Creative Process Journal: Marie Antoinette and Elsa Schiaparelli

Insect Necklace by Schiaparelli

Sometimes inspiration comes from the least likely of places. Earlier this week, Harold Koda, chief curator of the Costume Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, showed a slide of Elsa Schiaparelli's Insect Necklace during his talk as part of the Bata Shoe Museum's Founder's Lecture Series. The surrealist whimsy of this piece captivated me and I had to know more.

According to the Met's website, this piece came to the museum via the Brooklyn Museum's Costume Collection and was created by Elsa Schiaparelli in 1938 for  the fall pagan collection.  "This iconic necklace epitomizes Schiaparelli's Surrealist tendencies, perhaps more than any other design she executed because of the unreal idea of insects crawling on your skin as a fashion statement." The necklace was worn by Millicent Rogers - one of Schiaparelli's "best clients who was brave enough to wear her outré designs."

As unlikely as the connection between this necklace and Marie Antoinette is, a light bulb went off in my head when I reviewed accounts of hygiene practices in the 18th century.

In an out of print book from 1932 called The Elegant Woman, From the Rococo Period to Modern Times by Gertrude Aretz (translated and with a preface by fashion scholar James Laver), the author wrote about the lack of hygiene in 18th century, including the rank odour of the lack of bathing that was covered up with heavy doses of scent.  "Marie-Antoinette was not altogether a vain and coquettish woman, nor was her elegance altogether consistent. Her clothes were rich and beautiful, but somewhat negligently put on, and she was often careless and untidy in her dress. Her personal cleanliness was not very strict, especially before she became Queen, and she used her bathroom but seldom..... The Rococo period, with all its luxury, was a period of dirt and lack of hygiene." (pg. 62-63)

The elaborate pouf hairstyles of the period were crafted out of false hair, pins, dye, grease, and powder and then laden with accessories like feathers, flowers, jewels, and even such implausible additions as vegetables and small ships. Aretz wrote: "It goes without saying that with such complicated coiffures elegant ladies could not pay much attention to cleanliness of the head and hair. Indeed, very little consideration was given to personal hygiene in the eighteenth century. The hair was very rarely washed, perhaps once a year or even not at all. Elaborate coiffures were expected to last for weeks, and it was no rare occurrence for vermin to nest in these monstrous edifices of hair and to attack their owners in a terrible way." (pg. 76) Caroline Weber in her book Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette wore to the Revolution  also wrote about the "Queen's hallmark hairstyles" and the "special head-scratchers (grattoirs) made from ivory, silver, gold, and even sometimes decorated with diamonds" (Weber: 111).

Our perceptions of the grandeur and beauty of this period are no more than illusions. And this I think is the key to adding a subversive element to my recreation of a robe a la francaise. Funnily enough, it seems to tie in rather nicely to my previous dress sculptures made out of mosquito mesh - which originated from a play on the word "fly" as a reference to both the pest and the tag word for "cool".

I am going to appropriate Elsa Schiaparelli's insect necklace and reinterpret it in the context of the 18th century as a reference to "all manner of vermin" that crawled out of the elaborate pouf hairstyles of Marie Antoinette's time (Weber: 111).

Sources:
Aretz, Gertrude. The Elegant Woman: From the Rococo Period to Modern Times. London: Geroge G. Harrap & Co. Ltd., 1931. (Translated by James Laver)

Weber, Caroline. Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette Wore to the Revolution. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2006.

Metropolitan Museum of Art Costume Institute Collection: Elsa Schiaparelli Necklace 2009.300.1234
http://www.metmuseum.org/Collections/search-the-collections/80093782
sourced: November 12, 2011

Project Clock: +3 hours
Project Clock to date: 27.5 hours

Book Review: The Anatomy of Fashion

It is always a delight to discover a non-fiction writer who can write about history with both intelligence and levity. And although the title of this book "The Anatomy of Fashion" sounds like it might be a dour tome filled with dull facts, Susan J. Vincent brings a light hand to her analysis of how different parts of the body have been the focus of fashion over the course of history. In her prologue, Vincent lays out the parameters for the book as being "neither chronological nor complete," "not a survey", but rather "a series of snapshots "focusing on "one body part at a time". Beginning with the head and neck, she moves down the body to breasts and waist, hips and bottom, genitals and legs, and finishes with skin. Each body part is given a chapter of analysis which includes ample illustrations, quotations from primary sources, and other reference material.

I particularly enjoyed reading the many anecdotes taken from historical poetry, correspondence and records that are interspersed throughout the book.  For example: "The quantities of powder used to dress hair were surprisingly large. Mary Frampton tells us that 'one pounds, and even two pounds' of powder might be put into the hair in one dressing, though she perceptively adds 'or wasted in the room'. From excise office accounts, we know that before 1795 over eight million pounds of starch was made in Britain annually, most of which went into hair powder. Various devices were used to dredge this vast amount of powder onto the heads of its wearers. Blowers and different types of powder puffs were used with various techniques, according to the desired effect and the stage of dressing. The wearer, and his or her clothing, was protected from the resulting fine mist by a powdering jacket or gown, and a mask." (page 15)

Of particular interest to me because of my recent research into crinolines was the chapter on hips and bottoms. The reference to the "serious injury or death that became a kind of occupational hazard for crinoline wearers" caught my attention as I'd read about such incidents but had difficulty finding specific examples thereof. Vincent cites several including the story of Ann Watts in January 1860 whose crinoline "was snagged in the machinery that ran under a workbench at a Sheffield button factory, where she had gone to visit her sister. Miss Watts was drawn down and whirled about the shaft before the machine could be stopped. She sustained terrible injuries to her head, shoulders and spine, and died a few days later." (page 93). Using the examples of real people in her analysis give this book a lively tone.

Vincent does not just dip into history but she analyzes contemporary views on fashioning the body today. She takes the position that "dress no longer really matters to us" as evidenced by the informality which has largely penetrated many of the most formal of occasions (ie., the opera). Instead, she argues that society has become fixated on the body, where fitness is the new corset and tattoos and piercings are decoration. Although this book is well suited as a textbook, it is an engaging and thoughtful read for even seasoned fashion veterans.


Title: The Anatomy of Fashion, Dressing the Body from the Renaissance to Today
Author: Susan J. Vincent
Publisher: Berg, New York 2009
Category: Non-fiction, Costume History
Number of pages: 234

18th Century Hats

The hats in the 18th century, particularly those of 1770-1780, were eye-popping confections. Anything and everything could be used to embellish the hat including appliqued silk and satin, ribbons, feathers, pearls, beads, flowers, fruits, and vegetables.

With the high pouff hairstyle of the 1770s, the hair and the hat became a platform for displays of miniature ships and other models. These 'poufs a la circonstance' served to comment on fashionable crazes and topical events like the rage for ballooning, the popular play the Marriage of Figaro, and the French naval victories.

Rose Bertin created many of these poufs a la circonstance and it was her creativity with hats that led to her popularity among the fashionable Parisian elite and her introduction to Marie Antoinette.

Marie Antoinette wore a pouf a la Belle Poule, an intricate hairdo and headdress that displayed the French frigate that won a key victory against the British in June 1778. To read more about Marie Antoinette and her passion for pouf hairstyles, please see my post from October 2008.

P.S. I've posted a review of "The Art of Dress" on Blog of a Bookworm. This book is a fantastic resource for students/fans/admirers of historical fashion.