fashion

Versace: You got served!

Kelsey Wallace — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 19:22:09 -0500

Turns
out Versace is not just weird and sexually creepy in their print ads
(see above), they're also weird and sexually creepy toward their
employees! Or one in particular, anyway. Former Versace aide (and Puerto Rican-American) Fay
Rodriguez sued the fashion giant on Wednesday for discrimination, saying she was subjected to a hostile work environment based on her race and gender.

According to Rodriguez, her boss (and Versace USA CEO) Patrick Guadagno was verbally abusive toward her, would humiliate her in public by asking her to relay sexually explicit phone messages, and that he denied her compensation for working overtime. Rodriguez, 43, was fired after
filing a complaint with Versace human resources. Can this be the same Versace that so delighted Nomi Malone in Showgirls? Apalling.

I say good for Rodriguez for suing this disgusting perv and standing up for her rights as a woman of color in the workplace. Versace is sexist in more ways than one, and I hope they end up paying for it.

What do you think?

Adventures in Feministory: Stepanova and Popova

Briar Levit — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 15:54:49 -0500

Stepanova and Popova, Stepanova textile

As a graphic designer, my interests in innovative women of history are often strongest for those involved in visual arts. And as a former student of Russian and a devoted Russophile, my obsession with designers of post-revolutionary Russia is off the charts. Enter Varvara Stepanova and Liubov Popova. These two artist/designers were part of the original crew of Constructivists
working within Lenin's ambitious "Plan of Monumental Propaganda"
(1918). Although it sounds kind of scary—monumental propaganda?!—imagine the opportunity to be involved, from the ground up, in bringing art to the masses—'to reconstruct not only objects, but also the whole domestic way of life', bringing form and function to art and creating a new philosophy around the design of utilitarian objects (clothing, housewares, packaging, magazines etc.).

As always, the male artists of this period tend to get the major recognition (Alexandr Rodchenko, Vladimir Tatlin, Vasilii Kandinsky). But Stepanova and Popova were working quite equally along side their colleagues. They were
talented in many mediums—painting, set design, costume design, graphic/book design and textile design. Their contributions to this new 'proletariat art' were significant and as a designer who hopes to inject meaning (not simply visual beauty) in to the work I do, I always come back to their work for inspiration.

Exhibit design by Popova and Alexandr Tatlin, Stepanova's magazine cover for 'Soviet Cinema

While Stepanova's paintings combined a sort of graphic style with a decidedly fine art quality in a way that spoke specifically to the work coming out of Russia at that moment (I'm actually preparing to have a quote from one of her pieces tattooed on my arm when I get up the guts and the cash), it's possible that her philosophy and design in the realm of textiles were her greatest achievement during this period.

Stepanova painting, Stepanova textile

Combining aesthetics of Cubism, Futurism and traditional peasant art, Stepanova and Popova created pieces of propaganda that literally weaved their way in to the average Soviet's day-to-day life. Creating motifs around themes of agriculture, electrification, struggles against illiteracy, factories and production, they, along with many talented textile designers (see below), helped inform the masses of the importance (in the mind of the government, of course) of these concepts.

Textiles by: Unknown, Darya Preobrazhenskaya, Marya Anufrieva

In addition to her graphic textiles, Stepanova also worked to design clothing styles that fit the new paradigm shift in Russia for a proletariat society. She said: "Fashion, which used to be the psychological reflection of everyday life, of customs and aesthetic taste, is now being replaced by a form of dress designed for
use in various kinds of labor, for a particular activity in society. This form of dress can be shown only during the process of work. Outside of practical life it does not represent a self-sufficient value or particular kind of 'work of art'.

Clothing designs by Stepanova

Now don't get me wrong. This group of artists, while visionary and, I believe, genuine in their efforts, were guilty of their own elitism. This was an intense time of transition for a nation that was in need of the basics—food and clothing. As Alexandr Blok points out in the voice of an old woman in
one of his poems: "What's that poster for, that great big piece of material? It would make quite a few socks for our guys, and none of them has any clothes or shoes". There was definitely a certain naiveté that was at work here. But I can't help but look at their works and feel moved ultimately by a earnest goal to bring art out of the gallery and out to the masses.

It’s Ladies’ Night on Project Runway

Kelsey Wallace — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 16:57:25 -0400

Get your DVRs ready, feminists, because the finale of this season’s Project Runway airs tonight, and for the first time in the show’s history all three contestants are female. (For those not familiar with the show, Project Runway brings budding fashion designers together to compete for a $100,000 prize and a runway show at New York Fashion Week in Bryant Park.) In the past, the three finalists have been both male and female (although the designs presented are always women’s wear—what’s up with that?), with only one female contestant ever taking home the grand prize.

The fashion industry has a long history of promoting male designers of women’s clothing, from Oscar de la Renta (who showed a collection at the very first NY Fashion Week in 1943) to current Runway judge Michael Kors; women have always come in, well, second. But tonight, the ladies are coming in first, second, and third. So whether the show’s winner is architecturally inspired Leanne, vintage-loving Kenley, or free-flowing Korto (and we’ve all got our favorites), tonight’s finale promises to be a stride forward for female fashion designers and the feminists who love them.

Feminism, fashion, and flare: Call for submissions

Debbie Rasmussen — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 17:52:36 -0400

Passing this along... The deadline is fast approaching, so write speedily!

Call for Papers: Feminism, Fashion and Flair: Confronting Hegemony with Style (Deadline: 9/15/08)

We are soliciting essays for an anthology on gender politics and pop culture trends. We’re looking for intellectual depth, political passion, and writing that snaps..

Fashion is a powerful way we express our politics, personalities, and preferences for who and how we love. Yet fashion can also repress freedom and sexual expression. Fashion encourages profound creativity, rebellion, and defiant self-definition while simultaneously controlling and disciplining the body. Fashion creates collective identity, but also constrains individual voice. In other words, fashion contains the paradoxical potential for pleasure and subjugation, expression and conformity.

We are interested in essays that take up questions of gender with special attention to race, class, sexuality, age, and ethnicity. This collection blends theory and pop culture analysis in exciting ways, focusing on contemporary trends and controversies.

Although we are open to ideas, we are specifically seeking essays on the following topics:

Issues of race, class, gender and sexuality through style and fashion
Bois, grrls, trannies and styles of queerness
Hardcore, punk, and hip hop: constructing masculinities through fashion
Body art and cultural appropriations (e.g., Arabic-style tattoos, etc.)
Debates in body modification
Plastic surgery and re-fashioning the body
Hipster slumming and “gentrification”: tensions of authenticity and irony
Vintage and thrift fashion: nostalgia and class signifiers

Deadline for abstracts is September 15, 2008.
Format for abstracts: Word document, double-spaced, between 300 and 500 words. Include contact information and short bio.

Send to: FashionBook1@yahoo.com

Shira Tarrant
Assistant Professor
Women’s Studies Department
California State University, Long Beach

Marjorie Jolles
Assistant Professor
Women’s & Gender Studies Program
Roosevelt University

'Stache-tastic!

Briar Levit — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 17:55:20 -0400

Let me preface this by saying, that I don't believe this phenomenon is revolutionary or even very subversive in terms of gender-bending. But it IS a trend I've noticed, and one I can't help but enjoy.

Men have been donning this upper-lip facial hair for a long time, of course. It was a victorian trend, it was a 70's trend and now it looks to be a 2000's trend. But beyond the male moustache resurgance, I've notice a trend by those of us with the double x chromosome make-up. Nowadays fake eyelashes aren't the only false facial hair women are taking advantage of. Plenty are having fun with the contrast of a traditionally femme appearance in contrast with a striking patch of hair on the lip.

The first time I became aware of this trend was at a New Year's Eve
party last year. Someone showed up with a package of fake moustaches
and the ladies in attendance went nuts. They were wearing them all
night (crooked by end) and everyone looked decidedly cute with their added facial hair. (see below)

Then I saw some photos of Coco Rosie with one donning the 'tache.

I mentioned this to Andi, the editorial director here at Bitch, and she informed me that I'd need at least 3 instances for it to truly be a trend (and I'm not talkin' milk moustaches here). I took this on as a personal challenge. An enjoyable one too, because there's something so endearing about them. Well, dear sm[art] readers, many instances have presented themselves since!

A quick search on etsy.com (the handmade online marketplace) brings up a number of things including these items by sellers:ashleyg, kieutiepie and tresijas:

This weekend at the Portland Zine Symposium, I grabbed the pocket zine, What Did You Buy Today? by Kate Bingaman-Burt, with one of her purchased items being a package of fake-o moustaches.

And just today, I saw this photo on the first page of The Advocate—frankly, a fairly mainstream appearance of the moustache on a femme woman.

So what do you all think? Is it likable, annoying or uninteresting? Any major examples that I missed?

There are no words

Andi Zeisler — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 13:16:29 -0400

I don't know whether to thank my friend Elise for bringing this to my attention, or gently curse her:

High heels. For babies. That is all.

Also, when Fox News's Megyn Kelly starts sounding hard-hitting and feminist, the apocalypse is clearly nigh.

Is Christian Siriano making a hot mess of the term "tranny"?

Andi Zeisler — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 17:44:10 -0400

by Margaret Price

Project Runway 4: The Season of Love. And no designer was more lovable than the prancing, snapping, flat-iron–wielding Christian Siriano, who ended up winning it all—the final runway showdown, the spread in Elle, and the $10K Fan Favorite prize. Sassing and sewing with equal velocity, the diminuitive designer and self-described "big deal" introduced us to an array of hip, new-to-many-Americans phrases: Fierce! Ferosh! A hot mess up in here! A hot tranny mess up in here!

Wait. Tranny?

The first time I heard the winsome Christian use his famous catchphrase, I thought, “Are we allowed to say tranny on TV now?” Had the revolution arrived while I was writing my holiday thank-you notes?

Well, not quite. A glance at the political landscape indicates that actual trans people are still awfully far from being America’s fan favorites. Last November, following a pitched battle between trans activists and mainstream gay organizations, the Employment Non-Discrimination Act (H.R. 3685) was passed by the House of Representatives in a form that omitted any mention of gender-based discrimination. And murders of gender-nonconforming people have continued apace, unaccompanied by mainstream media attention: During Project Runway’s Season 4 run alone, the list included one in Detroit (Ashley Sweeney), one in Florida (Simmie Williams), and one in South Carolina (Adolphus Simmons).

Maybe I’m being a little humorless. I don’t expect Project Runway to offer public education on federal bills or hate crimes, and I’m happy to cheer for Siriano’s Vivienne Westwood–inspired skinny pants as they stomp down the runway. But, as Tim Gunn might say, I’m worried. Will Siriano’s very winsomeness persuade PR viewers that saying "tranny" is the new way to win friends and influence people? That it’s a term of affection rather than an as-yet reclaimed slur? That as long as you’re cute enough, language doesn’t matter?

Happily, there is more to the tranny story on cable TV. At the same time that Christian was flouncing his way around Bravo, the Logo network debuted Transamerican Love Story, starring MTF actor/activist Calpernia Addams. In her deathless video “Bad Questions to Ask a Transsexual," Ms. Addams assures us, “This list might seem a little bit angry … But I hope you’ll bear with me as I chap your ass.”

Now, that’s a hot tranny mess. And I mean that in the best way.

Thanks to E., my favorite ferosh tranny bitch, who got the info about trans rights all up in here.

The Great Cover-Up

Kyla — Tue, 01 Jan 2008 00:00:00 -0500

In an era when it’s possible to turn on the television on any given night and see a clutch of bikini-clad women crawling over their male prey (ABC’s The Bachelor), a sex-toy demonstration (HBO’s Real Sex), or a 9-year-old showing off her moves on her parents’ personal stripper pole (E!’s Keeping Up with the Kardashians), Wendy Shalit’s assertion that modesty has made a comeback seems a little, well, optimistic. Shalit has been beating the drum for women to reclaim their maidenly ways since 1999, when she published the screed A Return to Modesty: Discovering the Lost Virtue. Among other things, the book argued that social phenomena like coed college dorms and comprehensive sex education stripped women of their modesty, leaving them vulnerable to casual sex, not to mention rape and depression. Shalit’s latest book, Girls Gone Mild, returns to the subject matter bearing a new accusation: namely, that feminism—particularly its youth-focused third wave—has confused sexual promiscuity with political freedom, leading to an epidemic of plummeting self-esteem in young women. But today, she argues, there are moral heroines to be found in a new generation of young women who reject pole dancing, stripping, and other “bad girl” antics as being liberating. 

According to Shalit, this emerging group of “modest young gals” wants nothing to do with third wave shagging and snogging because, they say, revealing clothes and premarital sex are actually disempowering. These young women who’d rather wear turtleneck sweaters than low-rise jeans are the real revolutionaries, Shalit claims. And she calls these so-called sex radicals the fourth wave.  

That women are bombarded with messages telling us, “Take off your clothes and have casual sex; it’s empowering!” is old news. What’s different this time around is that Shalit adds feminists to the pop-culture mix. She blames third wavers for corrupting the notion of “girl power” to mean “young women [should] sleep around for the sake of feminism and ‘positive sexuality.’” But feminists aren’t the only ones at fault for our slutty state of the union: Shalit also accuses misguided professors, progressive teachers, and permissive parents of steering girls wrong. (Shalit puts Bitch on the hot seat, too, for what she calls the magazine’s predictably unwavering support for the sexually aggressive girl.)  

By contrast, Shalit sees herself at the helm of a nascent Britney backlash, an emerging trend encouraging decorum in dress and demeanor. Along with cohorts like Dawn Eden (author of The Thrill of the Chaste: Finding Fulfillment While Keeping Your Clothes On) and Laura Sessions Stepp (who wrote Unhooked: How Young Women Pursue Sex, Delay Love, and Lose at Both), Shalit’s new-modesty boosterism tells women that sexual freedom should not be linked to equality—and that casual sex, risqué wardrobes, and even cursing are serious social problems.  

The modesty movement makes some good points about the effect a hypersexual culture can have on women’s well-being and sense of self. And it’s hard to argue that corporations and pop-culture products that reduce women and girls to consumers of constructed sexuality—from Bratz and Club Libby Lu to The Bachelor and Age of Love—are deeply problematic. But by claiming that modesty is the only solution, and by overlooking long-term feminist efforts to expand both women’s access to sexual pleasure and the right to say no, the new-modesty hucksters are doing women no favors.  

Simply put, Shalit and her pals keep the onus on women and their behavior, while giving men a pass—something that won’t surprise anyone who read A Return to Modesty, in which Shalit demurred that, gosh, if women weren’t so immodest, men wouldn’t rape them, would they? These binary arguments are really just gussied-up versions of the double standard that judges women differently from men. They are exclusively about female modesty, and say nothing about the male entitlement that has brought, say, strip clubs and porn into the mainstream. It seems crucial to note that modesty, now as in the past, is considered only a women’s issue: Girls and women are charged with being the gatekeepers of what’s sexually appropriate, but what’s judged inappropriate is measured by the effect it has on men. Scratch the surface of the modesty movement’s claims, and what shines through is the moralizing and shaming of women’s sexuality.  

And that raises the question of whether there can be a mainstream movement toward modesty that doesn’t hew to a slut-prude binary. Without addressing this larger feminist issue—which Shalit, Eden, and Sessions Stepp utterly fail to do—it doesn’t seem like there can be. If we refuse to acknowledge that judgments about women and modesty come from an extremely narrow-minded, controlling view that has more to do with punishing female sexual agency than with modesty itself, all we’re doing is restating that good girls don’t, bad girls do, and each gets what’s coming to her.  

To wit: In July 2007, 23-year-old Kyla Ebbert was told by a Southwest Airlines flight attendant that she wouldn’t be allowed to travel unless she first changed out of her miniskirt, tank top, and sweater. A second Southwest passenger, Setara Qassim, also came forward with her story of being told in June 2007 to either fix her racy outfit or get off the plane. In the end, both Ebbert and Qassim were allowed to fly the sartorially judgmental skies only after covering themselves with blankets. The modesty authorities were all over the story; on her blog, Dawn Patrol, Eden wrote that Ebbert “was no doubt weaned on the V-Monologues brand of feminism” and advised the Hooters waitress that, rather than suing Southwest, she “should be paying them out of gratitude for showing you the truth of what you are doing every day—treating yourself as a walking commodity, and others as consumers.” 

To make sure we’re behaving properly, the modesty sexperts say, we should keep it in our pants and act like we mean it. Otherwise, we risk giving away our power, explains Sessions Stepp. But this view means we get the same two labels to choose from when it comes to what we wear, how we love, and the ways we express our libido: sluts or prick teases. Player-haters or hos. What about exploration, learning from our successes and mistakes, and finding our own way to the sexual liberation that lies beyond the binary? 

A brief history of modern modesty: At the turn of the 20th century, “bad girls” could be arrested and institutionalized on the basis of reputation alone. These bad reputations came from hanging out with a tough crowd, staying out all night, frequenting the dance halls, or getting caught in a hotel room with a man. New ideas in science, law, and medicine were viewed through the lens of the moral fervor that was then sweeping the country. Conventional wisdom held that women should be the models of wholesome and righteous good living, and that everyone else would follow this lead. Women were thus put on a pedestal, charged with responsibility for taming men’s passions and maintaining the purity of the home. When, in the early 1900s, young women—in particular, working-class women—started partying in public with men, some people saw the mingling of the sexes as leading to long-overdue personal fulfillment. Others saw in these loosening relations an impending social breakdown. Sound familiar? 

We have a long history of trying to manage and organize our sexual fears and desires. The messages about modesty that were historically spread via churches, schools, and local communities are today also spread over the Internet. But the messages themselves have changed little—and each exhortation to women to lengthen their skirts, cross their legs, and keep their eyes down has nothing to do with curbing men’s assumed access to women’s bodies, and everything to do with controlling women’s freedom and sexuality. 

A quick Google search these days yields evidence of an interest in rejecting short-shorts and tiny tops that cuts across religion, fashion, and commerce. Pure Fashion “is a faith-based program that encourages teen girls to live, act, and dress in accordance with their dignity as children of God” (purefashion.com). The program, sponsored by Regnum Christi, an evangelical, apostolic Catholic movement, invites young women ages 14 to 18 to learn how to become confident leaders and messengers of purity and virtue. Pure Fashion’s eight-month Model Training Program promises to teach teens the modest arts of public speaking, manners and social graces, hair and makeup, and personal presentation, in ways that are “trendy but still tasteful.”  

Then there’s Ladies Against Feminism, a conservative Christian organization (tagline: “Promoting Beautiful Womanhood!”) that sells “Modesty Rocks” T-shirts on its eponymous website. And ELIZA, a slick, beautifully designed fashion magazine for teens and 20-somethings, was “created for women who want to be stylish, sexy, and engaged in the world while retaining high standards in dress, entertainment, and lifestyle.” The magazine’s MySpace page features links to hundreds of model-pretty, ostensibly modest young women and their fans, and its editors have appeared on the likes of Good Morning America and Fox News to discuss how parents and tweens might buck the tide of skimpiness and embrace modest fashion.  

David Feingold, a Modern Orthodox Jew, points out that for religious girls and women—whether they’re Jewish, Mormon, Muslim, or any other denomination—having more fashion options is a blessing. “Until recently, if you wanted to buy modest clothes it was really a challenge. My neighbors were buying their daughters Amish clothes online. Which is fine unless you’re not Amish. Then it just looks weird.” Feingold and his neighbors can now go to Funky Frum, a site that caters to observant-but-still-fashionable Jews and whose appeal extends to nonreligious women. There’s also Marabo, a chic, fresh clothing line for Muslim women, and Modest by Design, which bills itself as “clothing your father would approve of.” Shade, a Mormon-based clothing company founded in 2004 by 32-year-old Chelsea Rippy, has already seen its sales top $8 million.  

But to hold these companies up as signaling a new guard, as Shalit and her cohorts do, is really creating a false sense of how ascendant the modesty movement is—and the degree to which rampant immodesty has brought it about. Shalit, in a move that seems to contradict the thesis of her own two books, situates the value of a woman squarely in her sexual mores: She equates virginity with virtue and assumes that a woman who has sex doesn’t respect herself. Given that that’s her starting point, she seems entirely too quick to assume that everyone who dresses modestly does it for the same reason, and, likewise, that everyone who doesn’t is morally poisoned. It’s not exactly a nuanced approach, but it’s one that she’s stubbornly grasping for dear life. In fact, there are plenty of reasons that women embrace modest clothing. Religious codes. Sun sensitivity. Fashion subcultures. And—though Shalit and company seem to think it doesn’t exist—personal inclination. What’s most wrongheaded about the mod squad’s polemic on who does and doesn’t need modesty is their sweeping equation of modest clothing with moral purity—to say nothing of their generalizations about where immodesty comes from.  

Modestyzone.net, a website Shalit created in 2005, is for young women who are “tired of power struggles between the sexes,” a place they can come to “believe in the possibility of real intimacy.” Like Shalit’s books, the site’s implied message is that modesty is a direct result of moral virtue, and is therefore the only path to intimacy and fulfilling relations. Modestyzone brims with huffy (and inaccurate) accusations like, “The unspoken message of Our Bodies, Ourselves is clear enough: As long as [a girl] remains a virgin, she remains completely asexual.” But, as in A Return to Modesty, most of Shalit’s misgivings about crotch-flashing starlets and tween-sized thongs are placed on an ideology that has little to do with creating these things—call it the “feminists made me pole dance!” argument. Over and over, feminism—rather than a larger culture with a long history of both objectifying women and commodifying sex—is blamed for pressuring girls and young women into short skirts, casual sex, stripping, and general promiscuity.  

Among those singled out by Shalit are Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards, longtime campus speakers and authors of the books Manifesta and Grassroots. In Girls Gone Mild, Shalit plays fast and loose with her characterizations of the activists’ message, misquoting the two as equating “‘dancing at a strip club’ with ‘volunteering at a women’s shelter’ in its potential to ‘radicalize women in a positive way.’”  

“What we actually said,” clarifies Baumgardner, “is that whenever women are together alone it can be a radical space. I certainly never equated strip clubs with a rape crisis center. But the fact is that they are both women-only spaces and women do organize and help each other in both places.” 

Both feminism and the pro-modesty movement share common goals—among them, the insistence that women should be free from sexual objectification. You’re as likely to hear a critique of Girls Gone Wild in a women’s studies class as you are in a Christian home-school setting. Both feminist websites (like http://Feministing.com) and modesty blogs (like http://fearlesslyfeminine.blogspot.com) link to a video from Dove’s Real Beauty campaign called “Evolution,” which uses fast-forwarding and time-lapse techniques to demonstrate how much work goes into transforming a model from a regular girl to an ad-ready stunner. And both feminists and modesty boosters have applauded girls like the ones who organized a “girlcott” of Abercrombie & Fitch’s “Who Needs Brains When You Have These?” t-shirts. The big difference is that, unlike the modesty movement, feminists are interested in both critiquing the hypersexualization of women and in positing that women’s sexual agency, whether inside of or beyond heterosexual marriage, can be positive. Feminists like Ariel Levy have pointed out quite convincingly that girls are sold a vision of empowerment that’s more about a commercial version of sexuality than an authentic one. But Levy’s Female Chauvinist Pigs didn’t argue for more female modesty, but for more sexual options—and not just options that make somebody else a buck. 

There’s a lot to like about the idea that a few more yards of fabric might give us a wee illusion of privacy in our tell-all world. But the answers to our questions about sexual agency don’t lie in silencing feminists or forcing modesty on young women who don’t want it. Nor does the modesty movement really represent a greater number of options. At its core, it still leaves women with the same old tired twosome: Check Box 1 for Madonna; Box 2 for Whore. What’s more, as Anne K. Ream wrote in a recent article on modesty in the Los Angeles Times, it creates a disturbing new spectrum of ways women can be blamed for things like sexual harassment and abuse. “It’s not a lack of female modesty but a sense of male entitlement that leads to sexual violence,” Ream points out. “And the idea that women can change men’s behavior by changing our clothes is not only disconcerting, it has been debunked. As millions of women know all too well, no one ever avoided a rape by wearing a longer skirt.” 

Indeed, expecting women to be responsible for tending to both their own and an entire country’s worth of men’s sexual mores seems an awful lot to ask, but it’s exactly what Shalit wants. The modesty movement is at its heart an essentialist one: Men are sexual brutes, and women must keep them in line with crossed legs and high necklines. (Not surprisingly, Girls Gone Mild and Modestyzone don’t bother to ask what effect the mod/slut binary has on young lesbians.) Its justifications keep women’s bodies and women’s sexuality—especially young women’s sexuality—at the core of female identity. Forget about focusing on achievement, dreams, and education (although the modesty movement claims that by removing pressure to hook up, they are providing this opportunity for young women). When it comes to the modesty movement, women are primarily the sum total of their sexual bodies. These arguments let people “innocently” talk about modesty and still think about women with their clothes off.  

Encouraging modesty and policing women’s physical presence and sexual expression are very different things. And, in the end, neither Shalit nor Eden nor Sessions Stepp are offering a critique that differentiates the two. There’s nothing wrong with giving a shout-out to a clothing company that acknowledges that not every teen girl wants to look like an escapee from the Playboy Mansion, but to ascribe “goodness” to a turtleneck and moral turpitude to a miniskirt is to ignore the multiple sources from which girls and women draw identity, sexuality, and agency. The modesty movement can cover up their moralism with simplistic reasoning, but all that ensures is that it’ll be just another trend.  

Shira Tarrant loves to talk about modesty and other options with her students at California State University, Long Beach. Her newest book is Men Speak Out: Views on Gender, Sex and Power (Routledge).

It's So...

Debbie Rasmussen — Wed, 05 Dec 2007 23:15:00 -0500

Tonight, four of us contributors to Michelle Tea's latest anthology, It's So You: 35 Women Write about Personal Expression through Fashion & Style, read at Powell's.

Mary Christmas started the night off with the story of her illustrious career as a young New York fashion model ending with an ill-timed family move to Chicago, where modeling perms for hair salons was considered top of your game.

Up next was Dexter Flowers, who entertained the audience with her story of adolescent mortification at her mother's boyfriend who bought — and endlessly wore — the same green velour stretch pants as her.

I read my piece next, which was an ode to my grandma, who taught me how to dress for myself and have fun while doing it. (There is no photo of me, which is really just as well because I was feeling extra nervous and shy.)

Nicole Georges wrapped up the night. She arrived with overhead projector in tow, opened by belting out a tune from Annie, and went on to share her illustrated self-portraits.

Extra thanks to Mary for organizing this event, Dexter and Nicole for participating, and everyone who came out to listen to our tales. And thanks to the ever-fabulous Michelle Tea for putting the anthology together.

When Tyra Met Naomi

Kyla — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 02:00:00 -0500

One of the last places I expected to hear an engaging antiracist and feminist critique of the fashion industry was on The Tyra Banks Show. But on a January 2006 episode, there was Banks, sitting couch-to-couch with supposed archnemesis and fellow supermodel Naomi Campbell, discussing the forces that years ago had pitted the two women against each other on the assumption that America had room for only one black top model.

I sat rapt on my futon, munching potato chips and settling in for what I had expected to be a legendary catfight between the catwalk titans. Instead, Banks, at times fighting back tears, dedicated much of her sit-down with Campbell to spelling out the dearth of opportunities for black models in the fashion industry. She concluded the very special episode with a segment calling on women to stop competing with one another and unite: “One of the reasons I wanted to do this show is because sisterhood is so important to me. I feel like women hate on each other—we’re jealous—and it has to stop.”

Banks, who hoped her confrontation with Campbell would bring “healing” for both women, attributed their painful 14-year rift to a narrow-minded fashion industry and the media that covers it. “Back then there were 10 top models...but there was an unwritten rule that only one of them could be black,” Banks said. “And Naomi was that one black girl.” Indeed, upon her spectacular rise to prominence soon after being discovered at age 17 by a model scout, Banks was hailed as the “new Naomi Campbell” and a Campbell “look-alike.” Such race-based comparisons are nothing new for black models. In a 2003 Time article, Somali supermodel Iman said that, upon arriving in New York in 1975, she realized she was being pitted against Beverly Johnson. She recalls quickly learning “that magazines would only use one black girl at a time, and they were trying to create a competition between us.” It’s needless to say that neither Iman and Beverly nor Tyra and Naomi look much alike.

As far back as 1994, Banks resented the comparisons between her and Campbell, as she told People in a rare comment on her supposed competitor: “Why do I have to knock Naomi out to be successful? With white models they don’t do that.” Nonetheless, in one oft-recounted incident, Campbell had Chanel designer Karl Lagerfeld ban Banks from appearing on the fashion giant’s runways; she also reportedly tried to force her then-agency, Elite Model Management, to choose between her and Banks; Banks decided to leave Elite for IMG in order to ease the tension. (Campbell was later dismissed from Elite after founder John Casablancas declared the model to be “crazy, irrational, and uncontrollable.”)

Banks eventually quit high-fashion catwalks and photo shoots and found refuge in the mainstream gigs—like modeling for the Victoria’s Secret catalog and posing for Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issue—that make room for more voluptuous (in modeling terms, anyway) figures like hers. This has been her official story for years—but as she revealed to Campbell on her show, “That’s only 50 percent of it.” Banks was also “tired of the comparison” and “tired of constantly hearing that I got canceled from this job...or this magazine was called and [told] not to use me.” Ultimately, Banks grew tired of walking in Campbell’s shadow, so she ceded the haute couture battle to her.

Prior to the talk-show sit-down, the most Banks had been willing to publicly say about Campbell was that she doubted they would ever be friends. However, on the show, Banks elaborated on their strained relationship, offering up specific examples of unpleasant moments between the two, and pointedly asking Campbell why she had treated her so badly. Campbell, for her part, stopped short of outright denying Banks’s allegations, opting for an Oliver Northian failure to recollect. Responding to the recounting of one particular incident, Campbell said: “I know the person that I am and I’m not someone to go and give myself away and say that to anybody. But if that’s what you remember, I accept that, but it doesn’t sound like me.” Campbell also conceded that she was emotionally unstable during the period in question and was being advised by the wrong people.

Indeed, the two women were embedded in an industry that yanks adolescent girls from anxiety-ridden obscurity to magnify their assets and flaws for worldwide assessment. Given this backdrop, it’s not difficult to imagine Campbell’s distress at having to contend with a younger model who was literally being groomed to replace her. Campbell’s own career was launched in 1986 when she landed the cover of Elle in place of another black model who had canceled. Having established her livelihood on the missed opportunity of another black model, Campbell must have learned an indelible lesson, and would not allow herself to be so easily displaced.

Though the Tyra episode ended with the requisite apology from Campbell (“However I’ve affected you or you’ve felt that I’ve affected you, I take my responsibility. I must say I’m very proud of you. You’ve been a powerful black woman.... Please continue”) and tears from Banks, its real strength was that Banks framed her enmity with Campbell as a result of the larger institutional and social forces that pitted the two models against each other in the first place. The story had all the elements of talk-show pathos—the tears, the accusations, the confessions of emotional agony—but to her credit, Banks refused to make the story purely a personal one, reminding the audience throughout the show that “the press had cast Naomi and [me] as rivals before we ever met each other.” She could easily have made Campbell the sole villain—given the model’s history of petulance, anger-management issues, and resulting lawsuits, most of the work was already done for her—but instead she chose to focus on both systemic racism in the modeling industry and internalized sexism among women.

The issue of race and modeling goes far deeper than Tyra vs. Naomi, of course. Hot on the heels of the televised showdown came a May 2006 Slate article by J.E. Dahl that wondered, “Is Tyra Banks Racist?” In it, Dahl notes that on America’s Next Top Model, Banks reserves her harshest criticisms for the black wannabes. Taking Banks to task for “discouraging any behavior that could be considered ‘too black,’” Dahl cites some of Top Model’s biggest controversies—Banks’s disapproval of season-three runner-up Yaya’s Afrocentric head wraps; her many admonitions to recent winner Danielle that her accent was “too country”; and her now-infamous “Tyrade” (as Television Without Pity dubbed it) against season four’s ghetto-fabulous Tiffany, in which Banks’s usually composed persona gave way to unbridled rage at the contestant’s seemingly indifferent attitude toward the competition. The diatribe reiterated the kind of rhetoric about self-reliance and individual responsibility often directed at black Americans in general, and Dahl argues that these and other actions suggest Banks’s own internalized racism—a criticism similar to that lodged against Bill Cosby, who in 2004 publicly lambasted black Americans marginalized by poverty for, among other things, not speaking proper English.

But it’s worth arguing that Banks is not so much racist as she is both aware of racism and dedicated to ensuring that future black models arm themselves with the sensibilities and postures necessary to compete in a stubbornly unreflective, homogeneous industry. Surely Dahl has heard of the phenomenon wherein members of marginalized groups are tougher on their own, instilling the “twice-as-good” attitude among protégés within their group to ensure that they thrive in the mainstream. Just as Cosby critics aptly retorted that the comedian should save his scathing tongue for the systemic injustices that drive urban black poverty, Dahl would have done better to balance his critique of Banks with a stark assessment of the modeling industry.

Yes, Banks’s criticism of black contestants on Top Model works to reproduce the Eurocentric notions that impede the success of blacks in the fashion industry at large. But it also acknowledges the endemic racism in her industry—and not just the modeling industry, but that of reality television. For example, Banks warned season-three contestant Eva that she was in danger of not being cast simply because Banks didn’t want “another black bitch” on the show. Banks’s statement reflected an awareness of reality television’s “Omarosa complex,” where black women are represented as haughty divas with attitudes in order to heighten drama—and, subsequently, ratings. In petitioning for black models (and reality-show contestants) to change their behavior rather than for a systemic overhaul, Banks opts to reform black models rather than to revolutionize either industry.

Banks is obviously not the first to verbalize this resignation to the fashion world’s limitations. Legendary fashion editor André Leon Talley—the lone recognizable black face at Vogue—has long acknowledged the dearth of opportunities for black models in the industry. In a 2003 Essence interview, he admitted, “We have regressed. I often sit at a show and see not one black model on the runway. Can’t they find some black girls?” Talley, who has also noted this frustration in his monthly “Stylefax” column for Vogue, explained in the same interview that he has written notes and made suggestions to designers and editors, stating that he “can’t believe it when [they] say, ‘I couldn’t find anyone’ or ‘She didn’t look right in the clothes.’” However, when pressed for a solution to this problem, as well as the one of a scarcity of black editors at fashion magazines, he replied matter-of-factly, “Vogue, Condé Nast, that’s not our world. We are not the majority.”

But neither Talley, Banks, nor Dahl addresses the intransigence of this “world.” In his Slate article, Dahl tags Banks as a kind of reactionary without considering the rigid context in which she operates. We all know that the fashion industry is hardly progressive in its representations of womanhood. And where race is concerned, the industry has largely sidestepped the issue by reducing the significance of skin color to the aesthetic: Black models are reportedly in higher demand during spring and summer seasons because their skin color contrasts well with the brighter shades in such collections. Just as purple can be in one season and out the next, so can, say, Asian models. (In a 2003 article on the fashion industry titled “The Role of Race,” IMG agent Kyle Hagler told Time, “A while ago, every show had to have an Asian girl, but that seems to have passed.”) The modeling industry, shrouded by notions of subjective aestheticism, is one realm that has remained largely untouched by gender- or race-based identity politics. Physical appearance, even if racial or ethnic, can be embraced or disregarded by the industry as capriciously as Marc Jacobs tulip pants.

The April 2005 issue of Vanity Fair echoed this sentiment with its cover story, “Slavs of Fashion,” about the influx of models from former Communist countries. Among the women profiled in the piece is Natalia Vodianova, who succinctly interpreted the so-called invasion of models from the old Soviet Bloc as such: “We have beautiful skin, beautiful faces...and the Brazilians are finished!” Vodianova was referring to the erstwhile craze in the modeling industry for Brazilian models like Gisele Bündchen. But unfortunately for Bündchen and her bronzed crew, the newer crop of Eastern European and Russian models, according to Vanity Fair, exude a kind of “toughness or seriousness” that’s apparently more in vogue than the “fun-loving Gisele thing.” (Such toughness was attributed to hard times endured under the Communist regime. Frolicking Brazilians are out and poised ex-Soviets with an aura of stoicism are in—just another day in fashion.)

Though the prominence of different ethnicities or nationalities often swells and subsides within the modeling industry according to the whims of its decision makers, with race—and with black models in particular—such transient recognition has tended to be more singular than group-based. Sensations like Naomi or Tyra or Iman are singled out for individual success, rather than as one of a crowd or stable of black models ushered into prominence.

There have, however, been waves of wider acceptance. In the 1970s, Iman, Pat Cleveland, and Beverly Johnson—the first black woman to appear on the cover of Vogue—all catapulted onto the fashion stage. In the early-to-mid-’90s, opportunities for nonwhite models seemed to open up once again, as not only Banks and Campbell but also Karen Alexander, Tyson Beckford, Beverly Peele, Roshumba Williams, Jenny Shimizu, Veronica Webb, and Alek Wek became highly visible figures. It was a short-lived period, though, one that Webb herself explored in a 1996 Essence article, “Where Have All the Black Models Gone?” After noticing that the runways were overwhelmingly populated with very pale blonds, she took it upon herself to talk to industry insiders about the reason for this shift. Webb’s interviews with designers, photographers, and fashion-magazine editors inspired an orgy of finger-pointing, with photographers claiming that they shoot models chosen by the magazines who hire them, editors saying they tap the runway for models to appear in their magazines, and designers replying that they look to magazine pages to scout modeling talent for their collections.

Chicken-and-egg conundrum aside, magazines do have a commercial incentive to keep nonwhite models off its covers, as an Allure editor admitted to Webb: “Sales are significantly lower when we put a person of color on the cover.” But why? Gary Younge investigated this hard-and-fast dictum in a 1999 piece for the U.K. Guardian after seeing only three black models out of a total of 41 in Vogue’s millennium issue showcasing the magazine’s all-time favorite faces. Both sources he consulted—one a spokesperson for designer Jean-Paul Gaultier and the other a magazine editor—blamed the biases of the general reading audience, with the former stating that magazine sales can drop as much as 20 percent when a black woman is on the cover. “I would not say the fashion industry is racist; it’s the world which is racist,” the spokesperson said. “It is people who buy fashion and people who buy magazines and they seem to prefer the white woman.” The editor had a more generous interpretation of the apparent tastes of magazine buyers: “The person you put on the cover has to be somebody that readers can aspire to aesthetically. You want to look at the picture and say: ‘I want to look like that.’ I’m not saying that couldn’t happen if the reader is white and the model is black. But it is more difficult.”

Even Campbell recently voiced her own displeasure with the paucity of black models, telling Vogue: “I remember a time when there were at least eight black girls working. And now, in 2006...it’s shocking!” Nonetheless, any nonwhite model who takes legal action in the U.S. claiming employment discrimination on the basis of race can be easily trounced by the counterclaim that she was not “qualified” or hired for the position solely due to an aesthetic, not racist, judgment. Certainly, the fashion industry is one site where aesthetics and politics shall never meet.

It is important to note that race is less of a determing factor in magazine sales when black celebrities rather than models are the ones mugging on covers. The seminal example, of course, is O, the sales of which have consistently increased despite (or, indeed, due to) the fact that Oprah Winfrey is on every single cover. Winfrey, of course, is no regular celebrity, but a national phenomenon who has also appeared on the cover of Vogue. However, as legal scholar and author Patricia Williams wryly observed, given that Vogue is “the province of Helmut Lang’s spiky, emaciated teenagers in white lipstick, cashmere underwear, and shoes designed for those who have little occasion to ride the subway...[i]n that space, Oprah appeared so...unusual.” Seeing a full-figured black woman on the cover of a high-fashion magazine, even when the woman in question is Oprah Winfrey, is somewhat bizarre.

Given that we all know that fashion-mag standards of female beauty are hopelessly skewed and endlessly limited, why should we even bother critiquing the race or the height or the bustlines of the few women chosen to exemplify this absurd standard? It’s an old question, and one that’s been explored by everyone from Toni Morrison to Eve Ensler to Oprah. Morrison, in the epilogue of her novel The Bluest Eye, once pondered why black beauty needed “wide public articulation in order to exist,” and concluded that “the assertion of racial beauty was not...a humorous critique of cultural/racial foibles common in all groups, but against the damaging internalization of assumptions of immutable inferiority originating in an outside gaze.”

Indeed, black models whose own beauty has achieved this “wide public articulation” frame their success as not only an individual one, but as something to be shared by other black models and black women more generally. Despite Banks’s tough-love approach to black contestants on Top Model, she’s acting with the hope that more black models will persevere in the industry and perhaps ease the path for their successors. Banks, who cites Sonia Cole and Iman as inspirations, has a sense of historical lineage; she sees herself as a descendant of those who came before and as a trailblazer for those who will come after. As she told Essence in 1995: “I think things will change for the Black models who come after us. They won’t have to feel so insecure about losing their spots. They’ll benefit from our pain.” Current Ethiopian sensation Liya Kebede, the first black model to sign a multimillion-dollar contract as the face of Esteé Lauder, has a similar take: Discussing the contract and her overall success with Time, she said, “I’d love it if young girls can see me and say, ‘She’s done it, and so can I.’”

Banks and Campbell, along with their predecessors, are noteworthy pioneers in the representation of nonwhite beauty. Banks was the first black model to appear on the cover of GQ and Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issue; Campbell was the first black model to appear on the cover of French and British Vogue, not to mention the first black woman to be considered a “supermodel.” Granted, GQ, Vogue, and the like are problematic turf on which to wage the battle for women’s self-esteem. But for women of color of all shapes and phenotypes, the fact remains that many can and do see a part of themselves in the few nonwhite models designated as representatives of Beauty. Therein lies the conundrum of being a black spectator of American culture—seeing diversity as a tiresome mantra masquerading for tokenism and, at the same time, as a worthy principle pushing society to rectify persistent racial exclusion. Thus, while diversity practiced as tokenism creates a scenario whereby Tyra must replace Naomi or the Slavs displace the Brazilians, those who believe in diversity on principle are shoehorned into supporting new recruits despite the rigid context in which opportunity is supposedly being equalized. The danger of this situation is that instead of continually widening new opportunities—or, in the case of the modeling industry, expanding popular notions of beauty—certain token diversity slots are created and jealously guarded by persons occupying them, who rationally fear being ousted for the next exotic trend. Such is the predicament of nonwhite models roaming the frontier of identity politics in an industry both zealously fickle and unwavering in its devotion to Eurocentric beauty.

The hope in all this is that expanding opportunities for models of color will eventually put an end to the kind of jealous protectionism that created the rift between Banks and Campbell in the first place. With regard to the modeling industry, the increasing prominence of mixed-race models suggests a subliminal wish for a postrace hybridity that, once and for all, discounts race as an arbitrary and illusory category.

What’s more encouraging is that celebrities of all casts and dyes are displacing professional models in both cosmetic endorsements and glossy fashion spreads. The implication of this move is that, more and more, having a certain kind of look will not be sufficient for models to successfully compete for such exposure; a personality might also be required. Supposed role models are being sought after to a greater extent than fashion models, with women like Halle Berry chosen to represent Revlon, Beyoncé for L’Oreal, and Queen Latifah as the face of Cover Girl. Lionizing celebrities isn’t necessarily a solution, but a focus on beauty that’s more than one-dimensional might help reduce the racial tokenism and exoticism that runs rampant on fashion’s rarefied catwalks.

Still, it won’t eradicate competition between models, whoever those models are. (For all we know, Halle beat out Beyoncé for that Revlon spot.) Jealousy and protectionism will always be a function of any commercial industry, and perhaps more so in one where catty women are the most visible agents. So, if race becomes a less salient factor in pitting future Naomis against future Tyras, something else will inevitably rise up to spur competition in its wake among other dubious elements like weight and height and the symmetry of one’s facial features. In the end, understanding models as rational economic actors rather than as insecure waifs showing their claws is crucial to seeing hidden strains, pressures, and biases apparent in their cutthroat market—and changing them for the good of us all.

Hawa Allan is a writer in New York City.