Presence explores how sound expands the body to take up audible space. This idea echoes throughout the exhibit, but in this section we focus on how fashion has enabled Western women to take up public and private spaces throughout history.
In earlier eras, a woman was announced by the rustle of silk skirts. The luxury material naturally produces a sound, which is called scroop. Scroop also became the name for an acidic finish applied to silk and synthetic imitations that could enhance the crisp, rasping sound. Why did this hushed rustle become desirable enough to compose the sound with additional manufacturing steps? Perhaps because the swish of these full skirts whispered promises of romance and sounded feminine ideals. Cosmo Hamilton, an English playwright and author, wrote the book The Rustle of Silk in 1922, and said that the sound “epitomized beauty and softness and scent, laughter, filmy things and love.” This description highlights what the luxurious rustle meant; however, the 1920s were not known for rustling silk. As some women’s voices crescendoed with suffrage, access to education, and new career opportunities in the 20th century, so too did the sound of their dresses. The 1920s brought percussive beads and the 1960s saw new synthetics that rasped, crackled, and squeaked. Femininity was redefined by different designers, which could mean loud liberation, quiet nonchalance, or dissonant dress. As women continue to raise their voices, the iconic sounds of their fashion change as well.
Worn in Boston, Massachusetts ca. 1850s
Purple Silk Dress
Silk gown with glazed cotton lining, leavers lace, velvet trims and crochet buttons
Donated by Miss Luella Williams
CF+TC #2512
Resoundingly vivid with its bright purple hue, this handmade silk day dress echoes the fashionable silhouette of the 1850s, which was defined by a small waist, drooping shoulders, and a voluminous skirt that steadily grew in size through the decade. Luminous taffeta silk was in vogue since it was light enough to wear over several petticoats while still retaining enough body to maintain its shape. Due to the silk and the numerous stiffened petticoats worn beneath it to fill out the skirt, dresses like this one swished and rustled with movement. The 1850s saw significant advancements in chemistry and technology that greatly influenced fashion. The bright and rich purple hue called ‘mauveine’ developed by William Perkins quickly gained popularity and led to multiple innovations in dye-making. This dress is a reverberant example of the significant developments of that time.
New York, c. 1890
Black Two-Piece Lace Dress
Tissue silk, net, cotton (for the floral embroidery)
Donated by Elinor Anderberg, in memory of Mary Winfred Huntley Anderberg, worn by Jennie Bacon Ralston (Chadwick)
CF+TC #5182ab
While today we might associate elegant ball gowns with dancehall venues and special occasions, dresses such as this would have been worn for more than just a few hours. Its sounds may have weaved in and out of the texture of string and vocal music, yet its inner sound world was, and remains, just as lively. For one, the swishing and swaying of skirts was a particular marker of nineteenth-century femininity and was considered desirable. Sericin, the protein created by silkworms, gives silk a high degree of friction and causes its ruffle, which is also known as scroop (or frou-frou). Silk’s sound, rather than polluting, warms a space and atmosphere. Like the resin applied to violin strings, sericin amplifies the vibrations of the fabric’s sound already set in motion, and provides an additional voice in the polyphony of the garment’s fabric as it blends into various soundscapes, musical or silent.
American, 1950s
Peach net dress
Dress with peach and green skirt netting, and taffeta lining
CF+TC #1997.02.018
In 1947, Christian Dior debuted his “New Look.” It was an ultra-feminine silhouette that emphasized the bust, then nipped into a tiny waist before cascading into full skirts. The look spoke to a desire for romance after the long years of World War II, and it became the silhouette of the 1950s. This dress has that classic shape, and leans into a romantic look with the sweetheart neckline under the peach netting that pleats into a peter pan collar. Calling back to previous eras, this dress speaks in a similar fashion. The skirt is lined with taffeta, a lustrous fabric that is the source of the skirt’s vocalization. This material has crispness, which makes a rustling sound when rubbed together gently. Thus, with the longing for romance, the familiar rustling of skirts returned.
American, 1920-1929
Gold beaded dress
Net foundation covered entirely with glass beads and sequins forming trail designs and medallions
Donated by Bruce Eissner, originally owned by his mother, Judith Eissner
Conserved by Lila Frost
CF+TC #1995.07.010
In 1920s America, jazz became so popular that the decade has been called the Jazz Age. Music was not the only dramatic change, but it was necessary for the creation of dresses like this one. Eveningwear with layers of fringed beads that made percussive sounds with movement speaks to the rise of jazz. Also, while not the only cause of the silhouette change, the freedom of sleeveless dresses with higher hemlines were required for jazz dances like the Charleston. Jazz expanded Black culture and Black women’s presence in mainstream spaces, and these beaded dresses expanded women’s presence beyond themselves through cacophonous sound. The women who wore them, known as flappers, became symbolic of women’s expanded presence in society. We can only imagine where this dress sounded, as Bruce Eissner wrote, “The dress […] was my mother’s. She wore it in the 1920’s, after which she seemed always to treasure it, although she never shared any associated memories.”
Waste Basket Boutique
American, 1965-1975
Metallic Disposable Dress
Silver metallic disposable paper dress
Donated by Florita Mortlock
CF+TC #2002.12.001
This silverfoil dress looks, feels, and sounds different than most clothing we see today. The stiff non-flexible dress creates a crinkly and crackly noise when touched. As disposable paper dresses by Scott Paper Co. became popular in the 1960s, other brands began to produce similar garments to capitalize on the increasing use of disposable paper goods. This specific silverfoil dress was made by Mars of Asheville, which sold between 80,000 and 100,000 paper dresses a week during the peak of the trend. The dresses were meant to be cut to the desired length and were only durable enough to wear a few times. Yet because of the eye-catching reflection and the familiar sound of crinkling paper, dresses like this one would capture attention.
Richilene
American, 1965-1985
Purple sequin gown
Purple dress covered in iridescent sequins with a iridescent beaded hem and a ruffled collar
Donated by John V. Rowan Jr.
CF+TC #1997.17.018
Richilene (a combination of Richard and Ilene Pacun) was a husband and wife designer duo that specialized in high-end cocktail and evening gowns worn by their socialite clientele. They were known for their customer-centric attitude, as both Richard and Ilene were quoted saying that they wanted society to admire their clients by exclaiming “Doesn’t she look fabulous?” rather than “Who are you wearing?” During this time, Ilene felt “the more liberated we (women) are getting, the more feminine we’re getting”, and reflected these shifting values in her line, which she described as pretty, sexy, and naughty. This dress is emphatically all three of those, as it voiced the femininity of the woman’s body through the shimmering sound of the beads and sequins.
