Category Archives: Why We Wear the Past

Vintage, the First 40 Years


I’m back! Where have I been? It turns out I have been reading about one thousand magazine and newspaper articles published since 1950 on secondhand and vintage clothing. I wanted to uncover the history of the vintage fashion trend, and find out how wearing secondhand clothing shifted from being viewed as rather pitiful to vintage chic in the United States.

It was an interesting journey. I learned that (at least in the United States press) the word “vintage” was first applied to clothing in 1957 when the Chicago Tribune referred to new clothing that recollected 1930s looks as “vintage.” Then the meaning of “vintage clothing” was that the 30s-looking clothing, like well-aged wine, reflected good years for style. Ten years later, the New York Times reports that a 1966 London trend of wearing old clothing as street style has crossed the pond. This category of fashionable old clothing came to be called “vintage clothing.” I also learned that fashion magazines considerably trailed the newspaper press in announcing the vintage clothing trend. While New York clothing dealers worried that there was going to be a shortage of vintage clothing because the market was so hot through the 1970s – even department stores were selling it – it wasn’t until 1979 that Vogue magazine rather dismissively announced a “boom in vintage clothes.” Not surprisingly perhaps, I discovered that 1970s vintage consumers were looking for the same qualities in vintage that we love today – unique, high quality clothing that is sourced in a more eco-conscious way than newly made clothing.

If you’re interested in finding out how vintage clothing was talked about as it emerged as a trend, you can read my article, “Vintage, the First 40 Years: The Emergence and Persistence of Vintage Style in the United States” in the journal Culture Unbound: Journal of Current Cultural Research. The article is part of a special issue on Circulating Stuff through Second-hand, Vintage and Retro Markets. I’d like to thank the editors Staffan Appelgren and Anna Bohlin for putting together a great issue!


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Filed under Fashion Trends, Retro Style, Vintage Clothing, Why We Wear the Past

Ironically Engaged with the Times: Hipsters and Living With Irony


I feel a little bad for Christy Wampole. She’s the assistant professor of French Studies at Princeton who published the op-ed piece, “How to Live Without Irony” in the New York Times last Sunday. In my mind, I see her finishing the essay, polishing the language, getting it to a place of feeling good about it. I can imagine the excitement, anticipating that it would be published in the Opinionator section of the Times. Perhaps she wondered how many people would read it.

Once published, it was one of the most e-mailed and commented-upon articles of the week – and not necessarily in a good way. Though most of the commentary has been quite civil and thoughtful, the flaws in the argument were easy to spot: the lack of precision in locating irony within Western history; the assumption that hipsters can be stereotyped as apathetic, insincere, superficial individuals by virtue of how they dress and the objects with which they surround themselves; failure to acknowledge how irony is desirable in many social and political situations; and on and on. Perhaps it’s true that any publicity is good publicity, and this is a career-maker for a professor who just began her career at Princeton. But still, I feel a little bad.

So I’d like to start by making connections between Wampole’s argument and that of others who have made similar linkages between retro (looking backward in the realm of aesthetics and material culture), irony and social distance.

As someone who is interested in our culture’s engagement with retro style, it was this paragraph from “How to Live Without Irony” that particularly stood out to me:

The hipster haunts every city street and university town. Manifesting a nostalgia for times he never lived himself, this contemporary urban harlequin appropriates outmoded fashions (the mustache, the tiny shorts), mechanisms (fixed-gear bicycles, portable record players) and hobbies (home brewing, playing trombone). He harvests awkwardness and self-consciousness. Before he makes any choice, he has proceeded through several stages of self-scrutiny. The hipster is a scholar of social forms, a student of cool. He studies relentlessly, foraging for what has yet to be found by the mainstream. He is a walking citation; his clothes refer to much more than themselves. He tries to negotiate the age-old problem of individuality, not with concepts, but with material things.

Christy Wampole is not the first to observe that “nostalgic” dressing is ironic and find the practice problematic.   In my research on when vintage dressing moved from fringe to mainstream in American culture, I have encountered similar expressions of irritation with young people who” appropriate outmoded fashions” for the sake of expressing individuality.

When vintage dressing first began to move from being a strictly subcultural style into the sartorial mainstream in the 1970s and 1980s, writers like Tom Wolfe, Angela Carter and Kennedy Fraser lobbed very similar critiques. Wolfe and Carter saw the middle-class thrift-shopping youth (hippies, in this case) as making a mockery of working-class youth who had to shop the thrift stores (see Angela McRobbie’s excellent essay “Second-hand Dresses and the Ragmarket”). And similar to Christy Wampole’s view, Kennedy Fraser, a former writer for Vogue and The New Yorker, in the 1980 essay “Retro: a Reprise” expressed the view that retro dressing is a failure on the part of young people to engage with their own time and express themselves authentically. In her words:

Clothes came to be worn and seen as an assemblage of thought-out paradoxes, as irony, whimsy or deliberate disguise.  Thrift shop dressing carried it all to its ultimate.  We took to clothes for which we had spent little money, which didn’t necessarily fit us, and which had belonged in the past in some dead stranger’s life. Behind the bravado of what came to be known as “style,” there may have lurked a fear of being part of our time, of being locked into our own personalities, and of revealing too much about our own lives. (Fraser 1981:238).

Elizabeth McGuffey, author of Retro: the Culture of Revival, is a more recent author who, like Wampole, makes a connection between irony, Western culture’s recent adoration of things past, and social distance.

Retro’s highly self-conscious mix of derision and nostalgia provided a seductive ether, suggesting that history was something to be plundered rather than taken seriously….But it also posited a great divide, marking a cleaving away from the recent past; rather than forming continuity, retro’s nostalgic mockery fueled cultural narcissism. Retro’s translation of recent history into consumable objects suggests how previous periods of popular culture and design can be used to characterize ourselves as distinct from the recent past. p. 159.

One insight I took from reading McGuffey’s book is that when we, as a culture, appropriate looks and objects from the past, it is not an act of sentimental nostalgia of earnestly remembering times past. Instead, it is an ironic act that distances us as a culture from recent decades past (and indeed, even thinking of style as bounded by specific decades is a relatively recent trend). Retro style decontextualizes looks and objects of past material culture, separating them from the aesthetic whole that once defined the era. It does involve distance in some way – either one takes past styles and combines them with current looks that decontextualize them (and thus presents an ironic appearance), or if one completely embraces, say, the 1950s secretary look, then the distance is from one’s own time period.

So, Wampole is not wrong to connect irony, retro dressing and social distance, but it is the level of analysis that is key. McGuffey’s book addresses these connections at the level of culture, not the individuals who consume what culture is available to them. For example, she explains the role that members of the artworld (Andy Warhol, Roy Lichtenstein) played in making aesthetic styles from the past (Art Nouveau, Art Deco) popular and the role that culture industries (like advertising firms) played in using anachronistic styles to sell products.

This leads me to ask a question: Is wearing clothes and surrounding oneself with objects from the past really a failure to engage with our own age?

I would argue that hipsters – whether or not they are doing it out of irony – are in fact engaging with the present precisely through culling looks and objects of the recent past.

Simon Reynolds, in Retromania  makes a compelling case that one of the biggest changes in popular culture over the last 30 years is that the digital age has made the mediated past ever-present – we have easy access to old record albums, books, movies, past tv shows, and even old ads. In fact, Reynolds points out that music industry catalogs for past pop music occupies more market space than new music – it has to; there is more past than present music to sell.

So when so-called hipsters go to a secondhand record shop to buy vinyl or when they make a score at the thrift store, or they think Steve McQueen is cool from streaming his films on Netflix, they are not (just) engaging with the past. They are engaging with their present. This is a present that makes the recent past immediately available to them to mine for “new” looks and sounds, and combines them in different, decontextualized ways.

I can pose a counter question —  Is buying new clothing and objects a way to be “authentically” engaged with our own age?  Should hipster-ish youth stick to buying clothes at The Gap or American Apparel? Or perhaps L.L. Bean would be more sincere. Should they throw out their “nostalgic” owl pendants and fedoras to languish in closets and drawers or the landfill?

This suggests another way that so-called hipsters are in fact engaged in their own age. Not only is the past their present, but their present is one in which they were brought up with the habit of recycling and creative re-use, of thinking about pollution, of being concerned about the planet. And the pastiche hipster style that mixes past and present does in some minor way, address these concerns.

In conclusion, I believe Wampole correctly recognized a connection between retro style, irony and social distance, but it was a mistake to individualize the tendency and assume that those who sport hipster-ish decontextualized style are disconnected from their own feelings, or the concerns of their own time. Without systematically studying stereotyped hipsters (if they are indeed identifiable as a distinct group), there is, at the most, only anecdotal evidence to believe that there is a correlation between hipster style and apathy. And anecdotally, counter-examples are also easy to find. I have had quite a number of  hipster-ish students who have also been among the most politically engaged on our campus, who have been significant advocates of broader gender and sexual expression, and who later seek careers in social justice and social welfare.

–          Nancy L. Fischer


Filed under Retro Style, Why We Wear the Past

Everything Old is New Again

Why do we wear the past? Or rather, why do some of us wear the past in the form of vintage clothing? I find myself asking this question frequently – what is the attraction to decades-old clothing?

One of the many possible answers to the question is that the past is very much alive and with us, everyday, in our visual culture.

The new fall fashion magazines are beginning to appear in my mailbox, thick as phone books. I page through to see what is new, employing the word “new” loosely. As in previous seasons, there is very little that seems truly novel in the realm of designer fashion.  While fashion is supposedly about now, it is quite common to spot the Ghost of Seasons Past amongst the latest looks. After all, fashion designers regularly look to old photos, patterns, vintage garments and the like for their inspiration – just Google almost any interview of Marc Jacobs and there’s sure to be mention of the vintage looks pinned to his “inspiration board.”

I know of vintage enthusiasists who specifically enjoy the challenge of finding today’s new old looks in their closets. In her autobiography, Alligators, Old Mink and New Money Alison Houtte notes that fashionistas regularly visit her Brooklyn vintage boutique Hooti Couture after window shopping in Manhattan.  Here in Minneapolis, my favorite fashion event last year was Blacklist Vintage’s “Vintage Did It First” Show. The show featured projected images of Fall 2011 designer looks on a screen while a similar vintage ensemble was modeled on the store runway. You can see the slideshow here.

Just for fun on a cloudy Sunday, I decided to take my own “Vintage Did It First” challenge with the old clothes that now look new in my closet.

Fall 2012 Ralph Lauren Ad

Ralph Lauren’s Fall 2012 collection recalls menswear from the 1920s – 1930s, with brown tweed short jackets, vests and pants, and cloche hats.

It’s not the first time this tweedy pageboy look has been recycled – I have a vintage 1970s brown tweed jacket and vest that look quite similar.

Marc Jacobs for Louis Vuitton also has an early 1900s vibe with the double-breasted overcoats and oversized hats that reflect 1920s fashion; his Fall 2012 silhouettes suggest that perhaps he’s a fan of the BBC television series Downton Abbey. But it’s Downton Abbey meets That Seventies Show – the prints suggest the psychedelic 70s and the hats wouldn’t be out of place at a Grateful Dead concert.

Louis Vuitton Fall 2012 Advertisement

The Louis Vuitton ad helped me recall that I have a similar fabric from the 1970s in my stash. I also retrieved my 1920s cloche from its hatbox. The round suitcase doesn’t quite match Vuitton quality, but the bar is low considering it was a $1.00 garage sale find.

Prada’s fall collection has an early 1970s feel as well with the diamond print and the long knee-length vests and coats worn over pants (in the 1970s, they would have paired the vests and coats with long flared pants rather than capris).

Photo of Prada Fall 2012 Ad

My maroon, navy and tan double-knit topper from the 1970s has a similar look and it’s warm for a Minnesota winter.

In the book Retromania, critic Simon Reynolds discusses how the past – in the realm of popular music – has come to dominate music industry catalogs. Technology has made songs from the 1950s to the 2000s instantly accessible, and there is simply more of past pop to chose from when DJs are looking to fill the airwaves.

Fashion has followed a similar dynamic since the 1970s. Images of the fashion past are available to us like never before. Does Mad Men make you curious about the 1960s? Start Googling and you’ll come up with more groovy looks. And with an industry characterized by “fast fashion,” designers have to come up with new looks on a constant basis that is often quicker than the traditional two-season cycles that might have sufficed in the past. And so drawing from the vintage looks is a quick, accessible and easy way to mine design ideas.  Which is one of the reasons why we wear the past – because the looks of the past occupy a good deal of our present.

–          Nancy L. Fischer

Photos taken by the author


Filed under Vintage Clothing, Why We Wear the Past, Worth Reading

Femme Feminism: Is Wearing the Past a Step Back for Women?

What does the revival of a trend that was once associated with thinking of women as passive, decorative beings mean when it is revisited by women today?

This is the question that was on my mind when I came across two articles while I was gathering this week’s household recycling.

The first was a July 17 article in The Star Tribune (my local newspaper) titled “This isn’t your grandma’s girdle” about how women are (once again) embracing figure-changing undergarments with  the new moniker (and new elastics) of “shapewear” titled “This isn’t your grandma’s girdle.”

I’ll admit I gave a disappointed sigh when I read it. Shapewear is apparently now made to wear at the gym, while pregnant, under pants, under dresses. What would a baby-boomer – when she was in her prime – say? The 1960s A-line dress (particularly the trapeze style) with its structured fit that hung away from the body, and denim jeans of the 1970s were experienced as liberating for young women because they didn’t have to wear girdles under them. It’s worth noting, however, that the 1960s good girl was still supposed to don a girdle because jiggling flesh potentially meant a loose woman. Nonetheless, the new styles raised the possibility of not needing one. Kevyn Burger reports that the idea that a body shouldn’t jiggle –  now in the name of displaying weight-trained firmness rather than hiding loose morals – has revived along with the Spanx trend.

I’m reminded of a quotation by early 20th century editorialist Edgar Watson Howe (probably not a self-identified feminist): “A man has his clothes made to fit him; a woman makes herself fit her clothes.” Yes, the new “shapewear” is lighter and less binding, but it’s still tight unbreathing synthetic fabric right next to the skin that compresses the torso. The idea that women should wear sweat-inducing, acid-reflux producing foundation garments for everyday wear does feel like a step back to me. I’m not saying that all women should eschew shapewear (and yes, men are increasingly wearing it too), but I do wish all the excitement was about a trend for wearing well-fitting clothing rather than synthetic body-constricting undergarments.

Then, I was re-visiting the March 2012 Elle magazine and read an editorial by Daphne Merkin called “Portrait of a Lady,” about her unease with Spring 2012’s retro feminine looks that recall 1950s demureness. Merkin associates Spring 2012 designers’ looks featuring peplums and floral prints as “the kind of clothes that convey unadulterated, unsubversive femininity.”

She goes on to say:

“Then again, I can’t help feeling some unease about all this reclaimed femininity and where it might lead. Does dressing like Doris Day in an A-line or pleated skirt mean that we have to go around batting our eyelashes and acting all helpless? Is it possible, that is, to go back in time without feeling railroaded into an older, discarded style of being? [Prabal] Gurung, who insists that “there’s got to be something that cuts the sweetness, a bit of grit,” sounds a cautionary note: “Femininity is good, but conflict and confrontation are not a bad thing. Are women really going to dress up in clothes that look like a rehash of vintage? It feels a little regressive.” Merkin goes on in “Portrait of a Lady” to speculate that maybe the “New Prettiness” look reflects a larger cultural sense of nostalgia, a longing for more traditional values, and a less complicated template of femininity.

Advertisement for Louis Vuitton spring 2012 collection

And unlike my reaction to the shapewear, I find myself answering Merkin’s question, “Is it possible, that is, to go back in time without feeling railroaded into an older, discarded style of being? with the answer “Yes, definitely. And it’s not about nostalgia or going back to a simpler idea of femininity, but I would say moving to a more complex, multi-faceted femininity.”

I live in a city where it’s very common to see vintage 1950s looks worn by women as everyday wear (as well as the new revivals of 50s looks). As a convenient example, the barista in the coffee shop right now has arched eyebrows recalling old-Hollywood, high-waisted floral shorts and a gray linen blouse tied at the waist. Feminine and 50s for sure. Many of these 50s-look-loving women also sport tattoos (and not tiny little butterflies), have crew-cuts, dreadlocks or more feminine Bettie-Page bangs – in blue. They have all sorts of bodies – broad shouldered, buxom or boyish. They speak confidently, are witty and fun. I imagine that in the right mood they swear like sailors and can drink their boyfriends and girlfriends under the table. Their 1950s dressing is not about longing for a simpler template of femininity, though they may engage in “traditional” feminine hobbies like knitting and sewing. They’re the yarn-graffiti-bombing DIY crafters of Bust;  they’re the readers and writers of What does dressing feminine mean to them?

I suspect that apparel which recalls the 1950s feminine past has a couple of meanings. One is that it’s a sort of camouflage, or rather a mediator, that softens and eases social relations. I know that I have personally used vintage-y feminine dress this way – I am far too direct and blunt for Minnesota Nice sensibilities, and I sometimes put on a delicate embroidered 1950s  cardigan or a flowery print to soften the messenger, since I can’t seem to master softening the message.

Another interpretation is that we’re wearing the 1950s looks with a sense of irony and that our ways of performing femininity today — coupled with the older feminine looks — create new meanings for femininity….and feminism. Back in 1986 [in Studies of Entertainment edited by Tania Modleski] when the 1950s trend was having its first go-round, Kaja Silverman wrote “Fragments of a Fashionable Discourse,” an essay that defends (what was then the new) retro style as a way for women to draw upon the historical images of female subjectivity and give them new meaning, while acknowledging women’s past roles.

“[Retro] inserts its wearer into a complex network of cultural and historical references. At the same time, it avoids the pitfalls of naive referentiality….By recontextualizing objects from earlier periods within the frame of the present, retro is able to ‘re-read’ them in ways that maximize their radical and transformative potential — to chart the affinities, for instance, between fashions in the forties and feminism in the eighties…”

feminine and feminist? from Drops of Jupiter blog

As I sit here, writing, a woman in her late 20s just came in. She has on a (new) long black cotton halter dress in a 1950s style. She is also wearing an adorable straw cloche hat with upturned brim in the front, and a black grosgrain ribbon hatband. She looks feminine. When she turns around to face me, she wears no make-up, her short thick bangs are green, and her bare arms are covered in large tattoos. It’s vintage-y 1950s (with a touch of 1920s) dressing for sure, but submissive? No. Feminine? Sure. Feminist? Definitely. And way cool.

– Nancy L. Fischer


Filed under Feminism and Fashion, Why We Wear the Past