The Fashion Historian

Any visitor to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City should stop by Gallery 599 on their tour of the museum. It's a small gallery, to get there you simply descend a small flight of stairs tucked away in the back corner of one of the large medieval galleries. Gallery 599 is located by the door to the Ratti Textile Center, which houses all of the textiles in The Met's collections. A rotating exhibition showcasing small samplings of The Met's textiles is featured in the display cases surrounding the door to the Ratti Textile Center. It's a quick pitstop on your tour of the museum and always well worth a visit as you get to see some rarely viewed textile treasures.

Embroidery sample for a man's suit, 1800–1815. French. Silk embroidery on silk velvet; L. 13 1/4 x W. 11 1/8 in. (33.7 x 28.3 cm). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Gift of The United Piece Dye Works, 1936 (36.90.15)

La mode à la girafe translates to giraffe fashion, that is, fashion inspired by and celebrating giraffes. Or, in the case of late 1820s France, the fashion influence of one very famous giraffe.

Nicolas Hüet, Study of the Giraffe Given to Charles X by the Viceroy of Egypt, 1827. In the collection of the Morgan Library and Museum.

What better way to return from a long hiatus than with a flurry of sparkles? Today's post is all about sequins, spangles, and oes!

French court suit jacket, 1750-75. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

For centuries, the fashionable have decorated their clothing and accessories with small, reflective metal discs. Today we know these as sequins, but in previous centuries they were known as spangles. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first recorded use of sequin as a name for these sparkly discs was in 1882. A few centuries earlier, a sequin was the name of an Italian gold coin. Perhaps this reference to a small disc of precious metal inspired the later use of the word.

In the 17th and 18th centuries, sequins were known as spangles or spangs. Spangles were made of precious and semi-precious metals such as gold, silver, and copper, and came in a variety of shapes and sizes. The most common was the flat, circular disc we are familiar with today. But by the end of the 18th century, spangles could be cut into multiple shapes like clovers and hearts, and could be tinted colors like pink and blue. In many descriptions, such as the poem at the beginning of this post, spangles are paired with oes. Oes were another form of decorative metal detail, very similar to spangles. According to scholar M. Channing Linthicum, "oes were metal eyelets tacked or clinched to the material in such designs as 'squares,' 'Esses,' 'wheate eares,' etc., or powdered over the whole surface."

Lady Dorothy Cary by William Larkin, c. 1614. English Heritage. The little spots on her embroidered jacket are spangles.

According to records of English parliamentary proceedings, in 1575 "a Patent was first granted to Robert Sharp to make Spangles and Oes of Gold." This suggests that Robert Sharp was perhaps one of the first English manufacturers of spangles and oes, or perhaps an innovator in their production. There were two methods for creating spangles. In the first method, a thin coil of wire was wrapped around a narrow dowel. The resulting spring was then cut and the coils hammered flat to create round discs with a small hole in the middle. The second method was used to create spangles with more elaborate shapes. In this method, a thin sheet of metal was laid out and the spangles were punched out using shaped tools, like when you make cookies with cookie cutters.

Spangles and oes were used to decorate the clothes and accessories of men and women. In the candle light, they would shimmer and lend a magical quality to the wearer. In an essay by Francis Bacon, titled Of Masques and Triumphs, the glittering effect of spangles and oes is described. He writes, "The colors that show best by candle-light are white... and oes, or spangs, as they are of no great cost, so they are of the most glory."

Women's Jacket made in Great Britain, 1600-1625. The Victoria and Albert Museum.

Over the years, spangles and oes have decorated a variety of garments and accessories. One of the most notable uses was in the first decades of the 17th century when they covered women's embroidered jackets, as in the above image. From 2007 to 2009, workers at Plimoth Plantation meticulously reproduced one of these embroidered jackets. To read more about this incredible undertaking, including their manufacturing of spangles, I highly recommend their blog.

Detail of a French court suit embroidered with blue tinted spangles, 1750-75. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In the 18th and early 19th centuries, spangles could often be found on decorative embroidery. The above image is a detail of the court suit pictured earlier in this post. Here you can see a variety of spangles, from plain gold circles to blue tinted circles and pointed ovals. As for the tightly coiled wires which surround many of the spangles, could they be oes?

Pomegranate illustration from Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé's Flora von Deutschland, Österreich und der Schweiz, 1885. Image from http://www.biolib.de/.

The pomegranate (Punica granatum) is a fruit-bearing shrub, originating from the Middle East and Mediterranean Basin. Throughout history, the pomegranate tree has been used for a variety of purposes. It's bark has been used to cure leather, it's rind and flowers have been used as textile dye, and it's fruit has been prized for its delicious taste and medicinal properties. Images of the pomegranate have permeated visual culture since ancient times. In Ancient Greek mythology, for example, the pomegranate was the food eaten by the dead in the underworld. In the world of fashion history, the pomegranate has had an extraordinary impact on textiles.

Silk from the 15th or 16th century. Museo Civico d'Arte Antica.

This textile shows the so-called "pomegranate motif". This stylized design of a central floral image surrounded by wavy stems has its origins in the Ottoman Empire. Under the reign of Süleyman I, also known as Süleyman the Magnificent (r. 1520-66), the arts flourished, and the textile design of a flowering plant such as carnations, blooming palmettes or pomegranates surrounded by a lattice pattern became extremely popular. These textiles made their way across trade routs to Western Europe where they were prized for their elegant patterns and luxurious materials. These motifs were also adopted by Western European artisans, and dominate textile design of the Renaissance.

Length of brocaded velvet, late 15th century, Italian (Venice). The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Today, it's hard to understand the extreme value textiles held in the centuries before mass mechanized production. Of course in the pre-industrial period, everything was made by hand. Creating textiles with complex designs such as the pomegranate motif took an enormous amount time and incredibly skilled artisans. Furthermore, the rich colors and expensive materials present in many surviving textiles with the pomegranate motif added additional cost. Red and black dyes were among the most expensive dyes on the market. And many textiles incorporated metal-wrapped threads. To create metal-wrapped threads, thin strips of actual gold or silver would be wrapped around a strand of thread (usually silk). When this thread was woven into a fabric, the resulting textile would literally be made of silver or gold. The above textile is a silk velvet with metal-wrapped threads. The rich red color, complex pattern, and use of metal threads would have made this piece extraordinarily expensive.

Portrait of Eleanor of Toledo and her son Giovanni, by Bronzino, c. 1514. The Uffizi.

Textiles were among the most expensive items a person could buy. Textiles with the pomegranate motif were used for clothing (as can be seen in the portraits above and below), furnishing, and ecclesiastical garments. When looking at the art of the period, textiles with the pomegranate motif show up in a large number of portraits and religious art. Their use was not just because the textiles provide a visually interesting pattern. As this post shows, the use of these textiles was also a potent expression of wealth and power.

Portrait of a Girl, by Antonio del Pollaiuolo, c. 1460-65. Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin.

Furthermore, the prevalence of the pomegranate motif in visual culture attests to the connections between cultures all over the globe. Too often people tend to think of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance as a time when cultures were isolated, and global interactions were not present. But the pomegranate motif is just one piece of evidence that proves that a global exchange of ideas and cultures was alive and well.

This afternoon I was interviewed for a segment on AirTalk about the increasing informality of dress in today's society. This is an enormous topic with many contributing factors, but one thing the host mentioned is that in America, informality in dress could be connected to the (supposed) lack of a class system. I agreed, and believe that the mythological identity of America as a place where everyone is equal has been influential on our dress. I referenced an eighteenth-century portrait where one of America's founding fathers is dressed informally. The painting I was thinking of was this portrait of Paul Revere by John Singleton Copley.

Portrait of Paul Revere by John Singleton Copley, 1768. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

To have your portrait painted was a very expensive affair, and in the days before photography a portrait was how you would be remembered for all eternity. Thus traditionally most people wore their very best clothes, wanting to show themselves in the best possible light. European portraiture of the same period often shows clothing at the height of fashion and luxurious settings. Compare Revere's portrait with this image, painted just one year earlier.

Portrait of Two Gentlemen Before the Arch of Constantine in Rome by Anton von Maron, 1767. Private collection.

In the Copley portrait, Revere is very informally dressed. He doesn't wear a coat, his waistcoat loosely hangs from his shoulders and his shirt is open at the neckline. His hair is unstyled, and pulled casually back. A silversmith by trade, Revere references his status as a tradesman by holding an unfinished silver pot while engraving tools are scattered on the table. Revere is relaxed, thoughtfully looking out to the viewer, and the background is simple and black and the table plain and unremarkable. He is saying to the world, "Yes, I am rich/important enough to have my portrait done, but really I'm just a simple silversmith, I work hard and am just like anybody else."

In the von Maron portrait, on the other hand, the two gentlemen are formally attired in fashionable clothes. Their suits are sleek in cut and fit tightly to the body, and are decorated with gold embroidery. Both gentleman are most likely wearing wigs, and their hair is in a fashionable style. The man in the blue coat has his hair powdered as well, another fashionable and expensive touch. Both casually hold long walking sticks, another fashionable accessory for the 18th century gentleman. Finally, the gentlemen are posed by an Ancient Roman arch, demonstrating that they are worldly, well-traveled, and knowledgeable about classical societies. Combined, all of these elements demonstrate wealth, refinement, and formality. The message of this portrait is quite different from that of the Paul Revere portrait.

Portrait of Johann Joachim Winkelmann by Anton von Maron, 1768. Kunstsammlungen Weimar.

Even when dressed in informal attire, European portraits still convey a different message. In the above image the subject, Johann Joachim Winkelmann, is not yet dressed for the day, wearing a robe and covering his undressed head with a turban. Yet the clothing still conveys wealth and luxury. The voluminous robe is made of a lustrous red fabric and lined with fur. Although Winkelmann does not wear a wig, his turban is an equally fashionable headdress, a product of the highly fashionable orientalist influence which swept Europe in the 18th century. Furthermore, his surroundings include a luxuriously draped swag of fabric, a marble bust of a classical figure, and a fashionable writing table. Like the other portrait by von Maron, the sitter in this portrait is broadcasting his wealth and status.

Did all wealthy Americans choose to portray themselves as Revere did? Absolutely not. But I think there is an interesting comparison to be made. Revere is a famous figure of the American Revolution, and his portrait is emblematic of the mythological American identity which still holds influence today. It is this same mythological identity that many American politicians and public figures still try to convey. During the 2008 American presidential election, Republican Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin built her entire image on the idea that she was (supposedly) just like the rest of us. So to return to the original topic, the increasing informality in our society is due to a number of causes and could easily be a dissertation topic. But for Americans, I think that one cause is the identity, demonstrated by Revere, which is so fundamental to the mythos and history of this country.

In the early sixteenth century, men were all about width. Their wardrobe emphasized and enhanced the width of the body, giving a very powerful presence. In today's head to toe post, we'll find out how this look was created.

Portrait of Henry VIII, after Hans Holbein the Younger, c. 1537. In the collection of the Walker Art Gallery.

Here we see the imposing figure of Henry VIII, who ruled England from 1509 to 1547. On his head he wears a biretta, a soft, round, and wide hat. These could be decorated with jewels and feathers, as seen in this portrait.

Henry's basic foundation garment is a white shirt, the collar and cuffs of which can be seen in his painting. Little puffs of undershirt are also visible in the slashing which decorates his outer garments. Over the shirt he wears a doublet, a waist length, tightly fitted garment which opened down the center front. Doublets could be elaborately decorated with slashing and jewels, as can be seen in this image.

On top of the doublet is a jerkin. The jerkin fit over the waist like a vest, with a deep V or U shaped neckline. Below the waist, the jerkin flared out into a skirt. It's a little difficult to differentiate between Henry's jerkin and doublet, but the image below better illustrates the idea. The Ambassador to the left wears a pink doublet and black jerkin.

The Ambassadors by Hans Holbein the Younger, c. 1533. In the collection of the National Gallery, London.

The bulky overcoat worn over the doublet and jerkin is a box coat, so called because it's shaped like a box. Often stuffed with straw to give volume, the box coat featured huge sleeves which gave men a wide and powerful silhouette. Often they were lined in fur, as can be seen in both images (Henry's box coat is lined in brown fur, while the Ambassador's coat is lined with white).

The legs were covered with hose, which had become two separate pieces. Upper stocks covered the top half of the leg, while lower stocks covered the bottom. The differentiation between the two pieces is particularly clear in Henry's portrait. The emphasis on width is continued all the way down to the shoes, called duckbill shoes. Duckbill shoes were flat and square in front, made of leather, and could be slashed for decoration.

Myth: It is ancient tradition that each of the clans of Scotland has it's own unique tartan.

The lords of three Scottish clans from Disney/Pixar's movie Brave (2012).

Sadly, this is a myth. I've always thought it was rather fun to find the family tartan. But this 'tradition' is actually the result of a 19th century marketing scheme to capitalize on the popularity of the romanticized Highlander myth.

The colorful tartan pattern seems to have originated in Flanders and came to the Highlands through the Lowlands. Sixteenth century writers note that the plaids of chiefs were colored and those of their followers were brown, indicating that any differentiation in color was a mark of social status rather than being connected with a particular clan. The clan system itself had been destroyed after the Scottish rebellion of 1745, when acts of Parliament removed chiefs from their jurisdictions and banned any Highland costume. This last act wasn't lifted until 1782, at which point the general population of the Highlands, having become used to trousers, didn't see any reason to return to the traditional belted plaid or tartan, or the new convenient kilts (invented in 1727, a topic for another post!) The upper classes, on the other hand, enthusiastically picked up the traditional garb reclaiming their lost 'heritage'.

The romantic movement had swept in, bringing with it the cult of the noble savage. The endangered traditional Highlander fit perfectly into this romantic notion. Romanticized Scottish history was given a further boost when King George IV made a momentous visit to Edinburgh in 1822. The King wished to see Highlanders in their traditional garb, and thus created a huge demand for tartans. The biggest manufacturing firm was William Wilson and Son of Bannockburn. Messrs., which released a "Key Pattern Book" in 1819 when the royal visit was first announced, showing samples of their various tartans and which clan they belonged to. When the King finally arrived in Scotland, he himself was dressed in a kilt and gave a toast to "the chieftains and clans of Scotland."

But the most important figures in the creation of clan tartans were the brothers Allen, an eccentric pair who often appeared at fashionable events dressed "in all the extravagance of which the Highland costume is capable-- every kind of tag and rag, false orders and tinsel ornaments." In 1829 they presented their aristocratic patron, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, with a manuscript entitled "Vestiarium Scoticum", or The Garde-robe of Scotland. According to the brothers, this manuscript had belonged to John Leslie, Bishop of Rosss, the confidant of Mary Queen of Scots. Supposedly it had been written much earlier by a knight named Sir Richard Urquhart, and featured descriptions of the different clan tartans. But it wasn't until 1842, and under the new patronage of Lord Lovat, that the Vestiarium was published in a lavish limited edition with colored illustrations. Then in 1844, the Allen brothers published an even more lavish folio, titled "The Costume of the Clans", which cited ancient sources and claimed that Highland dress was actually a relic of the universal dress of the Middle Ages.

Unfortunately for the Allen brothers, their works received little notice. They themselves were discredited in 1847. After making numerous claims of royal blood, the brothers, who had at this point changed their name to Sobieski Stuart, were exposed as phonies in an editorial in the Quarterly Review. The brothers never recovered, and their works never gained a great amount of publicity. However, the idea of clan tartans was growing ever more popular, and the rest of the century saw the publication of numerous books of clan tartans, all derived from the Vestiarium.


There is so much more fascinating detail to this story than what I have put here, so if you'd like to learn more I highly recommend the article The Highlander Myth by Hugh Trevor Roper.

Photo Credit

The cloister from St-Michel-de-Cuxa. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Cloisters Collection.

The above image is of the cloister of Saint-Michel-de-Cuxa, in the collection of The Cloisters at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. You may be wondering, why am I posting a picture of stone carvings on a fashion history blog? Well believe it or not, these beautiful stone columns contain valuable information on theories of the medieval body!

Saint-Michel-de-Cuxa was a Benedictine abbey founded in the early ninth century in southwestern France, in the foothills of the Pyrenees. The cloister on display at The Cloisters was constructed between 1130 and 1146, under the direction of the Abbot Gregory. Originally the cloister consisted of sixty-three capitals topping columns arranged in a trapezoidal shape at the south end of the church. The structure at The Cloisters is about half the dimensions of the original, but still conjures the atmosphere and spirit of the original structure. Although the capitols may not be arranged in their original order, the original cloister having been dismantled in the nineteenth century, the carved vignettes were not supposed to be viewed in a specific order or tell a specific story. Instead, they provide individual ideas with which the monk could form a larger narrative.


Cloister capital from St-Michel-de-Cuxa. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Cloisters Collection.

There are three different variations of the grotesque present in the capitals of the Cuxa cloister. Some capitals feature naked dancing men, others feature human-animal hybrids such as sirens— half woman, half fish—, and a third type feature strange beasts such as humans and monkeys aping each other or roaring lions devouring men. These strange images provoke ideas of sin. The obscene and ignoble gestures of the dancing men deform the body, therefore deforming the image of God. The sirens represent the dangers of women and lust. The humans imitating the monkeys shows “the degeneration of man into beast” and the roaring lions represent the terrors of the mouth of hell.


Cloister capital from St-Michel-de-Cuxa. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Cloisters Collection.

To interpret such images and their place in a cloister, it is necessary to understand the medieval idea of the human body as a microcosm, originally created in Gods image and perfect. The faithful had perfect bodies, and used orderly and elegant gestures which reflected the harmony of their souls. In contrast, those that succumbed to base desires and sin became physically grotesque in their gesture and form, aligning themselves with animals who possess no immortal soul. The physical body was thus seen as a reflection of the inner soul. William of St-Thierry, a Benedictine abbot from the twelfth century, wrote in book two of The Nature of the Body and Soul that man is formed “in the image of him who created [the soul].” The good stand tall “reaching toward heaven and looking up [and this] signifies the imperial and regal dignity of the soul”, while those who “slavishly serve the lusts arising from the senses… have put off the image of the Creator and have put on another image, one that looks at the ground like an animal, one that is beastly.” The grotesques on the Cuxa capitals, representing all sorts of physical and therefore spiritual deformity, would serve as reminders to the monks of the dangers of sin, and subsequently help to shape their behavior.


Cloister capital from St-Michel-de-Cuxa. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Cloisters Collection.

Furthermore, the Cuxa capitals and these medieval theories of the body coincide with an interesting moment in textile history! A new sect of Benedictine monks had emerged in 1098, the Cistercians, who believed the Benedictines were too excessive in their way of life, and who had subsequently strayed from the word of God and true religious devotion. The Cistercians sought instead to return to a strict asceticism. One of the ways of doing this was wearing plain white, undyed garments, rather than the traditional black worn by Benedictines. This shift in fashion was mocked by the Benedictine monks. Peter the Venerable described: “I have seen I know not how many black [monks], laughing at a white [monk] whom they meet, as if he were a monster, and showing by their voices and movements that they are amazed….” In the context of medieval religious thought, the grotesque gestures of the laughing monks reflected a grotesqueness of the soul that could easily be connected with the figures on the Cuxa capitals. The capitals therefore would remind a monk, perhaps walking through the arcade and mocking the fashion Cistercians, of the sinfulness of his behavior. The capitals were reminders not only of the greatest sins to be avoided, but of the small ones as well. Even something as simple as a hostile opinion to textiles could deform the soul. Think about that next time you mock some one's outfit!

Agricultural scene from the tomb of Nakht, 18th Dynasty Thebes

Linen was the most important fabric in Ancient Egypt. Egyptian linen was EXTREMELY fine material, not like the cheap linen we think of today. It was important to maintain an absolutely perfect white garment, as immaculate linen meant that you were wealthy enough to sit around all day rather than working. A basic Egyptian textile was called a sheet or an ifd, and was fringed on all four sides for a decorative touch. Garments were shaped by elaborate pleating.


Facsimile of a scene from the Tomb of Sennedjem by Charles K. Wilkinson from c. 1922. Tomb dating from 1200 BC. At the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

While the actual garments of the Ancient Egyptians are relatively simple, they added some color and extravagance with jewelry. They wore headdresses, elaborate collars, bracelets, and other decorative accessories. These were made of gold and decorated with precious stones such as lapis. Accessories also carried various important motifs, like the eye of thoth (that famous Egyptian eye we know so well), the scarab, and the falcon.


Scene from the Tomb of Sennedjem, 1200 BC, showing a man and a woman with fragrance cones.

The Egyptians also wore elaborate wigs and hairpieces. Yup, wigs. It gets really hot in the desert, so it's much more comfortable to be able to take off your hair when you need to. Hair was set in elaborate styles with an ancient version of hair gel, according to recent archaeological evidence. Apart from the hair on the head, a hairless body was desired, so body hair was plucked and shaved. Taking care of the body was extremely important, and the Egyptians bathed frequently and applied oils for beautiful skin. They also wore fragrance cones, which were scented wax cones placed on top of the head. As the day went on, the wax would melt and perfume the wearer. And of course the Egyptians are quite famous for their make up, particularly thick black lines around the eyes, which protected the eyes from the glare of the sun.

The ruff is the fashion item most associated with the Renaissance. It evolved from the collars of the shirts worn by men underneath their doublets. The collars would have a small decorative ruffle around the top, which would add a bit of visual interest. Gradually this ruffle grew larger, becoming its own independent garment.


The Darnley Portrait of Queen Elizabeth I of England, c. 1575

What made the ruff possible was starch. In the early sixteenth century, starch was imported from the Low Countries. But the ruff really began to blossom in the 1560s when starch production came to England. In 1564, Mistress Dinghen van der Plasse moved from Flanders to London, opening up her own starch making business. The business flourished, and soon there were manufacturers all over London. Starch was derived from cereal grains such as wheat or corn, which caused some contention. William Cecil, chief minister to Elizabeth I once said, "Is it not a very lamentable thing that we should bestow that upon starch to the setting forth of vanity and pride which would staunch the hunger of many that starve in the streets for want of bread?"


Sir Francis Walsingham by John De Critz the Elder.

Ruffs were made from starched linen cambric, edged with lace, although as the century wore on, ruffs could be made entirely of lace. Lace was a new textile, having developed in the early sixteenth century. It was immensely time consuming to make, therefore it was EXTREMELY expensive. And while we think of linen as a basic fabric today, the quality of linen in the sixteenth century was highly superior to the quality of linen today. One surviving ruff has linen with a thread count of fifty threads to one centimeter. The fabric was put into a figure 8 pattern, called goffering, and sewn with gossamer threads. The larger ruffs, called cartwheel ruffs, had a basic wire support system called a supportasse or underproper.


Detail of a procession portrait of Queen Elizabeth I of England, c. 1600.

Ruffs were highly luxurious garments. They could take hours to set, and could only be worn once as body heat and the weather would cause it to droop and loose shape. Their placement on the neck affected posture, forcing the wearer to keep their chin up and assume a proud and haughty pose. They were a potent symbol of status and wealth, as anyone who could afford to wear and maintain a ruff was clearly not doing any manual labor.


The Infanta Isabella Clara Eugenia, Archduchess of Austria by Frans Pourbus, c. 1599

The ruff continued to be worn in the early 17th century, but was beginning to peter out. By the time King Charles I came to the English throne in 1625, the ruff had disappeared and been replaced by a loose lace collar which draped over the shoulders, called a falling band collar.

The ceremony of the toilette was an important part of fashionable society in the 18th century. The toilette was the act of getting prepared for the day, including dressing, and doing your hair and make up. It first became a ritual during the reign of great Absolute Monarch Louis XIV. In yet another brilliant move at consolidating his power and controlling the nobility, Louis XIV ritualized the process of dressing (lever) and undressing (coucher), giving nobles in the royal favor the privilege of watching the great monarch prepare for the day or night. The ritual then spread to other courts in Europe, and to the nobility, with different levels of formality accompanying the event.


From the Monument du Costume Physique et Moral de la fin du Dix-huitième siècle, 1789

For most, the most intimate portion of the toilette was performed in private, as it's rather difficult to look glamorous when you first wake up. After privately putting on the most intimate garments and getting your hair and face to look presentable, although casual, it was time to present yourself to your visitors. Fashion historian Aileen Ribeiro describes the process:

“On awakening, the fashionable lady rang for her maid who handed her a lace-trimmed manteau de lit for her early ablutions, after which she was dressed in a negligee du matin, a loose robe worn over chemise and stays. Then she was ready to receive visitors in her cabinet de toilette; these could include men, and very often abbes, who acted the part of cicisbei and were always there with the latest news and gossip. It was then that her hair was done, either by a personal maid or a male hairdresser, and the finishing touches applied to the face… The light-hearted intimacy of the lingering toilette was an essential part of dressing in the eighteenth century."

Ribeiro also notes the intimacy of the ceremony, with the lady getting dressed lingering on the undergarments, giving an almost sexual experience. Men also had a morning toilette, using the time to discuss business affairs rather than social ones.


From the Monument du Costume Physique et Moral de la fin du Dix-huitième siècle, 1789

The toilette is often called a ritual, bringing a religious connotation to the event and subsequently showing the importance of fashion in society. The very act of dressing itself is not just a simple daily task, but an important, ‘religious’ experience, showing the status clothing took in eighteenth century society. Clothing was not merely something to cover the body, but to express position and quality. By ritualizing the activity of dressing, each layer takes on an importance, not simply the outermost layer, showing that fashion was not only what was seen but what was unseen. Furthermore, ritualizing the act of dressing makes fashion a performance. A morning dressing ritual shows the elegance and wealth in each layer, not just the ones that will be seen, an important consideration for a culture obsessed with showing off wealth and power. While the toilette started with the French monarchy, in becoming a ritual for the rest of society, the non-royals could emulate the power and style of the monarchy.

A perhaps unintended consequence of turning dressing into a performance is dressing then becomes playing a part. Just as a theater performance is false reality, a woman dressing is emulating a false reality of herself. On the one hand, this performance she is beginning could be an act of submission. As viewers watch her body on display, with each layer she becomes the woman society wants her to be— beautiful, accomplished in the arts, and most importantly a dutiful daughter, wife, and mother. On the other hand, this performance could be an act of rebellion. While society wants to mold the woman into one ideal, with each layer she makes herself into who she wants to be and takes control of herself. The Petit Dictionnaire de la Cour wrote in 1788 that "a charming woman uses more subtlety and politics in her dressing than there are in all the governments of Europe."


The Toilette from William Hogarth's Marriage a la Mode series, 1743-1745.

A similar dichotomy can be seen with men, with the act of dressing either turning a man into a dutiful son or respectable patriarch, or expressing his personal fashion taste which may have been in rebellion to his family or societies' expectations (for example, many young Englishmen, returning from a Grand Tour of continental Europe, would dress in a flamboyant French style, much to the disapproval of the more subdued English view on fashion). It may be argued that taking control of ones identity was far less important for a man, as he already had greater personal autonomy in society. But it may also be argued that men too were under pressure to fit into a certain mold- father sons, run estates, be active in politics, etc- when their desire may have been for another path in life. Society wanted Louis XVI to be a great and gallant monarch like his predecessors, while the man himself was quiet and shy and had no taste for the court ceremonies he nonetheless was forced to participate in (his wife, on the other hand, bucked tradition entirely which greatly contributed to her downfall, but that's for another post).

The Maasai peoples are pastoral nomads, living in the Serengeti Plains. Their wealth, livelihood, and religion all revolve around cattle. The Maasai have also cleverly adapted to increasing globalization. They charge a fee for any photographs taken of them, using Western curiosity about traditional African cultures to their advantage.


Maasai people in their shukas.

The main garment worn by the Maasai is the shuka, which is a basic piece of fabric that can be worn in a variety of ways, depending on the personal style of the wearer. It was initially made out of animal skins, mostly cowhide but never elephant skin, but cotton is now the main material. The fabric is rubbed with color or dye to make it red, becoming a sort of camouflage with the red dirt of that part of Africa. In the dry grass plains the shuka can be white to camouflage with the grain.


Maasai warriors.

Maasai life is predicated by age sets. For men there are three stages. Childhood, warriorhood, and elderhood. A boy reaches warriorhood around the age of 15, undergoing a series of rituals called almal lengipaata. The warriorhood is the most fabulous time of a mans life, and lasts for about fifteen to twenty years. A young man in warriorhood can be recognized by his appearance. The hair is grown out and braided in very intricate patterns, sometimes using as much as 16 strands at a time. They wear earrings and bracelets, as well as beaded necklaces that hang down the front and back of their bodies. They also wear symbols to show off their achievements. The errap is worn around the top part of the arm, made of leather with coils of metal wire in the front and the back, and shows that this man has fought and killed another man. The Olawaru is a lions mane headdress, meant to show that the man has killed a lion. The enkuwaru is a headdress made of ostrich plumes, meant to show that the man has fought a lion but the lion survived. The body is decorated with white limestone chalk in intricate non-symbolic patterns, and the hair is colored red with ochre and animal fat.


Elaborately braided hair colored with ochre.

The transition from warriorhood to elderhood takes place during a ceremony called the eunoto, which can be extremely traumatic because all of the mans carefully tended hair is shaved off by his mother. The first man to have his head shaved wears a leather cape called an engilaa alamal. The head is then covered in ochre. The elders are expected to take a wife and have children and take on serious responsibilities within the tribe. He will carry a fly whisk made from an elephant tail as a symbol of authority.


Maasai women.

There are only two stages of life for women, childhood and adulthood. A woman enters adulthood after she has undergone circumcision. Mothers of warriors wear surutia, coiled metal medallions. If her son is the first to get his head shaved during the eunoto ceremony, he wears his mothers surutia and it becomes loosurutia. Married women can also wear elongated leather earrings. But the main distinguishing feature for women is their elaborate beaded collars, which are higher in front and lower in back. The collars are made by the women themselves, and thus become more elaborate as women grow and acquire more skill. Heads are shaved to show off the beaded collars, which move around when the women dance.

Beads in particular have some meaning to the Maasai, with red beads having a connection to blood, blue beads having a connection to the heavens and the Gods, and green beads having a connection to prosperity, fertility of the land, and peace. All other colors are purely decorative.

When Louis XIV came to the throne at the age of four in 1643, French kings had already begun the process of turning France into an absolutist state where the monarch was the absolute authority, his power coming from divine right. Throughout Louis' reign he continued transforming France, especially focusing on reigning in the aristocracy. Traditionally, the aristocracy held a great deal of power, and because France was such a vast territory they were not easily monitored. Aristocrats ruled over their lands like unofficial Kings, thus threatening the power of the actual monarch himself. Louis had several methods for dealing with the aristocracy, giving them privilege but not power. He moved the royal court to the palace at Versailles, and the aristocracy was constantly at court, vying for his royal favor and subsequently staying under his watchful eye.

A perfect example of this system of monitoring the aristocracy is red heels on shoes. Louis declared that only those in the royal favor were allowed the privilege of having red heels on their shoes, allowing everyone to show off when they were in favor. Red heels was like sitting at the popular kids table in school, only the very coolest kids could wear them.


Louis XIV, painted by Hyacinthe Rigaud in 1701.

Suddenly, if you fell out of the royal favor, everyone would know. It's bad enough to be out of the royal favor, it's even worse when you have to advertise it to the world. It was the perfect method for controlling a once unruly upper class. Aristocrats behaved themselves and they didn't have to face the shame of not having red heels on their shoes.


Louis XIV and his family, c. 1715-1720

Notice Louis' grandson, dressed in red and standing to the right. While Louis and his son (standing to the left) are wearing red heels on their shoes, his grandson is not, signaling that he was out of favor around the time this picture was created.

The connection between red heels and the monarchy lasted well past Louis XIV. In 1780 a pamphlet attacking Marie Antoinette was released, entitled Portefeuille d'un talon rouge (the wallet of a red heel). Red heels had become just one more symbol of the absolutist system that was beginning to tear the country apart.


Shoes by Christian Louboutin

Here are some fierce Christian Louboutin shoes. All Louboutin shoes have the inside of the heels and the sole painted red, perhaps a nod to the flashy cabaret girls that originally inspired the designer. For me, I always connect these modern red heels with Louis XIV. After all, wearing a pair of Louboutin shoes expresses the same ideals as wearing red heels in the 17th and 18th centuries- wealth, privilege, and a place in the choicest of social circles.

I will do a head-to-toe post on men's 18th century fashion later, a head-to-toe post being a basic overview of one particular style from head to toe, but for the purposes of this post, here is what you need to know about men's 18th century fashion. Men wore what we know today as the three piece suit. This consisted of a coat, a waistcoat (like a vest), and breeches, which are very tight pants that go to the knee. There are other components of men's fashion, but as I said I'll discuss them later. What I want to look at today is how these three pieces evolved throughout the century. Or rather how two of the three pieces evolved, as the breeches pretty much stay the same. Here is what you probably think of when you hear "18th century man".



This is Gustav III of Sweden and his brothers in 1771. Sleek, fitted, and very suave. But at the beginning of the century, fashion was still retaining some of the bulkiness and heavy feeling of the baroque period.



These two gentlemen are from an illustration from 1725 (I apologize for the size, it's the best I can do). Their coats have a huge amount of fullness in the skirt and the cuffs are enormous, lending a sense of heaviness to the garment. If you've ever studied art history, you know that one characteristic of 17th century art is that it's very heavy. Eighteenth century art, in contrast, has a very light, frothy feel. This translates to fashion (as well as architecture, music, all art forms reflect each other, it's really fascinating). These styles retain the heaviness and bulk of the 17th century, whereas the clothing worn by Gustav and his brothers has the light feel associated with the 18th century. Another thing to notice is that the coats also have the ability to close all the way.



This gentleman from 1724 has his coat open, so that you can see his waistcoat. It continues in the fullness of the coat, and goes down to his knees.



Our next dashing gentleman is from 1746. His waistcoat is also long, but the fullness in the skirt of the coat has gone down, and his sleeve cuffs have gotten smaller. In all, his coat is starting to get a sleeker appearance.



Here we've made it to 1753-4. As you can see, things have definitely slimmed down. The sleeve cuffs have shortened considerably, and in doing so have lost a lot of their fullness. Although he's sitting down, you can see the the coat skirt is significantly narrower. The coat itself has started to slope back at the bottom, and so it can't necessarily button all the way down. This is a great example of a really common phenomenon in fashion- something starts out as functional and becomes non-functional but very fashionable. Buttons and buttonholes started as function, at this point they are mere decoration. His waistcoat has also gotten shorter.

Here's a gentleman from 1771 who is standing, to give you a better idea of what I mean.



Note how these changes give a much lighter, more elegant appearance.



Our final contestant is from 1795. His sleeve cuffs are gone, the waistcoat ends at the actual waist, and his coat slopes back considerably, creating what you might think of as a tailcoat. Men are now ready to enter the Regency period.

Please note that these are just general trends, and individual styles my vary.