A Second Skin
Sheila Heti, Heidi Julavits, Leanne Shapton et al., Women in Clothes: Why We Wear What We Wear
Penguin, 532pp, £24.00, ISBN 9781846148354
reviewed by Amber Jane Butchart
‘The commodity is not one kind of thing rather than another, but one phase in the life of some things,’ wrote the cultural anthropologist Arjun Appadurai in his book, The Social Life of Things (1988). It is the life of things – specifically clothing – and our relationships with those things that are the driving force behind Women in Clothes. Refreshingly unconcerned with the commodity phase, unlike much fashion reportage, this is a book that documents the power of clothing to share in and contribute to our life stories. It is also most definitely – and thankfully – not a ‘how to’ (advice or epithets from fashion powerhouses such as Chanel or von Furstenberg are ruled out early), the aim instead is to create a ‘smart women’s fashion philosophy’ book. What follows is not so much a philosophy of dress, but more about the tales that clothing can tell us, and its place in our relationships with significant others – boyfriends, friends, husbands, family – and our bodies.
The book begins with a series of epistolary exchanges as the authors work through their reasons for writing it, and their intended outcomes. Billed as ‘part collective memoir, part field-study,’ the survey answers which form the majority of the text are largely split into themes which offer snapshots from style mantras to home dressmaking, as well as various minutiae of sartorial details and phenomenological responses to clothing. Due to clothing’s proximity to the body, the corporeal is always there like a ghostly presence among the fabric folds – concerns over ageing, size, and other aspects of our physicality are played out through dress. That the book is gendered from the title comes as little surprise; women historically have more complicated relationships with their bodies. Traditionally clothing and an interest in fashion have been denigrated due to their association with the ‘feminine.’ This is thrown into relief by an in-depth interview with writer and journalist Juliet Jacques, which chronicles her coming out as transgender and the process of learning an entire new comportment and way of dressing, which was fundamental to negotiating a socially acceptable gender identity.
Women in Clothes is most successful when it captures the power of clothing to transform the wearer, or bring people together, as is the case with the ‘Compliments’ segments that show strangers bonding over a shared aesthetic appreciation. Equally, the photographic ‘Mothers as Others’ allows us to glimpse fragments of women pre-motherhood, and highlights the complex relationships between mothers and daughters, demonstrated through style. ‘Collections’ are groups of images of a single object bought in multiples. From raincoats to cashmere cardigans and red nail polish, the repetition turns the mundane into the exalted and highlights the eternal quest for the perfect item, but this perfection is never found, like Tantalus reaching for fruit that he perpetually fails to grasp. Walter Benjamin captured the essence of this collector’s quest in his essay, Unpacking my Library, ‘for a collector – and I mean a real collector, a collector as he ought to be – ownership is the most intimate relationship that one can have to objects. Not that they come alive in him; it is he who lives in them.’ This is no where more true than with clothing.
The downside of the book’s methodology is its fixation with its own processes. Sections such as the survey answered with phrases from Sheila Heti’s diary seem self-indulgent rather than insightful, and at times it can feel forced, too aware of its own structures and intentions. Snippets of stories can leave you feeling unsated, wanting to know more than the bite-size chunks allow. Occasionally the focus on a rigid interview structure means answers can be stunted, leaving the invested reader feeling somewhat abandoned. And while there is much emotional depth, any factual content is fleeting and easily misconstrued. The instalment on sumptuary laws lacks context and detail, turning what could have been an illuminating historical revelation into clothing and class into something much less nuanced.
The focus on stories makes sense, given that Sheila Heti, Heidi Julavits and Leanne Shapton are all novelists. This is both a strength and a weakness, as it has a tendency to carve a template for the majority of other contributors. The biographical information on participants details a vast number of writers, artists and musicians, some well known – Kim Gordon, Lena Dunham, Molly Ringwald – others less so. Creative industries are over-represented, including many professions which may have a vested interest in, or at least a heightened awareness of, clothing and design. For this reason, extracts with a distinct voice, like that of Reba Sikder – a survivor of the Rana Plaza factory collapse – stand out by offering a global insight into the broader implications of our relationships with clothes in the 21st century. Though hers is by no means the only voice from a different demographic to the book’s creators, more of this would have been welcome.
The book really shines when the stories speak about memory and loss. We have a visceral relationship with our clothes; they mould to the shape of our bodies and take on our scent. The potential for heartbreak in this process is documented by poet Souvankham Thammavongsa:
Ultimately Women in Clothes demonstrates the power of dress to communicate, to work as a language that can illuminate identity. This is eloquently expressed by Portland-based artist Jennifer Armbrust, who succinctly bridges the issue of outward materiality with internal self: ‘I feel best when the clothing acts as a second skin, a visual representation of my inner landscape.’ Statements like this underline the essence of this book, that style and substance are far from mutually exclusive.
The book begins with a series of epistolary exchanges as the authors work through their reasons for writing it, and their intended outcomes. Billed as ‘part collective memoir, part field-study,’ the survey answers which form the majority of the text are largely split into themes which offer snapshots from style mantras to home dressmaking, as well as various minutiae of sartorial details and phenomenological responses to clothing. Due to clothing’s proximity to the body, the corporeal is always there like a ghostly presence among the fabric folds – concerns over ageing, size, and other aspects of our physicality are played out through dress. That the book is gendered from the title comes as little surprise; women historically have more complicated relationships with their bodies. Traditionally clothing and an interest in fashion have been denigrated due to their association with the ‘feminine.’ This is thrown into relief by an in-depth interview with writer and journalist Juliet Jacques, which chronicles her coming out as transgender and the process of learning an entire new comportment and way of dressing, which was fundamental to negotiating a socially acceptable gender identity.
Women in Clothes is most successful when it captures the power of clothing to transform the wearer, or bring people together, as is the case with the ‘Compliments’ segments that show strangers bonding over a shared aesthetic appreciation. Equally, the photographic ‘Mothers as Others’ allows us to glimpse fragments of women pre-motherhood, and highlights the complex relationships between mothers and daughters, demonstrated through style. ‘Collections’ are groups of images of a single object bought in multiples. From raincoats to cashmere cardigans and red nail polish, the repetition turns the mundane into the exalted and highlights the eternal quest for the perfect item, but this perfection is never found, like Tantalus reaching for fruit that he perpetually fails to grasp. Walter Benjamin captured the essence of this collector’s quest in his essay, Unpacking my Library, ‘for a collector – and I mean a real collector, a collector as he ought to be – ownership is the most intimate relationship that one can have to objects. Not that they come alive in him; it is he who lives in them.’ This is no where more true than with clothing.
The downside of the book’s methodology is its fixation with its own processes. Sections such as the survey answered with phrases from Sheila Heti’s diary seem self-indulgent rather than insightful, and at times it can feel forced, too aware of its own structures and intentions. Snippets of stories can leave you feeling unsated, wanting to know more than the bite-size chunks allow. Occasionally the focus on a rigid interview structure means answers can be stunted, leaving the invested reader feeling somewhat abandoned. And while there is much emotional depth, any factual content is fleeting and easily misconstrued. The instalment on sumptuary laws lacks context and detail, turning what could have been an illuminating historical revelation into clothing and class into something much less nuanced.
The focus on stories makes sense, given that Sheila Heti, Heidi Julavits and Leanne Shapton are all novelists. This is both a strength and a weakness, as it has a tendency to carve a template for the majority of other contributors. The biographical information on participants details a vast number of writers, artists and musicians, some well known – Kim Gordon, Lena Dunham, Molly Ringwald – others less so. Creative industries are over-represented, including many professions which may have a vested interest in, or at least a heightened awareness of, clothing and design. For this reason, extracts with a distinct voice, like that of Reba Sikder – a survivor of the Rana Plaza factory collapse – stand out by offering a global insight into the broader implications of our relationships with clothes in the 21st century. Though hers is by no means the only voice from a different demographic to the book’s creators, more of this would have been welcome.
The book really shines when the stories speak about memory and loss. We have a visceral relationship with our clothes; they mould to the shape of our bodies and take on our scent. The potential for heartbreak in this process is documented by poet Souvankham Thammavongsa:
‘Some items are too full of memories of who you were with, that to move on, you have to throw them away. I bought this beautiful dress once, hoping to wear it for a special occasion with the person I loved, but then he stopped loving me before we had an occasion to go to. Every time I opened the closet and saw this dress, I was reminded that I wasn’t loved and the occasion I was waiting for never happened. So I threw it away.’
Ultimately Women in Clothes demonstrates the power of dress to communicate, to work as a language that can illuminate identity. This is eloquently expressed by Portland-based artist Jennifer Armbrust, who succinctly bridges the issue of outward materiality with internal self: ‘I feel best when the clothing acts as a second skin, a visual representation of my inner landscape.’ Statements like this underline the essence of this book, that style and substance are far from mutually exclusive.