Sweet dreams are made of this

Remembering the beautiful things

When fashion – personal, identifiable, diverse – is made silent, be it because of restrictions and shortages, like during the World Wars; because of oppression, like during apartheid South Africa; or because of economic pressure (the Great Depression or pandemics), what often follows is an outburst of colours, fabrics, cuts and silhouettes; sartorial statements as an attempt to restore and recreate what has been erased, destroyed or forgotten.

It was also a desperate need, after years of military uniforms and functional garbs, to inject femininity, couture and embellishments back into a world that had been stripped of its frivolity and joie-de-vivre.

Back in 1947, for example, only two years after the second World War, French couturier Christian Dior was famously credited for his “New Look” (following a comment by the then editor-in-chief of Harper’s Bazaar, Carmel Snow, who exclaimed after seeing his collection: “It’s quite a revolution, dear Christian! Your dresses have such a new look!”), a glaring departure from the ‘20s and ‘30s fashion, which had seen the rise of flannel wide pants, striped shirts, floating dresses with no corset designed by Elsa Schiaparelli, Jean Patou or the liberated women of Chanel.

But it was also a desperate need, after years of military uniforms and functional garbs, to inject femininity, couture and embellishments back into a world that had been stripped of its frivolity and joie-de-vivre. Instead, armed with cinched waists, epaulettes, A-line skirts that looked like inversed flowers and tight jackets that followed women’s curves, fashion became a statement for a sort of cliché womanly dream, one that had previously been smashed by feminist movements. A dream made of flowers and flower-like women.

In the seventies, disco defined the decade and its fashion, set by deejays based in “underground clubs that catered to black, gay, and Latino dancers … The first disco qua disco hit was Gloria Gaynor’s Never Can Say Goodbye (1974), one of the first records mixed specifically for club play. While most of disco’s musical sources and performers were African-American, the genre’s popularity transcended ethnic lines, including both interracial groups (e.g., KC and the Sunshine Band) and genre-blending ensembles (e.g. the Salsoul Orchestra)”, says author, professor of American Studies and director of Center for Human Services at the University of Massachsetts, Boston, Reebee Garofalo. Fashion followed, with American designer Halston dressing Grace Jones or Bianca Jagger and posing next to Andy Warhol at Studio 54: Lycra, satin, feathers, sequins and lots of skin and sparkles reigned through the nights.

The exhibition showed how important clothing was and still is in expressing personal and collective identities.

Closer to home, the exhibition Made Visible: Contemporary South African Fashion and Identity that was presented at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston in early 2019, displayed pieces including “a 20th-century Ndebele beadwork ensemble, as well as knitwear designs by Laduma Ngxokolo” – the designer behind MAXHOSA Africa – mixed with artworks by South African artists Zanele Muholi, Mary Sibande and Nomusa Makhubu. MAXHOSA Africa’s ethos is rooted in culture: The bright geometrical designs are inspired by Xhosa beadwork designs and colours; the cardigans inspired by the kind worn by young Xhosa men after they come out of the initiation ritual. The exhibition showed how important clothing was and still is in expressing personal and collective identities – at times, the role played by clothing can be “to erase cultural identity and enforce class divisions” (as seen in the artworks) or instead, as a powerful way to reclaim one’s own identity.

The year 2020

Fast-forward to 2020, and a global pandemic covers the world with disruption, confusion and loss, and the fashion collections presented recently (menswear, couture and resort) projected through videos, Zoom previews and short films, a distraction made of beauty and reverie.

About an hour from Paris, in the Parc Naturel Régional du Vexin Français, Simon Porte Jacquemus unveiled his collection dubbed L’amour last June. Set in fields of wheat, only opened to a selected few (because of the Coronavirus), the show saw models walk on a runway that cut through the wheat like a long hypnotic yellowish snake: it sliced the field in one clear wave. It was mind blowing – a reverie that seemed accessible if only because his garments are modern, comfortable, easy(ier) to wear, on par with Virgil Abloh’s Off White; both designers have mastered the art of weaving tightly fantasy with originality and modern silhouettes.

At Dior, dreams were handed in tiny drops, 55-cm-high miniature mannequins dressed in Haute Couture, the craftsmanship even more evident in the Lilliputian versions than in real size. The scaling down of the gowns might have been an allegory for unpretentiousness? Who knows. Still, the dream is irresistible because it also celebrates the petites mains (literally, “little hands”, the magical hands of the craftsmen and women behind each gown) and the hours spent to create one garment.