Alice in Wonderland [Tim Burton, 2010]

Last week, WORN’s Editor-in-Pants tried to schedule a staff meeting. “I can’t come,” I told her. “I won tickets to an advance screening of the new Alice in Wonderland movie.” Apparently I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t make it and the meeting ended up being rescheduled. “Maybe you could write about the movie’s costumes for our blog?” she said, subtly reminding of how long it had been since I last wrote a post (her exact words being, “it’s been a long time since you wrote a post.”) I told her I would.
After my last class on Wednesday I bolted for the TTC, hoping to make it to the theatre in time for the 7 pm screening. Long story short: I was too late, and the doors were closed by the time I got there. “Well, that’s it,” I thought. “I’ll have no article to turn in and everybody in the entire world is going to hate me for being a terrible, terrible blogger and for making my editor reschedule the staff meeting for nothing” (sometimes I get dramatic when I’m tired). But gosh darn it, I had promised our good readers here at WORN an Alice in Wonderland themed blog post, and I am a woman of my word. So here you go:

Neco z Alenky [Jan Scankmajer, 1988]

It’s not like there’s a lack of anything to say on the subject of fashion and Alice. If I had a penny for every artsy film adaption, inspired runway collection, and magazine editorial entitled “Through the Looking Glass” I would have enough cash to buy not only my own movie ticket, but theatre-priced popcorn – and that’s saying something. I want to start this post somewhere else, however. After all, my own introduction to Lewis Carroll didn’t happen with a visually-saturated interpretation of his stories – no, not even the Disney one - but rather on a more literally literary level.

Alice v Strane Chudes [Efrem Pruzhanskiy, 1981]

When I was a little girl I spent many holidays in British Columbia, visiting my grandmother. She had this thick book called The Complete Works of Lewis Carroll, and before I could understand what they were about, she would read to me his poetry – the Jabberwocky, The Hunting of the Snark, and so on. For my birthday a couple of years later she gifted me with an illustrated hardcover copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, two stories I would read over and over again. Alice served as the gateway to the books I would learn to love reading as a kid: stories about children who were bored with their humdrum lives, finding a way to escape to a world of wonder; the likes of Narnia, Harry Potter, the Phantom Tollbooth and others followed suite in my readings.

The Wednesday Play: Alice in Wonderland [Jonathon Miller, 1966]

Growing up however, I had no magical cupboard of my own, no Platform 9 ¾, no mysterious tollbooth and no rabbit hole to escape through. Being introverted and more than a little nerdy, I continued to seek my own escapes through what I read, and eventually through what I wore. Discovering fashion felt a bit like entering Wonderland; the first designers I really fell in love with were those like Alexander McQueen and Viktor & Rolf: designers who, with their clothes, created a world of the fantastical where practicality took second place to imagination. It became really evident why Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was a major inspiration point for countless photo shoots – at its best, fashion could share that notion with the story that the absurd is always so much more compelling than reality. I’ve tried to channel the more popular perception of Alice in my own wardrobe, occasionally donning that iconic cornflower blue dress and white tights when I run errands, causing my sister to ask “Anna, are you doing that weird thing where you pretend you’re a fictional storybook character again?” (Answer: yes. Yes I am).

Walt Disney’s Alice in Wonderland [Geronimi, Jackson & Luske, 1951]

My grandmother passed away last month, on the same day that McQueen did. Going back to her old apartment in B.C., I found her Lewis Carroll anthology (it seemed so much bigger when I was a child!) as well as a couple of tattered, fading books a relative had salvaged. Among them was her first copy of Alice, a copy which, according the scrawl in the front, had belonged to her own grandmother. It doesn’t surprise me that this book has been passed down through so many generations and yet continues to stand the test of time: another year, another half dozen photo shoots, another film adaptation – this one in 3-D, no less. I still haven’t had a chance to see Tim Burton’s version (at this rate it looks like I’m going to be shelling out for a full priced ticket) and I know it won’t be able to live up to the image of Alice I’ve constructed in my head. At the very least, I hope it can serve as the jumping-off point for a new generation to fall in love with all things Wonderland.

Alice in Wonderland [Cecil Hepworth and Percy Stow, 1903]

I can name more than a few reasons to watch and revisit the 1965 film Doctor Zhivago: the cinematography, the passionate love story, the incredible acting and, of course, the costumes that won the film the 1965 Oscar for Best Costume Design. With its lush costumes creating a stunning depiction of the time period’s trends, the gripping tale takes the protagonists from a lavish life of leisure to the poverty of war. Set against the Russian Revolution and subsequent civil war, the film takes place mostly between 1912 and 1921, creating a vastly different view of pre and post-revolutionary Russia.

Geraldine Chaplin plays sweet and supportive Tonya, Yuri Zhivago’s step-sister turned wife. Her introductory scene shows Tonya hopping off a busy train from Paris at the Moscow train station in a fitted, pale pink dress and overcoat with matching fur hat and grey muff. The costume garnered much attention from Director David Lean, a stickler for details in the film, who insisted on a few revisions to the design before it hit the set. In Doctor Zhivago: The Making of a Russian Epic, Costume Designer Phyllis Dalton explains, “That was a sad argument I had with the Director at the time because I designed that same costume in pale grey with a black fur hat because I thought she would be so sophisticated she would want to go with the utterly grown up thing, and a rather tight skirt that she could hardly run in, which was very in in Paris in those days.” Geraldine Chaplin recalls the conflict, saying that Dalton then had a white version of the outfit made, which Lean rejected since it made Chaplin’s teeth look “too yellow.” Dalton goes on to say, “David didn’t say he didn’t like it but he was quite adamant that he wanted a pale colour. He said ‘try pink’ …and it’s the most beautiful outfit in the whole film.” The look is elegant early 20th Century Parisian, a chic yet glamorous show stealer. Among the details Lean is known for implementing in his films, he is said to have made all his actors wear period undergarments beneath their costumes for added authenticity, though they were never visible in any of the film’s scenes.

Julie Christie stars as Lara, Zhivago’s mistress, muse and true love. Though Lara is an innocent young woman at the start of the film, her entanglement with a political fixture and notable womanizer named Viktor Komarovsy finds her in a flashy red number that Christie wore rather reluctantly. Claiming that she hated red and the way the dress made her feel, Christie initially refused to wear the revealing, vixen-esque gown, with its black tassel trimming and long satin gloves. “’It’s not a dress you would have worn, or Lara would have worn,’” Lean says he explained to Christie. Lara’s lover Viktor forced her to wear the dress, demonstrating his complete power over her actions, securing Lean’s belief that the costume was fitting for the particular scene. Whether it’s a crisp white puff sleeve shirt and floor-length skirt or a lavender evening dress with a matching bow tied in her hair, Lara’s costumes are some of the most enchanting in the film.

The rich, opulence of Russian culture at the beginning of Doctor Zhivago works in stark contrast to the latter part of the film, where communism takes power. The characters somehow look simple and even stylish in their tattered clothes and fancy furs, which are functional for the bleak cold. Through it all, the film’s title character, played by Omar Sharif, dons a classic fur hat and long belted coat with large lapels, as he braces himself against the cruel Russian winter and dominant Soviet rule.

-Anna Cippollone

Mary Lennox, played by Kate Maberly in the 1993 film version of The Secret Garden, is one feisty girl. She is determined, strong, and fearless, and refuses to let anyone boss her around. She breaks all the rules and doesn’t think twice about it. She is curious and intelligent, though intolerably ignorant. Mary is all of those things, and if that’s not enough, she is also extremely well-dressed, thanks to her (stereotypical) country bumpkin of a servant, Martha.

The first time I saw The Secret Garden, I fell madly in love with Mary’s wardrobe. Everything she wears, from the beginning to the end of the film, is classically beautiful. What I want to know is, why am I not Mary? I did go through a childhood dress phase…

The opening scene shows Mary being dressed by servants who wait on her hand and foot, until the earthquake that hits her home in India and leaves her orphaned.

When Mary first arrives in England after the death of her parents and a boat ride from her home in India, her outfits are entirely black, and would be rather suited to, say, Wednesday Addams. Mary can pull off the “girl in mourning” look just as nicely as Wednesday, though without the pasty skin.

“What would you like to wear?” asks Martha, “black, black, or black?”
“Are you blind?” snaps Mary, pointing at three identical dresses. “They’re all black.”

Mary’s style seems to grow and change as time passes. After some time spent settling into her uncle’s castle-like home, Mary’s consistent choice of a black, lacy dress and a permanent scowl wanes. As excitement in Mary’s life rises, so does the excitement that her wardrobe brings me. New textures (ruffles, knits, and pleats) and patterns (plaids and florals) are added, as is some beautiful winter clothing — which is one of my favourite parts of Mary’s wardrobe.

On her first visit to the secret garden, Mary opts for a pea coat, a floppy red hat, and two perfect braids. This is a look I plan on copying, shamelessly, when “new coat time” comes next fall.

Dresses like this one replace Mary’s funeral garb rather quickly. This ruffled, plaid frock is feminine and fun. It shows Mary’s true personality at a time when she finally learns to embrace it.

Even Mary’s nightgown, worn on many secret trips to see her cousin at night, is pretty. It matches the rest of her wardrobe perfectly with its pure white lace and pleats.

When Mary finally takes her cousin out of quarantine for a romp in the garden, she wears this white, frilly, lacy, ribbon-belted tea-party dress with white tights. She has come full circle from the “black, black, or black” dresses she wore upon her reluctant arrival at Misselthwaite Manor.

Mary Lennox will forever be held in my mind as a style icon. She is so much more than a fictional character to me. I’m sure that years from now, I’ll still find myself searching for screen-shots of her always adorable and immaculate outfits, and wonder why I never opted to wear plaid ruffles or braids with matching bows.

If only we could all be trapped in childhood forever, with a wardrobe like Mary’s and a secret garden to play in with our best friends. Our clothes would never get dirty, and we would always have fresh flowers to put in our hair.

- Stephanie Fereiro

When we first meet Clementine Kruczynski (played by Kate Winslet) in Michel Gondry’s 2004 film, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, she has blue hair. Introducing herself on a bus to Jim Carrey’s Joel Barish, she explains her reasoning behind the dye job. “It changes colour a lot,” she says. “It’s called Blue Ruin…this company makes a whole bunch of colours with equally snappy names. I apply my personality in a paste.” In watching this movie for the first time I may or may not have yelled at my TV screen, “Geez Clementine, why don’t you just wear a sign around your neck that says ‘tra la la, I’m so quirky!’” (I might have a problem with contrived one-dimensional “offbeat” film characters – yeah, I’m looking at you, Natalie Portman in Garden State). Of course, to the film’s credit, Clementine turns out to be a well-developed character and the movie escapes many typical clichés, earning Oscar nods for both Winslet and the screenplay. The reasons behind its success are evident - but since we are on a fashion blog, I will be focusing solely on Clementine’s hair.

As the film unfolds in a non-linear fashion (hey, it worked hard for that best original screenplay Oscar!), Clementine’s hair colour changes from blue to orange to red to green. While I gotta love any movie that treats a personal styling choice as a plot device – the hair colour helps keep track of the movie’s constantly shifting timeline – more appealing still is the way that it is unapologetically treated as a realistic artistic outlet. Clementine isn’t the first film character to express herself via hair colour; honourable mentions go to My So Called Life’s Angela Chase, Ghost World’s Enid Coleslaw and Whip It’s Bliss Cavendar. However, there’s something to be said for a woman who is more than a couple of years past teenager-dom willing to repeatedly experiment with crayola-coloured hair.

My own adventures with hair dye start a bit younger; going to summer camp in the ’90s, hair mascara was all the rage. The smelly, sparkly, purple-y goop joined Bonnebelle lip smackers and Caboodles nail polish as the must-have beauty products for the preteen girl set. Once I got to middle school, I was met with a strict dress code that deemed any unnatural or dramatic hair colours to be an “academic distraction.” My mother used to take me to her hair salon to get blonde highlights (occasionally I would be able to sneak by with a little bit of red in there). I made it through the eighth grade with the secret knowledge that at the back of my closet hid a bottle of L’Oreal do-it-yourself hair colouring in Purest Black.


From the first day (on the dot) after my eighth grade graduation throughout the bulk of high school, all I would need to change my hair colour was a quick trip to Shoppers Drug Mart and 45 minutes crouched over the bathroom sink with an applicator brush in hand. While black was my go-to shade of choice, I would occasionally experiment with the worlds of burgundy, plum, or other teen-angst-approved colours. Granted, I never went as artificially bright in my picks as Ms. Kruzcynski over here, but I could appreciate her need to express herself (and mark major changes in her life) with the help of some pigmented cream.

Unlike Clementine, I’ve somewhat outgrown my home-colouring ways. Purple locks aren’t as fun when it comes time to hunt for a job, and at-home hair treatments become a bit trickier when you live in a dorm and share a bathroom sink with 40 other people. Still, whenever I’m in the drugstore, I always make a point to stop at the aisle that carries all the shades of Manic Panic, tempted to give in to the little voice in my head (that sounds suspiciously like Kate Winslet with an American accent) saying, “do it! do it!”

-Anna Fitz