Marc Jacobs’ kerfuffle-causing runway dreadlocks.—The Washington Post
The year in fashion was one in which women made news, for better and for worse, for what they designed, what they wore and what it all said about the role of attire in the broader culture.
It was a year of pantsuits and pussybows, of sheath dresses and sundresses, of feminism writ large — or spelled out, even, in pointed messages on expensive T-shirts.
Within the fashion industry, women took on leadership roles at design houses at the upper echelons of the business.
Bouchra Jarrar stepped in at Lanvin, for example, and brought boudoir-inspired beauty to a brand that had been roiled by the firing of long-time designer Alber Elbaz. Laura Kim took the reigns at Oscar de la Renta along with fellow creative director Fernando Garcia. Rihanna proved that she — not the voluble Kanye West — was the celebrity who has the sneaker deal, and the real eye for fashion rather than just self-promotion.
And the storied Christian Dior appointed its first female creative director in the label’s 70-year history. In her September debut, Maria Grazia Chiuri, formerly of Valentino, presented fencing-inspired jackets and tulle-embroidered evening gowns — but she also declared the importance of women exerting their power, with the words of feminist author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie on her show’s soundtrack: “We say to girls: You can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful but not too successful, otherwise you will threaten the man.” Her models wore T-shirts declaring: “We should all be feminists.”
Adichie, meanwhile, signed on as the face of British makeup brand No. 7, making it clear that fashion and feminism are not mutually exclusive. Marc Jacobs sparked an uproar over his use of dreadlocks on the runway when some took offence at what they called cultural appropriation. And then Jacobs’ made the mistake of trying to mansplain black hair to his black female critics. He stood down. Women were taking no guff.
Women and their connection to power was a topic on the mind of New York-based designers in particular. Much of the musing was connected to the presidential campaign of Hillary Clinton, which drew tremendous support from Seventh Avenue, including a fundraising fashion show and a formal endorsement from Vogue magazine. Jacobs declared his support for her with, among other things, a bedazzled T-shirt emblazoned with her image. At the Michael Kors show, singer Rufus Wainwright interrupted his performance to declare: “I’m with her.”
The fascination with female strength was a subtext for many designers as they considered what ultimate power would look like draped around the shoulders of a woman. And in their pursuit of an answer, they sought inspiration from a wide range of influential women, from Georgia O’Keefe to Gloria Steinem.
Pantsuits took on new meaning, too. They became symbolic of Clinton’s quest to make history as the first female president and on Election Day, they turned into a proclamation of solidarity. If those suits were white, folks connected them to suffragists. If they were designed by Ralph Lauren, they were met with a nod of aesthetic approval and a sigh of relief from her supporters that maybe, just maybe, she was getting her fashion act together.
All the considered attention paid to assuring that Clinton’s clothes, hair and makeup were just right, stood in contrast to the dishevelled man on the other side of the partisan divide. Donald Trump — the self-professed, uber-successful, billionaire candidate — wore his ill-fitting suits like a declaration of his angry populism. His poorly tied neck-wear grazed his crotch. And his use of Scotch tape, in lieu of a tie bar, was the thousandth paper-cut, amid the myriad body blows, to the dignity of the presidency.