Stitches in time: The design of fashion from 1900-1999
Tammy Swift
The Forum - 08/15/1999

Fashion isn't just fashion.

It's a reflection of our times, a barometer of society. To a lesser degree, fashion has also been art, big business, necessity, fantasy, masterpiece, nuisance.

The only sure characteristic of fashion today is that it's for everyone. An extremely efficient ready-to-wear industry and media-saturated world make the newest looks almost instantly accessible. Even if one can't afford the $2,000 Donna Karan dress, one can probably buy a $29 knock-off weeks after it first hit the catwalk.

It wasn't always this way. In the late 19th century, fashion was the domain of the wealthy and cosseted. Affluent women were the only ones who had the time and money to devote to the most stylish hat or petticoat.

Middle class women copied the latest fashions from women's magazines and newspaper advertisements, or rented miniature mannequins - dressed in the latest gowns - from stores for their dressmakers to duplicate, says Ann Braaten, curator of the Emily P. Reynolds Costume Collection at North Dakota State University.

Some women sewed their own clothes. They may have incorporated fashionable elements into their handmade dresses, even if they had to use cheaper materials.

Elaborate Edwardian

The infancy of the 20th century represented the last of elitist fashion. An ornate and impractical trend arose called "the Edwardian Look." In the "History of 20th Century Fashion," author Elizabeth Ewing describes the look as: "immense, yard-wide hats, laden with plumes and feathers or with basket-loads of artificial flowers; those rustling, frothing bell-shaped skirts that swept the ground; that giddy confusion of ribbons, lace, embroidery, frills, jewels and beads at every point all contributed to fashion's mighty overspill."

The ultra-decorated style was built around "the S shape," an unnatural combination of protruding bosom and derriere created by a barbaric foundation garment dubbed "the health corset." Inexplicably, the undergarment was invented by a woman, albeit a well-intentioned one. Parisian Mme. Gaches-Sarraute introduced the corset in 1900 as an alternative to the waist and diaphragm-constricting corsets previously worn. But her corset wasn't much better; it gave a woman the posture of a kangaroo. "The effect was as if the top of the lady was a foot ahead of the rest of her," Ewing writes.

Fussy clothes rejected

It was just a matter of time before certain women rejected the overblown Edwardian ensemble. The New Woman was more concerned about her rights, education, physical activities and social freedom than she was about fashionable flounces.

The result was The New Look, unfussy, tailored ensembles ideal for walking, bicycling, traveling and - for the career-minded - working. The New Woman, in her uniform of tailored skirt and blouse, was exemplified by an international icon, the Gibson Girl, a creation of American artist Charles Dana Gibson.

Another rejection of cartoonishly curvy femininity was The Straight Line, launched by Paul Poiret in 1908. Poiret was the first designer to build clothes that did not constrict the waist and exaggerate the bust and hips. Just as the suffragette movement grew, he drafted a straighter, more natural silhouette, which allowed women to actually stand upright.

Still, Poiret's vision was far from perfect. His long, narrow-hipped look required a new, knee-length corset, which made sitting down an adventure. He also developed the "hobble skirt," an incredibly narrow, long skirt occasionally likened to a single trouser leg.

Jazz babies rule style

During 1914-18, the period of the Great War, fashion became more about common sense than style. The hobble skirt disappeared, and was replaced by wide, voluminous, above-the-ankle dresses. Clothes were comfortable, but also bulky and shapeless.

Easy movement was essential for the women who were, for the first time ever, "manning" machines in factories, driving trucks, and assuming other traditional male vocations. Some women even dared doff trousers - if only for work.

The productivity of the garment industry was boosted by the demand for military uniforms. Primitive methods were updated and isolated workrooms were replaced by large factories, all setting the stage for greater production after the war.

Post-war giddiness, a new independence and Hollywood motion pictures jelled together to create a young, playful style in the '20s.

Women adopted the flapper look, complete with bobbed hair, close-fitting cloche hat, belted hips and, of course, the boyish, straight-waisted silhouette. Fashion plate Duchess of Windsor reflected on the era by saying, "Bosoms and hips were definitelyout . A lovely figure meant a perfectly straight figure and the slightest suggestion of a curve was scorned as fat ."

As few women possessed the preferred Olive Oyl physique, many resorted to bust-flattening brassieres, straight corsets and dieting. Anorexia and bulimia rose, as women struggled to defy nature.

The boyish look was still softened by feminine touches: long loops of beads, costume jewelry, cigarette holders and cosmetics - including bright lipstick and pencil-thin eyebrows.

At the same time, America was transfixed by the magical images on The Big Screen. Adrian, the first creator of true Hollywood fashions, dressed all the big names of the day: Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, Norma Shearer. Moviegoers quickly adopted whatever look their favorite star was wearing.

Depression can't stop fashion

Fashion continued to move forward during the '30s, even as the Depression prevented many people from indulging in it.

Still the Hollywood movie machine was cranking out period films and "women's pictures," which provided a poor and tired population with inexpensive escape to glamorous worlds. Marlene Dietrich made her first appearance in American cinema in the trouser suit, although the style wouldn't be widely accepted until a decade later.

Women's fashion was again in a femininity cycle, probably a backlash against the androgynous '20s.

And important, new designers were emerging. The exquisitely simple designs of Gabrielle "Coco" Chanel had first caught on in the '20s, and continued to be popular until World War II. Another designer, Vionnet, known as "the architect among dressmakers," invented a '30s hallmark, the bias-cut. The ingenious cut created a sleek, flattering, body-skimming look widely seen on stars like Jean Harlow who could afford to show off their lines.

Overall, fashions were easy, graceful and softly shaped - almost to a point of limpness, Ewing writes. The masculine tailored suit was belted, skirted and fitted to female curves.

Skirts were calf-length by day; floor-length by night. They were often bias-cut and gored, so they fit closely to the hips and waist, but flowed silkily below the knee.

The suntan becomes 'chic'

The backless evening dress became the rage, lending new sensuality to the shoulder blades and spine. A clear distinction arose between what one wore for practical, daytime activities and what one wore for nighttime revelry.

Designers incorporated fox furs - head, tail, beady little eyes, and all - into daytime suits and evening wear. From the tidy cloque, hats mushroomed into flat, brimmed contraptions, often tilted over one eye until they posed a traffic hazard.

The decade struck a blow to dermatological health. The smart set had started vacationing in the French Riviera, making it chic to have sunburn. Swimsuits shrunk to offer maximum tanning exposure, and the first two-piece suits surfaced. Shorts became acceptable casual wear, and sunglasses became the rage.

Fashion became more exotic and whimsical, thanks to Elsa Schiaparelli. She defined the look of the '40s: Joan Crawford shoulders, nipped-in waist, narrow hips. "Up with the shoulders!" she declared. "Bring back the bust into its own! Raise the waist to its forgotten place!"

While Schiaparelli could produce elegant, wonderfully constructed clothing, she also had a wilder side. Influenced by artists like Cocteau, Christian Berard and Salvador Dali, she broke all sorts of fashion barriers: She is perhaps best known for her outrageous hats, including one shaped like a lady's shoe, and another like a lamb cutlet.

A military-style chic

The tides of fashion quieted during World War II. Designers like Chanel disappeared, only to resurface after the war.

Overseas, the Paris fashion industry was hit hard; French Vogue ceased publication between 1941 and 1945. In reaction, America turned to the movies for style inspiration like never before.

The majority of women wore somber, simple suits, which looked much like military uniforms. The frugality was government mandated: The War Production Board in America restricted the use of materials in clothing so as to achieve a 15 percent savings in yardage. Such fabric-wasting items as turn-up cuffs, double yokes, sashes, patch pockets and attached hoods were banned. The board even had something to say about the use of buttons and zippers.

Nylon was rationed, so women aped stockings by wearing tanning lotions on their legs or drawing "seams" down the backs of their calves.

The typical American woman wore simple shirtwaists or masculine suits with authoritative shoulders and platform shoes. Many turned to frivolous cocktail costume jewelry to soften their no-nonsense clothes.

Women also wore slacks more than ever before, mostly because they were again holding down men's jobs on the home front.

Again, American expertise in garment production became apparent; the uniforms for the U.S. women's forces were widely admired.

U.S. ready for a change

The backlash to wartime austerity and stringent rationing was exemplified by Christian Dior's history-making New Look of 1947. Post-war America was optimistic and prosperous, and enjoying a plethora of reasonably priced cars, appliances and - yes - fashions.

The look to buy was Dior's hyper-feminine shape: unpadded, rounded shoulders; prominent bustline; tiny, nipped-in waist; slightly padded hips; and billowing, calf-length skirts. The fluffy skirts were sometimes exaggerated further by layers of petticoats.

The New Look exuberantly dispensed with fabric rationing and masculine suits. Still, it wasn't uniformly embraced. For one thing, it was uncomfortable, especially when worn with the restrictive Merry Widow corset and pointy high heels. For another, some felt it was a way to force women back into their traditional roles, after they'd achieved so much independence during the war, Braaten says.

Overall, however, the New Look spread like a wild fire of crinolines. Chanel also returned in the mid-'50s, with her little black dress and ageless Chanel suit.

Fifties' fashion still had many rules: gloves were worn with everything, handbags needed to match shoes, and the smart woman knew exactly what to wear to a garden party.

Anything goes in '60s

Prior to the '60s, there was a one-size-fits-all approach to fashion. Women tended to wear the same trends, whether they were 17 or 70.

But the sixth decade of this century brought radical change. Due to the coming-of-age of a powerful new demographic now known as the Baby Boomers, fashion splintered off into a fresh, funky youth market. "The Old Guard no longer sets fashion," declared the American fashion bible Women's Wear Daily. "The mood is youth, youth, youth!"

Even the "establishment" was younger and hipper. A nation of worshipful Jackie watchers mimicked the First Lady's pillbox hats, simple but beautifully cut suits and generally flawless sense of style.

The directional flow of fashion reversed as the decade aged, until teen-age styles were inspiring haute couture. By 1968, Yves St-Laurent was spotted sketching the students at the Paris barricades during theEvénements , disturbances fueled by youth protest.

One of the foremost designers of this turbulent decade was Mary Quant, who originated the swinging "London Look" and that quintessential '60s garment, the mini skirt.

The shrinking skirt placed new emphasis on legwear, including colored, patterned tights and fashion boots.

In the late '60s, designers tried to throw over the ubiquitous mini with an extreme: the floor-length maxi. It was disastrous. Consumers roundly rejected the look, leaving manufacturers with warehouses of the failed garment, Braaten says. In addition, the new skirt was more expensive to make, as it used more fabric. Never again would fashion attempt to make such a bold and drastic change.

Consumers were looking toward hipper, younger movies; bands like the Beatles, and all-pervasive TV for fashion inspiration.

Many other eclectic fads surfaced and died: flowing caftans and hair, dresses made from plastic or metal discs, Warhol-inspired Pop Art garb, crushed-velvet Edwardian suits, and the short-lived Space Age look.

The latter fad, a short-lived one, was tied in with man's new preoccupation with exploring space. It featured clinical, all-white or silver uniforms, geometric haircuts, Lucite bangles and helmet-like hats.

There was also the gypsy look, the psychedelic look, the see-through look, the Bonnie and Clyde look - you name it. If it could be classified as a "look," it was hot in a decade when youthful whims called the shots, and image reigned over everything.

'70s: study of contrasts

The '70s introduced all sorts of contradictions: hot pants next to mid-calf "midi" dresses; structured, polyester pantsuits next to hand-crocheted vests and flowing granny dresses; platform shoes next to granola-esque earth shoes; the overprocessed glitz of disco next to the raw attitude of punk.

One of the most definitive fabrics of the decade has almost become a '70s punchline: polyester.

DuPont's scientists had introduced polyester decades ago, but shelved it when they couldn't make it colorfast, Braaten says. By the '70s, they'd perfected a dyeing process. Thanks to the design of easy-care, coordinating, polyester pantsuits, women could wear pants in the workplace. Still, it didn't happen overnight. Even in the early 1970s, it was skirts only for female students in NDSU's home-ec building, Braaten says.

Polyester also spawned the leisure suit, which made it easier than ever for men to dress up.

Browns and earth tones were big. So were logo T-shirts as fashion statements. Designer jeans became status symbols. By 1975, longer skirts finally gained widespread acceptance.

The decade borrowed heavily from past trends. Bell bottoms, platform shoes, romantic peasant blouses, generous lapels, halter tops and slouch hats enjoyed a renaissance. Fashion grew looser and more individualized; there was no longer one "in" silhouette for slacks or a skirt.

A decade of flash

Everything about the '80s was big: big hair, big jewelry, big shoulders, big money.

Even the style-setters were big. Early on, Michael Jackson created a clamor for red leather jackets, parachute pants and all things zippered. The flashy, trashy sexuality of Madonna inspired a series of crucifix-dripping trends. Princess Di, in the biggest wedding of the decade, enlivened an interest in romance and ruffles. "Dynasty," on the other hand, sold us on sequins, square shoulders and glitz.

In the boardroom, the powersuit dominated, with its broad shoulders, nipped-in waist; short, straight skirt and spiked heels. The effect was one of aggressive femininity.

The Chanel suit resurfaced on First Lady Nancy Reagan, illustrating the ideal picture of conservative business chic.

At the same time, jeans became increasingly more common, as did status-driven designer labels. Toward the end of the decade, denim would be acid-washed, producing an artfully faded chic.

The individualized '90s

The early part of this decade aped the '80s, with a clinging interest in heavy makeup, "mall" hair and M.C. Hammer pants.

Then a little band called Nirvana hit the top 40, dramatically altering how we viewed cool. Almost overnight, the worst fashion offense imaginable was to look like you tried. The grunge look - characterized by ratty sweaters or flannel shirts; long, unkempt locks and ripped jeans - was now in.

Young hipsters combed thrift stores to find fashionably tattered threads.

The grunge look eventually faded, only to be replaced by hip-hop-inspired oversized jeans.

Once found chiefly in the underground, body modification - multiple body piercings, branding, tattooing - surfaced, lured on by youth culture and alternative music.

Fashion polished up its act as the decade progressed, lapsing into ultra-feminine looks in the mid- to late-'90s. Suddenly, fashion was a mish-mash of everything: the tiny, cropped top of the '70s was sold beside the 1940s slip, now worn as outerwear. The sleek, bias-cut Harlowe gown could be found next to the Jackie O, straight-cut dress in pastel shades of iridescent shantung silk.

Today, we find fashion is 180 degrees from what it was 100 years ago: It is highly individualized, enormously affordable and basically for everyone. Continued from page B1

worlds. Marlene Dietrich made her first appearance in American cinema in the trouser suit, although the style wouldn't be widely accepted until a decade later.

Women's fashion was again in a femininity cycle, probably a backlash against the androgynous '20s.

And important, new designers were emerging. The exquisitely simple designs of Gabrielle "Coco" Chanel had first caught on in the '20s, and continued to be popular until World War II. Another designer, Vionnet, known as "the architect among dressmakers," invented a '30s hallmark, the bias-cut. The ingenious cut created a sleek, flattering, body-skimming look widely seen on stars like Jean Harlow who could afford to show off their lines.

Overall, fashions were easy, graceful and softly shaped - almost to a point of limpness, Ewing writes. The masculine tailored suit was belted, skirted and fitted to female curves.

Skirts were calf-length by day; floor-length by night. They were often bias-cut and gored, so they fit closely to the hips and waist, but flowed silkily below the knee.

The suntan becomes 'chic'

The backless evening dress became the rage, lending new sensuality to the shoulder blades and spine. A clear distinction arose between what one wore for practical, daytime activities and what one wore for nighttime revelry.

Designers incorporated fox furs - head, tail, beady little eyes, and all - into daytime suits and evening wear. From the tidy cloque, hats mushroomed into flat, brimmed contraptions, often tilted over one eye until they posed a traffic hazard.

The decade struck a blow to dermatological health. The smart set had started vacationing in the French Riviera, making it chic to have sunburn. Swimsuits shrunk to offer maximum tanning exposure, and the first two-piece suits surfaced. Shorts became acceptable casual wear, and sunglasses became the rage.

Fashion became more exotic and whimsical, thanks to Elsa Schiaparelli. She defined the look of the '40s: Joan Crawford shoulders, nipped-in waist, narrow hips. "Up with the shoulders!" she declared. "Bring back the bust into its own! Raise the waist to its forgotten place!"

While Schiaparelli could produce elegant, wonderfully constructed clothing, she also had a wilder side. Influenced by artists like Cocteau, Christian Berard and Salvador Dali, she broke all sorts of fashion barriers: She is perhaps best known for her outrageous hats, including one shaped like a lady's shoe, and another like a lamb cutlet.

A military-style chic

The tides of fashion quieted during World War II. Designers like Chanel disappeared, only to resurface after the war.

Overseas, the Paris fashion industry was hit hard; French Vogue ceased publication between 1941 and 1945. In reaction, America turned to the movies for style inspiration like never before.

The majority of women wore somber, simple suits, which looked much like military uniforms. The frugality was government mandated: The War Production Board in America restricted the use of materials in clothing so as to achieve a 15 percent savings in yardage. Such fabric-wasting items as turn-up cuffs, double yokes, sashes, patch pockets and attached hoods were banned. The board even had something to say about the use of buttons and zippers.

Nylon was rationed, so women aped stockings by wearing tanning lotions on their legs or drawing "seams" down the backs of their calves.

The typical American woman wore simple shirtwaists or masculine suits with authoritative shoulders and platform shoes. Many turned to frivolous cocktail costume jewelry to soften their no-nonsense clothes.

Women also wore slacks more than ever before, mostly because they were again holding down men's jobs on the home front.

Again, American expertise in garment production became apparent; the uniforms for the U.S. women's forces were widely admired.

U.S. ready for a change

The backlash to wartime austerity and stringent rationing was exemplified by Christian Dior's history-making New Look of 1947. Post-war America was optimistic and prosperous, and enjoying a plethora of reasonably priced cars, appliances and - yes - fashions.

The look to buy was Dior's hyper-feminine shape: unpadded, rounded shoulders; prominent bustline; tiny, nipped-in waist; slightly padded hips; and billowing, calf-length skirts. The fluffy skirts were sometimes exaggerated further by layers of petticoats.

The New Look exuberantly dispensed with fabric rationing and masculine suits. Still, it wasn't uniformly embraced. For one thing, it was uncomfortable, especially when worn with the restrictive Merry Widow corset and pointy high heels. For another, some felt it was a way to force women back into their traditional roles, after they'd achieved so much independence during the war, Braaten says.

Overall, however, the New Look spread like a wild fire of crinolines. Chanel also returned in the mid-'50s, with her little black dress and ageless Chanel suit.

Fifties' fashion still had many rules: gloves were worn with everything, handbags needed to match shoes, and the smart woman knew exactly what to wear to a garden party.

Anything goes in '60s

Prior to the '60s, there was a one-size-fits-all approach to fashion. Women tended to wear the same trends, whether they were 17 or 70.

But the sixth decade of this century brought radical change. Due to the coming-of-age of a powerful new demographic now known as the Baby Boomers, fashion splintered off into a fresh, funky youth market. "The Old Guard no longer sets fashion," declared the American fashion bible Women's Wear Daily. "The mood is youth, youth, youth!"

Even the "establishment" was younger and hipper. A nation of worshipful Jackie watchers mimicked the First Lady's pillbox hats, simple but beautifully cut suits and generally flawless sense of style.

The directional flow of fashion reversed as the decade aged, until teen-age styles were inspiring haute couture. By 1968, Yves St-Laurent was spotted sketching the students at the Paris barricades during theEvénements , disturbances fueled by youth protest.

One of the foremost designers of this turbulent decade was Mary Quant, who originated the swinging "London Look" and that quintessential '60s garment, the mini skirt.

The shrinking skirt placed new emphasis on legwear, including colored, patterned tights and fashion boots.

In the late '60s, designers tried to throw over the ubiquitous mini with an extreme: the floor-length maxi. It was disastrous. Consumers roundly rejected the look, leaving manufacturers with warehouses of the failed garment, Braaten says. In addition, the new skirt was more expensive to make, as it used more fabric. Never again would fashion attempt to make such a bold and drastic change.

Consumers were looking toward hipper, younger movies; bands like the Beatles, and all-pervasive TV for fashion inspiration.

Many other eclectic fads surfaced and died: flowing caftans and hair, dresses made from plastic or metal discs, Warhol-inspired Pop Art garb, crushed-velvet Edwardian suits, and the short-lived Space Age look.

The latter fad, a short-lived one, was tied in with man's new preoccupation with exploring space. It featured clinical, all-white or silver uniforms, geometric haircuts, Lucite bangles and helmet-like hats.

There was also the gypsy look, the psychedelic look, the see-through look, the Bonnie and Clyde look - you name it. If it could be classified as a "look," it was hot in a decade when youthful whims called the shots, and image reigned over everything.

'70s: study of contrasts

The '70s introduced all sorts of contradictions: hot pants next to mid-calf "midi" dresses; structured, polyester pantsuits next to hand-crocheted vests and flowing granny dresses; platform shoes next to granola-esque earth shoes; the overprocessed glitz of disco next to the raw attitude of punk.

One of the most definitive fabrics of the decade has almost become a '70s punchline: polyester.

DuPont's scientists had introduced polyester decades ago, but shelved it when they couldn't make it colorfast, Braaten says. By the '70s, they'd perfected a dyeing process. Thanks to the design of easy-care, coordinating, polyester pantsuits, women could wear pants in the workplace. Still, it didn't happen overnight. Even in the early 1970s, it was skirts only for female students in NDSU's home-ec building, Braaten says.

Polyester also spawned the leisure suit, which made it easier than ever for men to dress up.

Browns and earth tones were big. So were logo T-shirts as fashion statements. Designer jeans became status symbols. By 1975, longer skirts finally gained widespread acceptance.

The decade borrowed heavily from past trends. Bell bottoms, platform shoes, romantic peasant blouses, generous lapels, halter tops and slouch hats enjoyed a renaissance. Fashion grew looser and more individualized; there was no longer one "in" silhouette for slacks or a skirt.

A decade of flash

Everything about the '80s was big: big hair, big jewelry, big shoulders, big money.

Even the style-setters were big. Early on, Michael Jackson created a clamor for red leather jackets, parachute pants and all things zippered. The flashy, trashy sexuality of Madonna inspired a series of crucifix-dripping trends. Princess Di, in the biggest wedding of the decade, enlivened an interest in romance and ruffles. "Dynasty," on the other hand, sold us on sequins, square shoulders and glitz.

In the boardroom, the powersuit dominated, with its broad shoulders, nipped-in waist; short, straight skirt and spiked heels. The effect was one of aggressive femininity.

The Chanel suit resurfaced on First Lady Nancy Reagan, illustrating the ideal picture of conservative business chic.

At the same time, jeans became increasingly more common, as did status-driven designer labels. Toward the end of the decade, denim would be acid-washed, producing an artfully faded chic.

The individualized '90s

The early part of this decade aped the '80s, with a clinging interest in heavy makeup, "mall" hair and M.C. Hammer pants.

Then a little band called Nirvana hit the top 40, dramatically altering how we viewed cool. Almost overnight, the worst fashion offense imaginable was to look like you tried. The grunge look - characterized by ratty sweaters or flannel shirts; long, unkempt locks and ripped jeans - was now in.

Young hipsters combed thrift stores to find fashionably tattered threads.

The grunge look eventually faded, only to be replaced by hip-hop-inspired oversized jeans.

Once found chiefly in the underground, body modification - multiple body piercings, branding, tattooing - surfaced, lured on by youth culture and alternative music.

Fashion polished up its act as the decade progressed, lapsing into ultra-feminine looks in the mid- to late-'90s. Suddenly, fashion was a mish-mash of everything: the tiny, cropped top of the '70s was sold beside the 1940s slip, now worn as outerwear. The sleek, bias-cut Harlowe gown could be found next to the Jackie O, straight-cut dress in pastel shades of iridescent shantung silk.

Today, we find fashion is 180 degrees from what it was 100 years ago: It is highly individualized, enormously affordable and basically for everyone.