Journey through a 1970s men's magazine

No, not THAT kind of "men's magazine." This kind:

My research into the world of patterned men's pants is in full swing. Which means that I've been spending quality time with old issues of GQ. Let's see what we've found...

Blood, Glue, and Ethafoam

Remember when I was trying to explain that my mannequin dressing class was difficult? It really is. Even if I can't convince you that putting historical clothing on a form is challenging, how about making the form itself? That was our most recent project.

Mannequins are shockingly expensive for both store and museum use. They can cost around $1800 for a whole form, and many museums don't have that kind of money to spend. To prepare us for do-it-yourself situations, our professor broke us into teams to build our own dress forms. Two groups made forms out of buckram--a material with stiffening which softens in water. Basically you can cut up strips, wet them, and mold them around a form. Then it dries and you can cut it off and add some internal supports. I tell you this because I was in one of the groups who did not get assigned the buckram route. No. We had to carve our ladies out of heavy blocks of foam.

My team was assigned to an "intersect" mount. That meant that we cut out two main shapes out of 4" ethafoam-- a front view and a side view. Then we cut notches in them, made them intersect, and added more chunks foam to fill in the four side gaps. Chances are, that didn't make any sense to you, but it isn't really important. Basically, after two full class periods of work, we had a vaguely female shaped pile of plastic. This week, the three hours were spent with giant knives taking turns trying to shape our thing into a size 2. Occasionally our professor would come over, giggle, and whisper "Spongebob Squarepants" to us--which was her way of indicating that our form was still too blocky. We started getting tired and frustrated and I even sliced into my finger at one point (one of those shallow cuts that nonetheless bleeds a lot). But finally we got the nod that she was done and we could cover her in fabric. In the picture you can see me wielding the hot glue gun with my band-aided finger strategically held out of the way.

Anyway, I guess there isn't much point to this post other than 1) This stuff is hard! and 2) My grad school projects continue to be weird (ask me about my attempt last week to make a wig out of crinkled paper).

P.S. The buckram people got their comeuppance for having an easier project. After covering the form in wet strips of buckram they shrouded it with a protective sheet of plastic. By the following week their project had blossomed with an astounding number of mold colonies.

Simple Joys

I haven't written much about my menswear class but it is one I am really enjoying. Like Medieval art, I think it is one of those topics that seems bizarre and boring until you actually start studying it, and then suddenly you can't get enough. Menswear is like a whole different language of aesthetics and sensibilities and I find myself wanting to interrogate the males in my life about color and pattern and why they wear what they wear (and why don't they wear floral embroidered waistcoats anymore??).

This week in class we had a paper to turn in and a presentation to give about a museum artifact. I've been very busy and was pretty drained by the time our thursday evening class rolled around. At break I decided to talk to my professor about my final paper topic. At the end of the conversation I found myself overwhelmed with cheerfulness and the euphoria lasted for most of the evening. What had caused this? Three simple words: Patterned Novelty Pants

Our final paper is supposed to use a primary source as a starting point (an actual object, a photo, a fashion plate). I had recently found this amazing photo of a Seattle guy with his initials monogrammed all over his pants and thought maybe I could use it to look into the history of monogramming. I wasn't thrilled with the idea, but I thought it could be fun. Of course then my professor turned around and suggested that I take it in a different direction. That direction being men's Patterned Novelty Pants. HOW FUN IS THAT? For the record, she said that plaid pants didn't count because that would be "too easy."

I've barely gotten started, but I have a few weeks ahead of me to search for photos and examples of crazy pants worn by men. So far I've found this website and done several google image searches for Liberace (which has brought up a whole new issue --do hotpants count?). So if you'd like to help me out dear readers, be on the lookout for fun men's pants and send me any pictures or leads.

I can't believe how excited I am about this. On Thursday night I practically danced home thinking about it. The FDA should totally approve Patterned Novelty Pants as a natural mood enhancer.

Writer's Block

I know I need to update this blog, but at the moment I can't think of anything interesting or compelling to say. The other day I scanned this from a 1982 magazine:

In these tough economic times, everyone seems to be asking: Can oompa loompas sell clothes and improve consumer confidence?

Discuss.

Studying fashion has made me feel good about my body

A few days ago while I was getting dressed I looked down and saw that I had a little bit of a belly. I patted it, hoping it was an optical illusion, and sighed for a moment feeling sorry for myself that I don’t have a flat stomach like I should. But then I came to my senses and remembered the lessons I've learned from fashion history.

I’m not about the make the argument that fashion celebrates women of all body types. In fact, in every era, fashion has promoted a certain type as ideal. During my first semester at FIT I learned that the fashionable body is, and always has been, a distorted one. Limbs are elongated in paintings, waists are made wasp thin in fashion plates, and photographers use angles and lighting to play tricks. Today, of course, we have photoshop.

The real problem is that in every era we assume that this year’s standard of beauty is universal. Today we believe that that big boobs, flat stomachs, small waists, and a toned physique make up the absolute, universal standard of female beauty. But frankly that isn’t true. In the 1920s the ideal body was flat and without curves. In the Renaissance it was fashionable to have a bit of a belly, and women would dress with extra fabric in the front of their gowns to enhance the effect. Later Renaissance nudes usually show the torso as barrel shaped (much like the effect of the corset at the time) making the breasts small and the chest/waist/stomach all roughly the same size around. Today we have this idea that bodies should be toned and skin look like it is smooth and tight. But a 17th century woman would have hated looking that way. During the time of Rubens, women were supposed to be soft and “fleshy.” Nothing was more alluring that dimpled, rippling, squishy skin.

When you look at the history of fashion ideals you realize something: women have always had women’s bodies. We all have different attributes and sometimes some of us are lucky enough to be alive when one of our things is “in.” A girl with the ideal look of the 1920s would have hated her body in 1900, and would probably have spent extra money on “bust enhancers” and hip padding. Conversely, someone with the perfect “Gibson Girl” form from 1900 would be unhappily trying to flatten and minimize her curves in 1925. In one era fashion told these ladies that they were beautiful, and in another that they were shamefully incorrect. But in the end, they were both just two kinds of natural body types.

As with the study of any historical subject, learning the history of fashion helps you step out of your own time and see the bigger picture. And let me tell you, the bigger picture has lots of sexy belly fat.

Not in the Spirit of Community Living

I love Menno House, but it is becoming clear that I have some sort of complex about it. I think it boils down to this: When I applied to the house I was a poor student watching my savings shrink as I paid a hefty rent and labored at a 10 hour a week job paying $7.35 /hr. But when I moved in to Menno House I had a good job and a tuition exemption. I feel like I tricked the system a little. Of course, when I express this feeling to my housemates they give me a funny look and assure me it doesn't matter. But I'm a champion worrier, so I've got it into my head that I will be found out and evicted. I've already had two anxiety dreams to that effect.

Most of my housemates are working at low paying jobs or are part of Mennonite Voluntary Service, which is sort of like Americorps. The MVS people have a food stipend and then $50 a month of discretionary spending. That is barely anything, especially in this city. When I moved in, one of the outgoing residents told me that moving my stuff up all those stairs would be a bigger headache than I expected. "But," he told me, "The MVSers will do anything for $10. Get them carry it."

Ever since he said that I've been tempted to pay my housemates to do things for me. I make money, they need money. Who doesn't want an underpaid servant ready to do your bidding? The main thing stopping me is the worry that it would be against the community spirit of the house. We all have to do our part with chores and cooking the weekly house meal. The last thing I want is to be seen as a bad apple and get kicked out of the house for not being "community oriented" enough.

This Saturday was house cleaning day. From 10am to 6pm, everyone had to clean and complete needed maintenance projects on the house. If you couldn't be there, you had to make up those hours later. Well, I work on Saturdays, so I put in as many hours as I could but still had time to make up. Last night I put in some time waxing the kitchen floors and stamping "Return to Sender" on a giant pile of mail that had come for former residents. But when that was all over I still had about 2 hours to go. The house manager asked that I put down two more layers of wax on the floor this evening. I really wanted to get some homework done, so I asked her if it would be bad form for me to pay someone to do it. I think in real life she just shrugged, but in my head she gave me a disapproving look and said "That is between you and God."

Well, dear readers, I did it. I knocked on the door of one of the MVSers and offered her $20 to do my work. I'm feeling half guilty, and half ready to burst into an evil laugh. I ended up getting a lot of homework done, but I also started to notice that my shelves could use a good cleaning. A good cleaning that I certainly don't have time for...

Fashion & Controversy

I LOVE my special topics (a.k.a. DDR) class. We read philosophy, look at fashion magazines, and have discussions about what it all means. Most of the time we are pretty hard on the editorials or ads we look at. We’ve discovered that every Alberta Ferretti campaign seems to involve four emaciated women (we’ve decided they are sisters) who are too weak to stand and seem to be in some unsafe location. Their favorite hangouts include a windy manor house, various subway cars, and a mysterious institution with lots of black drapery. What is the message of these ads? Should we be worried about these women? Why is it that somewhat unsettling images seem to sell clothes?

This week however, we spoke favorably about an editorial that elsewhere had caused outrage. I’m talking, of course, about Vogue Italia’s “Water & Oil” spread in which the tragedy of the gulf oil spill was retold with a model and several thousand dollars worth of designer clothes (go here to see the pictures). The many angry responses to this shoot boiled down to three main points:

-It is disgusting to glamorize an ecological disaster

-It is appalling that they are using the oil spill to sell clothing and make money for the magazine

-How dare fashion get above itself and attempt to tackle a real world issue

Here is what we discussed:

Point one: It is disgusting to glamorize an ecological disaster

Okay, take a close look at the images from the shoot. Forget for a moment that you are looking at a fashion editorial and just think about what kinds of thoughts and feelings the photos convey. Do you think it is glamorous? Does the model look chic and fab? Do you imagine someone looking at that haunting shot of her face covered in oil and saying, “ooh! Where can I get that look?” No. The images are dark and disturbing. Fashion photography does not always equal glamour.

Point two: It is appalling that they are using the oil spill to sell clothing and make money for the magazine

Again, this photo shoot really isn’t about making readers covet the model’s look. The clothes look dirty, torn, and grey—unlike the Alberta Ferretti ads in which the women may be ill but the clothes still look expensive and alluring. So if it isn’t to sell clothes, what is the point? If this is “art” then why use designer clothes at all?

That was my question, but as my professor pointed out, the clothes help tell the story. The model is made to look birdlike by wearing feathers, or seal and fish-like by wearing shiny fabric that looks wet. Other pieces echo the natural forms of the rocks or the seaweed. Some of it simply looks frail and torn. “Fashion is the perfect metaphor for death,” my prof explained. “It is ephemeral and replaceable, with new trends burying the old. Fabric, like the body, is fragile and easily broken.”

People make money off of tragedy all the time, but in those other contexts we assume that the intent is honorable. For example, someone in Hollywood makes a movie about the holocaust just about every year. Have you ever heard people rail against how disgusting it is that someone is profiting from murder of six million people? No, because we believe that the movies have something to teach and that the profit made by the studios is just part of how the system works. Which brings me to the next point…

Point 3: How dare fashion get above itself and attempt to tackle a real world issue

As you can imagine, we get very defensive about this. There is a widespread perception that fashion is completely frivolous, has no meaning, and isn’t something that anyone should actually consider important. It never has anything to say about politics, economics, or society and it shouldn’t try. People have worn things to cover their bodies since the beginning of time, yet everyone sure that there is no connection between clothing and the human experience. How dare it get mixed up in the “real” world.

Yes, fashion is part of a capitalist system—but as my prof put it, fashion is “sort of like the angsty step-daughter who is happy to bite the hand that feeds her.” Where did these high-end clothes come from? What sort of energy went in to making them? What sort of energy went into making the clothes that you are wearing? BP may deserve the bulk of the blame for the spill, but aren’t we all part of a system that created the need for an oil industry?