Fashion Photography and the Female Gaze

Hi, welcome to Fashion-alyze This, the podcast dedicated to analyzing fashion through a different lens each week, and this week is all about fashion photography. I’m your host Adriana Monachino, and today we’re switching up our Raybans and bifocals for a new pair of specs. In just a moment, we’re going to throw on our culture anthropologist glasses and analyze the way women in particular have historically been depicted in fashion images, what these depictions say about women and societal gender codes, and how these depictions have transformed with the phenomenon of the female gaze. And, finally, we’re going to look at how the female gaze not only pertains to fashion photography, but also influences women’s current representation and role in the fashion industry.


Sarah Moon Photography (from top to bottom): “Adriana Pour Watanabe” (2000), “L’ange des studio” (2001), “Fashion 11” (1996).

Kiera Knightley for Coco Mademoiselle

Prada’s ready-to-wear Spring Summer 2018 line

Follow @fashion_alyzethis on Instagram for more photos!

Works Cited

Jansen, Charlotte. “Girl on Girl: The Age of the Female Gaze.” CNN, Cable News Network, 10 Apr. 2017,

Jhally, Sut, director. The Codes of Gender. 13 Oct. 2010.

Larson, Kristin. “The Female Gaze.” Wwd, vol. 208, no. 108, Nov 24, 2014, pp. 15. ProQuest,

Moon, Sarah. Adriana Pour Watanabe. London, England, 2000,   

Mower, Sarah. “Prada Spring 2018 Ready-to-Wear Fashion Show.” Vogue, 7 Dec. 2017,   

National Endowment for the Arts. “Artists and Arts Workers in the United States.” Oct. 2011, pp. 1–46., doi:

Rebelo, Britani, director. Austin Powers Part 2 Edited. YouTube, 4 Mar. 2012,

“Sarah Moon.” Michael Hoppen Gallery,

Twigg, Melissa. “Why Woman Creative Directors Are a Rare Breed in Fashion Industry.” South China Morning Post, 9 May 2017,

Jean Patchett: Vogue (Eye)con

“If you were going to compress into a time-capsule the very essence of January 1, 1950, for a future world to find, what would you put into it?…. A recording of “Some Enchanted Evening”…. A short evening dress…. A string of baroque cultured pearls…. A bale of cut-off hair…. Long white gloves…. A copy of the January 1900 issue of Vogue, and this one.” (“Vogue’s Eye View of Now” 1950).

Jean Patchett photographed by Erwin Blumenfeld for Vogue, January 1950.

♦  It was the dawn of the 1950s—a time characterized by rock and roll, the Studebaker, widespread consumerism, and, in the realm of high fashion and beauty, new hyper-feminine, waist-whittling fashions for women and the doe-eyed model who wore them best, Jean Patchett (1927-2009). With a single sweeping brow, a boldly lined eye, cherry lips, and a penciled beauty mark, Patchett appeared on the 1950 January cover of Vogue (pictured left), subsequently becoming the face of a decade. Like the growing economy and population at that time, the cover hit newsstands with a ‘boom’ so powerful that a variation of the Patchett’s doe-eyed look reverberated into the sixties; kohl liner was applied to the lids, not with a carefully drawn flick, but liberally for a smouldering effect (think Edie Sedgwick’s bold eye makeup) to match the daring new sixties style, complete with A-line tailoring and architecturally inspired garments (Astley 349).

“Mid-Century Beauty” Article, Vogue January 1950. pp. 112-113.



Big and bold eyes were, in fact, de rigueur for the 1950s face as an article from the same Vogue issue titled “The Mid-Century Beauty” insists (article pictured right). A makeup look as “excitingly new” as the use of lipstick in the twenties, the doe-eye, adopted from Paris-based fashion designer Robert Piguet, could be achieved with the freehanded sweep of a soft eyebrow pencil or kohl from the inner-corner of the eye to the outer-corner, then extended up toward the brow and tapered to a point (Vogue 113). Paired with a sleek pixie cut, two-toned eyeshadow, a matted face, and a bow-shaped mouth (Vogue 113), this attention-grabbing appearance was a contrast to the more “natural” face of makeup worn by women during the previous war-torn decade which consisted of subdued eyes and a pink or red lip.

Jean Patchett interview with Edward R. Murrow on Person to Person for CBS Television, January 8th 1955. Jean demonstrates how to apply makeup for a doe-eyed effect and shows off pyjamas featuring her face from the January 1950 cover of Vogue (above).

In this way, the doe-eye signified a distinct transition from a past makeup practice and appearance to a new mode of makeup specific to the fifties. The January 1950 Vogue cover of Patchett, by extension, is a production, or a simulacrum in Baudrillard’s terms, of a new beauty ideal set in motion by the magazine publication and its then team. In this vein, Patchett’s singular doe-eye pictured on this cover is synonymous with the Vogue’s eye view—one that was focused on adapting the 1950s face to suit the break out of a Coca-Cola drinking, jukebox playing, Elvis Presley swaying youth culture that set itself apart from the “old hauteur” (Rule 2002). As a Parisian-inspired look, the doe-eye strongly signified this transition, and was a hat tip to the decade’s golden age of haute couture for which Patchett became the face. Even renowned fashion photographer Irving Penn, whom adored photographing Patchett, identified the model as “a young American goddess in Paris couture” following her death from emphysema at the age of seventy-five in February 2002 (qtd. in Horyn).

As a woman who, in photographs, exuded rebellion and a slight attitude that connected her to Europe’s ‘knowing girls,’ Patchett herself seemingly deviated from the traditional “white glove” society of 1950s America (Rule 2002). That said, Patchett’s day-to-day personality and reputation in the modeling world could not have been more opposite. Counterparts like fashion model Dolores Hawkins repeatedly praised Patchett for her well-mannered behaviour and politeness: “She treated everyone graciously; models, the girls who fitted our outfits, and photographers. Jean was always professional and wonderful with everybody” (qtd. in “An American Goddess of Paris Couture”). Despite her kind charm, best exemplified by her go-to introduction to editors (“I’m Jean Patchett. You don’t darn it. You patch it.”), Patchett admitted to having acted as an ‘ice queen’ during her photoshoots, developing the “Glacier Look”—the Blue Steel of its day—which American model Dovima (Dovima with the Elephants) also adopted in her work (Rule 2002; Lebland and Vaillat). In this way, while the Glacier Look connotes a sense of rebellion, it is merely an act, and thus none other than myth (Barthes).

Close-up of Jean Patchett photographed by Erwin Blumenfeld for Vogue, January 1950, p. 112.

The January 1950 Vogue cover is a retouched copy of American fashion photographer Erwin Blumenfeld’s black and white photograph of Patchett (pictured left) (Rule 2002), in which all of the model’s facial features are visible—her eyes appearing fixed on the camera with the same gaze as in the cover photo. Patchett’s doe-eyed makeup, which she applied herself as most mid-century models did, was Blumenfeld’s idea (Rule 2002). Under the advisement of art chief Alexandra Liberman, the up-close portrait of Patchett was stripped down and cropped to the cover that readers are familiar with today (Rule 2002). This process does not render the photo devoid of meaning; rather, by reducing the image to Patchett’s eye, brow, and lips, the cover becomes a sign of a change, and, by extension, a signification of the decade’s new beauty standards. Vogue was a beacon for new trends and attitudes in fashion, as it continues to be today.

On a deeper level, this method of cropping also speaks to the way in which women’s garments, although more widely available, were becoming increasingly restrictive—the prevailing silhouettes being the New Look hourglass and the glove-fitted slim line were reactionary in their remolding of the female body, and structured bras, corselets, hip pads, and stiffened crinolines suppressed women’s waists and emphasized women’s breasts and hips, thus subverting the liberation of women’s bodies from the 1910s through to the 1930s (Borrelli-Persson 2017; Koda and Yohannan 13). Also ‘cropped,’ a shorter hairstyle surely made it easier and less time consuming for women to coif in the morning, while also drawing attention to their doe-eyes—doe-eyes recalling a female deer, a symbol, not so much of intelligence, but of innocence and nurturing, and, above all, evocative of a gentle femininity. Could the doe-eye trend have been an inconspicuous message for women to retreat back to the domestic-sphere of the home and get busy making babies after a period fraught with war? Absolutely. To make an even stronger case, in Disney’s Bambi, released in 1942, Bambi’s mother represents the epitome of a nurturing mother figure, sacrificing her life, as Dr. Alison Matthews-David from Ryerson University points out, for the safety of her fawn. With the doe-eye, then, women could be stylish, mothers, and domestic-doyennes at once. As such, the doe-eye was more than a mere beauty trend; complimenting women’s hyper-feminine silhouettes of the day, it gave women a model to aspire to, both literally and figuratively.

Jean Patchett photographed by Irving Penn for Vogue, April 1950.

Along with Irving Penn’s black and white photograph of Patchett for the April 1950 Vogue cover (pictured right), the January cover has become iconic. The photographs that Penn took of Patchett were simulacra of sorts, as well; they were a series of collaborations between the artist and model of movie-like scenarios—a bedroom phone call from a departed lover, or a boyfriend late for a theatre date—captured in stills (Rule 2002). As Charles Gandee writes in an article for the January 2000 issue of Vogue, Penn allowed Patchett to “use [her] head,” providing her with a story for each shoot that she could enact (Vogue 2000 pp. 176). These photographs, the stories they are meant to tell, and the settings depicted within them, in this way, are simulacra of actual places and times. Unlike the departed lovers and no-show boyfriends, the men who courted Patchett in real life were often the wealthy elite members of the Stork Club, one of the most prestigious clubs in the world located in Manhattan, New York City; however, she rejected them all for Louis Auer, a banker she met in 1948 and later married and had a child with (Rule 2002).

Katy Perry photographed by Alexi Lubomirski for Harper’s Bazaar, December 2010.

It goes without saying that Patchett, whose career spanned three decades (from 1948-63) (“An American Goddess of Paris Couture”), has become a fashion icon herself. With over forty magazine covers to her name, and innumerable editorials and advertisements in high-fashion publications like Harper’s Bazaar, Elle, Glamour and, of course, Vogue (Milwaukee Journal 2002), Patchett unequivocally holds a significant place in the fashion world. The January 1950 Vogue cover is only one of the many striking covers she appears in, yet this cover in particular recently inspired that of another: Harper’s Bazaar emulated the iconic cover for their December 2010 issue featuring pop-singer Katy Perry (pictured left). From a semiological perspective, the photograph of Perry is a sign that not only signifies the singer herself, but, in this case, the woman she is modeled after, which is a connection requiring a certain cultural and social capital to recognize (Barthes; Bourdieu). With her arched eyebrow, bold eyes, and rhinestone studded lips, Perry is a modern representation of Patchett, while the cover itself symbolizes a contemporary take on the 1950s face. The image is captured by a lens focused on the time of high glamour—hello, rhinestone studded lips!—we live in, simultaneously pointing to the ceaseless evolution of beauty and style from decade to decade, and the power of a single image even half a century later.

Special thanks to the Royal Ontario Museum Library for allowing access to their outstanding fashion archive.

Discussion Questions  ♦  When we, as viewers, read into an editorial or magazine cover—or any image, for that matter—do we take away from its artistry, or simply add to it? How can semiological readings deepen our understanding of fashion/art images?

Works Cited

“An American Goddess of Paris Couture: Jean Patchett.” Jean Patchett,

Astley, Amy. “Health & Beauty: Making Eyes.” Vogue, vol. 184, no. 11, Nov 01, 1994, pp. 347-347, 348, 349, ProQuest,  

Borrelli-Persson, Laird. “The History of ’50s Fashion in Vogue, Narrated by Sarah Jessica Parker.” Vogue, 19 June 2017,

Gandee, Charles. “Fashion: Faces to Remember: 1940/1950.” Vogue, vol. 190, no. 1, Jan 01, 2000, pp. 176, ProQuest,  

Horyn, Cathy. “Jean Patchett, 75, a Model Who Helped Define the 50’s.” The New York Times, 4 Feb. 2002,

“Jean Patchett.” Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, Feb 08, 2002, pp. 4, ProQuest,     

Koda, Harold, and Kohle Yohannan. The Model as Muse: Embodying Fashion. Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2009.

Lebland, Romuald, and Vaillat, Jessica. “Jean Patchett.” The Red List,

Rocamora, Agnes, and Anneke Smelik, editors. “Jean Baudrillard: Post-modern Fashion as the End of Meaning.” Thinking through Fashion: a Guide to Key Theorists, by Llewellyn Negrin, I.B. Tauris, 2016, pp. 215–232.

Rocamora, Agnes, and Anneke Smelik, editors. “Roland Barthes: Semiology and the Rhetorical Codes of Fashion.” Thinking through Fashion: a Guide to Key Theorists, by Llewellyn Negrin, I.B. Tauris, 2016, pp. 132–148.

Rocamora, Agnes, and Anneke Smelik, editors. “Pierre Bourdieu: The Field of Fashion.” Thinking through Fashion: a Guide to Key Theorists, by Llewellyn Negrin, I.B. Tauris, 2016, pp. 233–250.

Rule, Vera. “Obituary: Jean Patchett.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 8 Feb. 2002,

“Vogue’s Eye View: Vogue’s Eye View of Now…Right Now, of January 1, 1950.” Vogue, vol. 115, no. 1, 1950, pp. 85, ProQuest,  

Sequin as Spectacle?: My Grandmother’s Sequinned Gown

Grandma, can you show me your favourite outfit?”

She and I stand there silently in the middle of my grandparents’ bedroom. I can tell she is thinking by the way her eyes remain fixed on mine. Then, with her index finger raised to the sky, my grandmother turns toward the doors of her shiny black armoire—the one with the floor length mirror that I as a young girl would watch her rotate in front of as she dressed for the day.

My grandmother has been a style icon of mine since childhood. I think it’s because of her unapologetic sense of fashion. Even at 82-years-old she isn’t shy to pair a cheetah-print sweater (tasteful, of course) with denim jeans and her signature gold hoop earrings. Glam is her thing. Some of my earliest memories include sitting at the kitchen table of my grandmother’s home while she painted my nails—always a bright red. Have you ever seen a four-year-old with red painted nails? Not incredibly common.

My grandmother’s sequinned dress from Mario Rossi, circa 1994.

I move toward her as she flips through her collection of dresses—some new pieces, but mostly old. As my grandmother separates each piece by the hanger she analyzes them, sometimes smoothing her hand over them as though she is admiring each dress for the first time. Or perhaps she is reflecting on some old memories. This must be a difficult choice for her, I think. All of the dresses are stunning and hold sentimental value. I recognize many of them from old photographs of birthdays, anniversaries, baptisms, and weddings, but one dress in particular catches my attention. When she pulls it out, I get excited.

“I wore this to your mom’s wedding,” my grandmother says.

The label of my grandmother’s dress that reads “Magnifique.”
Up-close detail of the beading, silk rose appiiqué, and sequins.

She holds up the all black evening gown, adorned from top to bottom with beads, silk rose appliqué, and a plethora of sequins that scream “Look out, people! Mother of the bride coming through.” Up close, the beads form an outline of leaves emerging from each silk rose. At the back, a slit runs up the middle of the dress allowing room for comfortable movement with a touch of flair. The shoulders are padded, leaving the half sleeves to drape down elegantly. There is practically no wear on the dress, save for some wrinkles on the lining and loose thread that once held beads to the hem, most likely forgotten on the dance floor. The label sewn onto the lining reads “Magnifique,” a brand once carried by Mario Rossi, the now defunct dress and accessories boutique where my grandmother purchased the gown over two decades ago. Holding the gown myself, I can feel the weight of its details. The sequins, by far the defining feature of the dress, are rough against my fingertips. Catching the light of the room, they sparkle.

For my grandmother, the sequinned gown, like all cherished possessions giving meaning and continuity to one’s life (Prentice 993), will forever remain a fond memory of her daughter’s wedding; for me, it is a gorgeous reminder of not only my grandmother’s striking style, but also her charismatic personality. Unsurprisingly, it is one of the few glitzy pieces that hang in her armoire. Today, sequinned dresses are usually appreciated for their excess and spectacle—stores filled with New Year’s Eve party dresses during the holidays comes to mind; however, the sequin dress has a long cultural history in women’s fashion that reveals how this trend, like all ‘things’ as Igor Kopytoff posits, possesses a social life and biography of its own, in relation to its wearers (68).

Chanel’s 1920 black sequinned shimmy dress, Women’s Wear Daily, 1967.

In October of 1967, an article was published by Women’s Wear Daily titled “Sequins are Always in Style.” The article details dresses featured in a $50,000 display at the Metropolitan Museum of Costume Art. In all the dresses from over two and a half centuries, the most predominantly featured were composed of sequins. Of these, none, according to the author Eugenia Sheppard, made more of a spectacle than Chanel’s 1920 black sequinned shimmy dress (pictured left) (1967). It was a dress of such impact that “no frozen-faced mannequin [could] destroy,” she writes, perhaps for its lush use of sequin detail that no doubt shimmered under the electric lighting at clubs and dance balls of the time.

Dancer Anna Pavlova in sequinned ballet dress for Swan Lake, 1922.

The 1920’s marked the dawn of the New Woman. Not only were women able to work and vote, but also express their promiscuity and intellect through loosely structured, embellished dresses that simultaneously set their limbs free and added excitement to their attire (Nesmith 2017). Flappers, like the one depicted by the Chanel mannequin, characterized the period with their shorter skirts, shorter hair, more comfortable undergarments, faces of makeup, and smoking and drinking habits (Freedman 378). During this time, Lev Bakst, costume designer for the Ballet Ruses, designed a decadent sequin-covered dress trimmed with feathers for ballet dancer Anna Pavlova in her revered role as the Dying Swan in Swan Lake (pictured right). The feathered sleeves and skirt are reminiscent of a swan’s feathers while the sequins point to their elegance. In this way, the flapper’s dress, as a representation of women’s newfound agency during the time, and Pavlova’s costume, as a material reflection of her swan character, allowed for a corporeal experience whereby the women, through wearing these garments, were able to embody their clothing and its symbolic and culturally constructed meaning (Negrin “Maurice Merleau-Ponty”).

Drapo Vodou (prayer flag), Haitian sequin art (Rivers 102).

The use of sequin detail on dresses was passed down from the use of small reflective pieces of metal in popular Plimouth waistcoats of the 17th century worn by women of the court—a trend which continued into the 19th century with the use of metal pieces for dresses, bonnets, and other jackets (Spivack 2012). According to the Women’s Wear Daily article, women’s sequinned ball gowns were a common outfit in the Victorian era as well, and regarded as a symbol of wealth and prestige (Sheppard 1967). That said, the discovery of gold sequin-like disks sewn onto the burial garments of King Tutankhamen (1341 B.C.-1323 B.C.) in 1922 is what led to an exponential growth in sequin dresses during the time. It is presumed these disks were sewn onto his garments in order to ensure the king was both financially and sartorially prepared for the afterlife. In fact, the etymology of the word sequin derives from the Arabic word sikka, meaning ‘coin’ (Spivack 2012). In Egypt, India, and Peru, sequined clothes were considered “ostentatious displays of wealth,” and their sheen doubled as protection from evil spirits (Spivack 2012). Similarly, in Morocco, Anatolia, and Haiti, sequins have been used to ward off the evil eye (Rivers The Shining Cloth) . In Morocco, sequins (muzun) were sown onto small looped strings that dangled off of items like saddle-bags (ssmatt) and woolen cloaks (hendira), providing them with a sparkle that simultaneously protected wearers from harm (Rivers 95). In Turkey, the clothing of bridal couples and young girls, considered especially vulnerable to the evil eye, are trimmed with sequins in order to protect their fertility while doubling to provide a celebratory appearance (Rivers 98). The glinting light of sequins used in Haitian clothing and sequin art (pictured above) are meant to “evoke the energies” of the Vodou deities that act as mysterious governing forces of the world, summoning them to heal and protect its people (Rivers 102).

Leather war dress with Chinese coins and English brass buttons, 17th or 18th century (From Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History via Bard Graduate Center).

The association between wealth and clothing continued to thrive in the 18th century. Gold and other precious metals were sewn onto clothing, which was considered an indication of status, as well as a means of preventing theft and providing spiritual guidance. One of the first sequin dresses was that of the leather war dress (pictured left), on which coins and buttons were sewn (Spivack 2012). This ‘sequin’ dress became a corporeal experience much in the same way the flapper dress was for women of the 1920’s. Through wearing this sequinned attire, the wearer subsequently adopted its visual radiance and culturally constructed function.

With the invention of electroplate gelatin in the 1930’s, the metal disk sequins of the 1920’s were replaced by gelatin sequins (Spivack 2012). If wet or too warm, the sequins would melt, leaving marks on women’s dresses where the warm, clammy hand of a dance partner would melt away at the decoration. This material posed an issue until it was replaced by vinyl plastic, which is the material used for sequin garments today (Spivack 2012); these come in a variety of finishes such as fluorescent, variegated, and laser foil, and some are cupped to reflect more light like the sequins that make up my grandmother’s dress (Spivack 2012). That said, the signs of wear from gelatine sequins have become a source of material culture analysis. On a dim note, celluloid sequins, also used during the ’20s and ’30s, were the cause of a number of deadly fires. As Alison Matthews David notes in Fashion Victims: The Dangers of Dress Past and Present, the rise in popularity of celluloid subsequently led to the production of “cheaper, less chemically stable compositions” that burned at the mere proximity to fire (194).

Actress Kristen Bell in black sequinned gown by Jenny Packham, Golden Globes 2018.

Sequins have been a spectacle on the red carpet for decades—think Barbara Streisand’s sequinned pant-suit at the 1969 Oscars, and Cher’s famed sequinned ensemble and matching feathered headdress by Bob Mackie in 1986. This year at the 2018 Golden Globe Awards, sequins provided a decorative and celebratory touch to the black dresses worn by some of Hollywood’s leading women in support of the Me Too Movement. Actresses like Kerry Washington (in Prabal Gurung), Octavia Spencer (in Tadashi Shoji), Margot Robbie (in Gucci), and the first ever host of the show, Kristen Bell (in Jenny Packham, pictured right) all wore black gowns with sequin detail to the event. While sequins were not a mandatory component of the Me Too dress code, their sparkle brought attention to these black dresses, thereby adding to the importance of the campaign. As Igor Kopytoff claims, the production of commodities is a cultural and cognitive process, meaning commodities must not only be produced for material purposes as ‘things,’ but also culturally marked as a certain kind of thing (The Cultural Biography of Things 83). In this regard, the sequinned gowns worn by these celebrities become more than sequinned gowns. The act of standing in solidarity with victims of sexual assault while wearing these garments attaches new meaning to them and, by extension, the history of the sequinned gown, its place in women’s fashion, and its relation to society at large.

My grandmother and grandfather making an entrance at the reception of my parents’ wedding, Oct 29th, 1994.

Thus, the sequinned dress continues to have a significant impact on the history of women’s fashion. In this way, the sequin dress serves as part of a cherished collective memory that deserves to be recognized as such, despite the emphasis on spectacle that tends to overshadow it.

Before I leave my grandmother, I thank her for showing me the dress. Her response is warming: “You know, one day it’ll be yours.”

Note: The “Checklist for Observation” from Ingrid Mida and Alexandra Kim’s The Dress Detective was consulted in order to form the sartorial description of my grandmother’s dress.

Discussion Question • Does knowing the history of a garment allow us to appreciate it more, or do our personal tastes ultimately take over?



Works Cited

Freedman, Estelle B. “The New Woman: Changing Views of Women in the 1920s.” The Journal of American History, vol. 61, no. 2, 1974, pp. 372–393. JSTOR,

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.

Matthews David, Alison. Fashion Victims: the Dangers of Dress Past and Present. Boomsbury Visual Arts. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2017.

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

Nesmith, Meghan. “A History of Sequins from King Tut’s Tomb to Your New Years Eve Outfit.” Racked, 28 Apr. 2017,

Prentice, Deborah. “Psychological Correspondence of Possessions, Attitudes, and Values.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 53.6 (1987): 993-1003.Web.

Rivers, Victoria Z. The Shining Cloth: Dress & Adornment That Glitters. Thames & Hudson, 2003.

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

Sheppard, Eugenia. “Inside Fashion.” Women’s Wear Daily, vol. 115, no. 206, Oct 24, 1967, pp. 6, ProQuest,

Spivack, Emily. “A History of Sequins from King Tut to the King of Pop.”, Smithsonian Institution, 28 Dec. 2012,