At first glance, we seem bombarded with clothing options. Never before in history have there been so many stores and styles to chose from. Don’t like the ‘fast fashion’ of the malls? There are vintage shops a-plenty. Having trouble finding a specific item you see in your mind? Go online and you’ll probably uncover something similar.

As clothing has become more and more central to our identities, styles have multiplied exponentially, like molecules in a petri dish.

But not everyone is represented in the innumerable items on the rack. As Jeanne Beker recently wrote about a friend of hers who uses a wheelchair, many people still get left out of the fashion industry despite declarations of democracy.

Karen Bowersox, an entrepreneur from Mentor, Ohio, noticed that it didn’t matter how many times her granddaughter Maggie rolled up her jeans. They never fit properly, and she was left constantly tripping over them.

Maggie has Down syndrome, the condition caused by the presence of an extra 21st chromosome. People with Down syndrome often share physical characteristics such as thicker necks, short limbs, slanting shoulders and protruding stomachs, which makes finding clothes exceedingly difficult. Traditionally, people with Down syndrome and their parents would adjust regular clothes. Getting every piece of clothing custom-made or tailored is something only a Parisian couture-buyer could afford.

Bowersox discovered no one was producing clothing specifically for people with Down syndrome. Despite having no background in fashion, she founded Downs Designs. She initially thought that she could just alter pre-existing clothes, but realized that there were enough unique issues to warrant starting from scratch. Designer Jillian Jankovsky came on board and the women began work on an entirely new system of sizing, which they called ‘Down Sizing.’

“Because of the enormous task of creating a size that had never existed before,” Bowersox says, “We started with adult-size jeans and a simple long-sleeve t-shirt.” To accommodate larger stomachs (caused by low muscle tone), Downs Designs offers jeans which are lower in the front. As people with Down Syndrome often have trouble with buttons and zippers, the pants feature elastic waistbands.

Although she had the help of eight testers with Down syndrome, Bowersox wanted to be sure her clothing would fit a good cross-section of people. It would have been tragic if, after all the work, her clothes still didn’t fit right. She packed up her samples and set out for The National Down Syndrome Congress Conference in Orlando, Florida. With nothing for sale yet, she enlisted attendees to try on the clothes. Based on their feedback, she made modifications.

“There are six million people in the world with Down syndrome and they come in all shapes and sizes. But over these last two years I feel that we have captured their uniqueness and will be able to accommodate most in some capacity.”

Finding a company to make the clothes was another trial. American manufacturers thought it was too risky an endeavor. The so-called democratization of fashion only works when money’s involved. Eventually Bowersox found a jeans factory in China willing to make the pants, which led her to another one for shirts. She and Jankovsky have flown there to see the factories themselves and pick out fabrics.

Currently offering staples like jeans and shirts, Bowersox wants to move Downs Designs into different areas, including more items for children and teens. Whether there is a large enough market for Downs Designs in the long run is impossible to know yet, but so far the response has been encouraging.

“I am in awe over the support I have received,” Bowersox says. “Mothers from all over the world have shared their gratitude… By the time my 6-year-old granddaughter cares what she wears, I hope she can shop at ‘grandma’s store’ for all her needs. I hope she will grow up with one less challenge in her life.”

There are all sorts of clothes out there to help you become a Goth or Punk, a Business Woman or a Vintage Queen. But we also need a diversity of clothing to help give everybody the chance to decide how they want to express themselves. Clothing can help create a myriad of identities, but sometimes the most important one for a person whose shirt has never fit right is Respected Human Being.

text by Max Mosher
images courtesy of Karen Bowersox

“I always sit in the front row,” I overheard a young woman tell her friend. “I’m a nerd.”

I could relate. A nerd myself, I arrived early at Convergence: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Fashion, Ryerson University’s first Fashion Studies graduate symposium that took place last November, and observed the over-caffeinated presenters as they organized their notes, unpacked their laptops and scurried about.

Other snippets of conversation that could be appreciated by WORN readers surrounded me:

“What are you wearing? I can see the Peter Pan collar!”

“There has to be a certain number of left-handed desks in the room. It’s called equity.”

“I’m going to wear my hat during my talk. I’m going to wear it until Wednesday.”

“You have every right to squeal; tutus are a sight to behold.”

“I’m not putting a name tag on silk.”

As the students, professors and guests took their seats, Sarah Portway, a Ryerson graduate student and one of the presenters, discovered her PowerPoint presentation would not load properly.

“It’s like I tell my students,” she said. “If there’s one thing that will screw you up, it’s technology. Late last night, I decided to be funny and create a pictogram. This is my punishment. Maybe it’s because my computer’s made of wood.”

I asked her if this was true. “Yeah, the outside is bamboo. My talk is about sustainability, so I should put my money where my mouth is.”

During her introduction, Associate Professor Dr. Alison David Matthews explained the title of the symposium. ‘Convergence,’ she said, means to ‘bend towards.’ It was a good metaphor for the diverse but overlapping topics discussed throughout the day.

Caroline O’Brien inspects a tutu for her talk on the Ballerina in Western Culture

From harem pants in interwar Paris to style blogs in the digital age, the presentations touched on the conflicts inherent in the study of fashion. Is fashion decorative or protective? Superficial or indispensable? Frivolous or feminist?

Artist, researcher and issue 13 contributor Ingrid Mida spoke about Canadian designer Ruth Dukas, whose blooming career was cut short in the 1970’s partially due to the federal government no longer subsidizing the fashion industry.

Designer Jenifer Forrest’s talk took up where Mida’s left off, outlining what happened to Canada’s fashion industry from the 1980’s onward. She argued that it should be categorized as a cultural industry (like film, music and books) rather than a manufacturing one, which would allow for more government support.

Portway, whose PowerPoint presentation did end up working, offered an inspiring vision of an industry which produces locally and doesn’t rely on goods being shipped around the world. “It all started with me being jealous of a dress I bought,” she joked. “I’ve never been to China, but my dress had.”

Ingrid Mida, Jenifer Forrest and Sarah Portway discuss Canada’s fashion identity

While Portway’s talk was concerned with what the West imports, Nabeela Ahsan shone a light on what we send away. After natural disasters, clothing companies send mounds of unsold items to foreign countries, for which they get a tax credit. Little thought is put into the garments’ usefulness or cultural appropriateness. As a result, evening gowns are sent to homeless earthquake victims.

The bags of clothes take up room in shelters, gobble up volunteers’ time and more often than not end up at the junkyard. Ahsan proposes an international program which would use local textiles to help clothe disaster survivors (working title: ‘Tailors Without Borders’).

Taken as a whole, the presentations showed where fashion has been and where it could go. They served to underline David’s description of the “incredible complexity of the fashion industry.” It’s a complexity Ryerson’s Fashion Studies program will hopefully continue to investigate for years to come.

text by Max Mosher
images by Sofie Mikhaylova

“Most of us realize that politicians have a unique talent,” British fashion editor Annalisa Barbieri claimed. “Give them an outfit or a sentence, and they put it together in the most convoluted, illogical and unattractive way possible.” The matronly frumpiness of female political figures, with their dreary clothing choices (power suits with shoulder pads, the ubiquitous string of pearls) has rarely made first ladies and female politicians trendsetters.

Robb Young argues in Power Dressing: First Ladies, Women Politicians and Fashion that this perception is rapidly changing. A fashion journalist for the International Herald Tribune, the Financial Times, and British Vogue online, Young says that now, feeling less pressure to blend in with dark-suited males (those shoulder pads did serve a purpose), political women are expressing themselves through clothing like never before.

Today the media report on political women’s style in the breathless manner used for supermodels and actresses. But where the clothing choices of male politicians are rarely more complicated than the colour of their ties, women “take a gamble” no matter what outfit they choose.

A female public figure who doesn’t put effort into her style is criticized for being slovenly and dull, like German Chancellor Angela Merkel (Karl Lagerfeld: “The cut of her trouser is not good.”) If she puts in too much effort, she’s a frivolous spendthrift, disconnected from the problems of real people, like former Spanish Vice-President María Teresa Fernández de la Vega Sanz, whose every outfit was documented on a website which questioned how she could afford them on her official salary. The memory of Imelda Marcos, who, after her husband was deposed as President of the Philippines, was found to own 1,060 pairs of shoes, haunts all political wardrobes.

Fashion is still an unspoken “f-word” in the world of politics. None of the subjects of Young’s profiles agreed to participate. This forced him to find unconventional interviewees, such as local designers from their countries, other fashion journalists, and people who worked for the women, such as Sarah Palin’s stylist during the 2008 U.S. election, who describes the difficulty of glamming up the former Governor of Alaska without ruining her folksy appeal.

While his topic is appearances, Young’s analysis is not superficial. He includes such controversial figures as activist Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Saddam Hussein’s wife Sajida (current whereabouts unknown) and three of South African President Jacob Zuma’s five wives. Fascinating details abound. Former US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright matched her jeweled brooches to her moods (a turtle for when trips were going slow, a spider when she wanted to look tough). Rebiya Kadeer, an activist for the Uighur people, always wears a traditional square doppa skullcap, which the Chinese government takes as a direct affront. Embattled former Ukrainian Prime Minister Yulia Tymoshenko, known for her blonde braided crown, was forced to unfurl and redo her hairstyle on national TV to prove she did it herself.

Looking stylish may help some women, but for others looking unfashionable is an asset: President of Finland Tarja Halonen’s clothes never fit properly, but her dowdiness matches her down-to-earth personality and is beloved by the Finnish people.

Fashion provides an original entry into the messy complexity of world politics, and Young gives it the intelligence, style, and wit it deserves. If he could be faulted for not developing stronger arguments, it’s due to the breadth and intricacies of his chosen topic.

A book that places former UK Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher (whose coif was so firm that she emerged from IRA bombings un-mussed) directly next to Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s wife Azam Al Sadat Farahi (little seen behind her black chador) demonstrates that, different as they may be, female political figures have at least two things in common. They all get dressed in the morning and what they wear, be it white pearls or a black scarf, will be noticed.

Earlier on this blog I argued that when we obsess about women politician’s clothes we prevent them from achieving equal footing with men. Robb Young offers another take: that political women, because of their wider sartorial choices, have a better opportunity to establish their background, values and personality through their clothes. But they must be careful: the world of fashion, like the world of politics, is very rarely simple.

Power Dressing: First Ladies, Women Politicians and Fashion by Robb Young, Merrell, 2011
reviewed by Max Mosher
photography by Samantha Walton

Every little girl dreams of becoming a princess—or at least that’s what people thought once upon a time. Nowadays, young women are more likely to look up to female pop stars, politicians, and professional athletes. But the Cinderella narrative, the hope of being plucked from obscurity by a handsome Prince Charming and showered with all the couture and tiaras one could ever want, still holds power in our collective imagination.

How else to explain the exhibit Grace Kelly: From Movie Star to Princess at the TIFF Bell Lightbox? The indisputably beautiful Kelly shot to fame in the 1950s as Alfred Hitchcock’s “icy blonde” in classics like Rear Window and To Catch A Thief, only to abandon acting to marry His Serene Highness Prince Rainier of Monaco.

Unlike the princesses-turned-celebrities Diana Spencer and Kate Middleton, Princess Grace went in the other direction. Her 1956 wedding was an international news sensation; MGM produced the official documentary, thus delivering the final film on her contract. Princess Grace turned tiny Monaco into a glamorous weekend getaway for her Hollywood friends. Gradually retreating from the camera’s gaze, she wrote poetry and pressed flowers, only to die in a car crash at age 52.

“Grace Kelly brings together the Golden Age of Hollywood, European royalty and the very best of 20th century fashion,” says Noah Cowan, Artistic Director of the TIFF Bell Lightbox. “Considered the epitome of elegance and glamour, she was also among the most significant taste-makers for women around the world.”

The show features personal items from Kelly’s time as Hollywood royalty (telegrams signed “Affectionately, Hitch”) and actual royalty (her famous Hermès purse, eventually renamed ‘the Kelly Bag’, with which she cleverly hid her pregnancy).

Despite her fruitful relationship with costume designers Helen Rose and Edith Head, most of the items on display are from Kelly’s personal wardrobe. In lieu of the glamorous gowns she used to seduce Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart, we have the simple flower-patterned frock, from an easy-to-sew catalogue, she wore on the fateful day she met Prince Rainier. (A power outage prevented her from ironing the fancier dress she planned on.) It mattered not, as the couple were engaged three days later.

Also on display is a replica of Kelly’s bridal gown. The original was donated to the Philadelphia Museum of Art shortly after the wedding and is too fragile to travel. The gown, as Cowan explains, is thought by many to be French couture but was actually designed by Kelly’s MGM costumer Helen Rose, an example of Kelly’s overlapping careers as actress and royal.

The Princess’s ‘style icon’ status rests on the classic elegance of her 1950s look, but the exhibit documents her move away from grey tailored Dior suits to Yves Saint Laurent’s famous Mondrian dress and Marc Bohan’s colourful caftans in the 1960s, with, as Cowan puts it, “their corresponding turbans.” Then, after a dark silk jersey caftan designed by Madame Grès, photos of which later inspired Halston, the outfits stop, with no mention of what Princess Grace wore in the last decade of her life.

Afterwards, in the gift shop, as the sales clerks brought out the Kelly memorabilia, I thought about the marketability of celebrity. To be a Royal Highness is, presumably, to achieve a greater level of prestige than that of an actor, but we admire most Kelly’s screen persona—an elegant blonde who always kept her cool.

Becoming a princess solidified Kelly’s fame and crowned her with the adjective “regal,” but it also silenced her and flattened her image to that of a commemorative stamp. Hitchcock wanted the Princess to star in his film Marnie, but Prince Rainier reportedly nipped the idea in the bud. Introducing a classical-inspired draped gown by Christian Dior, which she wore when pregnant, Cowan comments: “Princess Grace did what any good princess should do, and created heirs.”

The glamour of royalty notwithstanding, as I picked up the Grace Kelly Barbie Doll, I hoped we could create a future for little girls more fulfilling than ‘happily ever after.’

text and images by Max Mosher

Grace Kelly: From Movie Star to Princess runs until January 22, 2012 at Toronto’s TIFF Bell Lightbox. Along with the exhibit, TIFF will be screening Grace Kelly films Rear Window, To Catch A Thief and Dial M for Murder as part of their series Icy Fire: The Hitchcock Blonde.