In light of the conversation sparked by Melania Trump's recent debate-night outfit, we're revisiting the history of some of our favorite wardrobe staples — including the pussy-bow blouse. Read on to learn the meaning behind the names of some of the most-worn clothing items.
This story was originally published on November 18, 2015.
We put a lot of thought into what we wear — whether it's from a styling perspective, or a will-this-outfit-get-me-through-everything-I-have-to-deal-with-today one. Yet, while we throw around the names of our clothing items (Where ARE my jeans? Does this oxford top match?) as often as we throw on the pieces themselves, we hardly ever stop to think how weird some of the nomenclature actually is. Like, where does the word "denim" actually come from, and when did we start using it? And what's the story is behind your sensible cardigan?
With a little digging, you'll soon learn that every staple in your closet has quite the backstory. To get a serious lesson in style, we asked Patrick Hughes, fashion historian at the Parsons School of Design, and Rebecca Kelly, adjunct instructor in the department of art history and museum professions at FIT, to help us see our closets through a historical lens. So read on; class is officially in session.
Jeans & Denim
We think of jeans as a classic, and it’s for good reason: Their history has been in progress for centuries. Though jeans as we know them date back to the 20th century, when Levi Strauss first entered the picture, the origins of denim can actually be traced back to 17th century Italy. An early version of the sturdy, durable woven twill fabric emerged from the city of Genoa; the French word for Genoa is “Gênes” — say that out loud, and you’ll notice a resemblance to jeans. It quickly became essential to the working man’s wardrobe and associated with utilitarian clothing.
When it comes to "denim," the name relates back to the same textile. In the 18th century, “the French tried to make a similar fabric” to the one being produced in Italy, Kelly explains, “and they made it in their city of Nîmes.” So, this new French-made material, in their language, was “de Nîmes.” The textile remained popular among the working class — the people “who wore pants and trousers.” She adds that “aristocrats and noblemen wore short breeches throughout most of history.”
However, it wasn't until the late 19th century in the U.S. that we began to see jeans that resemble the styles and silhouettes we know today. These then became synonymous with the Wild West and cowboy aesthetic of the early 20th century — and so the Levi's star was born. And, according to Hughes, it finally entered the realm of womenswear after WWII.
Peter Pan Collar
Yes, it has to do with the character — but, not the Disney-fied version. When Peter Pan was first staged in the U.S. in 1905, the titular character donned a blouse with a wide, rounded collar, and it didn’t take long for the style to stick. However, the trend first became widespread in children’s wear, which was a new, growing market at the time. “We start to see children’s wear evolve at the end of the 19th century,” Hughes explains. Prior to that, there weren’t really fashions dedicated to a younger consumer — instead, “children were dressed like little, mini adults.”
The Peter Pan collar had a romantic feel to it, Hughes describes, which touched on “the sort of preciousness of childhood.” This vibe was then absorbed into womenswear after it became a popular trend for kids, Kelly remarks.
Trench Coat
“The trench coat and the cardigan have associations back to the Crimean War, but they really became fashion items after WWI,” Kelly says. (More on the cardigan later.) The precursor to the modern trench — dubbed the “mac” for its inventor, Charles Macintosh —had been part of military and civilian dress since the 19th century. While weatherproof, the rubberized coat was heavy (and smelly). So, we began to see an improvement in textile technology for waterproofing garments in the latter half of the 19th century and into the early 20th century after WWI. “This has to do a lot with the weave and structure found in outerwear garments,” Hughes explains, “which was part of the textile technology that comes out of WWI, because so many men died because they were wet.”
When it comes to parts of army uniforms that have been appropriated into urban wear, Hughes describes a sort of hero worship: “After every war, you can pretty much find items that were once purely military assimilating into the closet.” Kelly echoes this sentiment, adding that some veterans also “realized some of the great utilitarian features of their clothing” after the war. In turn, British manufacturers like Burberry and Aquascutum, which had already been producing these styles of coats, “capitalized on [their] popularity,” because they became cognizant that these were “absolute classic pieces.”
Oxford Shirt
Yes, there is a tie between the crisp button-down and Oxford University. However, the shirt isn’t what’s named after the British institution — rather, it’s the fabric. The “oxford” of an oxford shirt refers to the material, “typically a plain weave with more warp than filling yarns,” Kelly explains. “Similar shirting fabrics were also marketed as Cambridge, Harvard, and Yale,” she says, the collegiate nomenclature working as a marketing method. After all, “Oxford was a very successful university where fashionable young men were being educated,” she notes. “The cache associated with well dressed collegiate youth helped to sell these fabrics.” However, of the four main schools, it was the Oxford version that prevailed and proved to be the most popular.
The weave of the oxford shirt lends itself to the collegiate lifestyle, because it’s hard-wearing. It’s “a very good sort of school uniform,” Hughes chimes in. As such, it became part of the campus tradition at universities as well as boarding schools, where there’s a more buttoned-up dress code.
Brogues
According to Merriam-Webster, the word “brogue” can be traced back to the Scottish Gaelic bròg and the Irish bróg, which comes from Middle Irish bróc, which is then believed to originate from the Old Norse brōk — all of which essentially mean “leg covering.” According to Kelly, the style manifested in the British Isles, and while we would now consider it a dressier shoe, the brogue was originally a style you'd wear out in the country — one meant for walking outside that could take hard wear. “You would wear brogues to go out shooting, to go out in the country, because you come across all different kinds of terrain,” Hughes says.
“Brogues used to be worn for golf and for walking, so they were really more of a sports shoe," Kelly continues, explaining the irony that "now we wear them with suits” and more formal items. Back in the day, in contrast, you'd pair them with tweed — another casual, outdoorsy fabric of British fashion tradition, Hughes adds. In fact, he notes that wearing brogues with anything but tweed is considered "incorrect" in some circles.
Duffel Coat
The duffel coat is another item that emerges out of wartime — but, unlike the trench coat, its name is unrelated to military vernacular. Instead, it refers to the city of Duffel, Belgium, where the heavy wool cloth used to make these coats was manufactured. What the trench coat was to WWI, the duffel was to WWII: a part of army dress that would enter civilian fashion after the war. An item worn by members of the British navy (Winston Churchill wore one when he served in the military), this style of outerwear entered the fashion world as surplus clothing.
“That was really the major export of American fashion after WWII,” Hughes says. “Any country that was touched by WWII in Europe is going to find surplus army-navy clothing," he adds, which is how items like parkas, khaki pants, and flannel shirts also made their way into our everyday wardrobes — they're items that were inexpensive, utilitarian, durable, and most importantly, accessible.
These items would come to define an aesthetic we often look to for inspiration: French youth fashion in the late 1950s and early 1960s, or, as Hughes describes it, the "Sorbonne student look," an aesthetic that was a combination of "post-war exports," like duffel coats, jeans, and other surplus pieces.
Breton Stripes
“Stripes in French fashion and French culture play a huge role not only in common workwear, but they are linked to French revolution,” Hughes says. While the print had a not-so-stellar reputation when it first entered the clothing realm in the 12th and 13th centuries, it would later become associated with the revolution in both France and the United States in the 18th century (in dress and beyond).
In 1858, stripes were deemed the official uniform of the French navy, then solidifying the detail's association with nautical tradition. (The original design reportedly featured 21 stripes, one for each of Napoleon's victories against the English fleet.) The name of the item refers to Brittany, a coastal region of France where many sailors and fishermen were based.
The choice of stripes for naval workwear wasn’t a stylistic one: Kelly explains that the contrasting white-and-navy stripes were for visibility and safety, in order to easily spot a fisherman or a sailor on another side of a vessel or if they fell overboard into the water, so they could be rescued. This tradition wasn't unique to France, either: "Utilitarian striped fabrics have a longer history and connection to the sea and working dress, for safety and visibility reasons," she says.
The pattern eventually entered the fashion realm in the 20th century through Gabrielle Coco Chanel, who began incorporating the same type of knitwear you’d see in these French fishing villages into her collections, and Jean Patou (although the former is much more iconic).
Cardigan
The cardigan has always been a very sensible garment, even from its beginnings during the Crimean War: The open-front knit gets its name from the Earl of Cardigan — James Brudenell, the seventh Earl of Cardigan, to be precise, who fashioned a vest to wear underneath his uniform on the field for warmth. The term wasn't popularized until after his death in the latter half of the 19th century.
Pussy Bow Blouse
Pussy bow blouses have re-emerged in the past few years, partially due to Hedi Slimane’s Saint Laurent and the new Gucci. However, the style has a long history (and a long history of comebacks).
Hughes believes that Slimane’s bow inspiration, in particular, comes from the cavalier style — which refers to a whole head-to-toe look, not just a bow. We can see this fashion first illustrated in 17th century Dutch painting — Hughes points to a portrait by Frans Hals titled “The Laughing Cavalier ” as epitomizing the style and phrase. While it entered French style in the 1600s, it truly blossomed in the following century. This period in the 18th century is considered the “arrival of French style,” Hughes explains, “announcing in a lot of ways” the country’s status as a leader in fashion. It was revived once again in the 19th century, with novels like The Three Musketeers and fairy tales like Puss in Boots, featuring characters that belonged to that school of dress.
Fast-forward to the 20th century, and the pussy bow blouse takes on a whole different meaning (and context). In the 1970s, it was recommended for professional women hoping to blend into the male-dominated workplace. Some believed it to be a way to express femininity in an office setting, where, at the time, there was little precedent for how women should dress. The style would become a signature of Margaret Thatcher' s in the 1980s.
Mermaid Gown
In the case of this gown, the design preceded the name: “Mermaid” refers to the silhouette, which hugs the body right to around the knees and then blossoms out, like the mythical creature's tail. It was initially associated with the bustle styles of the 1870s, “with all the drapery and fabric at the back of the dress, and dresses having these really beautiful, sweeping trains,” Kelly says. Later, the shape was incorporated into the collections of Schiaparelli and other fashion houses in the late 1920s and 1930s, and revived by post-war designers like Norman Norell.
It first entered the fashion sphere, though, through theater — specifically, according to Hughes, the Vaudeville of the 1920s, “as a show stopping costume piece.” And though Norell first tried his hand at the silhouette when he was designing for Hattie Carnegie before WWII, it wasn’t as well-received at the time. Instead, it “later became a trademark piece in many of his collections when he opened his own very high-end fashion house,” he continues. His customers included Lauren Bacall and Lynn Revson.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
These Are The Best Accessories Trends From Fashion Week
You've Got To See How People Are Getting Around Disney World's "No Costumes" Rule