A woman in shoes by Christian Louboutin. Photo: Getty
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The empress’s old clothes: who are women dressing for, anyway?

Most of us will have had the sensation, at one time or another, of feeling as though we were dressed up as someone else. A new book and an exhibition explore what it means to be a "woman in clothes".


There’s a scene in the second series of the BBC’s Sherlock in which the detective goes to visit Irene Adler – the woman who will become the woman. She is accused of blackmailing a princess with kinky photographs, so Sherlock decides to dress up as a vicar in order to gain access to her flat. But Irene is ahead of him; she knows who her visitor is and she knows what he does. When her assistant asks her what outfit she will wear to greet him, she replies simply: “The battle dress.”

A moment later, she is standing in front of Sherlock. She is completely naked. His eyes scan her body, drawing only a confused blank where he would expect the detail of a cuff or the bulge of a pocket to give up its secrets. She turns the tables on him, pointing out the ridiculous subterfuge of his clerical collar. “Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr Holmes? However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait . . . I think you’re damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In your case, it’s yourself.”

Most of us will have had the sensation, at one time or another, of feeling as though we were dressed up as someone else. For a job interview, you become a neater, smarter version of yourself, for instance. We stubbornly cling to the “traditional” white wedding dress, even though it became a tradition only a century ago. And yet something of ourselves always bleeds into the image: everyone has a friend who has only to touch a freshly ironed shirt to crumple it, or one who can mysteriously carry off styles that make us look like unformed dough. And, unlike Irene Adler, most of us are unwilling to opt out of this system of signification altogether (not least because it’s cold out).

Both Women in Clothes – a new book ­edited by the New York literary darlings Sheila Heti, Heidi Julavits and Leanne Shapton – and the “Women Fashion Power” exhibition at the Design Museum in London attempt to unweave the stories we tell through our dress. Women in Clothes is ultimately more successful: as the cover proudly announces, it features contributions from 639 women, including the artist Miranda July, the writer Kiran Desai and everyone’s favourite hook for a comment piece, Lena Dunham. By doing this, it underscores the universality of the system, even as it highlights the diversity of its expressions.

The book is a ragbag, designed like a scrapbook and punctuated with grids of single items – tights, buttons, logo T-shirts – from various individuals’ wardrobes. The effect is to make you realise how much time and mental effort women expend on their clothes and also how much they rely on them to tell stories, either about where they come from or who they want to be.

There’s a common thread linking the women wearing their grandmother’s wedding ring and Emily Gould, the favourite of internet hate-readers, who writes about blowing her tax rebate on a pink Marc Jacobs purse. “In 2004, Marc anything was the ultimate status symbol for a specific kind of New York City woman, the kind I aspired to be: someone with natural charisma, a cool job, effortless and understated sexiness and plenty of cash,” she writes. It cost hundreds of dollars but, six years later, battered by wear, she sold it at a yard sale for just $10. High-fashion items are worth only what someone is willing to pay for them.

Simone de Beauvoir once wrote: “One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.” That is certainly the case in Women in Clothes. One of the most revealing interviews is Heti’s discussion with the NS writer Juliet Jacques, who is transsexual. To be accepted as a woman, Jacques not only had to learn a new way of dressing but new mannerisms, a new voice – even a new way of sneezing. “Women are socially policed to behave with more restraint,” she tells Heti.

Clothes are a language and it’s only because we are so well trained to read them that we don’t notice. The nuances of historical dress are quickly lost to us but we can easily tell the difference between a City slicker and a goth, a hippie and a hipster. Women in Clothes addresses one of the hoariest questions in fashion: who are women dressing for, anyway? It’s surely mostly for other women, who are far more adept at reading the tiny inflections of meaning in a cut or a label.

To attract men, the rules are simpler, though that crudeness brings its own problems. Here’s one contributor, Augusta Lee: “I feel like it’s a meat market and a fashion show when I go to church. Girls dress up to try and get married.” And here’s Sasha Grey, who used to make the kind of pornography that other people in the porn business worried was too extreme. “I like to dress up and be wanted, but at this time [after ending a long-term relationship] I didn’t know what I wanted, so I didn’t want to project myself in that way. I guess I have a disdain for young women who dress half-naked but scowl when you glance their way.”

Grey’s comment underlines the idea of women’s fashion as plumage. In previous eras, there was a more straightforward class division in dress: the 16th-century aristocrat was just as gorgeously clothed and jewelled as his wife, in contrast to working people of both sexes. But a series of social shifts, including the advent of mass production in the 18th century and Beau Brummell’s creation of the three-piece suit around the turn into the 19th, put paid to that. Now, the male CEO wears ostensibly the same outfit as his graduate trainee. It is left to subtle details such as watches, or an expensive cut or fabric, to reassert his dominance.

A woman photographs one of Margaret Thatcher's dresses at the Design Museum's exhibition.


This approach to power dressing leaves women handicapped. As the Design Museum’s exhibition demonstrates, some women adopt a kind of “man camouflage” – think Angela Merkel in her Pantone three-buttoned suits, or Hillary Clinton’s severe business wear. Others head in the opposite direction, hamming up the femininity while swearing blind that uncomfortable cantilevering leaves them feeling “empowered” (possibly in the same type of interview in which they claim to “just be really good at multitasking” or boast about getting up at 4.30am to do an hour’s Pilates before the children wake up).

The old double bind is on full display here: women are judged on their looks but also judged for caring about their looks. You can be decreed either dowdy or vain. For women in politics, the choice is particularly depressing: the Daily Mail devoted a double-page spread this summer to the “Downing Street catwalk” as new female ministers were appointed. Baroness Stowell, the new leader of the Lords, was described as “a bit mother-of-the-bride”, while Anna Soubry was chastised for having “the air of a Mrs Thatcher tribute, fake posh voice, tough manner and everything”. Esther McVey, meanwhile, was a “thigh-flashing vision in grey check by Vivienne Westwood . . . She needs to tone it down a little for attending cabinet meetings.” No wonder this exhibition quotes Miriam González Durántez, the wife of Nick Clegg, saying that she has little idea how much she spends on clothes but it’s “much more since Nick is in politics”.

The strongest section of the show addresses the quagmire that a powerful woman in a man’s world has to navigate every morning. The 26 women who have contributed an outfit are from very different backgrounds and cultures but many face the same struggle: finding the Goldilocks point of fitted but not too fitted, feminine but not too feminine, attractive without being overtly sexual. Little wonder that so many, when they find a formula, stick to it rigidly – in the fairground mirror logic of fashion, if you wear the same type of clothes long enough, it goes through frumpy and out the other side into “a signature style”. (Cue a picture of the Queen in black heels and a block-colour coat, with matching hat and bag.)

The saddest part of the exhibition, however, is its circularity. It begins with 19th-century corsets, nipping the waist to waspish proportions, and then charts the history of the “land girls”, in their practical overalls, and 1960s women ditching starched tailoring for free-and-easy miniskirts. We get zips and nylons and high street labels that make fashion accessible to everyone.

Then we finish with three sets of Christian Louboutin heels – none lower than six inches. These are “limousine shoes”, hard to wear if your job involves anything other than tottering in and out of cabs or being rented by the hour by oligarchs. No matter how hard we try to break down the walls that imprison women, someone will always stick a Swarovski crystal on them and sell them back to us as fashion. 

“Women in Clothes” is published by Particular Books (£24). “Women Fashion Power” is at the Design Museum, London SE1, until 26 April 2015

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

This article first appeared in the 06 November 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Running out of Time

Flickr/Alfred Grupstra
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How will future videogame makers design a grand strategy game about the 21st century?

With the diminishing power of nation states, and the lack of conventional warfare, what would a 21st-century grand strategy game look like?

In the world of historical strategy games, it always seems clear how to win. Paint the map your colour. Raise your flag over the capitals of your rivals. Pave the streets of your cities with gold. Games based around statecraft in olden times will tend to have diverse objectives, they usually focus on the greatness of a nation in the traditional senses of the word: military might, technological advancement, religious and cultural hegemony. These same priorities hold up from the times of the Roman Republic to the Cold War.

Yet if games designers in the future were to look at the world of today, how would they interpret the actions of modern governments? Do the same goals as before apply or have we moved on? Are the objectives of contemporary societies different, and if so, just what would a player in a game of 21st-century grand strategy be trying to achieve?

One thing is for sure, the conventional measures of success in historical grand strategy games don’t stack up so easily in a modern setting.

War, for instance, has always been a staple part of historical games and it remains a preoccupation of contemporary society too. In the 15 years of the 21st century, Britain has invaded two countries, conducted armed interventions in three more and is even now lining up the procurement of new fighter jets, new aircraft carriers and new nuclear weapons at incredible expense. So we can safely say we do not live in a peaceful age.

But despite having all this firepower and the political will to bring it to bear at the drop of a dossier, war doesn’t seem to serve Her Majesty’s Government in the way it does in either the history books or the strategy games. There is no territory to be won and no rival great powers being thwarted – only air strikes, occupations and teetering puppet governments.

Indeed the only country whose military adventures bear any resemblance to the old-timey way of doing things is Russia, with Putin perhaps the last of the breed of world leaders who still thinks swapping out the flags on municipal buildings constitutes a legitimate redrawing of national boundaries. Given his famous distrust for technology it seems quite likely he didn’t get the tersely worded Tweet from Obama about how that kind of thing isn’t supposed to work anymore.

On the economic side of things the approaches opted for by governments today don’t fit with the historical mind set either. Nations are no longer trying to get rich for their own sake. Privatisation relinquishes the assets of the state in return for a temporary financial gain and long term loss of revenue. Deregulation and poor tax enforcement bleeds capital overseas. It is here we see perhaps the key difference between games where you play as The State itself and real countries, countries run by people who have bank balances of their own and competing party financiers to appease.

The idea of running a country for the purpose of making that country wealthier and then reinvesting that wealth back into the country by developing assets and infrastructure has gone out of the window. Simultaneously both the leftwing model of a state run for the benefit of its citizens and the rightwing ideal of a country mastering its economy to become a more powerful force on the world stage have been quietly phased out. Outsourcing and tax havens suggest that there is no longer room for patriotism in economic policy – unless you’re China, of course, but it wouldn’t be much of a game with only one nation playing it.

On a technological front there was the space race, and there have even been games built around it. But in the 21st century, the urgency and the sense of competition has been lost. Rovers on Mars, probes on comets and space stations tend to be viewed in a spirit of collective human achievement, partly because of the collaborative nature of modern space exploration, and also, I suspect, because lots of people in those fields are Star Trek fans.

The idea of going to Mars so you can stand on the surface of another planet and tell the Communists to stuff it no longer appeals as much as that whole "pushing back the scientific boundaries for the benefit of all life of Earth" deal. It is laudable, but not ideal for games built around competing with other countries.

In the 21st century grand strategy game, we wouldn’t be looking to conquer the world, we wouldn’t be looking to buy it and we wouldn’t be looking to leave it in our technological wake either. So what does that leave? What would 21st-century grand strategy look like?

It could be argued that we’ve moved beyond the era of nation states as the bodies driving world affairs, and such a game might reflect that. Maybe something more akin to a Crusader Kings game would be the way to go, with the player taking the role of an individual – a connected political blueblood, perhaps, like an oligarch, a CEO, an activist turned politician, a drugs baron or a terrorist leader. Or maybe we would play not as an individual, but as an organisation, for example the CIA, ExxonMobil, Isis, Amnesty International or the Solntsevskaya Bratva.

It may be that we never see the present day immortalised in a strategy game, at least outside of that passing phase in Civilization where everything is either settled down or exploding in nuclear fire. Perhaps we’re destined to nestle into a historically obscure crack between the tumult of the 20th century and something spectacular or horrible yet to come. It is nice to think, however, that the times we live in are at least interesting and that maybe we’ll get to see it all laid out in a game one day, if only to find out what winning the 21st century would look like.

Phil Hartup is a freelance journalist with an interest in video gaming and culture