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[July 12, 1969] Paco Rabanne and the Theater of War

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Be sure to join us today (July 13) at 9:15 AM PDT (5:15 in London) for BBC's broadcast of the first episode of Star Trek!


by Gwyn Conaway


Paco Rabanne posing with the circular chainmail that has swept Futurist fashion. The style needs no label as it's immediately recognizable as his revolutionary work.

NASA has set its sights on the moon, and their journey is mere days away.

The dead heat of summer has fallen upon us like a humid hug. We fan our sun-kissed skin and drink iced tea from sweating glassware. We crave the artificial breeze of a car ride and press damp rags into our necks. And despite our discomfort, our American breath is frozen in our lungs. Our conversations of anything else have dwindled to distracted murmurs and canceled plans.

I find myself preoccupied with broadcasts and newspapers, my mind muddied with what-ifs and what-thens. It all circles back–one revolution after another–to a single designer and how his first couture line managed to change the course of fashion from the runway to the street. How will he view the coming weeks?

Paco Rabanne.


From Rabanne's "Twelve Unwearable Dresses," 1966.


This first couture collection borrows heavily from the Byzantine period with plate mail and lamellar armor elements, giving his mail dresses an Athenian allure.

Rabanne created his first couture line only three years ago. “Manifesto: Twelve Unwearable Dresses in Contemporary Materials” showed in Paris in 1966, and forever changed the fashion landscape for women. Until that moment on his runway, industrial materials had been relegated to the theatre of war in the forms of chainmail and lamellar armor, among other notable defensive garments.

These days, though, I wonder… Is fashion not also part of the theater of war? Propaganda is considered so, which suggests public perception is a weighty tool of any nation. What better way to proclaim the perfection of one’s ideals than through beauty?


Rabanne designed this in spring of 1969. Note how it mirrors much of the shape language of the height of the Crusades from the 11th to 13th centuries, and Bedouin niqab. This speaks both to the Crusades and the recent Six-Day War in the Middle East.


An example of German hauberk chainmail in the eleventh century.


A Bedouin woman in Sinai, Egypt wearing a niqab adorned with coins sometime between 1900-1920.

Paco Rabanne seems to have reached the same conclusion as me. Though his mother was a chief seamstress for Balenciaga and followed the designer to Paris when he was five, his father was executed during the Spanish Civil War. Of course, I can’t imagine the impact of violence at such a tender age, but politics and doom are common themes of Rabanne’s public statements regarding his own reincarnation and prophecies. Both he and Salvador Dali–who run in the same circles, so I’m told–explore the idea of utter destruction in intimate artistic detail. A political endeavor in and of itself.

So it’s no surprise to me that Paco Rabanne’s construction techniques rely heavily on pliers rather than sewing needles. His unforgiving poeticism armors the modern Cold War woman as if she herself were not just a prize of war, but an active participant.


Francoise Hardy in Rabanne, 1960s. She walks with an air of severity through stately rooms flanked by officers, signaling her authority and power. The untouchable quality of Rabanne's models enhanced their otherworldly power, emulating godly women of history such as Athena, Cleopatra, and Joan of Arc.

Which brings me to one of his most recent masterpieces. Le 69, affectionately known as the Moon Bag, is constructed in the same fashion as his metal and plastic mail dresses with heavy steel. Supposedly inspired by a French butcher’s apron that dates back to the medieval period with a strap made from a toilet-flushing chain, I wonder terribly what his personal feelings are on this accessory. Given our current moment in history, I can’t help but equate it with the covetous nature of the Space Race. Who will get there first? What happens when someone wins the race?

The answer to the first question is imminent. Women will now and for many years carry the “Moon” in their hands as if we have the right to possess it.


Rabanne's "Le 69" Moon Bag.

Paco Rabanne is aware of the inherent violence of his design language. In fact, he has explicitly stated it. “My clothes are like weapons. When they are fastened they make a sound like the trigger of a revolver.” And though many critics cite his architectural background as the reason for his exceptional choices in material and technique, his motivations seem to go deeper than that.

As the Apollo 11 launch approaches, perhaps Rabanne is asking the same questions. What happens when our adversaries see the Moon in our hands?

My only hope is that the doom he feels looming in his prophecies remains there.




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[September 22, 1968] Pageantry and Picket Signs

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by Gwyn Conaway


On September 7th 1968, Debra Barnes, also known as Miss Kansas, won the crown of the Miss America Pageant in Atlantic City, sharing the spotlight with protestors that managed to hang banners during the live broadcast and spark a nation-wide controversy over women's liberation.

“The personal is political.”

This astute piece of wisdom, born of deep discussions in the rising New York Radical Women group this summer, was voiced by one of its leaders, Carol Hanisch. She’s the feminist mastermind behind the Miss America Pageant protest that happened just two weeks ago on the Atlantic City boardwalk outside of the live broadcast of the event on the seventh of September.

When it comes to a woman’s image, she couldn’t be more on the nose. Women’s beauty has been touted as the ultimate symbol of the successes of nations, militaries, companies, and men. Even the origins of the Miss America Pageant are rooted in consumerism and marketing.


Miss America has two key duties after her coronation. Product placement and stimulating the economy is the origin of the pageant, and no surprise now includes brand sponsors such as Pepsi. Her other obligation, however, is touring the U.S. troops. The New York Radical Women call the latter a "death mascot."

In 1921, the first Miss America pageant was held just after Labor Day to lengthen the resort season and bring more revenue to the New York and Jersey coasts. The contest was described as an evaluation of a woman’s “personality and social graces,” with an initial round of judgment conducted by photograph–a medium, I should mention, that is hard pressed to showcase either of these laudable traits.

Within a score of years, the requirements for the pageant became clearer, though surely they were a requirement from the start. A contestant was to be a white woman in good health, never married, between the ages of 18 and 28. All the accolades that she brought with her were expected to be mildly bland, uninspiring, and only the sort of polite conversation one has with their in-laws. The Goldilocks Rule aboundeth: Not too hot, and not too cold. This contradictory manner was invented to define the Modern Woman by none other than Charles Dana Gibson, a male illustrator-turned-editor for Life magazine, once again linking the idea of women's beauty, national identity, and consumerism from the male point of view.


When Women Are Jurors, studies in expression by Charles Dana Gibson, 1902.

When New York Radical Women organized the protest outside of Boardwalk Hall, the history of the pageant was baked into its message of decrying the tradition's inherent sexism. Performances of being shackled and mopping the boardwalk with an infant in hand, for example, were meant to visually represent the unending pressures of Western women. Caricatures of the contestants were labeled as a cattle auction, and even a sheep draped in a banner that read “Miss America” was paraded around the picket line throughout the day.

But perhaps the most provocative element of the protest was the now infamous Freedom Trash Can.


Protestors throw their objects of oppression into the Freedom Trash Can on the Atlantic City boardwalk. Contrary to popular belief, no bras were burned that day, though organizers claim they'd wanted to do so in solidarity with recent draft card burnings.

Yes, the one into which women threw their objects of oppression: lash curlers and fakies, nylons and office pumps, girdles, wigs, lipstick, gloves, the Cosmopolitan… The one you’ve no doubt read mention of in the Atlantic City Press’s scorching article, “Bra-burners blitz boardwalk.” The assumption that women burned their effects seems trollish sensationalism from my point of view, though. In looking through statements from Carol Hanisch, she mentions they had intended to burn them, much like veteran draft cards in the protests on the lawn over the summer, but were instructed not to. The protest happened on a wooden boardwalk, after all.

The image of burning one’s brassiere is so striking that it will surely live in infamy, and I won’t be surprised if it happens during feminist protests in the future. Truthfully, it’s already become a double-edged sword. While women might choose to honor the efforts of the activists who came before them through bra-burning, their critics will latch onto it as well, claiming it a symbol of anarchy. To think, choosing one’s own most personal garments could be such a political threat.

However, harking on the Miss America Pageant alone only tells half of the fascinating tale of this year’s beauty brawl. The New York Radical Women’s protest revolved entirely around the misogynistic use of women as a patriotic trophy and how it signaled to American women what mainstream beauty standards should be in the eyes of male judges. But focusing on the pageant by nature necessitated the whole-cloth exclusion of brown and Black women who, as I laid out in the rules of the pageant, were barred from participation.

While white women in the United States have been oppressed by the gender extremes of our society for centuries, Black and brown women haven’t been included at all in the definition of ideal beauty. This means their struggle has been two-fold, balancing the incorrigible partnership of the legacy of slavery and a beauty standard that expects their hair, features, and physique to mold itself after the white ideal.


Phillip Savage (center) plans a civil rights march in 1963 with collaborators Cecil B Moore (left) and A. Philip Randolph (right). Savage cofounded the Miss Black America pageant with J. Morris Anderson. The poster below is undated, though this style of poster and rhetoric was ubiquitous throughout the events of September 7th.

Just down the street from the Miss America Pageant broadcast, there was another event being held: the first annual Miss Black America Pageant.

While the New York Radical Women’s protest challenged the male gaze and has received immense derision from (mostly male) newsrooms, the Miss Black America Pageant has enjoyed public success so far. J. Morris Anderson of Philadelphia decided to organize the event when his daughters lamented over not being able to participate in the long-standing contest. He, Phillip Savage, and others, came together to make a space for the Black beauty ideal on the American stage. They didn’t directly oppose Miss America and its whiteness. Rather, much like Thurgood Marshall in his Supreme Court hearings last year, they circumvented the argument altogether.


I can’t help but think that male involvement in the Miss Black America Pageant was critical to its warm reception, especially since men were barred from participating in the protests down the street. (New York Radical Women even forbade male journalists from interviewing participants.)

The strategic differences between the two events couldn’t have been more stark, nor the message more similar. While the Miss America Pageant protests on the boardwalk were meant to cast derision on men’s control of women’s bodies, the Miss Black America Pageant aimed to take ownership of Black beauty. Both events were after the same goals: to give women a voice in their own image, the power to decide what makes them feel powerful, and the platform to enact change for their communities. 


Miss Saundra Williams, crowned the first Miss Black America, gave a monologue entitled “I Am Black,” performed an African dance, and wore her hair in a natural halo of curls. Miss Williams took ownership of her roots before, during, and after her coronation. Rather than the event pressuring its contestants into following the more marketable approach of the longstanding Miss America Pageant, the organizers and contestants took it as an opportunity to speak directly to their own demographic and define beauty on their own terms.

Whether it's suffrage, the right to divorce, or the profit of our bodies, women have been fighting the same battles head on for centuries with abysmal results. Truly, if we’re fighting the same stigmas in the next century, it will come at no surprise.

Maybe the Miss Black America pageant has the right idea. We learned in looking at fashions of the Civil Rights Movement (of which many of its leaders were involved in this pageant) that the old saying holds true: it’s easier to catch flies with honey. I don’t believe that Miss Black America capitulates to the structure of how white America judges beauty, but rather makes room, and in doing so, diminishes the power of the mainstream.

While New York Radical Women and other women's liberation movements battle the mainstream head on, efforts such as the invention of Miss Black America flank our culture. In a trench war so long and grueling, I have no doubt that these mainstream ideals will sadly stand the test of time…

But they'll also be fighting for oxygen with every new space we create.


Saundra Williams speaking at the 369th Regiment Armory in Harlem New York, 1968.




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[June 24, 1968] Martin Luther King Jr. and the Fashion of Neighborly Protest

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by Gwyn Conaway

The tragic assassination of civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. in April left America reeling. Images of his final march through the streets of Memphis have been presented everywhere, his apparition and his voice still echoing through American society now, and surely for generations to come.

This, of course, includes his movement’s fashion.


King upon his arrival in Memphis in March of 1968.

When you see photographs of King standing behind a microphone, or especially linked arm-in-arm with his collaborators, you might see nothing special. Three-buttoned suits in grey, black, brown, and navy. Pressed white dress shirts dressed with narrow silk ties and tie pins. Freshly brushed fedoras and homburgs. To many of us, this fashion is commonplace in America. This is the uniform of company men and Hollywood.

Which is exactly the point.


King flanked by Reverend Ralph Abernathy (right) and Bishop Juian Smith (left) in his last march in Memphis in March.

Let me interrupt myself here to say, if you haven’t perused my recent critique of Vogue and its use of women as decor for an escape from the instability of Western life, I humbly urge you to read it as a prelude to the topic of neighborly resistance I will introduce now. For in all things, fashion and beauty have purpose. In the case of Vogue in my last article, propriety is used as a tool to control the expectations of women, while here, we will see propriety used as a tool of protest.

In resistance fashion, there are two prevailing trends that exacerbate the divisions of society and define the identities and ideals of those pursuing a better world: one of negotiation, and one of force. Force is easy to recognize, often taking on militaristic elements of dress, such as the Black Panthers with their berets and leather jackets, or constructing a mystique of terror, such as the Ku Klux Klan with their pointed hoods. Negotiation, however, is difficult to separate from polite society. The message is, “I am your wife, your friend, your colleague. I am just like you.”

This approach makes the militaristic response to King’s peaceful protests all the more jarring. Black men and women dressed for church, walking the streets peacefully are met with primarily white servicemen and police officers with rifles, helmets, and combat boots. Rather than a potentially dangerous movement, cameras capture the dignity of Black America as it meets a terrified government at the end of a rifle barrel.


Black men and allies protest peacefully in Memphis this April in clean-cut suits, dress shoes, and ties as if attending a job interview for equal rights while the National Guard's response appears alarmist with guns raised and tanks rolling down the streets.

This isn’t the only time in history that we’ve seen this subtle but effective tactic in the pursuit of change. The suffrage movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries also faced threat of violence and harsh criticism. Women across the Western world were caricatured by cartoonists, politicians, and journalists as brutish and ugly for their pursuit of the right to vote. Perhaps most insidious of the stereotypes was the thought that they were uncaring and selfish mothers, unfit to raise children. Suffragists fought back against these insulting depictions through hunger strikes, riots, diplomacy, literature… and by how they dressed. By the turn of the century, the movement realized they had a public relations problem.

Thus began the image of the beautiful, patriotic, charismatic “suffragette,” a term that had previously been used to belittle the movement.


A postcard entitled "Sermon of Stones!" in which a suffragist from the turn of the century is depicted as mannish, violent, and improper.


Walt Disney's 1964 production of Mary Poppins depicts suffragettes in the late 1910s, at which point they won the battle for voting rights in America (1920) and the United Kingdom (1918). The song "Sister Suffragette" was performed by Glynis Johns as Winifred Banks, Hermione Baddeley, and Reta Shaw.

Though critics of King’s tactics within the Black community claim he’s accepting standards of white American culture rather than lifting up their own, the truth is more complex. Our identities are literally worn on our sleeves, and while the Black Panther Party may be the most recognizable civil rights group, the image of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference is just as powerful. Whether bombastic and rebellious or gentle and assimilated, fashion proves to be a powerful tool for identity, politics, and change.

I look forward to meeting my new neighbors, sooner rather than later.




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[March 24, 1968] A Frivolous Escape into Fashion

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by Gwyn Conaway

Recently I found myself reading Vogue, as I often do in the spring, to surmise the direction of fashion for the coming year. March’s issues did not disappoint in providing a vibrant view of the year to come in mainstream fashion. I speak primarily of its frivolity and lack of connection to the state of the world.


Mr. Dino brings in the summer with a "brisk ambassa-dress", a play on the word "ambassador", decorated in stately medals and ribbons of honor to invoke patriotic hopefulness in womenswear, Vogue, March 1968.

It’s apparent to me that womenswear this spring has a singular purpose in creating an escape from the tensions of politics and war. Vogue explores this through romanticizing the ancient empires of the Mediterranean – a common escape during times of uncertainty – and crewing the ship of our adventures.

Perhaps you've read that sentence twice, so let me set the scene for you and expand upon my findings. Many fashions this spring follow one of two roads. Firstly, a romanticization of the past through modern resort prints and silk taffeta skirts. Secondly, a sleek uniform style inspired by the Mod movement, but specifically naval in aesthetic that lends itself to our obsession with the classics. Combined, these two modes of fashion suggest that women this year are both the vehicles of escapism and the destination.

Above is a beautiful example of romanticization of the past with details in both mens and womenswear indicating details of Napoleon's army. He invaded several regions, including Egypt, one of the three classical empires in Western philosophy. Note the beaded cuff in a chevron to mimic that of an admiral, the jeweled buttons, and silver damask waistcoat, all of which mimic court dress of the French Empire in the early nineteenth century.

By comparison, the Mod and Space Age movements have evolved into a nautical theme this year with navy and white being the dominant color palette. Note the mantle in worsted crepe with Brandenburg braiding, the wide white belt with a rectangular buckle that mimics formal naval uniforms, and a pervasive use of white gloves all across womenswear, also indicative of formal military etiquette. The Contessa outfit to the right jaunts the hat to the side and sports chevron-detailed pockets indicative of infantry troops. Please also take a glance at the pillars at her back, which happen to be Egyptian in origin.


Another fascinating interpretation of our frivolous escapism this season is Estee Lauder's advertisement of crème makeup (left), in which the ensemble is made of chiffon and lost amongst the wallpaper, and Valentino (right). His ensemble here is quite a curious combination of a silk organza blouse with a sailor's collar paired with silverleaf shorts derived from statues of Greek archers and pottery.


Advertisements for The Wet Set by Hanes and Berkshire's Miracle Fibers. Both of these advertisements were accompanied by cosmetics that prided themselves on softness and transparency.

Much to my surprise, every page in this spring’s issues is dedicated to the delicacy and girlishness of women rather than our evolving brand of sharp intellectualism and keen pursuits. Even our undergarments have taken on the look of water, iridescent like velvet, advertised to invoke the sea. These liquid nylons are soft and transparent, two traits many of the fashions this spring strive for in their customers. Bold strokes in Vogue have been abandoned in opposition to the youth movements that so loudly defy long-held traditions and establishments of power. As a result of this feud, I find us returning to a dichotomy as old as time: the bold, intellectual woman and the more favorable docile lady.


There was no advertisement more en pointe than Van Raalte, which says of its sleepwear, "Beneath an air of independence: little girl sleepers."

Though the styles presented upon the main stage of fashion across Europe and New York are modern, beautiful, and tailored to perfection, I wonder… Is this how women view themselves in our age? I’m inclined to disagree with the ancient gods of couture this year, and I suspect that young women in particular resent being depicted as new mothers and home decor. I’m curious to see how women use their voices in the coming months, and to what end. How will they be viewed? How will we judge them? My expectation is that if major fashion publications continue this trend, there will be a stark divide amongst women, just as there was during the Suffrage Movement at the turn of the century. While soft-spoken, mannerly women will be seen as beautiful and proper, those holding picket signs will be viewed as ugly and brash.

The homefront war is just beginning…

[Want to discuss the evolving culture of 1968? Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge!]




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[September 20th, 1967] Twiggy: Face of the 60s

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by Gwyn Conaway

Back in March of this year, a peculiar teenage girl by the name of Lesley Hornby stepped off the tarmac at John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City and, predictably, changed the world.


Miss Hornby was “discovered” by Deirdre McSharry by chance and coined her “The Face of ‘66.” She’s since then been on the cover of US Vogue three times in a single year.

At seventeen years old, Twiggy, as she’s more commonly known, has captured the lenses of every camera and magazine in the world. And while many critics claim that she’s taken fashion by storm, I have been awaiting her arrival for some time.

Despite my foresight, I’m no soothsayer! No, I’m simply a fashion historian watching the pendulum of humanity swing ever closer to its amplitude of enlightenment. It’s a dance as old as civilization, and I’ll happily reveal the steps.


Twiggy for Vogue, Summer 1967.

Twiggy is known mainly for her adolescent figure: a straight waist, lanky limbs, big lash-lined eyes, and diminutive chest. These youthful traits are the ideals of revolutionary beauty, and crop up during the political changing of the tides in which the next generation wants to wash away the structures of the past. When these sorts of proportions become mainstream, they signal upheaval that challenges tradition and demands social revolution.


What better indication do we have than the Long Hot Summer of 1967, in which we’ve already experienced over one hundred fifty race riots alone? Pictured here is tension leading to bloodiest challenge to the status quo so far, the 12th Street Riot in Detroit from July 23-28.

Eras such as ours set aside the domestic feminine figure with child-bearing hips and gentle curves in favor of androgyny for the express purpose of rebelling against standards young people no longer have faith in. Anti-beauty, as it were, pushes society to view women as more than the dichotomy of the Gibson Girl they’re often prescribed (combining two female archetypes: the voluptuous woman and the fragile lady rolled into one woman).


Thérésa Tallien was known for cutting her hair in celebration of Marie Antoinette's execution and foregoing undergarments and sleeves. She also wore cothurnus, or Greek sandals.


Louise Brooks is credited with introducing the sleek bob worn by so many Flappers in anti-prohibition America and also celebrated her sexual power in a modern world.

Twiggy joins the ranks of women such as Thérésa Tallien of the French Revolution and Louise Brooks of 1920s Hollywood fame. Not only do these revolutionary beauties reflect the daring spirit of their times, but also the search for truth. As miniskirts and monokinis find popularity, I’m reminded of the Neoclassical era, in which revolutionary women hung up their stockings and went bare-legged in thin muslin gowns to reflect the bareness of truth through nudity. And as drugs such as LSD gain influence in art, I have deja vu of the Dadaists, who sought to unravel reality after The War to End All Wars.

From my high vantage point, the arrival of Twiggy has been expected for quite some time. In fact, it would be more surprising if Miss Hornby hadn’t risen as the star of the 1960s. Now that she’s taken up the mantle of revolution, I suggest we all prepare for cultural turbulence. The voice of the generation has spoken.




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[February 26th, 1967] Geoffrey Beene, The Master of Modernity

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by Gwyn Conaway

As I lounge in my silk dressing gown this morning, sipping a cup of tea, I find myself loath to venture forth into the day. Must I don nylons and lady-like undergarments composed of hooks and wires and straps? Come to that, must a man wear a tie and a suit jacket? Today, I am belligerent about the world and its rules.

Rather than prepare for the office, I have turned towards fawning over the designs of Geoffrey Beene. Taking my rebellious streak into consideration, this is a perfectly logical digression. This rising fashion designer shares my distaste of formality and convention, and to my delight, has been turned away from fine restaurants for refusing to wear a dinner jacket on more than one occasion. I applaud his rejection of tradition, particularly on mornings like this, on which I have no intention of following the rules of decorum.


Geoffrey Beene, photographed in 1965, sporting a very relatable affably unimpressed expression.


Geoffrey Beene designs, Harper's Bazaar, 1967

Womenswear has become increasingly structured and columnar these last few years, and as a result has lost connection with the human body. Interestingly, this disconnect is by design. Pierre Cardin is quoted as saying that he doesn’t consider the woman within his gowns, but thinks of each creation as architecture. Though this is certainly a valid design approach, particularly in avant garde, fashion is no longer ruled by the elite and their runways. Rather, the young and broke have become a ringing voice within the industry; a voice that calls for freedom of movement and accessible fabrics.


Pierre Cardin’s Cosmos Collection was released this winter, but has been labeled too impractical for the market.


In comparison, Beene’s football gowns strike a fanciful balance between glamour and leisure that has piqued the interests of the younger, more personable generation.

Mr Beene is rather new to the industry, but his impact is already creating ripples of change. From a rural Louisiana town, he understands the importance of mobility, something with which many designers are currently unconcerned. While the likes of Rabanne, Courrèges, and Gernreich are focusing their designs on the distant future, Mr Beene is designing for today. Miniskirts are lengthening back towards the calves, textiles are relaxing, and notions are regressing from metal zippers and snaps to wooden buttons and ties.

Mr Beene is doing exactly the same, concerning himself primarily with modernity and autonomy. His point of view is uniquely American working class, with the goal of giving control back to the wearer, prioritizing comfort and mobility. To achieve this, he employs primarily sportswear materials, such as athletic mesh and wool jersey. Wool jersey was originally developed for men's swimwear at the turn of the century, and is his favorite medium for women's eveningwear today.


Two models stand in Beene’s fitting room, which is designed to feel comfortable and leisurely, much like his work.

Take, for instance, the eveningwear above, which debuted this winter. Note that the evening dress to the right combines Mr Beene’s love of sequins and lame with a collared cotton eyelet blouse. Collared shirts and cotton are both unconventional choices for an evening gown, as they’re usually associated with daywear. The use of daytime materials and cuts allows the woman wearing a Beene creation to feel simultaneously familiar and elegant. This combination highlights a sense of leisure, a facet of fashion that is traditionally relegated to the study, the resort, and the bedroom.


Beene poses with two models wearing his cocktail dresses from this year. The relaxed fit and miniskirt length suggest daywear while the materials, marabou and sequins, suggest eveningwear. Another perfect blend of American sportswear and formality.

Fashion is going through a metamorphosis, swinging from the uniformity of the Space Age and Mod fashion to a more temperate, organic frame of mind. I often see these pendulous motions swinging from one extreme to the other, and I am convinced that Mr Beene’s modern point of view is going to break open the fashion establishment. Personally, I’m looking forward to a more blasé approach to formality.

[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge!  Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]




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[November 28, 1966] Truman Capote's Ink and Paper Cinderella (a party to end all parties)

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by Gwyn Conaway

Truman Capote has thrown a party and it might just be the talk of the century!


Truman Capote grew up in Alabama during the Great Depression and strived for a life of luxury and fame. When he finally found acclaim, it became apparent very soon after that he had the personality and audacity to fit the high society bill.

This rising star of American literature published In Cold Blood, his first widely acclaimed piece of work, with Random House Publishing earlier this year. Though the “nonfiction novel” propelled the small-town Alabamian onto international bestseller lists and the critic’s chopping block, securing both his notoriety and fortune alike, it’s this week's "Black and White Ball" that has bestowed him with the mantle of high society.


Oscar de la Renta and Françoise de Langlade wearing cat masks at the Black and White Ball, held in the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel, November 28th, 1966.

In fact, there hasn’t been quite this sort of mystery surrounding an invitation since Paul Poiret’s A Thousand and Second Night in 1911. Capote has, perhaps, received inspiration from the late French fashion designer in taking painstaking care to design his guest list and requiring a strict dress code for the spectacle of the soiree. While Poiret’s guests wore harem pants, lampshade dresses, and turbans inspired by the Ballets Russes’ Schéhérazade, Capote’s were instructed to wear masks, black, and white.


An illustration of Denise Poiret by George le Pape at One Thousand and Second Night, the infamous party at Chez Poiret. If guests arrived without something to wear, they were given something or politely turned away. The shapes and adornment of Poiret's fashions strike a chord with us today, and can be seen at Capote's ball as well.

Of course, Capote couldn’t throw such a lavish affair for himself; that would be in very poor taste, after all. All summer, he sat by literary agent and editor Eleanor Friede’s poolside, considering his guests. He carried his book with him all through the fall, crossing names off, adding new ones, taking notes. His little book became a subject of great curiosity, and so did the guest of honor. Most of us believed he’d choose one of his “swans”, the beautiful women he cavorts with these days, so imagine my surprise when he chose Katharine Graham, publisher of the Washington Post.


Katharine Graham, the guest of honor, and Capote in attendance at the Black and White Ball. Pictured to the right is her mask, designed by famous American designer Halston.

Katharine Graham has hinted that she felt more like a prop for Capote’s whims than a guest of honor, but the baffled newspaper president accepted his invitation. The evening has revitalized her social standing and thrust one of the most important women in America back into the spotlight. Graham took over the capital’s most important daily publication after the unfortunate suicide of her late husband, Phillip Graham in 1963. Since then, she’s faced a tumultuous fight for recognition in a world in which men have dominated since the dawn of the periodical. Choosing Graham was ingenious. Although her influence and power reaches far and wide, she lives deep within her work and has rarely surfaced to socialize since the death of her husband. As a result, the queen of the press became Capote’s Cinderella, and the linchpin of the party’s success.

To be fair, the rest of the guest list didn’t disappoint the gossipers either. In fact, it put the party squarely at the top of this century’s list of places to be and people to see. Though the likes of first daughter Lynda Bird Johnson, Frank Sinatra, Gloria Vanderbilt, and the Duke and Duchess of Windsor were among the socialites grooving until four in the morning, it wasn’t necessarily the star power that made this party so thrilling. The hotel doorman, Andy Warhol, and a few residents of little Holcomb, Kansas, where he did research for In Cold Blood, were also invited. It’s true that high society parties like this are usually a strict in-crowd affair, but at the Black and White Ball, the more than five hundred guests were rubbing shoulders with people they never would have met otherwise. This cross-pollination of economics, politics, and culture is perhaps the last we’ll see for quite some time.


Notably, Capote’s critics were not invited to the ball. Kenneth Tynan of The Observer, for example. He vehemently criticized In Cold Blood and accused Capote of hoping both killers, Richard Hicock and Perry Smith, would be executed for the real massacre behind the novel so the ending would be more cathartic. Capote's infamous notebook is displayed on the right.

The party itself was a carefully designed spectacle. Although gloves have gone out of fashion in recent years, thanks to the dissipation of social modesty caused by the Beatnik and Mod movements, department stores and glovers ran a shortage this month in preparation for the big day. Milliners also faced a heavy burden, filling orders for fantastical masks and surreal headwear. And while the preparations for the ball were hectic all across New York City, the parade of costumes was just as eclectic and exhilarating. Capote proclaimed he was inspired by the Ascot scene in My Fair Lady and his guests took this to heart.


My Fair Lady came out in 1964. It was directed by George Cukor and starred Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison. The Ascot scene has proven to be a major influence in the fashion world, and will likely continue to be referenced for decades to come. Bravo to costume designer Cecil Beaton for his lasting legacy!




Top: Princess Lee Radziwell, sister to former First Lady Jackie Kennedy, shows off her couture treasures to the adoring press; Middle: Andy Warhol, cult pop artist; Bottom: Guests who built their own masks out of papier-mâché and paint. The range of who's who at this party was enormous! Wildly different politics and economics. Who could have guessed we'd see these faces at the same party?

Maybe Truman Capote really did throw the Black and White Ball as a frivolous exercise in his newfound fame and wealth, but I see a gathering on the cusp of great division with far more significance. Although the theme was meant to inspire a sort of graphic elegance in the song-and-dance of high society entertainment, Capote’s guests betray a social experiment at the heart of his event. What with the rise of the Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam War protests, the Women's Movement, and so much more, could Capote be signaling to the Old Guard that the world is changing? Considering he chose to honor Katharine Graham, after months of reflection, and dressed the entire event in the colors of ink and paper, I simply can’t imagine this was all a convenient happenstance.

In truth, we often belittle the significance of spectacles like these until they are a distant memory, blinded by the wealth in attendance and whether or not the champagne was chilled or the dancing rowdy. Perhaps we suffer from jealousy in wishing we had been there ourselves, that we had walked the red carpet parade and smiled for the tabloids. Though I suffer from the same afflictions, of course, I still must ask myself: when is a party no longer just a party?

The Black and White Ball is on the wobbly edge, in my opinion. Was Capote simply bold in throwing aside the social conventions of like rubbing shoulders with like? Or did he adorn a politically charged event in the trappings of an extravaganza? Regardless of the answer, or maybe because there doesn’t seem to be one, he managed to pull off the party of the century.

[And while it might not quite rival Capote's party, the permanent floating event in Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge, is always jumping!  Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]




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[August 22, 1966] Been Beatnik So Long, Hippies Looking Up to Me

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by Gwyn Conaway

I just set down my brand new copy of Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me, a novel written by Richard Fariña, and I can confidently say that the colorful lights of hippie acid tests have finally overwhelmed the intellectually trendy monochrome of the beatniks. And though this has been a steadily changing tide the last few years, it now appears to be an inevitable rise that will affect our fashionable futures for years to come.


The novel is a modern Odyssey following the adventures of a college student named Gnossos in his search for a woman in green knee-socks. Most of the novel centers around challenging our systems of education and government, seeking karma, and liberating youth from the tyranny of traditional morals. In an act of divine poetry, Fariña died earlier this year in a motorcycle accident here in California, at the start of his book tour in San Francisco, where so much of this movement is coalescing.

California has become the center of a massive shift in popular culture this past year, seducing young intellectuals to its college campuses and festivals in a rapidly growing snowball of illicit substances, music, and self expression. This has led us into new, uncharted fashion waters dominated by natural fibers, hand-embellished adornments, and a color palette inspired by the pursuit of nirvana.

The Hippie Movement is most definitely a natural progression from the Beatnik Movement, following the ever-worsening divide between generations, the popularity of psychedelic drugs and dope, and the politics of questionable warfare. Both of these movements are centered around the crossroads between music and intellectualism, promoting a free love lifestyle through art and literature, with followers that migrate like pilgrims from one mecca to the next, relying heavily on their countercultural communities to find security rather than the suburbs and pensions.


Bob Dylan in San Francisco with poets Allen Ginsburg and Michael McClure, as well as guitarist Robbie Robertson, 1965. The beatniks adhere to the stereotype of a black beret, black turtleneck, and cigarette trousers and are iconified by idols such as Bob Dylan and The Beatles. The term, interestingly enough, also originated in the San Francisco Chronicle in 1958, combining The Beat Generation with the Yiddish -nik, which translates to -er. I suspect this is also in reference to Sputnik and served as a dig towards the Beat Generation, implying it was an unpatriotic and ungrateful youth movement.

There is, however, one defining difference between these two movements. While the beatniks feel dissonant and hopelessly separate from society at large, the hippies are overwhelmingly hopeful, striving to bring the world together.

This new wave of love and peace is particularly apparent in the Haight, a neighborhood in San Francisco where more than fifteen thousand hippies have migrated as of this summer, following the music of the likes of Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead. This great social experiment has transformed life in the bay area with parties like the Acid Tests organized by Ken Kesey and new businesses such as the head shop Ron and Jay Thelin’s Psychedelic Shop, supplying much of the Haight’s LSD and marijuana, and the coffee shop The Blue Unicorn.

And while the Haight is a petri dish of hippie ideals, it’s the events of Ken Kesey that are truly at the center of hippie fashion. In January of this year, he organized the Trips Festival in San Francisco at the Longshoreman’s Hall. This weekend extravaganza is now considered the first real gathering of hippies en masse. The crowd of ten thousand drank punch spiked with LSD to experience the music in an altered state of consciousness. Similarly, Kesey’s Acid Tests, a series of parties organized largely in Los Angeles these days, also heavily promote the drug and enhance its properties with the use of strobe lights, glowing paints, and black lights.


Note that the two men pictured here are wearing a corduroy jacket with a lamb's wool collar (front) and a poet's shirt with a paisley facing in the collar (back). LSD not only affects the eye, but all other senses as well. As a result, we see heavy use of textured materials in hippie fashion, such as crochet, fringe, and beading. This sensitivity to designing for "the trip" is an entirely new way of thinking about fashion.


A Grateful Dead postcard in comparison to the psychedelic paisleys (center and right). LSD causes undulation of sight, which brings us this sensationally warped graphic design and revives paisley as a major motif of the era. Note how the paisley is designed with "burn out", meaning that it's meant to replicate the bleeding of colors experienced by those tripping on LSD.

It’s this attention to LSD in the design of these events that has so thoroughly influenced the young rebellious fashions of today. Bright kaleidoscopic color palettes, unsteady stripes and warped geometric forms are commonplace among the hippies. This has led to the rise in popularity of paisley patterns, tie dye, and corduroy.

Tie dye has an especially close connection to the music scene and as such I think will be a defining fashion of this new movement moving forward. During parties such as the Acid Tests, a projector screen is used to light the band with swirling colors and bubbles. This swirling light show directly relates to the swirling colors now found on microbuses, t-shirts, posters, and more.


An insider look into the Trips Festival this summer. Where kaleidoscopic lights and patterns were used to enhance the effects of LSD. Compare the light show to the tie dyes below.


Tie dye and other symbols of the Hippie Movement have already permeated the fashion world from the streets up. Here we have a psychedelic vendor at a music festival selling tie dye t-shirts next to a exceptional velvet coat designed by American fashion designer Roy Halston.

The surge of hippies in California has truly taken us by storm, and the rise of head shops, communes, and music festivals is not well-liked by many. Divisive opinions on those that partake in LSD and marijuana have colored the hippies as mentally unstable vagabonds. Already there are rumblings of LSD being made illegal in The Golden State to curb the tide. This pushback by the more conservative echelons of America, however, only legitimizes the movement in the eyes of the young and passionate.

Which invites the questions: how polarized will this movement become, and what lasting effects will it leave in its wake? How will it change fashion? Will we move towards nature and organic shapes again? Will we abandon synthetic fabrics in favor of natural fibers? Will men finally return to moustaches and beards for the first time since the start of modern warfare?

Only time and upheaval will tell.

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[January 12, 1966] La Belle Époque in the Jet Age

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by Gwyn Conaway

Settling into my favorite armchair, I’ve found myself seeking relaxation and comfort at the start of what will surely be an exciting twelve-month turn ‘round the sun. Lounging in my favorite silk housecoat, a bite of Turkish delight and black tea at my side, I opened this year’s first issue of Life for some rather extravagant reading time.


An American couple fawn over the luxurious Damascus silk and gold brocade being sold by a Lebanese man in a market in Beirut.

What do you suppose I found nestled in the pages but evidence that my own extravagance is part of a larger atmosphere! Littered across this issue is a curious return to the lush grandeur of the La Belle Époque, the era at the turn of the century in which we became enthralled with the Ballet Russes and Leon Bakst’s vision of Schéhérazade, Alfons Mucha painted the natural world with feminine mystique, and we dreamed of Istanbul and the Orient Express. The veil of our world had been pulled back just enough for us to hear the mewing notes of the koto from Japan, to smell the scented smokes of hookah from Turkey, and to gaze in wonder at the recently excavated Temple of Apollo in Athens.


The first and most blatant sign was this astute advertisement for Maxim, a luxurious restaurant in Paris. The lush, organic elements of the restaurant’s interior and the patron in her floral dress perfectly mirror the chaotic beauty that is Art Nouveau and the fashions that accompanied the era. The decadent Parisian promenade dress from 1905-1906, pictured center, is an example of such styles and features not only the hallmark laces, florals, and feathers of the turn of the century, but also a Merry Widow hat fashioned like a tricorn. This, and the gathered ruffled trim at her skirts, is a throwback to the Rococo era of France in the late 18th century. Behind the women seated in the right image, you can sky a Rococo painting, bringing the opulence of the three periods together.

Schéhérazade and Paris stayed with me as I came upon an article about the burgeoning Vegas atmosphere to be found in Beirut. Lebanon was once part of the Ottoman Empire, which has been a fascination of Europe for a thousand years or more. The region was an inspiration to Leon Bakst in his design work, and he lit Paris aflame with his fantastical interpretations of the ancient culture just beyond the veil.


A small selection of costume designs for Schéhérazade by Leon Bakst, 1910.

Of particular note to me was the belly dancer in the subterranean bar of the Phoenician Hotel in Beirut, in which I immediately recognized George Barbier’s illustration of the Ballet Russes’ fantastical production.


Right, Schéhérazade, George Barbier (1913).

This revelation led me to a further inspection of the people in the Beirut photograph series. I was astonished to find the tunic worn by the woman enjoying a mezze of hommos and kibeh resembles Bakst’s scenic design for Schéhérazade.


Note the color palette and use of swirling lines and shapes to convey a hazy depth, an other-worldly mystique.

There is indeed a very strong sense of nostalgia taking over the decade, just as there was fated to be. As we race towards the heavens in our Gemini 6, uniform our young women in trapeze dresses and vinyl, and experience a social technological revolution, we find ourselves torn. On the one hand, we yearn for progress, to push forward, to explore. On the other hand, we cling to Mother Nature, to the chaos of beauty, to romance. We are celebrating both things in equal measure. Even this issue of Life shares its pages equally between the two opposing ideals.


Even within the Neoclassical revival, we see a split personality. Ann Lowe’s floral design on the right, known as the American Beauty dress, is a perfect example of the nostalgia for nature we’re currently feeling, while on the left, we can see an example of orderly geometry, an aesthetic symbol of reason and progress.

This tells me that the distance between our generations is bound to grow, and unrest will continue to boil through the next decade. Our young people are leading us into a new age. For La Belle Époque was also a time of turmoil and division. World War I was on the horizon. The battle for women’s liberation and suffrage in America was being waged at full force. The young sought escape through Mother Nature and loosened propriety thanks to the advent of cocktails and condoms, a shocking lapse in morality as far as the older generations were concerned.


Charles Dana Gibson invented the Gibson Girl, a combination of the voluptuous woman and the fragile lady, which was meant to encapsulate the modern woman at the turn of the century. The dichotomy of her roles is playing out in our own times as well. Striking the perfect balance between the return to nature and the march of progress is a unique struggle for women in fashion today.

This so perfectly mirrors the current state of affairs that I’m shocked I hadn’t noticed it before! The Vietnam War, just like World War I, has inspired a revolution of philosophy, an existential unrest in the youth that has no choice but to bubble up and make itself known through the advent of new fashion, new music, and new ways to perceive the world. The war between Progress and Tradition has always permeated history, but now it is going going to the turf with awe-inspiring style. I will be keeping a close eye on this as we head further into the year.

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[October 16th, 1965] The World According to Bonnie Cashin

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by Gwyn Conaway

I have recently fallen back in love with the ever personal, exhaustively practical designs of the worldly Bonnie Cashin.  From ballet costumes to uniforms for servicewomen during World War II to Coach, there’s no doubt she has had a far-reaching influence on our culture.

Bonnie Cashin wearing a wool zebra-striped tunic, early 1960s.

A staple of American design, Cashin is most known for pioneering the sportswear culture we now thoroughly enjoy. But her work has been far more diverse than one is led to believe. She lends a worldly view to American design, and explores other cultures through silhouette and textile alike. Let’s explore her inspirations and creations.

In 1960, Bonnie Cashin visited South Korea. Here she dons a gat, a black horsehair wide-brimmed steeple hat which is traditionally worn by noblemen and scholars during the Joseon period. Perhaps this foreshadows her interest in symbols of status and power.

I would be remiss to not first introduce Cashin’s most recent invention, the Blanket Coat, an evermore popular trend that will most assuredly be in style for a decade or more. While at first, the Blanket Coat seems to follow the boxy trapeze cuts ubiquitous in fashion, it does so from a long-informed fascination with the shapes and details of other cultures. This style, derived from her recent interest in the Japanese kimono, departs from the expected silks and linens and turns instead to delicate, fuzzy mohair wool which softens the look. Bold colors and patterns, though not directly derived from kimono, are inspired by Eastern color schemes, which at first glance create discord to the eye but settle into a harmonious and energetic palette.

Blanket Coat, 1965. While the bright yellow and pink palette of this coat may be jarring at first, it's worth noting that this is the color palette of a young unmarried Korean woman's hanbok.

Her interest in kimono doesn’t stop there. Recently, she released experimental suits of tweed wool. These curious pieces portray Cashin’s devotion to character and story. Note the kimono displayed traditionally on a wooden pole, in comparison to the angular shoulders of Cashin’s design. I was floored by Cashin’s clever jab: that women are often the dressings of the room. This silhouette lends the woman’s tapestry its own agency, thereby freeing the woman from conventional expectations.

This particular silhouette rose in Cashin's fall/winter 1964-1965 season. The kimono pictured right is made of rinzu silk, circa 1800-1840.

Beyond silhouette, textiles also play a bold role in Cashin’s creative expressions. Cashin looks to symbols of power and translates them into womenswear. Born in 1908, before women’s suffrage (embarrassingly, we’ve only had the right to vote for forty-five years) and witness to the bravery of women at war, I can’t help but surmise that Cashin’s designs are for women with strength of character. (On the ethicality of appropriating symbols of power from other cultures, I tend to believe it’s best to leave them in the hands of their successors. However, after centuries of Western fashion committing the same fashionable faux pas, I doubt there will be an end to this design philosophy anytime soon.)

A perfect example of this is the wool coat below. Closely resembling Kente cloth, a woven textile worn by powerful men and women in many African nations, the coat takes on more meaning. These types of cloth have many different meanings and patterns, depending on the culture of origin. Here we see Cashin calling to what might be termed a “Primitive” pattern today, but what in reality is the cloth of kings and queens. I appreciate the poetry of a misrepresented textile being used in womenswear, as women are so often misrepresented and underestimated.

Left, Cashin's tweed wool and suede car coat. Center and right are images of Prestige Kente and Ewe Kente cloth from Ghana. Kente cloth is also utilized in countries like Nigeria, and printed onto Dutch wax cloth, the textile used to create their elaborate headwraps. Cloths like these were traditionally reserved for the most powerful people in the community.

Perhaps one of her riskiest forays into cultural design is her dive into Native American and Pakistani design. While she commonly uses suede in her styles, she takes her “Indian” inspirations much further in the design below. She is clearly inspired by Pakistani Ikat, or perhaps Swat (a type of wedding dress), silhouettes that share the trapeze torso and dolman sleeves so popular in the West now. She also pushes suede to new heights in this series, incorporating fringe and cosmic designs akin to the origin stories of Native tribes in the American plains.

Cashin's designs, labeled Indian Summer and Indian Territory (left to right). Note the fine suede leather and fringe, indicative of the American native nations, which wore deerskin and suede rather than cloth due to tall grass. Meanwhile, the shape of the top's design (pictured right) is reminiscent of Indian ikat or swat dresses. Cashin combined both "Indian" inspirations to make this look.

A Pakistani Swat dress of the 19th century. Swat are traditional wedding dresses in the Bengal region. Cashin's inspiration may also have come from an ikat-style tunic, dress, or coat. These are sometimes referred to as ikat kurta, and can be found across Uzbekistan, Nepal, Pakistan, and northern India. Note how the underarm is round, thanks to a gusset. This detail, among others, is emulated in Cashin's design above.

In short, Cashin’s worldly aesthetic lends power to the American woman. It’s well-known that she designs with the modern woman in mind: mobility and urbanity above all others. Despite her lightning-quick career and successes, she doesn’t allow herself to stick her nose in the fashion industry and keep her head down. Rather, she looks up at the world around her in search of true character and strength.

It's no wonder that the modern woman, so eager to explore the world and carve out her place within it, is entranced by Cashin's designs. 

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