Month: March 2018

July, 1917 

        I will forever remember today for the rustle of muslin as the summer breeze drifted through the pleats of my skirt,  fluttering my hem about the ankles. The large, soft floral pattern printed upon the muslin quietly echoes the shades of olive green and pastel pink which surround me, while the pink silk piping outlines my best features. The netting and lace which drape from my neck and elbows is feminine, yet tasteful. Unlike the fashions of the previous generation, those of silk and elaborate beading, the purely frivolous must be forgone in favour of such styles as may also be practical. As Women’s Wear states, women must be well dressed, but “the ultra-extreme to be considered taboo” (“Dress Demand Differs”). For these are times of war; sombre and patriotic. Yet my delicate, feminine silhouette demonstrates that, while the men in distant France fight and fall, here in Toronto the demands of day to day life continue. While I understand from my companions that changes for women were in motion before war broke out in Europe, the strain upon the nation’s workforce has accelerated women’s integration into roles beyond the home. While men and resources have been directed to the war front for some time now, this month marks the first time when conscription will be implemented (Acton 282). As such, I expect there will be more asked of the women who are left to fill the void. I only hope that I might offer my mistress some support in the endeavours that will come her way.

         She, like so many other women, has been empowered by this movement towards a working life. This increase in a female workforce has been speculated to be the reason why the garment industry remains, despite rationing and restrictions; women are bringing in their own income and are able to manage their own dress allowance (Acton, 280;“Lack of Economy”). I believe this is aided by the very practical and sensible Canadian style. Again, I refer to the wisdom put forth by Women’s Wear which recognizes that while Canadian consumers are aware of new fashions, they remain keen on styles which are more conservative and longer lasting (“Outlook for Dresses Good”). I personally believe this is the best fashion tendency, especially in these uncertain times. I myself am proud to be Canadian and feel that I do embody such trends. For example, the lovely muslin draping from the waist and emphasizing the hips as well as my pastel shades (“Outlook for Dress Good).

September, 1920

       It has been a couple of years since I was last out with my mistress. The fashions have changed and my waist-cinching silhouette is no longer desirable. In these post-war years, clothing has adopted a more linear, boyish shape which my full, gathered skirt and floral motif could never hope to achieve. And having spent this past summer behind the doors of the wardrobe once again, I understand that I have ceased to be a prized garment. I no longer offer her any value within society, and I am resigned to become a relic of a society gone by. My muslin shows the signs of wear, of the good days spent in service to my mistress. The conjunction of under sleeve and bodice no longer discreetly hides marks of perspiration, my flesh- toned muslin stained an unsightly yellow. The same can be said of my collar and cuffs, the lace showing my age and time of service. Here and there are scattered patches of discolouration and stains. Sadly, I do believe that my best days are behind me.

1970

       Having spent the last fifty years shuffled slowly from the naively hopeful back of a wardrobe to the depressing docility of a dark attic clothing rack, today marked a movement in towards a cautiously optimistic outlook. Here’s what happened:

       The descendants of my former mistress, upon deciding to clear out the old attic brought me to the rummage sale put on by the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Having long ago lost any belief in my value, it came as no surprise when a tag was pinned to me declaring my worth at a mere fifty cents (Mida to Harlow). Once a garment at the height of fashion, sought after as a commodity which brought status, I was reintroduced to the marketplace at a price intended to rid themselves of my association. What I had learned long ago through my dismissal at the hands of my mistress was quantified by an amount less than one dollar. Society dismissed me, and at no value as a wearable garment, neither did I hold an emotional value to my mistress’s family.

        But despite this low-marked price, my value was evident to a very unique individual. His name is Alan Suddon. Despite me missing my waist sash, Suddon seemed to see my beauty. I could once again remember the feeling of the wind rustling through my fabric and all the possibilities I once offered. Mr. Suddon could see the significance of my history, and purchased not just myself as a garment today, but all of what I have experienced. He has been collecting old garments since 1957, appreciating what these pieces- so often thrown away- have to offer, preserving them in what is fast becoming one of the most substantial collections in the country (Finding New Homes for Dress Collections, 2). I am eager to see where this new adventure will bring, and what pages may come in my story. A story which I believed to have ended long ago.

April, 1976

        These last few years in Alan Suddon’s personal collection have been quite interesting. As a founding member of the Costume Society of Ontario, which was formed shortly after my introduction into the collection, it has become even more evident to me just how much Mr. Suddon sees the cultural significance embodied by us old garments. It is remarked upon by many, the pride which Alan Suddon feels in his gathered garments.

   Not only was I being valued, perhaps not in the same manner I once was, I was once again fulfilling my role. I was enclothing a body; a woman was made to feel beautiful by my presence. I had a cultural significance and could take pride in who I was. Soon, though, my age began to show. I was tired and could no longer keep up with the demands of a moving body. I was delicate to begin with. My centre front closure of snaps was not supported by reinforcement, my seams began to give in places and the signs of wear grew. I suspect that it was this aging that led Mr. Suddon to remove my once elegant pink satin collar. Remnants of it remain, but they are disguised by the tiers of lace at my neck. He began to recognize the threat these dress up parties posed to the continuation of our story.

       Unlike a living body, a dress form offers a perfect opportunity for my beauty to be appreciated and admired without causing too much strain on my construction. Mr. Suddon had six such dress forms set up in the living room of his home The day I was selected to be one of these special six garments was one that I had greatly looked forward to. I have just been put back away after this time on display. My feminine, floral elegance was on show to the Suddon family, any of his guests and to the many people who walked by the house and could see me through the living room window (Mida, Kim 4; Joyce). Being able to see the sunshine glimmer through the branches of the tree outside sparked memories of my summertime youth.

February, 2018

        I cannot believe that this year marks my one hundred and first year of existence. Strange to think that I once believed my value to have expired. While every year since my construction was not remarkable, there have been some significant moments in which my worth has influenced my role in Toronto society. Today marked another important evolution in my value. While I once again was commoditized during the sale of the late Mr. Suddon’s collection, I believe that here in the Fashion Research Collection at Ryerson I have attained a status of permanent (at least for the foreseeable future) singularization (Kopytoff). While I was once priced at fifty cents, what I have to offer to the students of fashion is priceless, and beyond the sphere of the commodity. My significance to society has become my role as a didactic tool. I was pulled out from the archives for what my history can show. My fabrics, construction techniques, and signs of wear reveal much about the narrative history of fashion in Ontario. This particular student’s previous interaction with historical dress once limited to reproductions, I was able to expand her studies and learning experience to encompass a tactile existence.

Dress deatils clockwise: Collar front, collar side, sleeve, skirt embellishment

(Photos courtesy of Ingrid Mida)

Works Cited

Acton, Janice, Penny Goldsmith, and Bonnie Shepard. Women at Work : Ontario, 1850-1930. Canadian Women’s

Educational Press, 1974.

Bennett, Jane. (2010). Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things..Durham, NC: Duke University Press, (pp. 1-19)

Carter, Joyce. “Crowd of Headless Dummies Display Dad’s Antigue Finery.” The Globe and Mail (1936-Current), 1972,

pp.12.

“Dresses: Curved Openings, Bright Colored Pipings, Fur Trimmings on Serge and Cloth Frocks.”Women’s Wear, 1917,

pp.10.

“Dresses: Dress Demand in Canada Differs from that of Ante Bellum Days.” Women’s Wear, 1917, pp. 10.

“Dresses: Hand Work in Sheer Lingerie Fabrics in Pastel Shades- Handkerchief Linens Beaded.” Women’s Wear, 1917,

         pp. 10.

“Dresses: Outlook for Dresses Good Across Canadian Border — Radical Changes in theSilhouette Frowned upon.”

Women’s Wear, 1917, pp. 10, 18.

Kopytoff, Igor. “The cultural biography of things: commoditization as process”. The Social Life of Things: Commodities in

Cultural Perspective, edited by Arjun Appadurai,Cambridge University Press, 2013, 64-92.

“Lack of Economy Shown in Dress: Women Not Showing Signs of Thrift, is British Opinion have More Money Now and

are Spending it–Footwear and Millinery Expenditures–Poor Response to Committee’s Appeal.” The Globe (1844-

1936), 1916, pp. 13.

Mida, Ingrid, and Alexandra Kim. The Dress Detective: A Practical Guide to Object-Based Research in

Fashion. Bloomsbury Academic, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 2015.

Mida, Ingrid. “Re: Photos of the Dress”. Received by Sara Harlow, 12 February, 2018. 

Mida, Ingrid and Alexandra Kim. “Finding New Homes for Dress Collections: The Case Study of the Suddon- Cleaver

Collection”. Fashion Theory, vol. 7419, 2018 pp. 1-21.

Miscellaneous Fashions: Vogue pattern service. (1917, Mar 01). Vogue, 49, 81-81, 82, 83, 84, 85,86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92,

93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104.

Theoretical Framework

One of the key ideas to emerge from theories of material culture is the communicative power of objects. This communicative power is amplified when applied to dress artifacts, which, by virtue of their interaction with the artifact of the human body, are given extra layers of meaning. There is a sort of inherent honesty to material culture artifacts that textual accounts do not have; as Ingrid Mida and Alexandra Kim articulate in The Dress Detective, this is due to the fact that “clothing and accessories […] are objects created by man and thus reflect the cultural milieu in which they were designed, created, and worn.” (Kim, Mida, 12) This mention of the reflection of knowledge in the wearing of a garment is part of what makes material culture analysis different from textual analysis, for example – it is much more difficult to ‘cheat’ the way a garment was worn.

Studying clothing is significant to the study of culture because it reflects both the wearer’s habitat and cultural identity. Tom Svensson contends that it is second only to verbal communication in its communicative powers, particularly among Northern peoples, and I will be borrowing from his theoretical framework and turning it towards North American Inuit garments. His article, written about the Sami people of northern Sweden, Finland, and Norway, provides some general insights into the types of messages communicated by their various types of dress that he claims can be extrapolated to a wide variety of northern communities. He claims that their clothing makes a statement about their identity within a culture (displaying group identity and the individual’s status within the group) and makes culture-specific statements that reflect their norms and standards to individuals both within and exterior to the group.

He also posits the concept of a ‘language of clothing’ that points to three separate elements of a given culture: the available environmental resources (which is particularly important when considering Indigenous clothing, as it is often heavily influenced by their home region and what is available within it), technical developments (referring to the techniques used for construction such as cutting, sewing, and the preparation of the natural materials they may be using), and cultural standards (which help reinforce the prevailing practical and aesthetic norms of the culture) (Svensson, 62).

Rather than generally exploring the clothing practices of North American Inuit peoples, I will be more specifically examining the winter parka, as I have access to a modern-day example and wish to compare and contrast between historical practices of parka-making (and wearing) and current ones via a material culture analysis of this garment. We would not immediately presume to refer to culturally-specific Indigenous dress as a ‘fashion’, but we should perhaps examine why we are hesitant to do so; in Dress Detective, a ‘fashion’ is a garment or accessory that “reflects ‘the cultural construction of embodied identity’” (Kim, Mida, 18). Within that definition, the Inuit parka would certainly qualify as a ‘fashion’, and I would encourage readers to think of it as such, if only to begin to distance the term ‘fashion’ from its often Western connotations.

A Brief History of Inuit Parkas and their Cultural Significance

My examination of the history of parkas begins in the early twentieth century, although of course these communities have been on this land, producing their own garments, for much longer than that. I specifically aimed to study the parkas of the Inuvialuit people of the Mackenzie Delta, which is an area of the Northwest Territories near the Mackenzie River and the area where it flows into the Arctic Ocean. This is the same area from which my modern parka originates.

In the early twentieth century, the parkas of Inuvialuit people were more similar to those worn by the Alaskan and Siberian people than they were to those found in the rest of Canada. Writing in 1914, Vilhjalmur Steffanson said that the styles of the two groups had become so similar that differences could only be discerned through extensive, detailed questioning (cited in Issenman, 100). At that time, men’s parkas were described thusly: “the parka is a loose, flared pullover that reaches below the hip, with a round hood that comes forward from the face and is made of the animal’s headskin. The lower edge is even and rounded.” (Issenman, 100). Women’s parkas differed from the men’s in a few significant ways: “[the parkas] had a large hood and neckline, wide shoulders, narrowed waist, and long, broad flaps that rose in a gentle curve to the thigh” (Issenman, 102). The most common way for women to wear their hair was in a coil atop their head, which the hoods accommodated, and some augmentations were made with child-rearing in mind: “the back of the amauti had a full cut over the back and neck rather than the pierced amaut known in other parts of Canada. Because of the fullness, a child could still be held against the mother’s back, secured by the amauti cord.” (Issenman, 102). An amauti (or amaut; the terms are often used interchangeably) is the name for a specific style of women’s parka that has a pouch sewn below the hood specifically for the purpose of carrying a child. To an outsider, it can simply appear as if the child is resting inside of the parka’s hood (and is often represented erroneously in artwork as such), but it is, in fact, a separate structure.

The amauti is an example of cultural values communicated through the design of a garment, as suggested by Svensson. Guislane Lamey of the McCord Museum in Montreal outlines some of these cultural connotations in an interview for Up Here Magazine. For the first two or three years of their life, Inuit babies are carried almost constantly by their mothers: “it’s like a uterus. This is a place where mother and child have a very close contact, have a very close dialogue. It’s a privileged space between mother and child” (Ryder).

The parkas also communicate information about the technical developments, to return to Svensson’s idea of clothing language. Cathy Towtongie, an Inuit woman who was taught how to make traditional-style parkas by her elders and continues to do so, elaborates on the highly technical forms of construction that the garments require: “dealing with caribou skin, I prefer to have it shot second week in August or towards the last week, between August and September, not any further. The skin is good for clothing and for breathability, for survival and for perspiration” (Ryder). These carefully-selected skins must then be sewn using a very particular form of stitching using sinew; the stitches must be both durable and flexible, but must also avoid creating any holes in the fur. This technique could take years to master.

These parkas are created specially for the individual wearer; their body is the only pattern used in production. As such, these are highly singular objects, to borrow from Igor Kopytoff; while a parka may be handed down within a family, my assumption is that they would be difficult to exchange due to the highly personal nature of their creation.

Material Culture Analysis: The Modern Inuit Parka

With this information about traditional parkas in mind, I would now like to analyse a parka purchased in Inuvik, Northwest Territories in the 1980s-1990s. I will be loosely following the method laid out by Kim and Mida in The Dress Detective to do so, and will be contrasting my findings about this modern parka against what I have read about traditional parkas to try and identify differences in the communicated cultural meanings.

This parka is one that belongs to my mother. She purchased it while living in Inuvik between 1980 and 1990, from local Inuvialuit manufacturers. There is only one label, sewn somewhat crudely to the interior of the parka, which identifies the makers as SEA (or S&A) Outerwear from Inuvik, Northwest Territories, Canada (fig 5). There is no care label identifying the materials used in construction, so I must rely on self-reporting from the coat’s owner for several details. She believes the interior to be polyester, the shell to be a cotton mix, and the fur trim on the hood to be wolf fur. The parka is largely machine-sewn, with the exception of the decorative yellow stitching on the parka’s pockets and upper layer, which was done by hand. This parka maintains the thigh-grazing hemline mentioned as a feature of women’s parkas by Issenman, but lacks any amauti-like features.

There are some immediate, obvious differences between this parka and a more traditional one. The clearest difference is the materials used; very few regionally-specific resources were used to make the modern parka. It employs only wolf fur, whereas a traditional parka would be entirely constructed from animal hides procured from the region. The modern parka communicates less about the environmental resources of the Mackenzie Delta as a result. The modern parka communicates a different message about technical developments, as well; it shows that, with the advent of more modern technologies, the Inuvialuit people were able to adapt their existing patterns and methods to incorporate these new methods. This likely made it much more efficient to produce parkas; not only was a significant amount of time required to learn how to perform the traditional hand-stitching method with sinew, it was also highly technical and often had to be undone and restarted (Ryder). If the traditional parkas were highly singular objects, this modern parka, by comparison, is much more common; I would argue that it has more value as a commodity than the traditional parkas, which have primarily cultural value. I could continue to wear this parka after my mother, or she could sell or donate it with little difficulty.

It can be easy to see this more modern style of parka as having fewer cultural connotations than the traditional version due to its more mass-market materials and construction method. However, I think the newer style mirrors some changes in values among the Inuvialuit (and other Indigenous peoples): namely, cultural conservation. After the attempted eradication of Indigenous cultures via forced enrollment at residential schools, many elements of these cultures are in danger of being lost to history. Adapting to more modern modes of production allows garments such as the winter parka to be produced on a wider scale, which facilitates their transmission of cultural values. With that being said, a more modern parka such as this is missing the valuable information that is communicated via the usage of traditional materials such as caribou skins and sinew stitching, so I believe it is still vital that these traditional methods be preserved and taught – the wider consumption of modern parkas may serve to reignite interest in these culturally rich methods.

For fun, I also had my mother send me some photos of a very similar parka she purchased for me as a toddler; this smaller version is also made by SEA/S&A outwear, but the trim on the hood is not real fur. My mother grew up in the Northwest Territories, but we only lived there as a family for a short time when I was very small, so this coat and a surprisingly large collection of tiny moccasins are my only memories of that time.

For Discussion:

Do you believe there has been a shift in the values represented by Indigenous crafts? If so, what sort of shifts? If not, why? (This question is purely speculative, of course).

References

Issenman, Betty. Sinews of Survival: the Living Legacy of Inuit Clothing. UBC Press in Association with ÉTudes Inuit, 2000.

Kopytoff, Igor. “The Cultural Biography of Things: Commoditization as Process.” in The Social Life of Things, ed. Arjun Appadurai, Cambridge University Press, 1986, pp. 65–91.

Mida, Ingrid, and Alexandra Kim. The Dress Detective: a Practical Guide to Object-Based Research in Fashion. Bloomsbury Academic, 2015.

Ryder, Kassina. “Anatomy Of An Amauti.” Up Here Magazine, Up Here Publishing, 15 June 2017, uphere.ca/articles/anatomy-amauti.

Svensson, Tom G. “Clothing in the Arctic: A Means of Protection, a Statement of Identity.” Arctic, vol. 45, no. 1, 1992.

Stefansson, Vilhjalmur. “The Stefansson-Anderson Arctic Expedition: A Preliminary Ethnological Report.” Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, vol. 14, ser. 1, 1914.

A lot of women are obsessed with shoes, for me it is handbags! I cannot really tell what it is, but there is something about them that is very special and beautiful. I think it all started in my childhood, spending time with my mom while she was getting herself ready, sitting in her closet full of precious handbags. I used to be fascinated by these mysterious objects that formed her collection. To this day, I can remember the feeling of my fingers carefully touching the different fabrics and textures of satin, leather and velvet. She had one for every occasion, adding the perfect finishing touch to all of her ensembles. One thing I used to love doing was to look at  all of the things she could hide inside of them, most of the time forgotten objects from a dinner date the week before or old train tickets from one of her many travels. Red lipsticks, scrunched paper bills or sample glass bottles of Yves Saint Laurent, her handbags gave me access to a whole other side of my mom’s life, and still today make me dream of the women that she is. My appreciation and admiration for her handbags went beyond the recognition of the pretty objects that they were (J. Bennet 365). Through these objects, I felt connected to her in a way that I could not access otherwise, a side of her that as a mother, she kept hidden from me. I think that my fascination for her handbags, which stimulated my imagination by offering me a glimpse into a world I could not be part of just yet, reflected my desire to discover her as a woman as well as my curiosity towards adult life (J. Bennet 365). Like many other little girls, I could not wait to be old enough to have my own handbag and to fill it with all of my precious things and carry them around everywhere I go. My memories of these objects of my childhood have somehow shaped my vision towards fashion today and transformed into my passion for vintage handbags. I love the idea of buying a bag that has its own past and carries memories of another woman’s life. I collect vintage handbags as much as I collect the stories that they come with (Kopytoff 87). The item I have chosen for this analysis is not only one of my favourite, but also the first I ever bought as a consumer of second-hand garments and accessories.

The following analysis has been made following Ingrid Mida’s methodology for observation and reflection contained in her book The Dress Detective.

It is a kelly-style top handle bag from the 50s, that I found in my local vintage shop back home in Montreal Called Ruse Boutique, located at  5141 St-Laurent Boulevard. Commonly called by vintage boutique owners and online sellers the “French handbag” (see figure 6), this small bag is made out of a rather stiff structure and closes at the top with a metal clasp. Its exterior is made out of a black fine suede with brass hardware while the interior is completely lined with a shiny black satin fabric. On the inside zipper pocket, there is an inscription of the brand which says “Michel of Coronet” indicating that it was most probably made in New-York, where the Coronet inc. Handbags company was located (see figures 7 and 9). According to the seller of this bag, as well as the shape and the particularities of its style, it was most likely made between 1950 and 1960 (see figure 1). For the purpose of this short analysis, I have searched online for other handbags produced by this company approximately around the same period, which can give a good idea of what the brand was known for in the accessory market (see figures 3, 4 and 5). Considering its age, the bag is in very good condition, showing only subtle signs of wear, mainly around the edges of the suede exterior. The finesse of the brass hardware as well as the attention to details in the finish of the leather and lining, make this bag very unique. It is a rather delicate bag which contrasts with its purpose as a daytime accessory which I guessed by its rather larger size, making it more practical than other small evening bags.

It is 7,5 inches wide by 8,5 inches tall and its base is 3 inches deep. When fully extended, the opening measures 5 inches, which allows the user to fit larger items into it. The triangular shape of the bag (see figure 2) makes it easier to organize and store its contents without deforming its exterior structure. It has only one handle which is attached to one side of the bag with two small brass hoops, on both sides of the clasp closure. When fully extended the handle is 7 inches tall. There are three pockets on the inside compartment, one with a zipper closure and two other on each side that can fit flat items like cards, for example (see figure 7). The rest of the interior is free from any compartments and offers one large space that can be extended by pushing the sides out if needed (see figure 10). The overall structure of the bag seems to be made of some sort of rigid cardboard which allows for movement while being stiff enough to preserve its shape.

I fell in love with this bag not only because I thought it was unique, but also because of its outstandingly well preserved condition. The minimal marks on it show that either it was barely worn by its previous owner or that it has been taken care of relatively well. Even the inside of the handle and the bottom part are practically intact which is quite rare when it comes to vintage bags from that period. Another factor that might have influenced its well preserved condition is that during this period, fashion accessories were extremely popular and worn by women of almost every social class (Wilcox 99). In fact, women in the 50s generally used to own more than one handbag and therefore, some of them were only worn on special occasions and sometimes bought to wear with a specific outfit which would explain why a lot of bags from that period are so well preserved (Wilcox 99).

Another element that I love about this bag is that it is very characteristic of the decade in which it was made. In fact, the 50s, the introduction of the New Look by Dior marked a shift in fashion towards more feminine garments which also had influence in the design of accessories (Stone quoted in J. Leonard 1). Although critiqued for bringing back this idea of fragility associated with femininity, the new vision of Dior was also a celebration of elegance and grace (Edwina 38). At the time, handbags came in different shapes and materials, but one of the most popular styles were very structured bags built on a metal frame which conferred them this chic and sophisticated look and completed the well defined silhouette of women’s dress (Wilcox 100).

Here are some examples of very classic shapes women by women during this decade:

I can only imagine a woman, wearing this beautiful bag over her elbow, going about her day with elegance and confidence, much like this photo of Audrey Hepburn taken during this period and wearing a similar bag (see figure 13).  A lot of celebrities and style  icons of this time were seen and photographed wearing this particular style of bag, which probably helped to increase their popularity.

The constantly rising demand and popularity of handbags and accessories during this period, alongside with the evolution in technologies in the industries of wood and plastic gave access to a wide range of materials which allowed to create more unique designs that reinvented the classics of previous decades (Johnson 3). Designers, during the 50s started to really play and experiment with their creations by incorporating materials such as plastic and wood (See figure 14). Although their handbag designs were getting more innovative, most photographs from this period show that the overall shapes were somehow pretty similar and consisted in most common cases of a top handled style (Johnson 3).

Maybe it is the nostalgia of the pieces created in this decade that reflect my fascination for vintage pieces, or maybe it is more the stories I like to imagine in my head, but I find that there is something special about wearing second hand pieces. Despite the fact that my appreciation of this bag is very personal and that I am fully aware that the vision I have of it might not be shared by others, I am pretty much certain that everyone who will read this article will somehow relate to my feeling and be able to think of an object that for some reason they think is special. As mentioned by Elizabeth Wilson, relation between people and garments can go far beyond materiality and aesthetic (379). In her essay Magic Fashion she state that certain pieces can “take on qualities of the wearer and of the occasions on which they were worn. Their feel and smell come to represent memories, conscious and unconscious. They are far from being simply functional adjuncts to the body, or even a language of communication, although of course they are that too, but take on symbolic significance in ways of which we are not always even aware” (379). I believe that my relation to my mother and her beautiful handbags shaped my perception of this object and the emotional value I attribute it. In a way, it express the concept of singularization introduced by Igor Kopytoff which could be explained here as my fascination for this particular object that goes against its value as a commodity in today’s society (69). In contrast to my own lived experiences and memories, I can not disregard the cultural influences that made me fall in love with that particular style of bags, which, as represented by the photographs above, embody this   classic and timeless elegance of the 50s. Somehow, I can not stop wondering if it is this particular bag that evokes sweet memories from my childhood which make my appreciation of it deeper and more meaningful, or if it is actually my personal relation to handbags influenced by my mother that is projected into this particular bag and therefore makes its value more significant.  Nevertheless I will keep thinking that objects have more impact on us than we think and that it is by paying attention to what particular ones evoke in us that we can best appreciate their value and how they impact our lives.

Works cited 

Bennett, Jane. “The Force of Things: Steps Toward an Ecology of Matter.” Political Theory, vol. 32, no. 3, 2004, pp. 347-372.

Johnson, Donald-Brian. “Purses with Personality Novelty Handbags of the 1940s, ’50s, and ’60s.” Antiques & Collecting Magazine, vol. 112, no. 7, 09, 2007, pp. 44-49, Research Library: Business; Research Library: History; Research Library: The Arts, ezproxy.lib.ryerson.ca/login?url=https://search-proquest-com.ezproxy.lib.ryerson.ca/ docview/197190394?accountid=13631.

Kopytoff, Igor. “The cultural biography of things: commoditization as process,” in Arjun Appadurai, The Social Life of Things, Cambridge University Press, 1986, pp.65-91.

Leonard, Katherine J. “Women’s Perceptions of their Appearances in their Professional Careers between 1950 and 1975”, University of Minnesota, Ann Arbor, 2007, ProQuest Dissertations & Theses Global, ezproxy.lib.ryerson.ca/login?url=https://search-proquest- com.ezproxy.lib.ryerson.ca/docview/304840543?accountid=13631.

McCann, Edwina. “THE LEGACY OF CHRISTIAN DIOR: 1 Edition.” The Australian, 2007.

Mida, Ingrid, and Alexandra Kim. The Dress Detective: A Practical Guide to Object-Based Research in Fashion. Bloomsbury Academic, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 2015.

Wilcox, Claire, Elizabeth d. Currie, and Victoria and Albert Museum. bags. Thames & Hudson in association with the Victoria and Albert Museum, 2017.

Wilson, Elizabeth. “Magic Fashion.” Fashion Theory, vol. 8, no. 4, 2004, pp. 375-385.

“Here, you can have this back. I think if we continue to wash it will fade away,” my husband alerts me while handing me back a sweatshirt he had taken from my closet sixteen years before (see fig. 1). My father had bought it for me sometime in the mid-nineties when I was a teenager. Usually, fashion information, dressing habits, clothing exchange and even consumer purchase attitudes appear from the relationship between mothers and daughters (Appleford 153; Kestler and Paulins 314). Not in my case. Most of my knowledge and taste for anything related to design comes from my father, an industrial designer who enjoys fashion more than my mother ever did. I was around 15 years old, living in my native country, Brazil, and desperately wishing to own designer clothes my father could not afford. He then proposed a deal that would benefit us both: he would buy male garments from the brands I wanted so we could share. That is why this sweatshirt fits my husband and me. He had found this garment when he was looking for an old piece of clothing to wear to sleep. I had stopped wearing this sweatshirt because it no longer spoke to me and its fashionable life had finished. My husband wore it as a pyjama top until last year, when it started to rip apart (see fig. 2). The fabric is becoming thinner on the elbows; side seams are split open, there is a hole on one armpit, and the sleeves openings are tearing into shreds.

Brazilian fashion and the 1990s

I cannot recall precisely the year I acquired the sweatshirt, but I remember it was from the same brand store that appears on both labels, placed inside and outside close to the neckline (see fig 3). Launched in 1990, Zapping was the second line of Zoomp, one of the most influential denim brands at that time (Kherlakian 49). Their collections were aimed a young audience of people between 15 and 25 years-old (Lucchesi), designed to please distinct groups and tastes like urban art, hip-hop, skate and club cultures (Kherlakian 211). Zapping’s style evolved over the decade with the mixing of references as its core principle and in line with anthropologist’s Ted Polhemus concept of “supermarket of style” (Polhemus 10; Palomino MorumbiFashion). Polhemus critiques the time when subcultures used style to set them apart from other groups, and, in the 1990s, there was a proliferation of style options that made everyone play and test all of what was available for consumption like cans of soup in a supermarket shelf (10). He saw this phenomenon as superficial because no one had a deep commitment to an idea like the mods or punks had in the past, thus resulting in fragmentation and inauthenticity like the cyberpunks, grunge haute couture or “acid jazzers” (Polhemus 11).

The Brazilian fashion industry in the nineteen-nineties was experiencing rapid expansion, boosted in part by economic stability and eagerness among fashion designers fresh out of university to build an identity compatible with the country’s culture (Bonadio 70). As Maria Claudia Bonadio explains, Brazil’s production had, so far, been associated with natural landscapes and indigenous and popular cultures (71). Brands like Osklen and Carlos Miele still explore “exoticism” in their designs, limiting the capacity for other themes to emerge within the fashion community that could potentially open more the national market for global exportation (72).

The brands I followed in that decade, were proposing a style as a blend of mainstream Brazilian culture and international trends from designers such as John Galliano for Dior, Prada and Helmut Lang (Palomino, Supermercado), to the streetwear movement unique to the city I was born, Sao Paulo. I remember that in my group of friends there was a desire to be part of a technologically advanced future, increasingly connected by the internet and the possibilities of knowledge that lingered in our imaginations at the end of the millennium. A T-shirt, a pair of jeans or sweatshirts were all used as symbols to represent our tastes in music, art and movies. It showed how we placed ourselves in groups of people like us, reaffirming Polhemus’ “supermarket of styles” idea, but with substance. “Deconstructivism, gender-bending and androgyny” were concepts that Zapping translated into clothing in a call for inclusiveness and a tool for self-expression (Palomino Jovens Desconstrutivistas). Embodied by the clashing of hair and makeup styles against normal clothes to create unusual looks such as a punk dressed in khakis (Fassina).

Despite materials like neoprene, vinyl, glazed cotton and plastic, Zapping had comfort as the ultimate goal (Folha de S. Paulo 3-12), and my sweatshirt is proof of that. It is probably made of cotton (the care label is missing) and is constructed with the fabric’s design side turned inwards bringing the inside texture outside and making it a design feature (see fig. 4). The overall sweatshirt appearance is rough, reinforced by the terracotta colour and the stripe print resembling a ripped piece of paper, originally yellow with another green stripe in the centre. Due to constant washing, the green stripe is now almost entirely faded. This print circulates around one sleeve, jumps diagonally to the bodice, ending on the other sleeve. The sweatshirt’s colour combination alludes to the natural Brazilian reddish soil, and its ripped effect caused by the uneven yellow and green stripes resembles a harvest mark on the dirt. Although sold as a male garment, the collar is wide (26cm, 10.25 inches), the cut is loose, making it comfortable to wear by any body type, therefore marking it as a unisex piece. The sweatshirt size is probably small (the size label is also missing) because both my father and I are short, so I suppose we bought it to fit us true-to-size. Since it was designed with the male body in mind, it fits me a little larger than in my husband. The bodice width is 29cm (11 inches), 65cm long (26 inches), the sleeves’ seams are dropped from the shoulder, and they sit at wrist length. All edge finishes on the neck, hem and sleeves lines are stitched to prevent unravelling making them roll inwards a little, reinforcing the rough appearance of the sweatshirt.

Material Culture

I had not noticed the importance the sweatshirt acquired over time until it was given back to me. My husband realized this when he told me to store it. I have a small collection of pieces, saved as reminders of people or periods that were important throughout my life. For example, there is a nightgown from one grandmother, a handkerchief from the other one, some of my kids’ baby clothes, my mother’s scarf and a party dress I wore to my best friend’s wedding. All those pieces have in common a design quality imbued with memory that is worth preserving like the Christian Dior handkerchief or the dress from the Brazilian luxury brand Huis Clos. They stood out from other objects I could have chosen to keep. Except for the sweatshirt, an ordinary piece of clothing, out of fashion, in a colour that no longer is appealing to me. But now, after so many years, the sweatshirt has a biography, its own story created when it changed from one body to another, acquiring different end-uses.

This sweatshirt’s life started as all clothing starts, as a commodity “produced materially as things, but also culturally marked as being a certain kind of thing” (Kopytoff 64). I purchased this piece in the middle of the nineteen-nineties, when it symbolized membership with a specific group of people. As per our agreement, my father wore this sweatshirt once, quickly realizing the style was too remarkably young for his almost 60 years of age, especially if compared to a denim jacket, from the same brand, we had shared before. After the sweatshirt was no longer interesting to me because it had lost its style allure, I had left it forgotten until my husband gave it a second life and another purpose. As Kopytoff explains, a commodity can be transformed as it loses its status as such, when it no longer has resale value, therefore, opening space for redefinition by an individual instead of belonging to a collective agreement (76).

A family object

My husband unconsciously altered the sweatshirt’s signification when he decided to wear it as a pyjama, therefore, enabling different haptic experiences that can affect a body attributing to it a new level of comfort. The perception of our surroundings mediated by this sweatshirt shows how one garment can influence in multiple ways different people, whereas “the body is fundamentally social in nature since we come to an understanding of ourselves through our interaction with others” (Negrin 118). While for me the comfort it provided my body begun to fade, the opposite was true for my husband, as the ageing textile provided him with the support he needed for sleeping. Bethan Bide reflects on how the objects we keep are capable of linking past and present; everyday garments have the power to tell a story of wear, evoke memories of time lived (451). For us, this sweatshirt will be kept carefully stored, entering the third phase in its biography, as a family object that tells a story of a connection across generations and between male and female bodies.

Works Cited

Appleford, Katherine. “Like Mother, Like Daughter: Lessons in Fashion Consumption, Taste and Class.” Families, Relationships and Societies, vol. 3, no. 1, 2014, pp. 153.

Bide, Bethan. “Signs of Wear: Encountering Memory in the Worn Materiality of a Museum Fashion Collection.” Fashion Theory, vol. 21, no. 4, 2017, pp. 449-28.

Bonadio, Maria C. “Brazilian Fashion and the ‘exotic’.” International Journal of Fashion Studies, vol. 1, no. 1, 2014, pp. 57-74.

Fassina, Cesar. “Conceito se Expande no Brasil.” Folha de S. Paulo, 14 mar 1997: 4-16. Web. 20 feb 2018.

https://acervo.folha.com.br/leitor.do?numero=13458&keyword=Zapping&anchor=5348873&origem=busca&pd=27de627a1aa8f4a4a13411e35e65e877

Lucchesi, Cristiane P. “Lee Vai Trazer Marca Riders para o Brasil.” Folha de S. Paulo, 1o jan 1994: 2-4.Web. 20 feb 2018.

https://acervo.folha.com.br/leitor.do?numero=12299&keyword=Zapping&anchor=4826038&origem=busca&pd=414d40feef5e1db52e2760f84680bb2f

Kestler, Jessica L., and V. A. Paulins. “Fashion Influences between Mothers and Daughters: Exploring Relationships of Involvement, Leadership, and Information Seeking.” Family and Consumer Sciences Research Journal, vol. 42, no. 4, 2014, pp. 313-329.

Kherlakian, Renato. Uns jeans… uns não. SENAI-SP, 2016.

Kopytoff, Igor. “The Cultural Biography of Things: Commoditization as Process.” The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, edited by Arjun Appadurai, Cambridge University Press, 2013, pp. 64-91.

Negrin, Llewellyn. “Maurice Merleau-Ponty: The Corporeal Experience of Fashion.” Thinking through Fashion: A Guide to Key Theorists. edited by Agnès Rocamora and Anneke Smelik, I.B. Tauris, 2016, pp. 115-131.

Polhemus, Ted. “No Supermercado do Estilo.” Revista Contracampo, vol. 35, no. 2, 2016, pp. 7.

Palomino, Erika. “Jovens Desconstrutivistas no Brasil.”

—. “MorumbiFashion Termina com Glamour e Profissionalismo.” Folha de S. Paulo, 27 feb 1997: 4-7.Web. 20 feb 2018.

https://acervo.folha.com.br/leitor.do?numero=13443&keyword=zapping&anchor=279549&origem=busca&pd=3362dcf146d16ddfee80107abeb4e2b2

—. “Supermercado de Estilos Mistura Tudo.” Folha de S. Paulo, 14 mar 1997: 4-16.Web. 20 feb 2018.

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“Zapping Pula com Dândis dos anos 90.” Folha de S. Paulo, 13 feb 1998: 3-12.Web. 20 feb 2018.

https://acervo.folha.com.br/leitor.do?numero=13794&keyword=Zapping&anchor=600187&origem=busca&pd=f9d7f330845b9a684885b2b23c73362d