Cabinet of Curiosities: Fashion Shows and the Silent Spectacle

Welcome to Cabinet of Curiosities, my new series on the blog that unpacks the distinctively Gothic imagery that permeated Avant-Garde Fashion shows at the turn of the new millennium! From sanitariums to sanctums, from highwaymen to vampires to ghosts, the worlds and figures of this fashion moment seem like something straight out of a novel, and yet through the space of the fashion show, the novel takes an entirely new form. This series aims to unpack this 21st century Gothic revival as a symptom of something larger beyond the stage of the catwalk, and more broadly, prod at why fashion, in particular, became a major vehicle of this revival. This is the Cabinet of Curiosities, a tour of our world told through the haunted remains of collected objects.


Okay, welcome back; i know it’s been a while, but I promise I’m back on my odd blog-thesis hybrid project. I’m glad that at least I have the blog and our very special audience to validate my correlation between fashion and a novel kind of literature, but I do feel like for the less textually daring readers out there, I do need to defend my central argument a bit.

I might not be able to read too many texts at once, but I can definitely read all of these clothes! Labelling, popularized today by Off-White’s Virgil Abloh and Dolce and Gabbana back in the day, is one way in which fashion on the runway tries to make explicit the semiotic relationship between a garment and it’s function, connotation or intention.

This project centers on a very prominent question of narrative medium.  To see the speechless form of fashion shows as a kind of reinvention of literary tropes from 19th century novels challenges the convention that narrative is rooted in a system of written or oral language. That isn’t to say that fashion shows are entirely devoid of linguistic assistance, as many shows often offer their audiences some kind of written statement to contextualize the spectacle, but it is evident that the fashion show is largely presented visually and without the guiding presence of language that seems to epitomize narrative, and so fashion’s role as a storytelling object may seem dubious.

HOWEVER, despite fashion’s limited speech, show season is perpetually surrounded by a discourse of literary vocabulary, describing the distinct narratives, settings and characters of each show.  As an example, in describing her role in the Dior 1999 Haute Couture show, model Marisa Berenson exclaimed: “well I was the mother of the bride, and it was a rather unhappy family.  Very grand, very aristocratic, very embittered by life.”  More contemporarily, and bringing in yet another Drag Race reference, who could forget Kennedy Davenport’s crystallized “death-becomes-her” runway narrative???

This implication that mute garments somehow articulate some kind of persona may seem unusual, and yet, the notion that clothing communicates something worldly or expressive is evidently the foundation of much of fashion publishing from the past century and beyond.

An early theorist on fashion’s capacity to communicate ideas was semiologist Roland Barthes, who probed at fashion’s system of communication in many of his works. In an essay for the Revue Françise de Sociologie, titled ‘Blue is in Fashion this Year’, Barthes writes: “When I read in a fashion magazine that the accessory makes spring time, that this women’s suit has a young and slinky look, or that blue is in fashion this year, I cannot but see a semantic structure in these suggestions (...) I see imposed upon me a link of equivalence between a concept (spring, youth, fashion this year) and a form (the accessory, this suit, the colour blue), between a signified and a signifier”.  This semantic structure went on to be the focus of Barthes’ seminal work on the topic, The Fashion System, which tracks the written tendency to use fashionable clothing as objects onto which immaterial characteristics are imposed. Throughout The Fashion System, Barthes elucidates how clothing is rarely the speaker, or generator of meaning, but rather a mouthpiece through which fashion authorities (editors, designers, etc) articulate their particular ideals, often in an attempt to imbue these garments with special meaning to make them more desirable commodities.  And while he conducted this study in the mid 20th century, much of the same discourse purveys well into the 21st and onwards, though through a shift in the constitution of fashion authority.

The man, the myth, the legend himself, Roland Barthes and his ever-present cigarette.

The man, the myth, the legend himself, Roland Barthes and his ever-present cigarette.

The digital age brought about a novel system of writing about fashion beyond the scope of magazines (of which there were many).  From personal fashion blogs to YouTube channels dedicated to fashion analysis, to entire programs of study dedicated to the reading of fashion as texts, the discourse on fashionable garments expanded to no end, and yes that includes our favorite fashion blog, MODA Blog ;)

The goal of the literary work (of literature as work) is to make the reader no longer a consumer, but a producer of the text

Evidently, much of this writing still falls within Barthes’ initial system of fashion semiology, conflating garments to worldly signifieds beyond the realm of clothing.  Furthermore, this widespread fascination with interpreting fashion goes on to epitomize Barthes’ initial constitution of writerly texts, which he unpacks in his analysis of Balzac’s Sarrasine, titled S/Z. In S/Z Barthes posits that the value of a text comes from its plurality, such that  “the goal of the literary work (of literature as work) is to make the reader no longer a consumer, but a producer of the text”. He goes on to affirm that “To interpret a text is not to give it a [...] meaning, but on the contrary to appreciate what plural constitutes it”.  When applied to fashion, it is apparent that the wide system of interpretation suggests that fashion objects are constituted by a kind of plurality, but at the same time, these interpretations are the sum of individual and unique readings of these objects, and so in order for fashion to fall within Barthes’ definition, this system of fashion interpretation must be seen as not an imposition of meaning onto garments, but rather an acknowledgement that within a fashion object, there is a multitude of potential meanings, that the meanings imposed onto fashion are infinite and unfixed.  

In case you wondering how fashion continues to match clothes and anything but clothes. Highlights include “I found myself thinking about Richard Nixon’s daughter Tricia, and what she might wear as a debutante, especially if she was going to Disneyland.”

To bring in the earlier discussion on narrative, an evolution on Barthes’ system is to complicate the semiotic system by directly conflating garments with narrative elements.  Rather than just drawing a line between a garment signifier (black dress) and an immaterial quality (flirtiness), several lines are drawn between the pieces of an ensemble to form one larger signified character or storyline.  We can understand Kennedy Davenport’s earlier interpretation of her garment as a case study for this, in which she conflates her show ensemble to a distinctive persona, milieu and history, embodied in the elements of the garment. Around the late 21st century, a handful of narrative-focused fashion designers such as Alexander McQueen and John Galliano would make use of this technique to describe their shows, and much of their brand identities became rooted in a hybrid of fashionable garments, spectacular presentation, and embedded narrative, which may have been brought to the audience through invitations, or press.

This series expands on this methodology to close-read a handful of fashion shows revealing lines between vestimentary elements and immaterial, narrative signifieds.  Specifically, I hope to bring the avant garde material garments of these fashion shows directly into conversation with immaterial concepts spawning from 19th century fiction and discourse.  This may involve drawing a line between certain fabrications, textiles or silhouettes and imagery, language or themes from 19th century novels, ultimately to unpack how these show elements mediate uncertainties around cultural shifts centering on the relationship between consumer and commodity.  These close-readings are informed and supported by discourse surrounding both the late 20th and early 21st century fashion scene, but also discourse around 19th century art and literature with the aim to illustrate how this thematic likeness between the discourse of these two eras reveals a succession between the two eras’ narrative media, and introducing fashion into the literary realm, and vice versa.

thanks to anyone who stuck around to this part, y’all are real ones.

thanks to anyone who stuck around to this part, y’all are real ones.


featured image via

Cabinet of Curiosities: Unpacking Fashion's Gothic Fascination.

Welcome to Cabinet of Curiosities, my new series on the blog that unpacks the distinctively Gothic imagery that permeated Avant-Garde Fashion shows at the turn of the new millennium! From sanitariums to sanctums, from highwaymen to vampires to ghosts, the worlds and figures of this fashion moment seem like something straight out of a novel, and yet through the space of the fashion show, the novel takes an entirely new form. This series aims to unpack this 21st century Gothic revival as a symptom of something larger beyond the stage of the catwalk, and more broadly, prod at why fashion, in particular, became a major vehicle of this revival. This is the Cabinet of Curiosities, a tour of our world told through the haunted remains of collected objects.

CW: Nudity,


In the flurry of fashion week during the Fall 2000 shows, British designer Alexander McQueen presented the fashion press with an image that left them in an uneasy state of tension. Staging his show around a giant mirrored box, McQueen had very mischievously forced the fashion elite to come face-to-face with their own steely reflections, and should they fear their own stare, they had the option to either pick apart their comrades or drop their heads to their feet, a gesture of fear of being watched and a sign of respect to the legendary enfant terrible of fashion. Though the game of control didn’t stop there, even more cruelly, McQueen left these poor editors to meet their own cold gazes for nearly an hour thanks to fashion week’s signature lack of punctuality, and so, for a fun sixty minutes, McQueen had forced fashion’s finest into the scariest staring contest in London, all while surrounded by the unnerving pulse of a heartbeat.

Eventually, the lights outside the box went down, and the lights within the box went up, freeing the fashion press from their own eyes and instead, revealing the real trapped victims: a slew of bandaged models, spinning around the padded walls of McQueen’s makeshift sanitarium. 

Left (via): Mirrored Box for Voss, Alexander McQueen (2000).
Right (
via): Meme depicting the face crack of the millennium, Rupaul’s Drag Race All Stars 2 (2016)

The glass walls of this box were actually two-way mirrors, the kind you may find in surveillance rooms, or more contemporarily, in the “face-crack of the millennium” reveal on RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars 2. Because the lights were turned off outside and on inside, the models were forced to confront their own reflections, and with bandaged heads and increasingly dramatic garments, they were reflections that seemed difficult to face.

On the left (image via): 19th century Japanese Screen, Pine trees and cranes, Yokoyama Taikan (1868-1958)
On the right (image via): Japanese-inspired straitjacket, Alexander McQueen, Fall 2001 Fashion Show

One model stepped out in a recycled Japanese screen, with her hands crossed in front and tied behind her like a straitjacket, while another stepped out in a skirt made entirely of mussel shells.  As the final model took her lap around her makeshift asylum, the pulse of the show grew louder, when suddenly the walls of another large box within the box crashed down, revealing the British fetish writer Michelle Olley reclining on a lace-covered sofa, breathing through a tube, completely naked and covered in moths, resulting in one of the most talked-about images in fashion history.

Voss Finale, featuring British fetish writer, Michelle Olley in Reference to John Witkins Painting, Sanitarium. image via

Voss Finale, featuring British fetish writer, Michelle Olley in Reference to John Witkins Painting, Sanitarium. image via

Praised for his ingenuity, McQueen went on to be recognized as a designer who epitomized the modernity of his era, producing more and more spectacular shows that hinged on the brand’s signature eeriness. Yet, despite the apparent contemporariness of his spectacles, McQueen, among other designers, unearthed a history of images from centuries prior that returned to the main stage of storytelling to haunt this new age. Perhaps in the mussel shell skirts, we can find echoes of the 19th century Ragpicker, a character from Victorian novels who survived through the repurposing of items discarded by the opulent upper class.  In the refashioned Japanese screens, we may re-imagine the distinctive Orientalist ornaments that filtered the poetic work of Oscar Wilde and his party of Aesthetes. And in the reveal of the haunting final image, we may come face-to-face with the dark secret haunting the glamour that surrounds it.  Here Olley’s naked, moth-covered body stands (or I suppose sits) as a refashioned Painting of Dorian Gray – a dark presence haunting the beauty outside its walls. 

On the left: Ragpicker in Paris c. 1899. (image via)
On the right: Erin O’ Connor in a dress made of Razor clams in McQueen’s Voss Show (image via)

McQueen’s ‘Voss’ show is part of a larger curious collection of runway shows that characterized the era. While supposedly obsessed with cultural novelty, this faction of fashion shared a distinctive thematic likeness to major works of Gothic fiction from centuries prior, signaling a kind of contemporary revival of Victorian Gothic romance.

But the question I keep coming back to is why was fashion such a prominent arbiter of this major thematic resurrection? Of all the camps of storytelling media that captured the digital era, what made clothing so special?

Semiologist Roland Barthes might argue that this refashioned Victorian revival is a product of fashion’s relative ambiguity and conduciveness to transformation.  His seminal work on fashion, The Fashion System, outlines how fashionable garments rarely speak for themselves, but rather, they are spoken for by a whole range of fashion voices. Fashion’s conduciveness to operating as a vehicle for meaning then lends itself to embody entirely contradictory and often irrational characteristics, hence why we can conflate black dresses with some kind of inherent sexiness or white shirts with some apparent studiousness. Relieved from any system of logical meaning, fashionable garments can be simultaneously modern and historical, or Victorian and contemporary; they can stand as placeholders for more profound questions about the world, or they can just be beautiful, expensive commodities. Fashion lends itself to a very unique choose-your-own-story kind of narrative in this way. 

Image 1 (via): Devon Aoki by Nick Knight for Alexander McQueen, 1997
Image 2 (via): Diesel, Stay Young/Save Yourself Campaign, Fall 2001
Image 3 (via) Sean Ellis, The Clinic for the Face Magazine 1997.

Fashion scholar Caroline Evans may add onto that argument through her unpacking of modern fashion’s obsession with deathliness in her seminal work on the era Fashion at the Edge: Spectacle, Deathliness, and Modernity, in which she diagnoses 21st century fashion’s proclivity for gothic imagery as a symptom of larger cultural shifts at the turn of the millennium.  From major advancements in the tech scene, to a burgeoning posture of queer communities across major fashion capitals, to a new age of commodity fetishism and toxic productivity, the digital era in many ways embodies a refashioned steam era, catered to the nuances of contemporary culture.  Through this lens, we may see how fashion shows inherited the former legacy of a particular literary movement, and of course, with that, we have to ask ourselves what that says about today’s consumers and their ‘reading’ habits.

On the left (via): Frontispiece for “The Horla”, by Guy de Maupassant
On the right (
via): Erin O’ Connor posing against the mirrored walls of McQueen’s Voss (2001) box.

And so, I welcome you all on this adventure through fashion’s gothic revival. Throughout this series, I hope we can reimagine fashion as today’s modern Victorian novel (whose very name suggests a kind of constant changing!), ultimately reshaping our initial concepts of both fashionable garments and narrative storytelling for today’s crowd of curious consumers.


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