In the Mood for Cheongsam Pages 122 123

Costume, vol. 48, no. 1, 2014 Book Reviews Treasures of the Royal Courts: Tudors, Stuarts and the Russian Tsars, ed. by Olga Dmitrieva and Tessa Murdoch (London: V&A Museum, 2013). 176 pp., 250 col. illus. Hbk £30.00. ISBN 978 185177 731 0. Published to accompany the Victoria and Albert Museum’s exhibition of the same name, this elegant volume presents a study of the Tudor and Stuart courts in a Russian context. As Olga Dmitrieva states in the opening essay, the focus is on the interaction brought about by official diplomacy and trade-based gift exchange linked to the rise of the Muscovy Company. The timing of the exhibition and the book was tied to the 400th anniversary of the establishment of the Romanov dynasty in 1613. This provided an opportunity to display and discuss some exceptional pieces. While the ‘treasures’, borrowed from the Kremlin Museum, Moscow, may have proved a highlight for British audiences, the Tudor and Stuarts pieces from the V&A and other collections are always popular. The book offers the reader nine essays written by the curators of the V&A and the Kremlin, supplemented by freelance experts in the field. While it is not a catalogue, the essays are strongly object-based and this is backed up with a very useful list of exhibited works at the end of the book. It is also worth noting that, in spite of what the title might imply, this is not a comparative study of the courts in Moscow and London. As a result, the bulk of the essays focus on specific groups of objects (including plate, armour, jewellery and miniatures) in a Tudor and Stuart context. However, a few essays stand out because they do make the link between the two countries: those of Natalia Abramova on English silver in the Kremlin and Julian Munby’s essay on the Moscow coach, an English gift to Tsar Boris Godunov. As such, the images of Russian rulers in Dmitrieva’s chapter are tantalizing as they could have been explored further in a clothing context. For those interested in clothing in the early modern period, Clare Browne’s essay makes a very good starting point. Indeed, it is the key chapter, providing an excellent overview of furnishing textiles and clothing. As with all of the essays, it is quite short but it is packed with detail. To see it as the only chapter of interest would be to take too narrow a view of the book. No Tudor or Stuart courtier would have considered themselves suitably dressed without jewellery, as is made evident in Richard Edgcumbe’s chapter, while a rapier of the type discussed by Angus Patterson was essential for a man of status. Although the chapter on limning by Katherine Coombs mainly focuses on the technique, artists and sitters, the large number of illustrations allows the reader to look at the clothes for themselves. Potentially the most interesting illustrations are the portraits in Karen Hearn’s chapter on merchant portraiture, focusing on a set of pictures commissioned from Cornelis Kete by the Smith family in 1579/80. In conclusion, it is a beautiful book. It is full of large images, including lots of details, and it is printed on high-gloss paper. As such it is a quality product and the illustrations serve to promote the objects that were at the heart of the exhibition. It is not a specialist book on textiles and clothing, but it does not claim to be. Even so, it has much that is of interest to general readers and specialists alike. M H University of Southampton © The Costume Society 2014 DOI: 10.1179/0590887613Z.00000000045   111 Lotte van de Pol, The Burgher and the Whore: Prostitution in Early Modern Amsterdam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). 269 pp., 11 b/w illus. £34.00. ISBN 978-0-19921140-1. Seventeenth-century Amsterdam was a highly respectable city. So, too, was sixteenthcentury London. Neither approved of noisiness, drunkenness nor the provision of brothels. Nevertheless, all three were certainly characteristic of both cities. The Burgher and the Whore is not the kind of publication normally likely to be reviewed in Costume, but the information on dress and manners given in the seventh and last chapter is so significant that it ought to be brought to the attention of readers, especially so for what we can deduce from it to assess Bridewell, the prison originally founded as an orphanage and place of correction for wayward women, by the youthful Edward VI in 1543. The Dutch equivalent, ‘T Spin-Huys’, was established in 1597. Lotte van de Pol begins the chapter by calculating the annual income of a working man at about 300–350 guilders. On this, he could hope to maintain a wife and family, provided that all the members watched expenditure with extreme caution. An emergency, a rise in taxes, severe illness, could all reduce a household to real poverty. This puts a prostitute’s earnings in perspective. For entertaining a client, she could expect a guilder, from which she had to subtract a tenth part — a stiver — to pay the maid who called her. She might get more if the client were to be generous or wished to retain her as a permanent mistress for his sole use, but such chances were unusually fortunate. This might be worse still if she were dependent on the brothel-keeper for lodging or food or — worse again — owed her money for clothing. This was a necessity and had to be as fine as possible in order to attract clients. Such were the girls who ‘for a gown, or Mantua of flowered cotton [. . .] abandon this their Honour and Liberty after a most piteous Manner’. In 1712, a regular customer promised a prostitute ‘a jacket of flower chintz, after the manner of her own choosing’. Dr van de Pol cites numerous examples of clothing that could be hired, a mantua costing 6s. a week, a fontange 4s. These thirty-four pages of the last chapter make it worth chasing the volume through reference and academic libraries. A S Autour des Van Loo: Peinture, Commerce des Tissus et Espionnage en Europe (1250–1830), ed. by Christine Rolland (Mont-Saint-Aignan Cedex, Rouen: Presses Universitaires de Rouen et du Havre, 2012). 402 pp., 109 col. illus. €49.00. ISBN 978-2-87775-501-6. This book presents eighteen papers from a conference held in Rouen in 2002. An ambitious research project under the direction of Christine Rolland united scholars of various disciplines of economic and textile history in order to investigate the activities of a cosmopolitan dynasty of painters active in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the Van Loo. LouisMichel Van Loo (1707–1771), from 1737 until 1752 court painter and agent of a Lyonnais silk merchant company at the Spanish court in Madrid, is the focal point for the study. A lengthy introduction by Christine Rolland presents the aims of the research project and provides a detailed account of the lives and work of the individual members of the Van Loo dynasty. The following four sections are devoted to the works and clients of Holbein and paintings by Jacob and Carle Van Loo; textile trade and production in the eighteenth century; the role of espionage or rather imitation in the textile industry; and questions of attribution and trade of paintings by the Van Loo. An appendix with biographical notes on 112  the individual members of the Van Loo family, a list of sources, a bibliography and an index of names complete the volume. A list of contributors with their respective institutional affiliations would have been a useful addition. This is an extremely dense book, thematically and physically, uniting advanced research from several disciplines in a tightly printed and richly illustrated volume. While primarily focused on the Van Loo and their artistic output, it is also an attempt to involve textile research in the discussion. Christine Rolland reveals the close relationship between LouisMichel Van Loo’s activities as a court painter and agent of the silk merchants Rey, Magneval & Cie. Many of his clients were also portrayed by Van Loo. Through his experience of different silk fabrics, including velvets, satins and brocades, the painter over time improved his rendering of their different textures in paint. Furthermore, in his workshop the artist kept some costumes and accessories which he integrated into a number of portraits of different sitters. An interesting parallel from an earlier period is discussed by Cinzia Maria Sicca and Bruna Niccoli in their paper on Italian luxury silks at the court of Henry VIII as shown in portrait paintings by Hans Holbein the Younger. While Rolland, Sicca and Niccoli bridge the gap between studies of paintings and textiles, most other papers remain centred within their individual discipline. Lesley Ellis Miller’s study is an outstanding exception in bringing together research on the Lyonnais and Spanish textile industries and the role of Louis-Michel Van Loo as a commercial agent in her paper on the consumption of silks in Madrid between 1759 and 1788. Of particular interest to dress historians is the paper by Jean-Paul Leclercq on the different means of manufacture and marketing of the habit à la française. Although it does not contain many papers specifically on dress, this publication contributes to our understanding of how closely textile research is connected to other art-historical disciplines. The dialogue will certainly benefit both sides. A J Abegg-Stiftung, Riggisberg Jane Perry, Traditional Jewellery of Nineteenth-Century Europe (London: V&A Publishing, 2013). 144 pp. ISBN-10: 1851777296; ISBN-13: 978-1851777297. Jane Perry states the objective of this book in the first sentence: ‘To give a brief overview of European traditional jewellery and illustrate some of its great richness and variety’. That is exactly what she does in this highly informative and visually interesting volume. The book is organized into chapters based on geographical regions that reflect cultural similarity. The introduction starts with a discussion of what to call this jewellery that was frequently worn by both rural and urban, upper and lower classes, and was not inexpensive. Perry defines her subject by the way it developed, how it was worn, what materials it was made from, and who made and distributed it. This chapter sets down the issues future researchers might address in more focused studies. Another topic discussed is how this jewellery came to be bought and worn by English women and subsequently collected by the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, the collection on which the book is based. This topic runs through the book. Chapter one covers the Nordic region of Norway, Sweden, Iceland and Lapland, with one paragraph devoted to Finland and the Baltic coast. Differences between Swedish and Norwegian rings and brooches are pointed out and interesting bits of information, such the belief that old silver was the work of fairies, enliven the text. Chapter two deals with the Netherlands where reproductions of paintings show how the oorijzer, a head piece specific to the Netherlands, was worn. The inclusion of historic photographs and contemporary   113 paintings throughout the book is invaluable since both the pieces and the manner of wearing them sometimes defy description. Although chapter three is titled ‘Central Europe’ and includes Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Poland, Hungary, the Czech Republic and Slovakia, it is primarily about Germany, Austria and Switzerland. With no illustrations of the jewellery worn in the other countries, I have to assume those pieces do not exist in the V&A collection. I was surprised there was no mention of the earrings still worn by men from the Appenzell region of Switzerland. France, Italy, Spain and Portugal are covered in the next three chapters; the last chapter covers the extensive area from Russia, through the Balkans, to Greece. This final chapter exemplifies the difficulties inherent in the subject. Very little has been published in English and there is both a generalized Slavic and a very distinct local jewellery practice that can vary village by village in some regions, making it difficult to make assumptions about a very multi-ethnic part of the world and thus do justice to the complexity and specificity of local traditions. This jewellery was usually worn in a specific context as part of an ensemble of clothing, and information about it is often found embedded in books dealing with dress. My only criticism is the author’s use of the word ‘costume’, when ‘dress’ is a more accurate term. Hopefully, this book will encourage more research into specific local and regional practices concerning jewellery as a major part of dress. I found this book especially interesting since the collection I work with has many examples of the jewellery illustrated and described. After reading it through I took it into the storage room to see what more I could learn about the collection. It was indeed helpful, although, once I started to look, ambiguities came to the fore, as no two pieces of jewellery are exactly alike. I intend to return with book in hand and look more thoroughly. B S Museum of International Folk Art, New Mexico The Jewish Wardrobe, from the Collection of The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, ed. by Esther Juhasz (Milan and Jerusalem: 5 Continents Editions and The Israel Museum, 2012). 368 pp., 358 col. & b&w illus. US$55.50. ISBN 978-88-7439-602-3. Hardcover and softcover editions available from the Israel Museum. Eric Silverman, A Cultural History of Jewish Dress (London and New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013). 288 pp., 77 b&w illus. Pbk £17.99; PDF eBook £54.99; Hbk £49.50; ePub eBook £19.99. In The Jewish Wardrobe, from the Collection of The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, edited by Esther Juhasz, a team of seven authors (Efrat Assaf-Shapira, No’am Bar’am-Ben Yossef, Alia Ben-Ami, Lorna Carmel, Esther Juhasz, Ester Muchawsky-Schnapper and Gioia Perugia Sztulman) has produced this long-awaited, generously presented and colourfully illustrated work on clothing from Jewish communities primarily from northern Africa, West and Central Asia, India and Europe. The liberal use of rare, old photographs makes this book visually stimulating, as well as substantiating academic explanations by showing us the real people in the real dress. A short essay on the ‘externally fashioned’ aspects of Jewish dress prefaces the in-depth review of Jewish law and custom regarding dress. Each article of clothing is described in full as to ceremonial use and importance, accompanied by excellent illustrations and descriptions of materials, construction and decorations. Rites of passage are treated separately and meticulously, followed by the unusual but necessary ‘Dynamics of Transition’: layered identities, modernization and clothing and its afterlife: the biographies of clothes. This last 114  plays a special role in Jewish clothing because of the tradition of donating clothes to the synagogue — as a vow fulfilled, a token of gratitude, or as mementoes of death and memory. Some garments are deemed inappropriate to be thus ceremonialized, for example some women’s clothing, which is remade into other objects for the synagogue so their former shape (and thus any reference to the female body) is transformed. The transition from traditional to modern dress is particularly evident in Jewish clothing. In some places men began wearing Western-style suits outside the home in the 1920s in the Middle East, but still dressed traditionally at home. At the same time, their wives and daughters began experimenting with wearing Western fashions at home, but were careful to dress traditionally outside. It is particularly interesting to see how Western cut and fabrics made their way into traditional dress in North Africa, for example: chiffon blouses replaced the traditional cotton ones, imported lace replaced embroidery, darts were used for tailoring, and set-in sleeves were introduced into traditionally square-cut garments. Discussing the geographical diversity of Jewish dress in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and the changes materializing between traditional and ‘modern’ dress reveals a deep-seated need to recognize what is changing, and how can this be documented? Wisely, it is pointed out that this is the ultimate challenge in all museum work: what constitutes (in this case) Jewish dress now, and is the term even relevant in post-modern times? The editor emphasizes the importance of the work of Aviva Muller-Lancet, the museum’s first ethnography curator, who pioneered the methodical collecting and documentation of Jewish dress in the Diaspora. She spearheaded the valuable tradition of thorough and thoughtful collection and preservation of costume. It is gracious and correct to acknowledge and thank the determined individuals on whose shoulders we stand. The final section, ‘Selected Entries’, with more detailed information on individual pieces, is extremely valuable and deserved to be part of the main body of the book in larger typeface, but the choice to relegate it to an appendix is an understandable editorial and design choice. This book is a model for museum publications: beautifully and generously illustrated, with both thoughtful and academically sound articles as well as straightforward, solid information about relevant objects and the people who wore them. It not only satisfies one’s professional and intellectual curiosity but also sparks the imagination — a necessary element of any learning. Eric Silverman, in his introduction to A Cultural History of Jewish Dress, states that his book does not catalogue Jewish costumes; his book ‘is not a laundry list’, even though laundry lists are actually very good indicators of real clothes that are regularly worn and cared for. Instead the author, an anthropologist, presents well-researched essays on ‘the symbolism, meanings and messages of both Jewish garments and clothing merely worn by Jews’. He focuses on the Ashkenazi Jewry — the Yiddish-speaking Jews from Central and Eastern Europe, excluding Jews in North Africa, India, Asia and the Islamic world. There are few other books on Jewish dress; Alfred Rubens wrote A History of Jewish Costume in 1965. The new volume from the Israel Museum (see review above) is an actual catalogue and academic presentation, interestingly primarily concerning the geographical areas not covered in Silverman’s book. The author begins at the beginning, attempting to identify Jewish garments from the vocabulary of the Hebrew Bible, which is difficult due to the ‘linguistic slipperiness’ of the many translations. Distinctive Jewish dress is not mentioned in ancient Greek or Latin texts; its only distinguishing feature may have been fringes added to the tunic’s corners, and it is inferred that Jews dressed like everyone else, in standard Greek garments, in the postbiblical period. Jewish religious law formulated the rules which influenced Jewish dress from the second century onwards.   115 Rabbinic legal decision-makers reaffirmed the biblical dress code as decreed by the Torah: wearing of tefillin (biblical verses in small containers strapped to the arm and forehead), knotted fringes with a blue thread, a special shoe removal ceremony, the prohibiting of wool and linen blends, no cross-dressing, ritual tearing of clothes in mourning, and no idolatrous, opulent or immodest apparel. The symbolism of the shoe, the veil, the cloak and the skirt are discussed. Colours are dictated, and although linen is admittedly more difficult to dye than wool, the author’s statement that ‘ancient technology could dye only wool, not flax’ is not correct. European and Egyptian medieval documents do not show special Jewish garments except for rabbis, whose clothes parallel Protestant liturgical wear, though with a prayer shawl over the head. Rabbis advocated avoiding both poverty and flamboyance in dress. From the 1200s in England and France there were decrees that Jews should wear distinguishing (and denigrating) badges. Most of central and southern Europe followed. However, characteristic, peaked Jewish hats were familiar as early as 1025–1070 in European iconography and were not seen as derogatory. The chapter ‘Dressing as Americans’ discusses the new forces that shaped Jewish immigrants’ way of dressing. Style became an issue as soon as they could afford more than one set of clothes. Jewish women laboured in sweatshops to provide affordable, ready-made clothing for all, including themselves. Jewish entrepreneurs established thriving businesses producing work clothes for all (Levi Strauss), underwear (Maidenform) and leisure wear (Ralph Lauren). Orthodox (Hassidic) Jews dress according to which ‘court’ or regional group they belong to. The men’s characteristic, long side-curls, prominent beards, and black hats and coats represent their commitment to piety and modesty, stressing conformity rather than individualism. Modern pastel prayer shawls for women now have matching tallit (ceremonial) handbags; shawls and tallit were formerly only used by men. The background and current use of the yarmulke, the small round cap which originally signified rank and now worn daily by strictly observant Jews is discussed. There are concluding chapters on the contemporary use and design of ‘progressive’ Jewish clothing: T-shirts and yarmulkes with political slogans aimed at reinventing Jewish identity: Jewtilicious, ‘Jews Kick Ass’, New Jew Cool, YidGear, and many more. The post-modern Jewish wardrobe shows the tension in the variety of messages about Jewish identity today. K J Royal Danish Collections A Perfect Fit: The Garment Industry and American Jewry, 1860–1960, ed. by Gabriel M. Goldstein and Elizabeth E. Greenberg (Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 2012). 272 pp., 152 col. and b&/w illus. £42.50/$49.95. ISBN-10: 0896727351; ISBN-13: 978-0-89672-735-9. This handsomely produced hardback is the follow-up publication initiated by an exhibition, A Perfect Fit: The Garment Industry and American Jewry, 1860–1960, which ran from December 2005 to April 2006 at Yeshiva University Museum, New York City. The book is published as part of the Costume Society of America Series. This is a multi-authored book of essays linked by the history of Jewish immigrants who became clothing entrepreneurs or workers in America’s expanding ready-to-wear industry and by the more general historical development of that industry. Over its thirteen chapters, the book is successful in showing the heavy investment of Jewish immigrants’ energies in clothing manufacture, whether as successful businessmen or as sweated labour. Each essay 116  has a different focus but, taken together, they provide a series of snapshots, some overlapping, some high definition of a particular detail, which builds to a picture of the Jewish immigrants’ engagement with the garment industry. Over a century, that engagement spans the industry’s origins in men’s ready-to-wear to the rapid growth of women’s ready-mades in the late nineteenth century, from the forging of a particularly American clothing identity in the 1940s (and the designers who contributed to it) to the manufacturing decline in the 1970s. The book is well illustrated throughout, with a section devoted to photographs of the original exhibition. The upbeat, punning title of both exhibition and book, A Perfect Fit, may appeal to some, but while there is no doubting the success of many businesses — one of the exhibition sponsors was Levi Strauss Co. — there is also a darker side to the expression, since the early ready-to-wear industry offered many migrants the sole point of entry to the labour market, one with notoriously poor wages and poor working conditions. The Song of the Shirt, Thomas Hood’s poem first published in 1843, was never far from my mind when reading sections of this book, especially Michael Zakim’s chapter on the birth of the clothing industry in America. Elsewhere, Jewish garment-makers appear hauntingly in the images of sweatshop rooms and as statistics in the tables of employees. One of the New York garment industry’s lowest points was the tragedy of the Triangle Shirtwaist Company fire of 1911, when 146 young women jumped to their deaths. (The recent garment industry tragedy in Bangladesh, April 2013, reminds us that these conditions have not gone away, simply migrated to other countries.) The first Jewish migrants were from Western Europe, German Jews who had a knowledge of dealing in second-hand or new clothing in Germany, becoming pedlars before progressing to wholesale and manufacture. They went on to dominate the menswear and growing womenswear industries in the 1860s and 1870s. The book is good at showing how the Civil War accelerated and helped establish the men’s ready-to-wear industry through the creation of standard sizing for uniform manufacture. The later wave of Jewish migration was from Eastern Europe. But while European Jewish migrants’ contribution to the industry is clear in the book, we are much less aware of the other migrant groups, such as the Italians who by the 1920s were the largest single ethnic group in the New York needle trades — yet there is no sense of this in the book. The book throws up instances where the Jewish entrepreneurs of the ready-to-wear industry were at odds with their workforce, many of whom were also Jewish, resisting their unionization. Not surprisingly, there were many Jewish union leaders in the garment industry, working to gain fair wages and working conditions for their co-workers. This conflict of interest is rather skirted over because, while the book is keen to stress the co-religionists’ links in a positive way through shared traditions and language, it is less keen to examine the sharp end of labour relations. There is fascinating information throughout: Sam Goldwyn worked in the glove-making business before moving into film-making. He used this knowledge of the garment industry when making his first feature film. D. W. Griffiths made a silent film of The Song of the Shirt (1908) showing the hard life of a seamstress, in this case one making shirtwaists. Essays by William Toll and by Michelle Tolini Finamore show how the movie industry, by migrating from New York to Hollywood, influenced clothing production in Los Angeles and helped forge American dress identity. The book brings home the Jewish connection again — Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Fox; the studio system had a close relationship with the fashion industry and the cinema screen replaced the fashion magazine as the authority on the latest styles. The book ends with the 1960s and notes the decline of the homeland manufacturing base in the 1970s. Despite that, the Jewish connection with the garment industry was to continue with the emergence of designers who, even as the US manufacturing base was   117 losing ground to Asia, achieved enormous global success — Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein and Donna Karan (although they do not feature in this book). However you look at it, the Jewish contribution to the garment industry and American clothing identity has been hugely significant, and this book charts some of that connection. D W Edinburgh College of Art Dressing Sydney: The Jewish Fashion Story. An Exhibition by the Sydney Jewish Museum (Darlinghurst, New South Wales: Sydney Jewish Museum, 2012). 160 pp., 180 col. and b&w illus. Hbk $49.95. ISBN 9780987193551. This book accompanies the exhibition of the same name, displayed at the Sydney Jewish Museum from October 2012 until December 2013, documenting the strong Jewish involvement in the Sydney rag trade, or schmatte business in Yiddish, with a natural focus on the post-war period. It is copiously illustrated and consists of essentially two essays: ‘The Power of the Spoken Word’ by Roslyn Sugarman, John Saunders Curatorial Chair at the Sydney Jewish Museum, and ‘The Beauty of the Everyday’ by Peter McNeil from the University of Technology, Sydney and Stockholm University. They trace the innovations brought to the trade due to this immigration and its influence through to the present day. The first essay by Sugarman is a collection of oral testimonies which document the personal stories of many of the key players in the industry and relate how immigrant Jews assimilated into Australian society. The essay is broken down into short sections with titles such as ‘Hard Work in a Hard Business’, ‘Fitting In’ and ‘Ingenuity and Entrepreneurship’. It provides an effective and highly personal account of the foundation of Jewish clothing businesses in the post-war era. The second essay by McNeil takes a more in-depth look at the Australian clothing trade in a historical context, tracing its roots briefly back into the late nineteenth century. He notes, for example, that prior to the pre-World War II influx of European Jews into Sydney, the women’s clothing industry was previously concentrated in Melbourne. Also with import duties at 130 per cent during the Depression, the impetus was to manufacture clothing locally. Again, the essay is divided into short sections, for example, ‘Conditions for Fashion Workers’ and ‘The Impact of Australian Economic Policy’, to guide the reader presumably in conjunction with the exhibition. The impact of the Holocaust on those who made it to Sydney is movingly recounted. Although not always wanting to be in the clothing trade it was often the only option for those newly arrived. Simon Aizenberg, a tailor from Poland, had arrived in Sydney after surviving the Holocaust hoping to find other opportunities than one in the clothing trade. However, he established ITA Frocks in 1953, named after his mother, keeping her name alive with his brand name as her memorial. In conclusion, McNeil notes the sophistication of the fashion capitals of Berlin and Vienna during the 1930s, much of the clothing made and retailed by the Jewish community there. Innovations such as the tricot-taillen, finely meshed knitwear, came from the two cities. As the German Jewish clothing industry was destroyed by Nazi policy, the openness of Australia embraced both the immigrants and the new ideas they brought with them to the benefit of all involved, transforming the Australian clothing industry in the process. This is a thought-provoking essay both about the Jewish influence in Australia and in pre-World War II Germany and Austria, and a valuable addition to literature on the ready-made industry. Its aims and methodologies would perhaps be equally enlightening if applied to other similar cities. A T University of Wolverhampton 118  Young Brides, Old Treasures: Macedonian Embroidered Dress, ed. by Bobbie Sumberg (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2012). 263 pp., 383 col. illus. US$60.00. ISBN 9780295991634. The striking and vibrant embroidered decoration on traditional Macedonian dress takes a star role in this book which has a much wider scope than the first half of its title, Young Brides, Old Treasures, might suggest. However, the juxtaposition of this phrase highlights the fact that the most stunning of these traditional costumes were the bridal dresses, worn by young women in rural areas for a key rite of passage in a way of life that remained unchanged for generations. The book uses the idea of the iconic bridal outfit as a springboard to explore traditional embroidered Macedonian dress, concentrating on festival and special dress, and the collecting project of the Museum of International Folk Art (in Santa Fe, USA) and the New York-based Macedonian Arts Council which led to the enrichment of the Museum’s holdings of Macedonian dress. I especially enjoyed the description of this project in Bobbie Sumberg’s introductory essay which revealed the fruits of a dedicated and enthusiastic project team, with the knowledge and desire to carefully preserve whole ensembles alongside valuable information about their making and wearers. Not only does it mean that the museum now has the largest collection of Macedonian dress in the USA, it also serves as a valuable reminder that there are many areas of dress history which have been little studied until now and are worthy of greater attention. The book is divided into two main parts. The first section contains a number of descriptive essays which provide contextual information and an introduction to traditional Macedonian dress. This is followed by a second catalogue section of the Museum’s holdings, rich in images, which has been organized by region. At the back are a glossary and authors’ biographies. As the introduction makes clear, there is little information on traditional Macedonian dress published in English. The book aims to address this issue by presenting essays by a number of Macedonian scholars and museum curators in a clear, fluent translation. The descriptive essays which offer an insight into the distinctive features of Macedonian dress are accessible and informative, well suited to both experts and general readers. However, I would have found it helpful to have Davorin Trpeski’s essay about different Macedonian ethnic groups closer to the front of the book, to really set the scene. Similarly, the excellent map which followed this essay could have been placed at the beginning to help those of us unacquainted with the geography of Macedonia. The essay ‘Techniques and Material Production’ provides an excellent description of the way in which the terrain of rural Macedonia affected the production of cloth, but I would also have liked to have learnt more about the way in which some of the garments were sewn and how the introduction of the sewing machine into the country affected the making of garments. How does industrialization and mechanization fit into this Macedonian story of rural isolation and self-sufficiency? Angela Krsteva’s essay about the embroidery on the garments offers a detailed and systematic description of the embroidery’s stylistic differences between communities, often changing from village to village. An essay by Vladimir Janevski considers the all-important element of dressing the hair in these ensembles, examining both the differences between communities, and the way in which a woman’s hair was dressed changed for the various stages in her life. The catalogue section is attractively and clearly laid out, with excellent details of many areas of decoration and embroidery, though some are a little blurry and are sometimes too small to allow true appreciation of the sumptuous embroidery and undoubted skill of its creators. There were times, too, when I found the captions for images a little brief. For example, I would like to have known whether the wonderful historic photographs belong to the Museum of International Folk Art’s collections. The glossary is clearly presented and easy to use, though it is a pity that the book has no index or bibliography (although there are footnotes for both the essays and catalogue plates).   119 Despite the scarcity of English texts on Macedonian dress, this would have been a very good place to gather together what does exist, to provide a starting point for those wishing to find out more. It might also have been helpful to list some of the other museum collections around the world (like the national Museum of Macedonia, the Museum of City of Skopje, the Victoria and Albert Museum and British Museum) that have good holdings of Macedonian dress. In her introduction, the curator of the Museum of International Folk Art, Bobbie Sumberg, states that she hopes Young Brides, Old Treasures will ‘spur further studies in the field as well as inspire the general reader to get out the atlas and become more familiar with this vital region of the world’. This book is certainly a valuable addition to the scholarship on Macedonian dress and a visual treat for anyone interested in traditional dress and embroidered garments. A K Conflict and Costume: The Herero Tribe of Namibia, photographs by Jim Naughten, introduction by Dr Lutz Marten (London: Merrell, 2013). 108 pp., 75 col. illus., 1 map. £30.00. ISBN 978-1-8589-4600-9. Little is known about the Herero people of Namibia in southern Africa and their extraordinary clothing. The text of this book explains how the colonial past has so profoundly influenced their dress, but the main impact comes from the photographs (seventy-five full-page colour images) featuring the Herero wearing their costume. The images stay in your mind long after you have closed the book. Jim Naughten’s photographs are powerful; the Herero people are set against a stark background of the Namibian landscape. The images, many of a single figure on a full page, are posed portraits displaying the dress to full effect. An informative introduction by Dr Lutz Marten places the dress and the people who wear them in its historical context, documented by unique pictures taken during the German colonial period (1883–1915). Students of African studies as well as fashion and textiles will find this book a fascinating insight into a little-known culture and way of dress. Influenced by missionaries and traders in the late nineteenth century in what became German South-West Africa, both Herero men and women adopted European dress of the day: full floor-length robes, Western-style suits and military uniform. After a period of brutal conflict and oppression during the German-Herero War, 1904–1908, and the end of the German rule in 1915, this style of clothing continued to be worn by the Herero right up to today. It has, however, evolved with strong cultural elements, colour and style being added to the original colonial influence; for instance, the addition of a distinctive horn-shaped headdress worn by women shows the importance of cattle in their society. In the preface Jim Naughten describes how, when travelling through Namibia, he was deeply moved and captivated by both the landscape and a people who had shown such powerful defiance against the influence of its German colonial past by creating a very unique identity from the dress and uniforms they left behind. His words describing the images make you understand why they are so powerful: These portraits are not intended as a conventional record of Herero culture. They do not capture the subject in a snapshot of everyday life, nor with objects of routine or social standing. The subject’s identity as a Herero tribe member is reified in their garments and their gaze, the vibrant colours brought into acute focus by the contrasting setting. H W The British Museum 120  Regina Lee Blaszczyk, The Color Revolution (Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2012). 368 pp., 121 col. illus. £24.95. ISBN 9780262017770. The Color Revolution starts with the work of the colour theorist Michel-Eugène Chevreul (1786–1889) and the invention of the new chemical dyes in the 1850s, and ends with Lawrence Herbert creating his Pantone system in 1963 and entering the digital world in 1974. Although it is primarily a book about American industrial practices, it also looks at the way Europe, and Paris in particular, was an important influence and vice versa. Advertising plays a large part in this story, but the two biggest players are the Textile Color Card Association of the United States (TCCA) and the American synthetic chemical industry, particularly DuPont, which gained such an advantage during the First World War (1914–1918) when German patents were confiscated and put up for auction. During the 1920s the industry was able to invest in the development of synthetic dyes, rubber, plastics, rayon and nylon, as well as the paint lacquers used in the car industry. DuPont is said to have played a part in smuggling several organic chemists out of Germany. The hugely increased mass market after the war created the need for efficiency and industry standards that led to the use of time and motion studies as much as to rationalizing colour management. Artists who had been ‘camoufleurs’, hiding weaponry from the enemy during the war, now went into industry as colour advisors. Another effect of the war was the setting up of the TCCA, when French colour cards failed to arrive in time for American textile manufacturers. The idea behind the TCCA was to get rid of waste and inefficiency in the industry by avoiding the mismatching of colours across the various fashion products, which had grown due to the availability of new synthetic materials and the growing ready-to-wear market. Fashion became more affordable and, with shorter skirts, the importance of colour coordinated shoes and stockings, gloves, hat and handbag grew. As Paris still set the pace for fashion, the TCCA continued to use the services of French forecasters such as J. Claude Frères et Cie, but in order to get the right information for their clients they also needed help from people on the spot who were as knowledgeable about American tastes as about French fashions. Only a fraction of the thousands of models shown in Paris every season were generally accepted across America. The book also addresses colour in the environment, how it can affect mood as well as safety. It discusses the creation of ‘hospital green’ and the blue-green smocks of theatre staff, as well as industrial machinery repainted in brighter colours to increase the contrast between the machines and the goods being manufactured. The first full-length analysis of how colour could increase productivity and morale in the workplace, Functional Color, was written in 1937 by Faber Birren, an American entrepreneur. The section on the Second World War (1939–1945) and after shows that the TCCA, which had had such a strong influence on the use of colour throughout industry in America during the first half of the century, was no longer the force it had been. Magazines, such as Vogue, now largely took over this role. At American Vogue the fabric editor, Margaret Ingersoll, would prepare a swatch collection ten months before the ready-to-wear shows, showing to designers and manufacturers. House and Garden had an increasing influence on colour in the home. These magazines show that now, as well as matching one’s handbag and shoes, kitchen appliances and bathroom furniture needed to be coordinated. The three colours that would become the mass-market favourites of the 1970s — Avocado Green, Sunset Gold and Sienna Brown — first made their appearance in the 1960s as high-end fashion paint colours. The book is clearly not exclusively about textiles and fashion, although these play a major part. There is also a substantial amount of information about how the printing industry, the   121 manufacturers of paint, cars and domestic appliances used colour. This makes the book even more interesting as it sets the subject in context, showing the role that fashion plays alongside these other industries. A B Liberty Art Fabrics Jill Salen, Vintage Swimwear (London: Anova Books and Batsford, 2013). 128 pp., 30 col. illus. £20.00. ISBN 9781849940610. Jill Salen has added to her excellent range of costume reference books on corsets and vintage lingerie with a new book on swimwear. This book is once again full of excellent scaled patterns and sewing techniques, which will be invaluable to students and costume makers alike. There are over twenty-five historically accurate patterns for retro swimwear, dating from 1880 to 1970, including a knitted bathing suit. Each garment is accompanied by historical details, bringing together aspects from both Europe and the United States. Particularly fascinating was the early sun suit of the 1930s, a daring two-piece swimsuit, the forerunner of the bikini. These original garments, by their nature and use, are too fragile to handle, making access rarely possible. However, the author has had wonderful access to museum and private collections, and has managed to carefully measure the garments. As a reference book, Vintage Swimwear will provide invaluable inspiration to costume designers and makers for correct period patterns and details of production. The styles and patterns will encourage those interested in the growing market for vintage wear to produce their own individual swimwear. The patterns and sewing techniques, which are clear and concise, could also be adapted to produce 1950s-style day or evening wear. The most interesting area of the book is the male swimwear. It takes the reader from the ‘athlete’s shorts’ of the 1890s, through the one-piece swimwear of the Edwardian era, to the trunks of the 1960s as worn by James Bond. Many of the pieces used as examples in the book are included in the current exhibition of swimwear (open until May 2014) at the Leicestershire Museums site at Snibston. B S Kay Goldman, Dressing Modern Maternity: The Frankfurt Sisters of Dallas and the Page Boy Label (Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 2013). 272 pp., 78 b&w, 26 col. illus. Hbk $39.95. ISBN 978-0-89672-799-1. Long before celebrity bump watching became a media sport, everyone who was anyone expecting a baby in America wore Page Boy maternity clothes. This book traces the evolution of the ground-breaking company and the American maternity-wear market, pushing some interesting cultural buttons along the way: female consumerism, Jewish entrepreneurship, and the rise of the Texas garment industry. Part of the Costume Society of America Series, it won the Texas Tech University Press’s Rodenberger Prize for a Texas history book written by a woman. Page Boy was started in 1938 by Edna, Elsie and Louise Frankfurt, three chic sisters fed up with the limited options in maternity wear. ‘The sisters never tried to create or dictate fashion’, but instead interpreted catwalk trends for pregnant women (or ‘ladies-in-waiting’ in contemporary fashion-magazine parlance). It was a revolutionary idea at the time. Page Boy bucked the conventional wisdom that women would not pay a lot for maternity clothes, 122  targeting affluent and professional customers. The sisters patented a slim-fitting skirt that would not hike up in front as the abdomen expanded, and capitalized on its success with shrewd marketing and innovative business practices such as lunchtime yoga sessions in the sewing room. The first Page Boy boutique was strategically situated on the ground floor of the building housing most of the obstetrics and gynaecology specialists in Dallas. The sisters served pickles at store openings, and held press previews at New York’s Stork Club. They made headlines by donating a pair of storks to a Dallas zoo, and Elsie garnered more free publicity by writing a maternity fashion column for the Dallas newspaper. They commissioned miniature mannequins dressed in maternity clothes of previous eras, from ancient Egypt to Marie-Antoinette. What these dolls utterly lacked in historical accuracy, they made up for in PR value, appearing in store window displays across the country. By the spring of 1943, wartime regulation L-85 limited the ‘excessive use of fabric’ in clothing design; skirt width around the hips was specifically restricted. Furthermore, twopiece suits — Page Boy’s trademark — could no longer be priced as single units. But the sisters found creative ways round fabric restrictions, adding mid-range garments to their upscale offerings, and, against all odds, actually grew the business. By 1946, Page Boy employed 100 people, most of them women; that number would swell along with the skyrocketing birth-rate. For American women of a certain age, Page Boy is still synonymous with maternity wear. Its spectacular growth began to slow in the 1960s; the sisters took pride in never borrowing money, which limited the company’s potential. Small and insular, Page Boy responded quickly to trends in a way that department stores and larger maternity chains could not. However, as its customers moved out of the cities and into the suburbs, Page Boy failed to expand accordingly. The company finally folded in 1994. Though Dressing Modern Maternity captures the Frankfurt sisters and their times, it would have benefited from stronger editing. Dates are imprecise, names are misspelled, and the prose is clunky and somewhat pedantic (when Elsie is named one of Mademoiselle magazine’s ‘Young Women of the Year’, we really do not need a complete list of the honourees). The book reveals more about business than fashion or family, but that aspect is fascinating, and impressive given the paucity of archival sources. While a definitive history of maternity wear remains to be written, Page Boy dominated the market for a full half-century — the mother of all maternity labels. K C-C Lee Chor Lin and Chung May Khuen, In the Mood for Cheongsam (Editions Didier Millet and National Museum of Singapore, 2012). 159 pp., col. and b&w illus. S$35.00. ISBN 978-981-4260-92-3. In the Mood for Cheongsam is a richly illustrated publication that examines the popular dress, also known as qipao, in Singapore in the twentieth century. The extensive collection of cheongsam and historical photographs in the book were exhibited in the National Museum of Singapore in 2012. The authors of the volume set out to explore modernity, self-image and nation-building echoed in the evolution of the dress. In the introduction, a thorough discussion of local culture and women in politics, education and the workforce gives an intriguing picture of the significance of cheongsam in different segments of society. It is refreshing to learn that cheongsam-inspired uniforms were instigated to boost self-image and confidence, disassociating the dress from being merely regarded as a symbol of exoticism.   123 Besides social changes, the rapid development of new textiles also helped to alter how cheongsam were made. Synthetic fabrics allowed tailors to offer more choices and styles. The use of local materials such as batik made the gown unique. On the other hand, the little black cheongsam became the little black dress for Singaporean women. Because the tailoring dictates a woman’s movements, weight control and femininity became issues of debate. The next section of the book scrutinizes how prominent women have used the cheongsam to create distinguished images. Whether they performed public duties or acted as private citizens, each woman integrated the gown into their daily lives. Mrs Lee Kuan Yew (Kwa Geok Choo, 1920–2010), wife of the first Prime Minister, tailored her gowns to suit each occasion. She was known for wearing cheongsam with batik motifs that showcased local designs. The much-neglected topic of producers and tailors is examined closely, beginning with a discussion on the immigration of Shanghai tailors and their training. The development of the industry is made even more interesting with a comparison to the trade in Hong Kong that shared some similarities. The best features in the book are the historical photographs that give us perspectives on how cheongsam were worn and the beautifully photographed dresses and patterns. Readers will find the glossary valuable and interesting. The definitions are not mere descriptions; they are illustrated with pictorial examples giving specific cultural context. For instance, darts were introduced by Hong Bang tailors who specialized in making Western garments in Singapore. Both popular and academic interests in cheongsam have remained consistent for many years; it is the focus on how this unique garment evolved in Singaporean society that makes this publication worthwhile. S N The Hong Kong Polytechnic University, School of Design Geraldine Howell, Wartime Fashion: From Haute Couture to Homemade, 1939–1945 (London and New York: Berg, 2012). 249 pp., 30 b&w illus. £19.99. ISBN 978 0 85785 071 3. This scholarly publication is based on Geraldine Howell’s doctoral research and provides the reader with a comprehensive guide to dress and grooming practices in Britain during the Second World War (1939–1945). It is the latest in a number of books that deal with the Utility Scheme and rationing. Colin McDowell’s 1997 book Forties Fashion and the New Look and Jonathan Walford’s Forties Fashion: From Siren Suits to the New Look (2011) are both copiously illustrated but without the academic rigour of Howell’s research, evidenced by its scrupulous referencing, that illustrates the rich primary source material she has consulted. Sources include material that informs us of official government strategy in the form of Board of Trade records, public responses from the Mass Observation Archive, and commentary from newspapers, magazines and trade publications. Howell describes how ‘changing attitudes to dress reflected the changing framework of political and social life in wartime Britain’. She covers the usual topics of rationing, coupon control, the Utility Scheme and the involvement of the Incorporated Society of London Fashion Designers, as well as home sewing and make-do-and-mend, but the level of detail is impressive. As anyone who has researched this period will confirm, the complexities of the various regulations implemented, the adjustments and the changes made during the period, can be difficult to follow. But Howell provides a lucid and extremely thorough account of the various initiatives, and her analysis represents an important contribution to dress studies. It is the context for the implementation of the various clothing regulations and rationing that makes this such a valuable book. The first five chapters are particularly crucial, for in 124  them Howell outlines the situation in terms of the availability of clothing across class divisions in the 1930s, and the range of clothing manufactured and where it was retailed. One of the key points to emerge from this context is the crucial subject of class. In chapter one, ‘Buying Into Fashion: The Social Background’, she outlines the huge gulf that existed between the classes in terms of the availability and quality of clothing. These divisions became of particular concern in August 1939 when 600,000 women and children were evacuated. This is vividly described in chapter five, where Howell explains that ‘nowhere were the living conditions of the poor so clearly reflected than in their lack of basic clothing’. This problem was evidenced as many children arrived at their destinations with inadequate and squalid clothes. It quickly became clear that, if the government was going to manage supplies of cloth and clothing for the duration of the war, such disparities had to be addressed. In chapter eight, ‘Setting the Ration’, Howell outlines the complex requirements that the Board of Trade had to consider when establishing a coupon purchase system and the subsequent Utility cloth and clothing scheme. The rationed allocations were based on average consumption, but earlier chapters have established clearly that this was hugely varied across class boundaries. Her discussion of the impact of clothes rationing is discussed in chapter ten with interesting references to comments provided by consumer panels and the Slough Borough Survey undertaken in September 1941. Both provided the Board of Trade with crucial information on how coupons were being used, what was becoming scarce and what was needed in greater numbers than they had anticipated. For example, it became clear that footwear was an issue, with children’s shoes particularly singled out as a problem. The intelligence gained enabled them to adjust and adapt strategy as the war progressed. Howell’s extensive research reveals the vital importance of the pre-war contexts in relation to class, clothing manufacture, retail and ideas about fashion style and the impact these had on the development of a strategy that was to keep Britons clothed during the war. C B De Montfort University, Leicester Kate Mulvey, Bikinis, Bell-Bottoms and Little Black Dresses: 70 Great Fashion Classics (London: Merrell, 2013). 192 pp., 250 col. illus. £17.95 flexibound. ISBN 978-1-85894588-0. A light-hearted reference book pitched at fashion-interested parties, this is a compact and easy-to-read addition to the bookshelf. The author brings her knowledge of contemporary fashion and celebrity culture to fashion history as she selects seventy great fashion classics. Mulvey explains her selection criteria as such: ‘In the fickle world of fashion, little is certain except the sure knowledge that the fashions come and go. But some ‘big hitters’ have stood the test of time and captured the imagination, evolving and returning frequently into vogue.’ The back cover of the book states that it includes ‘the most influential and exciting items of clothing of the last 100 years’ although the item selection is, in fact, broader and includes: ‘Edwardian blouse’, ‘Winkle-picker’, ‘Trilby’, ‘Breton top’ and ‘Jumpsuit’. The range is representative of the major European- and American-originated fashions, although a more global focus might have given the book a greater encyclopaedic and rigorous approach. Each entry generally follows a chronological order charting the item’s origin, subsequent evolution and impact on society. Mulvey writes in a fluid and accessible style, jumping through each item’s notable moments in history, its interpretation on the catwalk and on   125 the ‘street’, and notable cultural icons who brought it into vogue or, alternatively, disrepute. She focuses strongly on the influence and power of these cultural icons and how individuals or groups have excited the fashion landscape and revolutionized the future of the respective fashion item, stating in the Introduction: ‘Think of Jacqueline Kennedy and the shirt dress, Steve McQueen and the desert boot [. . .] these are the stars that made certain clothes cool’. Mulvey succeeds in drawing convincing connections between historic, political, social and cultural events, while managing to communicate powerful modern fashion mechanisms such as the trickle-up and trickle-down effect, and the cross-pollination of contemporary fashion influences. The entry on ‘Dungarees’, for example, follows the item’s first creation as denim overalls by Levi Strauss in 1875, through its evolution as bibbed overalls in America in the 1930s Depression, as denim dungarees worn by members of the British band ‘Dexys Midnight Runners’ in the early 1980s, and on to be reinterpreted in silk crêpe by fashion designer Roland Mouret in his spring/summer 2010 collection and later, worn seemingly with no layers underneath, by Hollywood actress Demi Moore. Mulvey understands that to attract an average audience of ‘fashionistas’ (as the press release refers to the target audience), the book needs to reflect contemporary interest in celebrity imagery and modern cultural icons. She therefore trades on the reader’s understanding of contemporary society with its preoccupation with image-making and product endorsement and the context of ‘fashion’ as public statement. The entries are written in a populist journalistic style with an upbeat, light-hearted tone, delivering colourful descriptions and some colloquial language. It states in the ‘Kaftan’ entry: ‘It is no surprise that the kaftan is now the number-one poolside-to-party get-up, and a staple of any woman’s summer wardrobe’. This can make the writing at times feel flippant and yet, overall, Mulvey manages to keep the reader onside and entertained. Mulvey also brings her current reading of fashion style to entries with most concluding with a suggestion of where the item sits in today’s fashion landscape; for example, in the entry on ‘Leather trousers’: ‘Sexy and shapely, they look good dressed down with a grey mottled marl sweatshirt and high-top sneakers for day’. These comments may be Mulvey’s professional strength as a journalist yet will serve to date this book. This will make a fun gift for the bookshelves of early fashion enquirers to pique their interest and focus their attention on notable contemporary Western fashion items. It may not be pitched to fashion historians or academics, yet it does well as the first port of call for those interested in learning the legacy and present contribution of some of fashion’s ‘big hitters’. C G Northumbria University Michael Pick, Hardy Amies (Woodbridge, Suffolk: ACC Editions, 2012). 304 pp., 266 col. and 252 b&w illus. £45.00. ISBN 978 1 8549 675 4. In some respects it is surprising that a monograph about the British fashion designer Hardy Amies (1909–2003) has not been published before. As Michael Pick shows in this lavishly illustrated biography, Amies had a remarkable and diverse career, notable for its longevity and his ability to adapt and respond to the changing nature of the fashion business. Probably best known as a couturier to Queen Elizabeth II, this was only a part of Amies’ wide-ranging contribution to the story of British fashion which encompassed everything from couture to the world-wide licensing of his menswear designs. Amies was a master selfpublicist and wrote two autobiographies — Just So Far (1954) and Still Here (1984); this book elegantly builds on these works rather than providing dramatic new insights. 126  The book is arranged both chronologically and thematically, which enables Pick to highlight important aspects of Amies’ personal life and career. What becomes obvious is Amies’ ability to make the most of opportunities presented to him, such as his first designing job at Lachasse in the 1930s where he replaced Digby Morton, and to develop partnerships (both personal and creative) which were supportive of his career. One of the most important of these was his relationship with Kenneth Fleetwood who started as a design assistant in 1958 and who became the head designer of women’s wear. Amies’ shrewd ability to grasp the economics of fashion as well as design is also clearly showcased by this book. He established his ‘Boutique’ ready-to-wear label in 1952, making the point in 1957 that: ‘As I can’t expand my couture business, I devote much of my energy to my ready-to-wear business, as I hate to be static’. This pragmatic approach was epitomized by his collaboration with the Leeds multiple tailors Hepworths which began in 1960. While Amies had already turned his hand to designing men’s ties, the deal with Hepworths allowed him to bring his design sensibility to the mass manufacture of men’s suits and the further expansion of his business internationally. The strength of the book is the variety of sources Pick was able to draw upon and the richness of the illustrations. There are design sketches, fashion and press photographs, advertisements, family photographs and royal portraits, although unfortunately only a few photographs of existing garments. Many of these images have not been published before. Pick interviewed Amies and had access to what remains of his personal archive and diaries (apparently Amies kept almost nothing of his past and regularly destroyed his papers throughout his life) as well as those kept by Amies’ sister Rosemary. These include the full reproduction of a four-page letter Amies wrote to his sister from Brussels in 1944 describing his experiences in the war-torn capital along with commentary on the fashions and design sketches for his London workrooms. From the insight provided by such a letter to his designs for the Queen, Pick has successfully woven together the varied strands of Amies’ life and career in fashion design, cementing his place in British fashion history. D S University of Leeds John Potvin, Giorgio Armani: Empire of the Senses (Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate Publishing, 2013). 410 pp., 183 b&w illus. £70.00. ISBN 978-1-4094-0668-6. It is easy, as John Potvin points out early in this rich and stimulating analysis, to assume that much has been written about Giorgio Armani (b. 1934). If one is talking about magazine features and column inches, the observation is undoubtedly true but, in terms of more serious comment, it is patently false. Despite some high-profile exhibitions and accompanying catalogues, in fact rather little serious attention has been devoted to the work of the man who is indisputably the most successful and durable of the Italian fashion designers who first made their mark in the 1970s. For this reason, this study is more than welcome. The author establishes very early on that one reason for the lack of in-depth analysis is the iron grip that the designer and his staff exercise over sources and access. The Armani archive is not in the public domain; it is not accessible to scholars and no help can be expected from a press office whose sole function is to ensure flattering coverage and to preserve the mystique of Armani himself. Potvin sidesteps this problem by employing a raft of cultural theorists to assist him in unpicking the meanings and appeal of the house of Armani, as well as investigating its economic organization and brand image. At times, the tone becomes pompous and the language convoluted, but overall this is a thoughtful and powerful analysis of a designer whose life and work are treated in terms of cultural biography.   127 Time and again, Potvin returns to the supposed ‘timelessness’ of many of the designs and appeals of the Armani product — understood as including the stores, advertising and catwalk shows as well as the many seasonal collections. Interestingly, he identifies the fashion imagery of the 1920s and 1930s as the key source of the designer’s classicism, although he avoids making any potentially embarrassing connections with fascism (pace Armani’s eagle symbol, also favoured by Mussolini’s regime). As a cultural historian, the author is more interested in social processes than aesthetics, but he is alert to material culture and its pleasures, a theme treated in his previous work. He is to be commended for paying sustained attention to fabrics and textiles, dwelling not only on Armani’s commitment to innovation in this area but also to the tactile qualities of his garments as well as their fluidity and softness. Chapters are devoted to the designer’s particular interpretations of masculinity and femininity and the way his various collections have worked with and against conventional gender roles. Armani the man is not neglected; his public image is explored, as are his various homes (or rather home images for public consumption), his celebrity ambassadors and his steadfast refusal to speak English in public, preferring Italian or French (a strategy designed to maintain his mystique, according to Potvin). Illustrated with some numerous black-andwhite images, this serious book makes a genuine contribution to understanding a designer whose work can tell us much about ourselves and the times in which we live. S G University of Warwick Roy Strong, Self-Portrait as a Young Man (Oxford: Bodleian Library, 2013). 296 pp., 48 b&w illus. £25.00. ISBN 978 1 85124 282 5. I might have become a historian of dress but the subject became crowded out of my life. However, I was the first chairman of the newly founded Costume Society at the close of the 1960s, keeping the peace around the table between the likes of Doris [Langley Moore] and the formidable antiquarian John Nevinson. In these few words can be found the reason why this journal is reviewing an autobiography written by an eminent art historian, former museum director, garden designer and author. The Costume Society will be celebrating its fiftieth anniversary in 2015 (I suspect that Roy Strong might add that the anniversary coincides with his eightieth birthday year) and amongst the roll-call of its past and serving chairmen over that period possibly the best known is Sir Roy Strong, though he was actually the third chairman, not the first! Many of us will have read his diaries which were published in 1997 and covered the years 1967 to 1987 when he was director of the National Portrait Gallery and subsequently the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. This book gives us the build-up to these years of glory, but also darts back and forth, drawing upon his archive which he has given to the Bodleian Library in Oxford, letters to and from friends and colleagues, and press comment. His fascination with art, design, fashion and the theatre are a constant theme running through this book and, briefly, one wonders how the trajectory of his career might have differed had he decided not to let the history of dress be ‘crowded out’ of his life. Amongst the book’s illustrations are several by the young Roy Strong and his precocious interest in Elizabeth I — ‘I had already set my sights on the portraiture of the Virgin Queen’ — developed at school in the sixth form, and later as an undergraduate at Queen Mary College, University of London and as a graduate student at the Warburg Institute. He read his way through books by Iris Brooke, the Cunningtons, Doris Langley Moore, Herbert Norris and James Laver. He opened up the visual world of the Tudor period to other academics and to an increasingly avid public. It is difficult to imagine the academic and popular work of David Starkey, the fiction of Philippa Gregory and the various televisual 128  forays into the sixteenth century without Strong’s significant and memorable exhibitions and publications from the 1960s well into the 1990s. He, however, perhaps more than many of the others, is aware of the significance of appearance and ceremonial magnificence to the Tudors and, at the heart of this visual propaganda is clothing and all the other aspects of adornment — jewels, make-up and wigs. He was certainly the first ‘celebrity curator’ setting a standard which others have striven to emulate to the extent that it is now sometimes impossible to know what his successors actually do as a day job because they are so frequently on TV, writing for papers and magazines, blogging, tweeting and offering sound-bites on radio. He cherished the day jobs at the NPG and the V&A, and understood that without the platform they gave him many other opportunities would not have been open to him. Since his relatively early exit from the V&A he has written constantly, designed gardens, lectured, enjoyed his life as a doyen amongst former museum directors, but is now also recognized as the innovator he was back in the 1960s and 1970s. Then museums and galleries were placid back-waters rather than what he experienced on his first trip to America in 1963: ‘Everywhere we went there was a huge emphasis on appearance, the galleries elegant, the works of art beautifully lit, the pictures clean’. Introducing that approach to the UK was one of his many achievements. This book should be compulsory reading for museum studies’ students because it explains in considerable detail how very different museums and galleries were less than fifty years ago; I recognize a good deal of what Strong describes, even though I entered the profession more than a dozen years later than him. The methods used to run national museums were as quaintly archaic as he describes, as was the incredible snobbery about family, education and social milieu. However, the pursuit of scholarship, the opportunities to spend years getting to know collections and the time to undertake research are often unattainable today when fund-raising, marketing and PR staff outnumber curators. I also recognize a number of the characters, and it is noticeable that the dead, who are not litigious, sometimes fare less well than those who survive. Dress and fashion historians will find this book a wonderful source of information about self-fashioning — a term he uses, tongue-in-cheek perhaps? Certainly, he is not a man who banishes the ‘before’ photographs, though he is vain enough to state how photogenic he realized he was when snapped by the top photographers — Beaton and Snowdon amongst others. His early fascination with the physical appearance of his research subjects translated into a personal delight in acquiring the ultra-fashionable male wardrobe of the late 1960s onwards. ‘I must have patronized every shop up-and downmarket selling the peacock’s feathers’ summarizes his tastes as a young man. Much of his early wardrobe was, over a period of time, donated to the Fashion Museum in Bath or the V&A, and has been displayed in exhibitions and published. He was equally interested in female fashions, and his tribute to the late Jean Muir, amongst other formidable women, designers, academics and writers that he discusses, is shrewd and warm. He characterizes himself at the end of the book as ‘a young man from nowhere who went somewhere’, but the journey itself reads as well as any good novel and I have already recommended it heartily to colleagues and friends, as I do to all readers of this journal. V C Iain R. Webb, As Seen in BLITZ: Fashioning ’80s Style (London: ACC Editions, 2013). 272 pp., 150 col. and 100 b&w illus. £35.00. ISBN 978 1 85149 723 2. The year 1980 saw the emergence of a new breed of magazine aimed at both young men and women and focusing on style, rather than high fashion. The Face and i-D were joined in September by Blitz, the brainchild of two Oxford students, Carey Labovitch and Simon   129 Tesler, publisher and editor respectively. In As Seen in BLITZ, Iain Webb does not cover the magazine’s entire history but focuses instead on the period of his own involvement, first writing columns about ‘creative and stylish’ people, then putting together fashion stories before becoming fashion editor in 1985. The book begins in early 1983 with Blitz # 9 and ends with the 1987 October issue published shortly after Webb had left the magazine for the Evening Standard and four years before Blitz folded. Most of the issues in between are represented by one or several photographs, polaroids, tear and contact sheets or fashion illustrations, interspersed with pages on Blitz’s ‘Designer Denim Jacket’ project and a few shots created for other publications. Each story features a brief introduction by the author, a list of the photographers, models, makeup artists and fashion designers involved and, most importantly, their own recollections. The memories of Webb’s co-conspirators provide a fascinating background to the images, many of which seem quite far removed from the slicker and more commercial fashion visuals of today. Several themes run throughout the book: the DIY ethos of punk translated into magazine production (small or non-existent budgets did not stop the putting together of a good fashion story), the different aesthetic governing models (striking looks were more important than conventional beauty), and the excitement and fun of working together to create something new. Webb’s overriding aim for Blitz’s style section is obvious, his favourite shoot being opposite the book’s title page. Published in September 1986, it shows three male models, one wearing a customized T-shirt with the words ‘We’re not here to sell clothes’. This sentiment is supported in Webb’s ‘fashion manifesto’ printed on page three and a statement in his introduction that Blitz’s fashion pages were ‘not about selling a look but about saying something’. For those unfamiliar with 1980s fashion, this approach might be a drawback. Designer creations and accessories are customized, juxtaposed with second-hand or appropriated clothes (one model remembers wearing his mother’s Marks and Spencer jumper); shots are deliberately blurred and colours altered. The focus is primarily on British labels such Bernstock Speirs, Scott Crolla, Bodymap and Katharine Hamnett, but with increasing inclusion of pieces by designers such as Comme des Garçons and Jean Paul Gaultier. Those wanting a more straightforward introduction to 1980s style, albeit focusing on London only, might want to turn to Club to Catwalk: London Fashion in the 1980s, edited by Sonnet Stanfill (London: V&A, 2013). Webb never claims to provide a history of the decade’s style. His book is an ode to 1980s image makers and magazine production and makes you want to take out your scissors and glue (or polish your InDesign skills) to start your own publication, or at least finally get that blog going. B B Museum of London The V&A Gallery of Fashion, ed. by Claire Wilcox and Jenny Lister (London: V&A, 2013). 160 pp., 130 col. illus. Pbk £14.99. ISBN 9781851777525. With two of the Victoria and Albert Museum’s highly respected fashion curators as editors, this publication reaches beyond the mere coffee-table book or museum souvenir (although I feel that these may be the two main markets). This book is a companion to the 1984 Four Hundred Years of Fashion, the first time a partial catalogue of the dress collections at the V&A had been published. The new book does not pretend to compete, as it has a good deal less text but it also has more colour photography. Instead, it presents a snapshot of some 130  of the glories of the collection, ordered into short periods of history, and beginning, like the displays in the museum, in 1750 (unlike its predecessor which began in 1600). It is a very attractive volume with some old favourites such as the vast 1750s mantua (plate 1), the Charles James 1938 surreal print dress (plate 110) or Dior’s fabulous Zamire gown of 1954 made for Lady Sekers (plate 128). But there are some nice new surprises, too — the glorious evening dress for a lady in mourning of around 1825 (plate 23) or the three aniline-dyed dresses in blue, green and magenta which fill pages 58 and 59, or the striking evening/dance dress by Voisin from about 1925 (plate 90). Some of these are recent acquisitions, and we do get a feel of the full breadth of the museum’s holding of fashionable dress. Interspersed with the photographs of surviving dress and accessories are a few judiciously chosen portraits, fashion drawings or magazine covers and, with the concise but helpful introduction, the publication manages a delightful overview of the V&A’s approach to fashion. My only reservation was with the choice of the more recent material, 1975 onwards, but with so many treasures in its reserve collections, this is where personal preference is particularly clear, and even here, the selection ends on a high note with the wonderfully dramatic silvered-leather dress of 2011 by Gareth Pugh. I will be pressing my museum shop to stock this book and would urge anyone to get a copy. If nothing else, you will see a clever selection of really first-rate fashion, beautifully mounted and photographed. M L Gallery of Costume, Platt Hall, Manchester