Costume Drama: "All About Eve(s)"

I have written before about the importance of clothing as it relates to identity, but I'd like to revisit the topic from a slightly different angle. All About Eve has always struck me as effective in its use of costume as a means of developing the dynamic between young upstart Eve Harrington and her idol/target, established stage actress Margo Channing.

Women are still enacting this drama, all over the world, in various milieus, and at all ages. It has been famously said that women don't dress for men, they dress to be annoying to other women -- and it's true. Women carry on a sort of psychological warfare with one another through their clothing, and while the outcome is often relatively harmless (when the competition is mild and silly), there are instances that take on a far more sinister cast.

In AAE, budding actress Eve mimics Margo, the very competition she wishes to eliminate. Birdie Coonan, Margo's friend and assistant, explains, "she's studyin' you, like you was a play or a book or a set of blueprints. How you walk, talk, eat, think, sleep--" Visually, we realize that Eve imitates Margo through clothing, as well. We see her wearing one of Margo's hand-me-downs, she holds Margo's period costume against her body while gazing in a mirror, she wears an evening dress that's similar to Margo's during the famous party episode, etc. It's as though Eve were putting Margo on, like a second skin, trying to become her.

This sort of thing happens in real life... and it's just as annoying, and just as scary. Why, you might ask, would the antagonist/copycat wish to become the "carbon copy you read when you can't find the original," as Eve unwittingly reveals? Simple. It's because she is not an original -- in any way. She cannot be original because, in spite of critic Addison De Witt's statement to the conniving Eve, "There never was, and there never will be, another like you," the fact is, there are plenty of Eves out there, as we see at the end of the movie, when "Phoebe" starts to "do one" to Eve as Eve has "done one" to Margo.

The Eve type is ambitious, yet soulless, and therefore cannot possess originality, as originality can only spring from substance; simply, there is no there there. So, in order to surpass the original, she must out-Herod Herod, and she'll often do this in the easiest, most obvious way -- through the outward trappings of your personality, namely, your clothing/style. You will find the Eve type stealing a glance at your shoes, or an unusual piece of jewelry, or feeling the fabric of your dress, without saying a word about the coveted item. Or, she might compliment you on it, buy an exact replica, and then pretend she never knew you "had one just like hers." Either way, she will make it her business to acquire (a version of) your wardrobe, and you will eventually notice this. And it will annoy you to no end. And that's when you find yourself in the middle of a competition you had no thought toward entering, particularly if you are not the competitive type. Yet, now, you feel the need to (re)establish your own you-ness, and that, of course, is frustrating, as it ought to be wholly unnecessary.

And really, that is part of the Eves' game, tho' perhaps even they don't know it. By pushing you to (re)assert your selfhood, they have forced you to enter the competition, and, in so doing, you make them relevant. They are now relevant in your life, and therefore, in their own lives, which were once (and really, still are) so empty. This is a simulation of a life, but to them, it's as good as real, as they are only a simulation (of you), themselves. They now feel that there is a there there.

The feelings that they have created in you and themselves amount to a semblance of substance. The competition, and all it entails, has given them something to live for. This is all they can manage, really, because they are incapable of anything deeper. If their inner lives were rich, they wouldn't need the drama in the first place. If they were comfortable in their own skins, they wouldn't need to steal costumes. As it is, however, they will always be play-acting, even after all others have quitted the stage, and the audience has left the theater.

One Woman's "Pretty" is Another Woman's "What-Was-She-Thinking-and-Who-Let-Her-Leave-the-House-Looking-Like-That?"

Where do we draw the line between subjectivity/preference, and complete and utter lack of taste? People often have a reluctance to judge what is sloppily referred to as "taste" because it is supposedly, and sometimes, truly, subjective, personal, a matter of opinion. While differing tastes/preferences do exist, and are valid, as such, I believe there is an objective side to this issue -- the same objectivity that enables Project Runway judges Michael Kors, Nina Garcia, and Heidi Klum to unanimously agree on a given designer's taste level. I believe the key is consistency, or lack thereof.

Consistency is, in turn, related to style, which, of course, touches on matters of taste. It is this that makes us say, "She/he has no taste in clothes," or, perhaps, "She/he has no sense of style." This declaration is often met with a nod of agreement, an eyeroll, and an "mmm-hm" from our fashionable interlocutor, the one whose eyesight has been equally offended by the jumble of faux pas that were bundled together into what the offending wearer dubbed an "outfit."

Yet, this same offender may, once in the bluest of moons, inexplicably don an ensemble that is, to our very great surprise, passable, and in fact, even fetching! After the shock has worn off a little (tho' not entirely, as such a rare occurrence would, understandably, catch us unawares and throw off our equilibrium), our brains get to work: "I don't understand. Miss UglyDuds is wearing a cute outfit. How did she manage that? I thought it was impossible! Maybe a friend helped her. Maybe she got some tips from the personal shoppers at Saks. Maybe..." Gobsmacked, we try to think of explanations for this moment of fashion brilliance. Of course, the moment doesn't last long, as the next time we see Miss UglyDuds, she is back to her usual "bag lady chic" aesthetic. This dichotomy is, in a word, inconsistency. Someone who doesn't have a definite style, or good/refined taste, or an eye, is bound to make inconsistent choices, sometimes yielding good results by sheer chance -- tho', most often, failing -- because there is no real unifying vision, merely a desire to "look good" and an unreciprocated "love" for fashion (or what he/she hazily perceives fashion to be). In fact, due to their lack of vision, the more such ones insist on having a particular style aesthetic, the further away they get from their verbal claim, in actual execution.

Inconsistency is both symptomatic of, and a cause for, the lack of a defined -- and definable -- aesthetic, without which there can be no sense of style or taste. This type of shot-in-the-dark floundering is not to be mistaken for eclecticism or artsiness, tho' it frequently is, both by the offender as well as some misguided onlookers. Eclecticism is a celebration of variety, not confusion, and artsiness relates to creativity, not disunity. (This misinterpretation/misrepresentation is, of course, an affront to eclectics, whose tastes are sundry, but not random, and to the artistic community, whose pursuit of beauty bears little resemblance to Miss UglyDuds's gallimaufry of garments.) In other words, inconsistency is, simply put, "not good." Born of mindless copycatting, aesthetic deficiency, brainless trend following, or what have you, it is uninspired and ultimately impersonal, and can therefore yield no good lasting results. Thus, inconsistency is the means by which we may judge, objectively, someone's clothing choices and conclude that they "don't dress well."

In the face of such discussions, many would shrug and toss out the old, familiar phrase, "There is no accounting for taste." But, clearly, in this particular case, I believe there is, at least to a degree. And I might argue that there ought to be accountability for it, as well, such as does not allow for unprovoked visual assault, especially when excused by misapplied adjectives and the egregious misuse of English vocabulary.

- Lisette

Defining "Chic"

"I mean French is really very easy, for instance the French use the word 'sheik' for everything, while we only seem to use it for gentlemen when they seem to resemble Rudolph Valentino." - Lorelei Lee (from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes by Anita Loos)

Aside from the misuse of the word "curvy," I resent the reckless abandon with which the word "chic" is flung about in pop culture these days. The reason for my couturial crankiness is twofold: both the wordsmith and the fashion lover in me are offended.

The perverse ease with which people use certain words (the meanings of which they often do not fully grasp) is disconcerting because it cheapens those words. Talk may be cheap, but language isn't. The word "chic" is frequently plastered, like a universal label, on anything deemed aesthetically pleasing in the fashion/design world. I would argue that just because something is pretty, or creative, or whatever, does not make it "chic," as such. We all know that the word basically refers to something that is stylish, smart, and/or sophisticated, especially in that particular, peculiar, indefinable way that puts the "je ne sais quoi" into a certain look. Similarly, many acknowledge Audrey Hepburn as one of the most famous poster girls for the word, recognizing something in her that bespeaks "chic." However, its flexibility, elusiveness, and our common understanding of the word do not warrant its abuse, nor its overuse. Elie Saab's work is chic (it is painfully beautiful, simultaneously innovative and classic, dramatic yet refined, thoughtful, well-realized, unbelievably tasteful, and "tiré à quatre épingles"), while another designer's [insert your choice here] may not be; it may be equally beautiful, but not "chic," per se. For such a small word, "chic" has such great meaning, and while it may mean different things to different people, its integrity should still be maintained, within personal parameters, if nothing else.

I believe that the key to understanding the essence of chic lies in the fundamental difference between that which is retro/vintage, and that which is dated. Or, it can also be exemplified through the difference between that which is eternally modern, and that which will easily and quickly become dated. Chicness cannot be achieved simply by acquiring a certain skill set. I suspect it is innate and, in this way, akin to talent (it's either there, or it isn't). It is, I believe, a byproduct of one's vision, or fashion philosophy, and, to a large extent, taste level. This is why one cannot don what essentially amounts to a glorified nightgown (perhaps surreptitiously -- and misguidedly -- procured from Grandma's attic o' atrocities) and expect discerning fashionistas to hail it as a masterpiece of vintage clothing craftsmanship,... because it wasn't even chic then! Ergo, it never will be.

While the word, "chic" is often associated with modishness, I think it is more elemental and timeless than that. It is the common thread, as it were, that allows us to declare a Victorian dandy chic while simultaneously praising our fashion-forward next-door neighbor for her chicness. The times and trends may change, but in my opinion, that quality which we call "chic" transcends all boundaries. Ironically, it is this very pervasiveness and omnipresence that makes it both so specific and indefinable, rendering it a very special quality and a very special word, and therefore, meriting very special care. Giving the word "chic" such care and thought in usage and application is only appropriate, really; after all, careful thoughtfulness is one of the earmarks of all that is "chic."

- Lisette Atiyeh