for not following this well-laid ground. Perhaps someone will take this subject up seriously for an academic paper or project? I did find something online, however, that indicates that being considered a fashion victim is still quite unwelcome, and this was addressed to men! As is this illustration in the Digital Gallery called “The Victim of Fashion,” dating to 1880. Anyway, I’ve learned my lesson, and will be careful about quoting dubious attributions in the future. More in my next post…

2008 is the thirtieth anniversary of the publication of Ann Hollander’s Seeing Through Clothes. This publication is a significant one: it opened the door to a variety and versatility of subsequent academic research on clothing and dress. Refreshing, too, was Hollander’s intermixing of fine art, film, popular print, and advertising imagery. The author also dealt frankly with the implicit sexual and popular culture penchant for certain body types during historical periods. Her take on the modern era is fabulous. Here’s one line: “The rise of decorative art and decorative design permitted the citizens of Western Europe to accustom their eyes to visions of themselves as shapes.”(page 336)

My eye was caught by a small article in last Sunday’s New York Times Sunday Styles section. A youthful artist, Karen Kilimnik, who recently exhibited a small showing of paintings of blue skies, confessed to a deep love for the English perfume maker Penhaligon’s Bluebell scent. Way to go, Karen! She frankly admits to be drawn by the blatant English heritage packaging, but the exquisite smell, “like fresh-cut grass,” is the main attraction.

I’ve been wearing Penhaligon perfume since the days of Princess Diana’s wedding, and yes, I agree with Karen’s suspicions that the story of Diana’s love for Bluebell could be bogus. But then, I’d rather it wasn’t. You’re looking at a woman, after all, whose wedding ring is a reproduction of Diana’s famous sapphire engagement ring…

Fairy tales or not, Penhaligon is my idea of a successful brand that provides the wearer with a distinctive scent and romantic context.