Before jumping in - some context for those who are new to art history. Robert Rauschenberg was an American artist who came of age in the New York art world of the 1950s, at a moment when Abstract Expressionism (art with no visual reference to the real world) dominated contemporary painting. Rather than working within the boundaries of a single medium, Rauschenberg became known for collapsing distinctions between painting, sculpture, photography, and everyday objects. His art lived on and off the walls. His later “Combines” incorporated materials such as fabric, newspaper, furniture, and found objects directly into works of art, helping to reshape ideas about what art could be made from.

Before developing the Combines for which he became best known, Rauschenberg spent the early 1950s experimenting with monochromatic paintings, unconventional materials, and increasingly conceptual approaches to making art. Erased de Kooning Drawing (1953) emerged during this formative period and is an especially revealing example of his interest in testing the limits of artistic creation—asking whether a work of art could be made not by adding something, but by taking something away.

Robert Rauschenberg, Erased de Kooning Drawing, 1953

A piece of paper, tinted a yellowish tone with a few faint markings, sits on a white background in a simple gold frame. Along the left side of the paper appear a few black splotches. Stemming from the upper-center, some indiscernible lines arch across the vertical axis of the paper, leaving just traces of Willem de Kooning’s original sketch made with charcoal, ink, and pencil; likely one from his Women series. Centered at the bottom border reads a single plaque designating the work “Erased de Kooning, Robert Rauschenberg, 1953.” Created by Rauschenberg’s lifelong partner, Jasper Johns, the title and frame are considered by some critics to be an integral part of the work as a whole. Scarce documentation exists about the original drawings and the terms of the agreement between these two American artists. However, that this work left a sizable impact on the development of art throughout the midcentury is indisputable. Examining Robert Rauschenberg’s Erased de Kooning reveals a fascinating narrative of acceptable art forms, pushing the boundaries in conceptual art and acting as a benchmark piece for the course of his artistic career. Pushing individuals—de Kooning included—to reconsider the act of making, artistic creation, the understanding of iconoclasm, and further what it means to make (or destroy) a work of art.

Erased de Kooning as the original Combine:

Walter Hoops: “No. It has elements on it, and it’s like a— it’s like one of the— the first DNA of Combine painting, in a way.”

Contextualizing this work within the canon of American art history and Rauschenberg’s oeuvre lends towards an understanding of how Erased de Kooning came to be. Before arriving at his most known-for style—the combines—a young Rauschenberg, seeking to place himself on the consciousness of the New York art world, was experimenting with color and technique. As defined by the Rauschenberg Foundation, combines are works that eliminate the distinction between painting and sculpture, blurring the lines between artistic categories with works that are both hung on the wall or are off the wall. These works typically utilized found objects to which Rauschenberg “endowed new significance,” placing ordinary objects in the context of art.

Erased de Kooning was a fundamental stepping-stone towards arriving at this later visual medium. Although the original de Kooning that Rauschenberg appropriated into his work should not be understood as a found object, the sentiment and process of creation of his combines, as well as this piece, are quite parallel.

With aims to produce works whose focus was primarily optical and visual, in the early 1950s Rauschenberg was working on his color series. Beginning in 1951, Rauschenberg created works using paint rollers and house paint, materials typically used for the interior walls of homes, spreading thick layers of solid color onto canvas. First with White Paintings, which were inspired by Kazmine Malevich’s suprematist tradition of monochromatic paintings, these works reduced painting to essential elements such as light, color, and pure aesthetic form.

John Cage, the avant-garde musician who also was a good friend of Rauschenberg, described the works as “airports for the lights, shadows, and particles.” The works reflect changes in light as well as the effects of shadows in the galleries within which they hung. The white paintings were conceptual works interested in investigating the relationship between light, shadow, and viewers’ perception of space. But his real interest with these works, according to Calvin Tomkins, was “an intense and constantly renewed curiosity about what a picture was or was not.” This eventually led him to “test more and more radically the boundaries that other people had set up around art.”

The black works, which were not considered by Rauschenberg to be a series, were produced between 1951 and 1953. These works, unlike the White Paintings, included renditions in both matte or glossy black paint on canvases and paper.

The critical reception of these two bodies of work was overwhelmingly negative. Calvin Tomkins recounts in Off the Wall that Barney Newman disliked the white painting, while Ad Reinhardt hated the black ones. Betty Parsons, the art gallerist, dropped Rauschenberg from her repertoire of artists, “showing no enthusiasm for his white and black paintings.” And the combined Cy Twombly and Robert Rauschenberg show held at Eleanor Ward’s Stable Gallery offended and outraged viewers who perceived the work as “aggressive, ugly, and full of anger,” leading some viewers to question, “if he hates painting” so much, “why doesn’t he quit and do something else.” These works clearly failed in terms of viewer interpretation at achieving Rauschenberg’s optical focus. Thus, Rauschenberg was not yet successful in pushing the boundaries of art.

Rauschenberg’s next series, the Red Paintings of 1954, are often considered to be examples of the first combine.

Perceiving red to be the most challenging color, and due to the excessive materials and incorporation of found objects, the red series are understood by Walter Hopps to be the official origin of the combines. Rauschenberg began them primarily as a reaction to Josef Albers’ notion that the materials in art should be controlled by the hand of the artist. Created with red paint, newspaper grounds, and fabrics which were secured onto canvases, Rauschenberg advanced towards his combines. Similarly to much of the gestural abstract expressionist art, these works were “activated by the varied application of paint: drips, splatters, washes, heavy impasto, horizontal strokes, and pigment squeezed directly from the tube.” Challenging this notion, Rauschenberg wanted his materials to dictate his artistic direction. The influence of collage, specifically Pablo Picasso and Kurt Schwitters’ additive practice, allowed Rauschenberg to increasingly feel a sense of collaboration with his materials—wanting to work with them, rather than to have them work for him. This notion did not originate with the red works; rather, it began with the creation of Erased de Kooning. Eliene de Kooning deemed the red series to be “gorgeous theatrical objects.” In a 1955 issue of Art News, Frank O’Hara stated that Rauschenberg was a rising talent, “creating his own occasion.” Cental towards the interpretation of Erased de Kooning, the theatricality and performative nature of Rauschenberg’s works should not be overlooked. Significant towards understanding the role Erased de Kooning played in Rauschenberg’s oeuvre is an understanding of the change in reception between the white and black works and the red works.

Contrary to the opinion that the Red works were examples of the first combine, Erased de Kooning should be interpreted as the origin of the combines. Demonstrating Rauschenberg’s initial urge to engage with an additive (or, in this case, subtractive) method in his art practice, this work set into motion his acclaimed style. Seeking to advance the works he was creating beyond a focus on optics, light, and shadow, Rauschenberg wanted to find a way to create a work of art using an eraser. During the early 1950s and at this point in his career, Rauschenberg was not considered by many to be a serious artist. Further, nobody anticipated his breakthrough to be so revolutionary. So, the chasm in his artistic reception, from his first few shows, and understanding of his artistic potential created the space for Rauschenberg to experiment in the way that he did.

Rauschenberg and de Kooning’s relationship, as well as the conception of the piece, are integral towards its interpretation. It began when Rauschenberg decided to test whether he could create a work simply using an eraser. First erasing a few of his own works but then deciding that the only avenue to achieve the aesthetic and conceptual merit he was searching for was through starting with a work that was already “one hundred percent art.” Rauschenberg approached the reigning master of the period—Willem de Kooning—to request a drawing that he could erase. Participating only out of appreciation of the conceptual boundaries Rauschenberg set out to overcome, de Kooning decided to give him a drawing from his Women Series that would be difficult to erase. Speaking of his love for collaboration, in the unpublished transcript of his interview with David Ross, Walter Hopps, Gary Garrels, and Peter Samis—from the San Francisco MoMA—Rauschenberg explained that “art can be a really lonely business, if you’re really just working from your ego.” Although Rauschenberg was known for fabrication of truth, this statement describing his method of creation speaks further to the way he viewed Erased de Kooning, and his work in general. Also, Rauschenberg had admitted to stealing some of de Kooning’s works when they first got to know each other. Rauschenberg’s choice to not simply use a de Kooning that was already in a collection speaks to the collaborative component of Erased de Kooning. The essence of Erased de Kooning is collaborative by nature, thus fitting into the scheme of his combines, but because it preceded the red works, inherently it should be viewed as the original combine.

Critical Reception and interpretation:

Erased de Kooning’s critical reception and exhibition history offer more insight into the way it should be interpreted. Calvin Tomkins spoke about the piece, saying that it was “so blatantly freudian, the act itself so obviously a symbolic parricide,” as de Kooning, to a certain extent, could be viewed as a father figure to Rauschenberg in his emergence into the New York art world. Rauschenberg recounted that de Kooning was especially welcoming to him when he first moved to New York from Black Mountain College. As a sort of killing off of the reigning master, Erased de Kooning has been psychoanalyzed as being an Oedipal act. Rauschenberg’s love of collaboration also problematizes this psychoanalytic view. Rauschenberg needed de Kooning as an active participant in order for this work to succeed. It follows logically, then, that this work should be interpreted as conceptual. However, the nature of the relationship between de Kooning and Rauschenberg begs a different telling of this narrative, challenging this criticism. Because there was an agreement between these two artists regarding the creation of the work, it seems unlikely that Rauschenberg would have created this piece as a means to assert himself as being above de Kooning in the art world. Additionally, according to Calvin Tomkins, Rauschenberg was considered the “enfant terrible” in the art world; this, to a certain extent, allowed Rauschenberg to push the boundaries of creation in the way that he did. Because the most fundamental component of the work was not the erasure, nor was it the actual end piece; rather, it was the way it was created. Rauschenberg unmade a de Kooning, not as a means to deface and devalue it, but rather to generate more value by modifying so dramatically the way in which art can be created.

More compelling than criticism attacking the work as an assertion of dominance are claims surrounding Erased de Kooning’s authenticity, originality, and the way in which it challenged notions of creation. Fundamental towards the understanding of what it means to make a work of art is the way it is produced. For millennia, the main mode of artistic production was painting, drawing, and sculpture, utilizing traditional materials such as paints, pencils, inks, dye, etc. In his essay, Leo Steinberg explains, speaking about Erased de Kooning, “he was expelling from the art of painting what five hundred years had been its soul; and he wanted de Kooning’s consent—implicitly a benediction—to speed him on.” The notion of using an eraser as a means to produce a work of art was completely new, essentially invented by Rauschenberg. Rauschenberg even said about the work, “I was trying to make art, and so therefore I had to erase art.” Although this statement is so packed, metaphorically speaking, its logic holds. Sometimes in order to make, one must also unmake—the two actions should not be considered so dramatically different.

Erased de Kooning, similarly to analytic cubism, required breaking down of a pre-existing reality. The main difference between this work and many that preceded it lies in how the final work is presented. Normally, it is not the unmade product, a blank slate that once was filled, but rather it is the made art. It was, as Steinberg argues, a personal rite of passage, and Erased de Kooning successfully altered acceptable modes of artistic production as Rauschenberg was able to create a work through an entirely subtractive process, as opposed to the typical additive version which all other art forms follow. Coinciding with his interest in working with materials that were already created, allowing pre-existing objects to dictate the trajectory of his works, the erasure of a work was a natural progression. What could be more radical than to simply take a work and then get rid of it? Challenging and shifting the whole understanding of artistic production, this work was essentially a game changer—exposing the art world to a dramatically new mode of production.

The work was criticized as being anti-abstract expressionism, an aggressive gesture against the prevailing and dominant art movement. Rauschenberg meant for this work to be a positive gesture of admiration towards the reigning master. However, because the erasure was understood originally as a subtractive measure, placing it into the sphere of acceptable art was complicated.

Erased de Kooning as Modern Iconoclasm:

Acting as a modern form of iconoclasm, Erased de Kooning has also been interpreted as being an act of vandalism or even worse, a defacement of property. An iconoclast, as defined by Merriam-Webster dictionary, is “1. a person who attacks settled beliefs or institutions, and 2. a person who destroys religious images or opposes their veneration.” While the term iconoclasm typically refers to the destruction of religious icons or other significant monuments, in an art sphere, the mechanism of destruction of icons parallels Rauschenberg’s mode of creation in Erased de Kooning. On the level of its production, Erased de Kooning fits the mold of iconoclasm. Rauschenberg took a pre-existing work of art and erased it (or, according to some, he destroyed it). The distinction between erasure and destruction, or iconoclasm, lies in Rauschenberg’s intentions for the work. Rauschenberg did not set out to destroy one of de Kooning’s drawings for the sake of omitting it from the canon of art history. While some may perceive this as the end result of the work, as Stephanie Horstein argues in her paper, interpreting the erasure as pure destruction reflects a limited understanding of the work, focusing solely on the negative connotations associated with erasure. Additionally, to put things into perspective—Rauschenberg did not attempt to erase a religious symbol, nor did he erase a work of art by an artist who was already dead. But there is merit to an argument suggesting that the erasure positioned Rauschenberg as an iconoclast.

Erased de Kooning as Conceptual art; Authenticity and Originality:

Erased de Kooning should be interpreted as an early form of conceptual art, one that preceded the official movement. Emerging in the early 1960s and 1970s, conceptual art refers to art objects that emphasize ideas rather than their materials and aesthetics. Sol LeWitt contends that “the idea itself, even if it is not made visual, is as much of a work of art as any finished product,” distilling the essence of conceptual art and positing that the ideas are often more important than the end result. When speaking about Erased de Kooning in his interview with the SF MoMA, Rauschenberg basically stated that a viewer could understand the work without actually seeing it. Joseph Kosuth stated that it was “not an art object, per se but an ‘idea of an artwork [whose] formal components weren’t important.’” Aligning with the fundamentals of conceptualism, Rauschenberg and Kosuth reveal that the idea and meaning generated by the work carry more weight than the work itself.

Interestingly, Erased de Kooning was not viewed publicly until twenty years after its creation. Instead, it remained in Rauschenberg’s studio—perhaps as a touching stone for him to reflect back to throughout his artistic career. This choice to essentially hide the work, despite the fact that it was on the consciousness of many art critics, shifts interpretations of it as being an attack on de Kooning. Although the reasoning behind why Rauschenberg chose to keep the work private for so long is unclear, perhaps the gap between creation and circulation, simultaneously with the change in its later reception, can be explained by this twenty-year period. The art world advanced significantly during this time, allowing for more conceptual and cutting-edge art to be created. As a result, Erased de Kooning could be properly received and understood, following the emergence of other similar conceptual art objects. Sarah Roberts writes that between 1966 and 1990, Erased de Kooning was exhibited in over thirty exhibitions spanning across six different countries. On the back of the frame appear many labels, serving as a testament to the wide circulation of this art object. Serving as an important work of art, Erased de Kooning successfully pushed the limits of art during its time. It simply was created preliminarily for its time. For this reason, Erased de Kooning should be understood as being one of the quintessential art objects of the mid-century. Pushing the limitations of creation and challenging how a work of art could be created, Robert Rauschenberg generated an authentically original work of art. In this case, authenticity refers to the undisputed origin of the work. Generated from the process of erasure, this work’s authenticity resides in the action of taking a pre-existing work of art and, in the process of un-making it, creating something new. Original, as in by making this work Rauschenberg created a new mode of art production.

Serving as the “DNA” of the first combine and a foundation for the development of later conceptual art, Erased de Kooning is one of the most significant works in Rauschenberg’s oeuvre. Without it, Rauschenberg may not have broken down the barriers that existed in the art world during his time. Challenging and changing the mode of artistic production by proving that one can create a work of art using an erasure, by taking a work that is already “one hundred percent art,” modifying it, and having it remain art. Rauschenberg’s experimentation left a sizable impact on the art of the mid-century as it paved the way for new ways of creation.

First up: Jacquemus.

A brief background for anyone unfamiliar with the brand: founded in 2009, at the age of 19, Simone Porte (Jacquemus) opened up shop. The brand came to life in the aftermath of the loss of his mother, for whom he named the brand. The eponymous label has achieved amazing success and today is a staple for many fashion lovers (myself included).

Known for their often gimmicky presentations and guerrilla marketing tactics (usually strictly AI/social media), this season set a new tone for the brand. The language I keep seeing is “grown-up” Jacquemus. Trading in their usual far-out locations, they opted for a more intimate presentation. Instead of asking guests to travel to a remote location like Capri, or having a dramatic staging element like an insanely long red carpet, they focused on what we all come to see anyway—the clothing. No double-heeled shoes were spotted on this runway; rather, this era for the brand emphasized a look that I think is best characterized as glamour.

Although this show referenced many looks we’ve already seen from other brands, it was something relatively new for this brand. This may be an unpopular opinion, but I don’t think that quoting other brands is necessarily bad. The key is to do it by bringing something new to the table. It’s very difficult to bring completely new ideas to the fashion cannon - not that its unheard of. I would say across the board that this show was a return to “traditional.” We saw many traditional styles as well as a traditional runway presentation style. Taking form as a classical salon-style show at Auguste Perret’s (a french architect) wooden apartment in Paris, the clothing on this runway was couture-esque. Overtly feminine and classic 50s/Hollywood movie star silhouettes largely defined the show.

Glamour here was most evident in the details. Full skirts with small waists (fit and flare), draping, tulle, polka dots, and stripes (two carryover trends we saw during the September fashion week circuit) were the gist of this collection. But sticking true to the brand's core, there was no lack of unexpected elements. Take, for example, a perfectly hilarious gold and yellow banana-printed skirt and top set as evidence. My personal favorite practical item they debuted in this show was their new bag called The Turismo; a giant bowling bag—very much similar to ones we've been seeing across various brands. I love the size, leather, colorways, and that it's a much more affordable option compared to other similar bags on the market.

The last thing I’ll comment on about this particular show is the interesting and more recently commented upon relationship between the U.S. and Europe as it pertains to design. Porte Jacquemus mentioned in his post-show notes that he had the U.S. on his mind when preparing for this show after recently opening two new flagships (both in NYC and LA); he was considering the appeal to his U.S.-based audience. This feels very much like a continuation of what we saw at Alaïa’s Spring/Summer presentation that I wrote about. I’m intrigued by the relationship between the U.S. and Europe as it pertains to the design process, especially considering this is something that has been brought up by a few designers more recently. This is certainly not a new phenomenon; the fashion world has evolved past a continental separation. But I can’t help but wonder if this expansion is contingent upon social media and the pressure of knowing that you have an instantaneous, grand-scale, worldwide appeal when presenting in this millennium. This show, for example, was recorded on an iPhone 16 Max… Not to mention, Jacquemus has proven its digital age literacy with their excellent marketing and social media tactics.

Ok, I’ll leave this open-ended and conclude by showing my favorite looks (in some but mostly no particular order). To summarize, I thought this show was simple and beautiful.

This article is about the Alaïa and Jenny Holzer shows that both took place at the Guggenheim Museum in New York City. It is not necessarily clothing-focused, but rather my focus will be on consumerism within the confines of fashion and art spaces. This exploration will shed light on the complexities of fashion shows and the impact a location or a staging element can have on brand heritage. More broadly, I seek to display the parallels between artistic mediums and their reliance upon commercial spaces to achieve success.

Just a brief background on Alaïa as a brand—so this all makes sense. Alaïa was founded in 1979 by Azzedine Alaïa—the brand's namesake. The first-ever show took place in 1982 in New York City (at Bergdorf’s) after a buyer spotted someone strutting down Madison Ave sporting a coat by the brand. Being headquartered out of Paris, Alaïa had a predominantly European appeal. However, Alaïa gained major U.S. attraction after this show, and therefore the U.S. market had a major impact on the development of the brand. Andy Warhol and people of the like were in the audience of this very intimate production.

Alaïa’s contributions to the development of female dressing are vast. Evident through his designs was a clear sensibility and admiration of the female form (examples below). Down to the materials he used—like jersey—or the application of fabrics—peplum, ribbing, and draping—one can’t help but notice through his designs how Azzedine Alaïa (in his own words) “put the female form on a high level.” He secured himself as the “king of cling” and invented the bandage dress, among many other styles. Although this style might be a little outdated for the dressing norms of today, it is—without a doubt—a revolutionary mode of dressing. Azzedine Alaïa passed away in 2017, and Pieter Mulier took over the brand three years ago.

The brand was truly revived by Mulier when he took over. He brought Alaïa back to the forefront of the fashion scene and, so far, has done an impeccable job of harkening back to the legacy of the brand’s original visual identity. Not only has he presented beautiful collections, but he is also imaginative in his mode of creation.

Commercialism of the Runway

Commercialism of the runway is a phenomenon that was born through the ages of social media. Initially, the point of a fashion show was for buyers to become acquainted with the new collection. But in the digital age, the focus has increasingly become the digital footprint. The more impressions and views a brand gets, the better… And to me, the Alaïa SS25 presentation demonstrates the misconstrued relationship between commercialism, fashion shows, and art.

There were countless articles about Mulier’s Alaïa presentation during NYFW. It was fantastic—and what I was most drawn to during the presentation was how the entire collection was made without buttons or zippers. I don’t want to repeat what was already written. Rather, I would like to deconstruct an interesting comment made by Pieter Mulier regarding his location of choice.

Taking place alongside—or rather, in front of—Jenny Holzer’s show Line Light, an unlikely relationship between Holzer and Mulier was forged. Line Light features a light panel applique that wraps the entirety of the iconic Guggenheim rotunda. In addition to the wrap, the halls of the museum were scattered with many other confrontational works like inscribed tablets, benches, hanging pieces, and items that resembled gravestones. The choice to present at the Guggenheim was interesting, to say the least.

In some ways, presenting at the Guggenheim made a lot of sense for Alaïa because there are strong visual ties between the curvatures in Frank Lloyd Wright’s architecture and Mulier’s designs (image below). Also, according to WWD, Mulier and Holzers’ team had a conversation about the shows happening concurrently, and they agreed to make modifications to Holzer’s installation (specifically they agreed to turn the light off in the installation) to accommodate a fashion show. Mulier was quoted saying about this choice: “we both decided, the artist and the company, that it doesn’t make sense to show in front of an artwork because fashion for me is not art, and art should not be in a commercial context.” While I ultimately do agree that it was the correct choice to turn off the lights from the Holzer show, I have many thoughts on Mulier’s peculiar statement.

Jenny Holzer

For those who are unfamiliar with Holzer’s style, her art is classified as neo-conceptual, and most of her works contain language to express a series of truisms. A truism, according to Merriam-Webster dictionary, is “an undoubted or self-evident truth.”

Many of Holzer’s works have been presented in highly public spaces such as highway billboards, video projections, buildings, and, like the Line Light presentation, in specialized screen format. A lot of her work has been politically facing as she uses her truisms to make statements about the current cultural climate. This particular show pulls from her previous Truisms and Inflammatory Essays and makes many insinuations about the state of the world, including touching on global conflicts, laws, human interaction, and the daily realities of life. Examples of the statements include: “words tend to be inadequate” or “you are the past, present and future.” Line Light makes a statement about geopolitical circumstances, politics, and injustices. It is jarring and difficult to walk through. I went to see the exhibition shortly after it opened and was taken aback by the severity of the words and art being presented.

Had the light been left on, Mulier—and Alaïa by extension—would have been making a statement about war. It would not have just been a fashion show; rather, it would have been a fashion show in the context of Holzer's truisms.

What I love most about Holzer’s work is the wittiness of the truism. Stating the obvious makes the viewer laugh; as I read one of her truisms, I always chuckle a little internally at the “realness” of her words. It's a tool to make us question reality, and I believe in a sense keeps us in check. Take, for example, “Protect Me From What I Want.” It seems like a silly statement, but when you think more deeply about it, Holzer gently and humorously reminds us that our desires can sometimes harm us. This harm can be on a physical or psychological level. Or with “Money Creates Taste,” taste, something I think about a lot, is highly subjective. But to a certain degree, especially with social media and trends, I have to question from time to time if something seems tasteful just because it's expensive. Taste should be isolated from cost.

Mulier and Holzer

Now, to connect the dots between Mulier and Holzer… Mulier claims that he believes fashion is not art. Granted, he probably did not put much thought into this statement. But I remain fixated on it. Mulier expands upon this by focusing on the commerciality of fashion, implying that art should not be in commercial spaces.

Firstly, I agree that art is not fashion; rather, it informs fashion. I do believe, however, that fashion is art. Secondly, I want to talk a little bit about art in commercial contexts. As a person who studied art history extensively and applies this knowledge to fashion, I disagree that art can or should be removed from “commercial spaces.” Although some art resides in museums, much of art is created for the purpose of selling. While a passionate artist may not be engaging in the creative process with profit being the only thing on their mind, I have to assume that a person who dedicates their life to creating surely would hope to be able to make a living from that work. I think everyone could agree that art being shown in a museum serves as a testimate to the commercial success of said work, even if the artist was not alive to realize that dream. In addition to this, whether it be conscious or subconscious, much of art hinges upon and resonates with consumerist culture and commercialism.

(There is an entire art movement (pop art) whose sole focus was commercialism and representing consumer culture. Andy Warhol (a friend of Azzedine Alaïa) dedicated his whole career to deconstructing commercialism through his artworks. He represented mundane objects and developed a mechanical process of making to reduce the artist's hand in his creations.)

The art world has often been critical of design forms outside of the confines of “art” as a means to separate itself from design in a broader sense. There are some fundamental differences between art and design, however they remain united through the creative process. Art can be devoid of function, whereas design, by nature, must hold a function. Art has the ability to reinforce definitions of beauty; it can evoke feelings, draw attention to political movements, and serve as decor. Sure, you can’t necessarily sit on a piece of art, but to me, that does not mean that art does not have a function.

Ultimately, these concurrent shows were fascinating to me. I think they shed light onto the nature of design forms in this day and age. They highlight the implications of commerciality to design, the interconnectedness of varying art movements, and the inherent functionality of creative mediums. Art, design, and fashion are industries that overlap, and while fashion may serve a more apparent function, that does not mean it isn’t art (in my humble opinion at least). Further, through these shows we realize that the context in which we view art/fashion/design does matter. While art may have an ambiguous literal function, it does not mean that it is created devoid of commerciality. For is it really possible to create anything anymore without a commercial undertone?

What I've realized, though, is that my background in art history has helped shape my approach to fashion and the way I think about things. Firstly, art history teaches you to identify, memorize, and categorize material culture. Because of this, it is easy for me to name brands and remember defining characteristics about leather stitching or patterns that help me know a product's source. This is not exactly an essential skill, but for me, it has become a sort of game.

I always say that my obsession with fashion is intellectual. I believe that our world is defined through objects. The things we choose to surround ourselves with carry immense meaning. I have found that I am continually intrigued by the ways in which our clothing creates a narrative about our world or perpetuates cultural phenomena.

I have two favorite art periods. Stylistically, I am most drawn to Impressionism; conceptually, I am most drawn to art created between WWI and WWII.

Beginning in the late 19th century, Impressionism was an art practice defined by an obsession with documenting and capturing fleeting aspects of modern-day life, mostly centered around leisurely activities. The Impressionists were fixated on trying to understand how light operated on a scientific level. Impressionist works of art were typically painted “en plein air” (meaning outside) and are often characterized by quick, breathy strokes, as many of these works were completed in a matter of hours. These works were painted spontaneously and often looked almost unfinished and airy, as the artists would leave chunks of unpainted canvas. The artists most famously known for this style were Claude Monet, Camille Pissarro, Auguste Renoir, Edgar Degas, and my personal favorites, Berthe Morisot and Mary Cassatt (yes, it's because they are women).

For the purposes of this post, I will be focusing only on Claude Monet. His career, lasting over 60 years, was defined by his studies of light, most famously his paintings of haystacks and the French rail stations.

Until recently (literally a few weeks ago), I discredited Impressionist art’s conceptual and intellectual significance. I thought that the fixation on the fleeting was visually pleasing but fundamentally boring. Similarly to my criticism of Renaissance art's emphasis on Jesus and Christianity, I felt the artworks all dealt with the exact same subject matter. However, this all changed when I randomly was reminded of a little anecdote about some Monet paintings I had studied in my college Impressionism course, specifically about his 1865 Le Déjeuner sur l’Herbe (Luncheon on the Grass) and his 1866 Women in the Garden. The story, as I remembered it, was that by the time Monet had completed painting this work, he ended up needing to repaint the dress as the original ones were no longer in season. Remembering this sent me down a rabbit hole trying to find evidence. After some searching, I found that the Metropolitan Museum of Art had an exhibition called “Impressionism, Fashion, & Modernity” in 2013. I decided to order the exhibition catalog and found that I had remembered correctly. There is evidence that shows the transformation of one of the figures' dresses in the painting.

These works were mostly painted en plein air, but they were not completed quickly like many Impressionist works. Rather, Monet spent months working on these compositions. Evidence of this can be found through the studies for Le Déjeuner sur l’Herbe, which Monet never actually completed, and through the fact that he used models. Although seemingly naturalistic appearing, Women in the Garden was actually a posed composition. If you look closely at the work, you will notice that the four women do not interact with each other; they are psychologically disconnected and sit or stand minding their own business. 

The biggest learning I had from reading the chapter titled “Fashion en Plein Air” was that painting “the contemporary lady in fashion” was a central aspect of Impressionism. Further, that modernity was signaled through what women in the 1860s and 1870s wore, so the challenge for painters was to figure out a way to incorporate modern fashion into the outside scenes they were painting. According to Brigit Haase, who wrote this chapter, “the influence of contemporary fashion illustrations, a decidedly modern, ephemeral medium” represented “the pictorial world of the vie moderne.” The conscious decision to modify the garbs worn by the women in the scheme indicates how significant women’s wear was to modernity. Further, she writes that only slowly did attention actually shift from the clothing to what was being painted in a broader sense.

What she expresses is that clothing was a means through which to arrive at the “fleeting” aspects chased by Impressionism. Impressionist art was not warmly welcomed into the French art scene. Reading her chapter really changed my mindset about Impressionism because it validated a lot of my thoughts about the significance of clothing.

Clothing served as a conceptual gateway for Impressionism. Most Impressionist art was rejected from the salons, and as a result, the community got together to form its own salon, the Salon des Refusés—in English, literally, the Salon of the Refused. Therefore, these artists, Monet among them, needed to figure out a way to almost disguise their real conceptual pursuit behind something else. Instead of being able to openly focus on light and air, they had to infuse their art with aspects of modernity like train stations, river walks, industry, and fashion.

These milestones are significant, not just to the development of art, but to me personally, as I am able to further bridge the connections I see between art and fashion and support them through historical findings. Fashion and art lend to one another. In this post, I’ve tried to shed light on the ways in which fashion facilitated progress in art.

The term was introduced to me in my college art history courses. I don’t recall exactly when, because there are countless examples, to the point where the term can almost be applied to most depictions of women in art. The most classic example of the male gaze in art is usually taught through Titian’s Venus of Urbino. 

This work, painted in 1534 shows a woman who reclines leisurely on a bed. She stares straight at the viewer and appears to be unbothered despite her nudity. She holds flowers in one hand and uses her other to conceal her genitalia. At the foot of her bed rests a dog, a symbol of fidelity. Behind her are two maids who rummage through a chest. The setting: a lavishly ornate interior, which indicates this woman's high status. 

This artwork embodies the “male gaze” because this woman is painted in a manner that sexualizes her to appease male pleasures. Titian’s Venus of Urbino inspired many artworks after it. Most prominent is Manet’s Olympia. 

The setting is similar to that of Titian’s painting, Olympia stares straight into the eye of the viewer, however, a few key changes convey a vastly different meaning than that observed through the previous work. Firstly, instead of a dog, a cat sits at the foot of the bed. As opposed to a symbol of fidelity, the cat serves as a symbol of sensuality and promiscuity. Secondly, the servant here presents Olympia with flowers whereas, in Titian’s version, the maids do not attend directly to the subject of the painting. Olympia only wears jewelry and shoes. Her hand sits firmly on her thigh, blocking visual access to her genitalia, unlike how Venus sits. Olympia is a prostitute, not a loyal wife awaiting her husband's return. The flowers are an indication of this, the implication being that they were sent by a client… Olympia subverts the male gaze.

Olympia shocked her first audience at the French Salon, not just because of her confrontational gaze, and the fact that she was a prostitute but also because of Manet’s paint application. The brush strokes are undefined and crass. The subject matter is vulgar; instead of appealing to the male gaze, Manet’s work seemingly empathizes with the realities of Olympia's existence as an independent woman supporting herself through her work. Because of this, Olympia appeases the female gaze, aiming to display the complexities of womanhood rather than be objectifed.

Ok, now that we got some history out of the way, I’ll explain how this relates to dressing. I was scrolling on TikTok and noticed a new trend basically where women show images of themselves dressing for the male gaze vs. dressing for the female gaze. This sparked a lot of interest for me, naturally, after the amount of time I have spent studying the male gaze in art. The videos of dressing for the male gaze were mostly form-fitting, basic-monochrome type looks. They were what I would classify as conventional dressing; slightly revealing, very basic (in my opinion, not to be judgmental…) but short skirts, plain tops, jeans and tee-shirts. Think about a going-out outfit, where everyone is wearing sneakers, jeans, and a tight little top. It's a classic look, it always satisfies and serves the goal. We all dress like this sometimes, myself included. The unspoken rule dictating these looks: what would be appealing to the male eye. The looks appealing to the female gaze on the other hand were much more colorful. They played with varied shapes, patterns, and textures. These outfits could be classified as standing-out looks. A look where a woman is less concerned with how people perceive her, where she is dressing for herself.

I find that I feel better when I stand out and dress for “the female gaze” because what I’m really doing is dressing for me. Integrating different shapes, colors, and patterns (something I actually only started doing more recently) is more appealing to me. Instead of concerning myself with external perception, I try to hone in on experimental styling that suits me. 

To relate this back to the art, I pose the following question: are either of these artworks more interesting or compelling? The answer is no. They are both beautiful and important, but for different reasons and it's interesting to consider how such subtle changes, like replacing a dog with a cat, or moving a few fingers ever so slightly completely alter the intention of an artwork. Which work is prettier - that's up to personal preference. Which artwork has more significance - that’s also up to personal preference. An argument can be made that because Titian’s work inspired so many works to come, his Venus of Urbino is more important. But, in the same vein, an argument could be made expressing that Manet’s work is more significant in the ways that it shocked the art world… 

While I personally am more drawn to Manet’s work because of its scandalous history, that doesn't mean it's objectively more or less interesting than Titan's. That’s just one girl's opinion! Similarly to art, in dressing, we convey meaning. Everyday when getting dressed we make a statement. Would attires exist if no meaning was conveyed through dressing?

This little exercise in interpreting art helped me remember that many meanings can be derived from a common source. In the development of my personal style, I am trying to consider how I can dress for myself and filter through the notion of a gaze, trends, and all of the clutter from social media and influencing. It's challenging to form your own visual identity in a society that champions conformity. I like looking at many different sources to draw inspiration and make something uniquely my own.

Sources:

https://www.ways-of-seeing.com

https://www.newyorker.com/books/second-read/the-invention-of-the-male-gaze

https://www.thecrimson.com/article/2018/4/24/olympia-revisited/

From my observation, trends are very cyclical: everything always comes back in style. When I’m shopping (which is often) I try to consider if what I'm looking at is a trendy item that I might just think I like because I’m seeing it everywhere, or if it's something really special. I also try not to get rid of things unless they are truly worn out. You never know when you might be reaching back for an item in your closet. What's so fascinating to me about trends is the way that they inform the public consciousness and social norms. Three years ago if you told me I’d be reaching for ballet flats I would have told you there’s no way. Or if you told me that adidas sambas, a shoe I wore in middle school would be back in, (when I honestly knew very little about fashion) I probably would have laughed. 

My advice for someone who's thinking about engaging with a trend; start with shoes. The reason I think shoes are a good entry-trend/fashion item is because eventually you will probably wear them out. They aren't as high stakes and you won't be making as major a commitment like purchasing a bag or an article of clothing that you may not enjoy a few months or even weeks later.

Right now, I’m writing this post from Tel Aviv. I lived in Jerusalem from 4th-6th grade. At the time that I was living here, between 2008-12 I found that I was very disconnected from US trends. And, when they did hit the country, there was a major lag in their arrival. Everytime I returned back to the US I was completely behind with the cultural obsessions. My cousins would have to catch me up on what American kids considered to be cool on all fronts; what to wear, how to style what I was wearing, what music to listen to, and so on. For example, leading up to my Bat  Mitzvah I sat down with my cousin Emma (who now lives in Tel Aviv) and asked her to fill me in on all the music to have the DJ play. I had no idea what was in or out. 

What’s so interesting to me though is that being in Israel now, for the first time in two years I’m noticing that the same trends that we see in New York are present in Tel Aviv too. My sister and I were walking down Dizengoff yesterday (a major street with lots of Tel Aviv fashion and many stores) and from a distance we noticed a group of girls walking.  I immediately said to my sister - those girls look so American. They were all wearing sambas, low rise jean shorts and tank tops. Nothing so original - but very Tik Toker inspired. However, as we got closer to them, I realized they were native Hebrew speakers. It occurred to me that thanks to social media - specifically Tik Tok - the dissemination of trends happens much quicker than it did in the past. These girls now have access to the same social pool that girls around the world have. Despite algorithm variation, the same trends are accessible to the masses almost instantaneously. I’ll call this the globalization of trends.  

Beyond this though, something I’ve been thinking a lot about recently as it pretains to trends, is how they inform the collective idea of “neutrals.” Here me out. I think a lot of the time trendy item become neutrals in style. Fashion trends inform our consciousness and in turn, shape the way we dress. Another subckstaker I subscribe to posted an article about red being neutral and this prompted me to really consider the true characteristics of a neutral element in our closet. 

A neutral by definition is (adjective): having no strongly marked or positive characteristics or features or, (noun): a neutral color or shade, especially light gray or beige.

So red - by definition can not be neutral. I’m not saying I don't like the color red, or that I don't think people should wear it. Rather, I am just suggesting that to go so far as to call it a neutral indicates that there is another acting force that informs our ideas of what a neutral in an outfit truly is. I think that trends have become synonymous with neutrals. People are taking the trendy-as-neutral to the point where I’m seeing Tik Toks about animal prints being neutrals. Once again, I think animal prints are fun pops in an outfit, but I would never consider them to be neutral. 

Ultimately the way a trend spreads is fascinating. Trends did not used to have as wide a reach as they do today, and I can speak to this first hand from my experiences living abroad during elementary school. Today trends are far reaching, they expanse continents and generations. Trends inform our perception and sense of style, they dictate what we gravitate towards when shopping and can even inform our ideas of what constitutes a neutral.

x Isa

Something I’ve been thinking about is how we create identity in various mediums, what it means to stick to it, and when it's good to depart from certain identities. The main focus of this post will be creative genres, specifically a brief consideration of recent album releases and a tiny overview of Daniel Lee’s work at Bottega Veneta.

Sound Identity

Since I last posted a few big things have happened culturally. A few of my favorite musicians have released new music. The escapade began with Ariana Grande releasing Eternal Sunshine on March 8th, (I guess this was before my last post), followed by Kacey Musgraves Deeper Well on March 15th, Beyonce’s Cowboy Carter on March 29th, then Vampire Weekend released Only God Was Above Us on April 5th, and last but not least, Taylor Swift released TTPD on April 19th. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have listened to Cowboy Carter for at least 20 hours already. As for Ariana, typically I am not a fan of her music, but I liked this album a lot. Taylor Swift’s mega-album really speaks to me as I am a Dessner/Antanoff lover. I personally prefer slightly more alt/emo/downbeat music, which I feel speaks to my soul… not to be all mushy. Many of these albums displayed major breaks in genre for these artists. Beyonce ventured into country - in her own Beyonce-esque manner. Taylor stuck to the sound identity she created in her Folklore and Evermore period. Ariana produced a great pop-album, but to me it was an album with more depth and diversity. Kacey went back to her roots, creating an album that is most similar to her first rather than the last album she produced prior to Deeper Well. 

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I didn’t used to be as big of a music fan. To this day, I never know the lyrics to songs regardless of how many times I’ve listened to them. I’m not really sure what that's about, but have just accepted it as one of my many quirks. Ever since I graduated college and sort of embarked on this “cultural pursuit” that I am after, I have really gotten into music. I played piano growing up and was never that good, but always had a great ear and musical inclination (I actually regret not practicing piano more because I think I could have been good.) So now, when I listen to music I really try to deconstruct what I’m hearing. I listen to the words (that I cannot remember) and love to analyze everything going on. 

I think the biggest theme from my recently discovered increased (lets call it increased because it is not like I didn’t like music before) love of music is about genres. Rather, diversity of genre is what I am fascinated by. Nobody wants to be stuck in a box; confounded to one type. I think in the past, musicians and creatives in general were scrutinized for lacking conformity in their ouvres. If you were a country singer, you were always expected to release country music. Artists and designers similarly usually gain prominence through creating a format, presenting something new, and building an identity that they are then expected to keep to. I think the best descriptive word for this is that society expects creatives to have an identity. In music that's a sound identity, in art and fashion it's usually a visual identity. 

My question is this; how do we deal with change when it seems to contradict identity?

Visual Identity

Transitioning this into my fashion curiosities, we can consider the movement of creative directors between fashion houses. When a creative director moves from one house to the next, he/she is expected to reinvent his or herself and create new designs that not only comply with their own visual identity but also with decades of that of the fashion house. Let's consider Daniel Lee as a perfect case study for this. Daniel Lee was the creative director of Bottega Veneta from 2018-2021. Like many others of today’s biggest designers, he worked under Phoebe Philo for a while during her reign at Celine. While at Bottega he created some of the biggest ‘it-bags’ and ready-to-wear collections that influence how we still dress, despite the fact that he no longer works there. Three of Lee’s most influential designs were the Pouch, Jodie and the Cassette bags. Lee reinvented Bottega’s iconic intrecciato pattern in a new and fresh way and pushed the Parakeet green to the forefront of the brand, modernizing the brand's image. Bottega is now considered to be one of the most desirable and ubiquitous brands in the luxury fashion sphere to date. 

Two years after leaving Bottega, Lee assumed the role of creative director at Burberry in 2023. Personally, I did not like his debut collection for SS 2024. However, his FW 2024 collection was much more interesting. Generally speaking though, witnessing the movement of a creative director from one fashion house to another sparked a lot of questions for me about identity and conformity. As the departing designer from arguably the biggest it-brand, Lee went into direct competition with himself. At Burberry, one of Lee’s biggest competitors was the legacy he left behind at Bottega. (More on this later). This task is very difficult. Entering a house in need of freshness and then creating distinct new styles that are coherent with the visual identity of the house, while departing from a previous type is not easy.

Creatives are always under pressure. As a creative person, I feel that pressure too. And it's not external, rather it comes from within. It is hard to balance these identities. There is a fear and uncertainty about how people will respond to your work. The expectation and demand to constantly produce new, original, authentic, consistent, but not repetitive work is draining… When we choose to break away from a genre, we put our identity into question. How do we remain constant while changing? How do we allow ourselves to explore our creativity further without worrying about the image/ identity that is already in place? 

I don’t think I have all the answers to these questions, and the answers I do have would take wayyyyy too long to get into. I leave this open ended.  

xIsa

You might be reading this questioning why it has anything to do with clothes or fashion, but I’ll explain. I was so behind academically (or at least felt that way when I first moved back to the US), I didn’t only need to catch up in my classes, I also needed to catch up socially. I had missed out on three important years of cultural development while I completed 4th-6th grades in Israeli public school. I was not familiar with the new music, tv shows, clothing trends, or anything… 

To be frank, I was materially motivated in middle and high school because I wanted to have what everybody else had. Originally, I actually thought very little about the items I desired and just wanted them for status symboling. If everyone was wearing Brandy Melville, I needed to wear Brandy Melville. I actually have a vivid memory in 8th grade where I begged my mom to drive me to Brandy Melville so I could buy those (ugly) muscle tees and weirdly proportioned sweatshirts everyone wore. After pleading for a while she finally caved and drove me to Brandy Melville on a Friday afternoon after school. I bought a maroon muscle tee with a skull on it (let me know…) and a gray sweatshirt. I remember that I paid for it myself, I wanted it so bad, even more, I needed to have it. And when I finally got it, I cherished it. I wore that shirt so often, and felt cool having it and being able to participate in a trend with my peers. The shirt almost operated as an in-group marker, a symbol of belonging. 

Through these many years of reflection though, I’ve had a sustained battle with my materialism. Materialism is a complicated phenomenon because it has such a negative connotation. People who are “materialistic” are often scrutinized for valuing objects above other (admittedly) more important things. Here’s what materialism actually means:

1. 1.  A theory that physical matter is the only or fundamental reality and that all being and processes and phenomena can be explained as manifestations or results of matter (see MATTER entry 1 sense 2) scientific materialism

   2.  a doctrine that the only or the highest values or objectives lie in material well-being and in the furtherance of material progress

   3.  a doctrine that economic or social change is materially caused  compare HISTORICAL MATERIALISM

2. 1.  a preoccupation with or stress upon material rather than intellectual or spiritual things

I don't think that the roots of my materialism constituted a deep,  philosophical issue. This is probably because I never really thought so much about materialism, until now… I just knew that I loved things. To me, materialism was really about the second definition, a preoccupation or a stress. I never imbued things with spiritual meaning, but in my peak materialism, I valued material things and was motivated by them. My materialism was a means to an end that served a functional role in my life (fitting in).

It's only now, in retrospect, that I am able to piece all of these elements together. I recognize that the shirt I so badly needed did not put me in the in-group. But I do believe that what can be extrapolated from this little anecdote is that material items have the potential to serve bigger roles in our lives, as long as they are kept in check and not overly valued, or valued above other more important things (like family, friends, health, education… you get the vibe). Through these reflections, I am able to weave a story to explain the role clothing played (and continues to play) in my life. When I was struggling in middle school, clothing served as a neutralizer. It was a visible way for me to attempt to fit in and almost mask myself. But this is a conclusion that has taken me years of development and personal growth to realize.

Material belongings are important. My 12 year old obsession with fitting in, that was once just a fixation turned into a passion and a career pursuit. It shaped me and has provided me with a different lens through which to view the world. Since the dawn of time, people have coveted things, or property, for a myriad of reasons. Things provide us with a sense of control, belonging, independence and autonomy. Things are (or can signify) freedom. For me, this freedom takes form as clothing. So I propose we try to debunk the fallacy of materialism being inherently bad or shallow. If you view things in the same way that I do, you open yourself up to the truth that material goods shape our world.

This next post is going to center around my art history knowledge, exploring the way clothes can tell a story. I was a little late to the Poor Things viewing, but watched it just in time for the Oscars on March 11th. I had seen one other of Yorgos Lanthimos’ movies and although I was slightly creeped out by it conceptually, I find that his videography, POV and overall direction are very moving. His surrealist approach to filmmaking is captivating. Masked behind an uneasy-weirdness, is a true questioning of humanity in an absurdist extreme. His movies make you think about a lot of “what-ifs” while he blends past, present and future. He explores the boundaries of human nature. Poor Things asks - what if we lived in a world where you can get a second chance at life with a tabula rasa and escape the societal constraints of womanhood. 

The movie is set in the 1800s, but is simultaneously futuristic, creating a dynamic ambiguity which leaves room for creativity in set elements and costuming. I was most captured by these elements and their very obvious art references (to me at least). More-so, it was how these elements echoed the main themes of the movie. Obviously I am in agreement with the film industry officials because the film won over 15 awards including an Academy Award for costuming, production design, as well as makeup and hair.

The biggest themes throughout Poor Things were womanhood and liberation. This was instantly apparent to me through the costumes in the way that they challenged acceptable fashion norms of how women were expected to dress at the time. To the blind eye, the costumes may have seemed strange, because for the majority of the film, the protagonist Bella Baxter actually wears some form of a pajama. I am a fashion nerd, so naturally I spent hours reading about the fashion references and history associated with them. I became obsessed with how Holly Waddington, the costume designer, conceptualized Bella’s wardrobe throughout the film.

At Lanthimos’ instruction, Waddington was tasked not to create period costumes, but instead to reference the 1800s in a modern and unordinary way.  Holly Waddington did exactly this: she drew inspiration for the costumes from 19th century Victorian garbs, but she consistently reimagined them with a twist. She decided to forgo corsetry and the sort of key structural elements to Victorian dressing. Rather, her references were infused with an intentional contemporary flare that further reinforce the framework of Bella’s sexual liberation pushed forth in the movie. Throughout much of the film, Bella feels almost dressed, yet there is always a missing element, as if a child tried to dress themselves. 

But what deepens this story told through clothes even further, is considering a hero scene (to me at least) at the start of the film and its art historical reference.

The scene that stuck out to me most was this: 

Referencing this: Manet, Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe, 1862-63

This piece of art was monumental for myriad reasons. Firstly, Edouard Manet is considered to be the father of modernism. He merged the gap between realism (focused on the reality of mundane life) and early impressionism (focused on capturing the moment and fleeting elements of leisure). The undertones of this work are pleasure and leisure, with the title Luncheon on The Grass suggesting a casual everyday activity. But the subject matter implies a deeper/ulterior meaning. Secondly, this artwork created scandal as it broke away from the acceptable art norms at the time. Shockingly the norm being defied here wasn't about painting naked women, that was actually considered fairly usual. What was so shocking about this work was the pairing of a naked woman with fully dressed men and the act of painting a naked woman in an unidealized way. An idealized woman would have been mythical, but she is unidealized, so she is real. And to make matters worse, her pile of clothes in the far left corner of the work suggest that she just recently undressed, implying that she is a prostitute (just like Bella…).

I am so captured by the way the costuming, paired with the context of the art references, strengthen the theme of womanhood in the film. Recreating this scene in Poor Things, Lanthimos foreshadows Bella’s character arch. Her sexual awakening starts evolving early on in the film. As Bella travels across Europe through Lisbon, on a cruise to Alexandria, and then in Paris where she ends up needing to work as a prostitute to support herself, she slowly discovers herself. This Manet image was just so clear to me upon watching this early scene in the movie. And then as I read and digested the costumes as a whole, it became ever clearer why this reference makes so much sense in the context of what the film is trying to convey. 

Pleasure and leisure are two elements associated with liberation. Men have enjoyed them since the beacon of time, but Bella is not concerned with these societal structures. The way I read it is as follows: because she did not have a typical childhood, Bella is free from societal constraints. Bella’s costume choices in the film echo this. She always indulges, she wears whatever she wants, and does whatever she pleases.

Take for example this outfit:

In comparison to everyone else around her in the scene (not pictured), she seems wildly underdressed. She is in colorful clothes, dressed appropriately on the top but as you move down her body she wears swifty little shorts and GoGo boots. Waddington explains that the reference for the boot was André Courrèges’ original 60s and 70s space age modernist designs. And like the fashion nerd that I am, I decided to do a deep dive on Courrèges. I discovered that he is credited with designing the miniskirt (although this is contested now and some people believe that it was actually Mary Quant). A miniskirt was a major advancement in female dressing, breaking away from modesty norms. I can’t help but wonder if Waddington was considering this history when she picked these shoes as a reference. Deepening the narrative of what female liberation could mean, she chooses to reference a revolutionary designer that paved the way for female advancement through clothes.

Original GoGo Boot designed by André Courrèges in 1964, located at the Metropolitan Museum of Art:

Or take the bustle cage Bella wear as a child:

Archival Moncler jacket reference:

Waddington explains that she drew inspiration for this bustle from the quilting of a Moncler jacket. Moncler was founded in 1952 by René Ramillon and André Vincent, and the original function of the jackets was to offer working men protection from the cold. Bustles were 19th century garments meant to add volume to a skirt. Nothing about this is particularly extraordinary. But Bella wears the bustle with nothing on top of it in her infant phase of the film. I can't help but wonder if there is an additional layer of implied protection through this reference. After-all, Bella wears the bustle indoors. She didn't need protection from the cold, so maybe it's a sign of familial protection. Bella stops wearing the bustle as soon as she embarks on her travels, where she has her sexual awakening. Waddington presents a double deconstruction - the garment and material don’t make sense in the way Bella wears them. This double deconstruction makes way for a new meaning. 

I could go on analyzing every single scene and look to explain how Holly Waddington strategically paired the costumes and their references to underscore the overall theme of the film. But I'll leave it at this for now… As made pretty clear by this entry, not only do I love fashion at the level of what I like to wear, I like to explore it to better understand how our clothes tell a story. I was so moved by the costumes in Poor Things because, in their own right, they say so much. Clothes can be a powerful means for communication, they are a non-verbal way to convey identity.

References: 

• Melena Ryzik, The New York Times: Unfurling the Unusual Costumes of ‘Poor Things’ Jan 7 2024 

• Radhiika Seth, Poor Things’s Costume Designer on Creating a Sexually Liberated Fashion Fantasia, Dec 8 2023

• Frances Sola-Santiago, Poor Things’ Victorian-Style Fashion Shows A Beautiful Side To The Frankenstein Tale, Dec 8 2023

• Moncler History

• Courreges Histroy

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