by Women Dressed Women, the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s new exhibition on female designers through modern history, was not visited by many men. It was as if all the housewives who attended had checked in on their boyfriends or husbands at the door, where they huddled together like dads outside the Forever 21 dressing room during the season back to school shopping.
We were better for it. It felt like a screening of the movie Barbie inside the Met’s Costume Institute one evening early last week. I saw people of different races, ages and body types let out a collective scream at the original Chanel little black dress. As I stood in front of a sexy, see-through Tory Burch white dress, I clearly nodded when a woman turned to me and said, “I need that for my wedding.” Nearby, another twenty something praised her Telfar loaf. When two elderly women admired Norma Kamali’s parachute dress, a young mother offered to take her photo in front of him.
At times, the feminist pop vibe among the guests felt a little too saccharine, and the posturing of the exhibition itself too congratulatory. As reported by the New York Times, this is the first exhibition the Met has shown dedicated solely to the work of women. It is comically overdue. But I couldn’t help but smile as I watched a fleeting form of community form among the garments. People who appreciate clothes have an instant connection to each other: we live for the adrenaline rush that comes with complimenting a stranger on their outfit in a crowded restaurant bathroom or party. These moments are why I continue my mercurial love affair with an art form that makes me feel like complete crap one day and on top of the world the next.
For that reason, if you’re willing to turn off the cynical part of your brain – or the part of your brain that’s skeptical about costumes – Women Dressing Women is a triumph. Featuring pieces from over 70 female designers dating back to the early 20th century, each one is gorgeous. Walking through the exhibit, you’ll find 1920s flapper dresses, 1940s workwear, 60s and 70s jumpsuits, 80s power shoulders, 90s slinky slip dresses, and pieces from runways as late as this year. Their absence from fashion lore is one of the driving forces behind Women’s Wear, which seeks to celebrate designers who have often been denied credit for their contributions to culture.
Some of the examples are egregious. Ann Lowe, a Black American designer, designed Jackie Kennedy’s era-defining wedding dress, although her name was not attached to it until years later. According to the Washington Post, Lowe faced a lot of discomfort while doing her job: when she brought the dress to the wedding party in Newport, Rhode Island, she was told to go through a service entrance. She refused; either the dress went through the front door, Lowe said, or it went back to New York. One of Lowe’s other creations, a bright, bright empire dress with rose appliqués, features prominently in the Womenswear collection.
Steps away from Lowe’s piece is the Delphos dress, a finely pleated silk garment released in the early years of the 20th century and designed to be worn without underwear – a scandalous suggestion for its era. The dress was an instant hit, and it was because of Mariano Fortuny that it succeeded and benefited him, even though it was designed by his wife, Henriette Negrin Fortuny.
Gen Z might understand the story of Elizabeth Hawes, one of the most famous designers of the 1930s, a critic of excess and the industry’s early campaigner for genderless clothing – she believed that men should wear skirts and to wear trousers. (Dissatisfied with her career, Hawes abandoned design and became a United Auto Workers organizer … where she also encountered rampant gender discrimination).
You don’t need to be a historian to trace Hawes’ work to that of Hillary Taymour, behind today’s eco-conscious clothing line Collina Strada, known for its inclusive spirit and resolutely playful clothes. Taymour’s lacy, multi-coloured printed suit for Aaron Philip, a Black transgender and disabled model, on display in the exhibition would surely make Hawes smile. So would the pleated minidress inspired by the Congolese flag created by Anifa Mvuemba of Hanifa, the Beyoncé-approved designer of body-hugging knitwear.
Dressed Women is a comprehensive, and sometimes exciting, look at the past. It does important work in correcting the historical record (and reminding activists from the TikTok era that gender binaries did not prevent their generation). I only wish for more ambitious dreams for the future.
When I say I love fashion, I’m referring to the clothes, not the industry. We know that the business behind the art is run by rich, white, conglomerate men who are completely out of touch with the majority of people who buy clothes. Dressed Women Women will not change the industry. Since it’s presented by the Met (and sponsored by Morgan Stanley, no doubt fans of the corporate status quo), it tends to define feminism as gaining power and influence for women.
But the most creative designers in the exhibition wanted to dismantle the system, not be part of it. Vivienne Westwood never gave up her punk ethos even as she rose through the ranks of the industry. The British designer was fiercely anti-capitalist, demonstrating with Extinction Rebellion until her death last year at the age of 81. One could argue that Westwood’s contemporary Katharine Hamnett created the modern slogan t-shirt, selling tops with anti-war and anti-Margaret Thatcher. statements in the 1980s. The collection includes Hamnett’s disarming hit “Stay Alive in 85”.
Although these women may not have attracted the same attention as the top male designers of the era (Giorgio Armani, Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein are all household names), they used their fame to advocate for change. That’s more revolutionary than accepting a top job at one of the big conglomerates like LVMH or Kering, both of which are still run by white guys from France’s favorite fashion demographic.
Likewise, any institution that celebrates Karl Lagerfeld the same year it launches its first one-woman show deserves skepticism. Women Dressing Women’s co-curator Mellissa Huber worked on this year’s Met Gala, which was dedicated to Chanel’s late creative director. Despite being a misogynist who upheld fashion’s shameful tradition of thinness-worship and model exploitation, the Met presented an uncritical exhibition that doubled as a shrine to the man. Are our institutions finally celebrating women because it’s the right thing to do, or because it’s trendy? (The original launch of Women Dressing Women was set for 2020 to coincide with 100 years of women’s suffrage in America; Covid delayed it. That would still be too late.)
I hope, however, that Women’s Dressed Women will change their visitors, that you can’t help but soak up the plucky disgust as you browse through the garments. You don’t have to work in fashion to understand this. If you wear clothes, it’s worth learning the style lining. If every piece in the collection has a story (and most do; please read the wall text!), that story only gets richer when the piece is worn by a woman with her own reasons for dressing. in the morning.
As I was leaving the Clothing Institute, I finally saw one man enter the exhibition. He was young, and I thought he was a design student at one of the New York fashion schools, Parsons or FIT. (His all-black ensemble and bleached eyebrows gave him away.) He looked serious and carried a scratch pad. You could tell he planned to take notes.
