Recently, at the request of a student in my British
Literature class, I put together a short presentation on Steampunk as a fashion
and literary subculture. For the students in this class, it is their second year
to have Miss Lady as their teacher and they are quite familiar with my penchant
for using fashion to teach about history so I can teach about literature. They tolerate,
and maybe even like, this quality in me. I put together a short presentation that
covered Steampunk definitions, literature, the aesthetic, and of course, the
Victorian inspirations for the subculture’s fashions. Obviously, there’s no way
anyone could understand Victorian novels without observing the hyperboles of
femininity created by things such as the bustle and the corset or talking about
the corset as both a literal form of constriction AND a metaphor for binding
gender, social, and moral expectations right? And clearly no one could fully understand
any of that if I didn’t wear a Steampunk- meets- Miss Lady- outfit complete
with a brocade mini-top hat and sprocket earrings I made myself, right? It’s
not really my preferred fashion subculture, but it’s fun enough and I like a
costuming challenge. No, I didn’t wear brown and brass. Who do you think I am? I
did a black and pewter version, thank you.
Anyhow in the course of putting together my getup and the
presentation, I started thinking about Steampunk’s implications for third wave
feminism, or perhaps more appropriately third wave feminism’s implications for Steampunkness.
I didn’t quite have my thoughts formulated on this yet at the time of the lecture,
but when the students commented that the women in my fashion exemplars looked
quite provocative, I told them that somehow third wave was at play here…reappropriating
the corset to take control of your own sexuality, recasting it on an active
heroine rather than a fainting couch damsel, etc. After doing a little research
on Steampunk politics and ideology (an admittedly missing part of my presentation)
it turns out that, as I suspected, there’s plenty of thinking on this topic out
there. Makes sense: how on earth would you have a diverse, modern, often
progressive, crowd recreating aspects of an era known for imperialism and
gender repression, without addressing this?
People write about Steampunk as a space for empowering those traditionally
powerless in Victorian culture, using as examples stories with female sky-
captains…you know…for the fleet of dirigibles, or stories with positive
representations of queerness and color. Writers also explore the perils of
females being fetishized in a culture that is often so visual, or conversely,
the reversal of binary expectations that comes with the dandy, dapper, and
often high adorned versions of male steampunk dress. Additionally, there are
plenty of writings about Steampunk + race+ class+ sexuality and so on. I say
this having only explored the blogosphere and Steampunk Magazine. At the
moment, I don’t PLAN to research this further, so I haven’t looked at the
presence of scholarly articles yet.
The whole topic made me want to write about this in my own
preferred subculture(s) which I loosely describe as rockabilly. To be more
specific, I’m a vintage and mid-century lover, with an appreciation for all
things atomic and pin-up. Though I occasionally manage to look cool, in my
heart, I’m just geeked out on the history, so I went down this path long before
I even knew of rockabilly as a subculture or even a music. Though I sometimes feel like an
outsider and an interloper in the rockabilly scene, I enjoy the music and the aesthetic,
so I think it’s fair enough for me to put the rockabilly label on me. I’ve got
the bangs anyhow;)
Not unlike those who celebrate Victoriana, I have to
acknowledge that my outfits, and accessories…and accoutrements…and lamps belong
to a time that was often unkind to women, in addition to being unkind (oh dear
God I sound like my mom…unkind! By that I mean limiting, repressive, soul
killing, and sometimes dangerous) to people of color, poverty, disability. Oh
and the fast and loose business with liberties, like those guaranteed by the First
Amendment, which is like my favorite amendment, was also pretty shitty,
according to my watching of Good Night and Good Luck and my teaching of The
Crucible.
Does this present some problems for a feminist? Of course.
When I’m rolling on a girdle, or putting some pearls up on my décolleté so that
everyone knows what a perfect specimen of demure, classy, femininity I am, or
cinching my waist in, such that my tits look like rocket ships for all the boys
that were such heroes in the war...or Cold War missiles...or Cadillac fins, does it give me pause? Of course. Sometimes.
In between all the curling, and plucking, and shaving, and liplining, and nail
painting. And sometimes, in a general feminist concern,I wonder if the
opportunity cost that comes with trading intellectual activity time for
primping, is worth it for any kind of look. In the end, I’m me: Miss Lady. A
woman who defines herself by her power to create beauty and complexity with
visual adornment that is sometimes well thought out enough to be considered an
intellectual pursuit. So I probably won’t be giving up the fancyfying any time
soon. In any case, though I’ve often said that I’d like to walk around in a
little mid-century bubble, in reality I know I would have been unhappy with my
plight and the plight of others during this time.
In one of the writings about Steampunk, the author pointed
out that though the time period may have been repressive, there were many
strong individuals fighting against this oppression. Indeed repression gave
birth to the creation of a feminist consciousness and many people who
championed for its goals and related goals: Mary Wollstonecraft (as a Victorian pre-cursor and inspiration),
Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, Lucretia Mott, Sojourner Truth, Lucy Stone, Ida B. Wells, Amelia
Bloomer, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Kate Chopin, to name a few. Generally, I
also teach the activists of the early 20th century as a product of
rebellion against Victorian repression: Alice Paul, Emma Goldman, Margaret Sanger, etc. Not that
I long for oppression just so that we can appreciate the badasses that fight against
it, but it is one way to admire an era.
This is most certainly a part of my obsession in the
mid-century America. It’s the struggle, the tension, the collision of so many
things. I teach the kids that people sometimes (misguidedly) look back on the
1950s as a golden and perfect time, but that you really don’t have to scratch
the surface very deeply in order to see that this isn’t true.
A great example of this, to me, is Marilyn Monroe. (FYI
after reading the recent Lois Banner photo/bio book of Monroe, I put together a
monstrously long ode to her…but lost it. As soon as I manage to reread the book
and recreate all my thoughts, it will be here.) I know that not everyone would
think of her as any sort of gender rebel; in fact, many would think her as a
gender conformist. In my mind, she plays with the rules of the time, in order
to make herself arguably the most well-known icon of sexuality ever. In some
ways she fits the box: blonde and primped, exuding enough childlikeness to seem
girlish and submissive, but ever
in charge of her career, her image, her own
production company, and men’s desires. Banner makes the point that Monroe, who
was famous for playing the “dumb blonde” archetype, was careful to select only
the “dumb” roles with another side, or a “secret smart.” She knew when to cover
it up, when to take it off, and how to work a fucking dress such that the hot
mess of her sexuality was bursting out of her smooth cover, not unlike what
fascinates me about the 50s itself. She wasn’t a conformist to sexual norms of
the time; she was an artist at manipulating them.
Also worthy of fascination are the original women of rockabilly. At a time when the mass marketed fantasy for white middle class
women, and by extension all the people who were told they should be more like
this, was wedded bliss in the domestic sphere, these women (or really girls in
many cases) chose music pioneering and traveling the road, competing, more or less with male musicians.
I adore the growling rasp of Wanda Jackson, who mostly wrote her own songs as a
rockabilly musicians since the existing songs were written strictly for men.
The topics of the songs she wrote and/or sang eschew traditional gender
expectations…”Let’s Have a Party”, “Mean Mean Man,” “Funnel of Love”…in either
tone or topic. Also noted, I love the story of Rose Maddox (from the Maddox
family of songestry and matching outfits) nearly getting kicked out of the Grand
Ole Opry and refusing to play there again over a scandalous sleeveless fringe
dress. That’s right, girl; don’t let no one shit on your dress parade.
And of course, there’s the writers and activists (often the
same thing) of the time and just beyond. One of my favorite poems to teach is
Anne Sexton’s “Self in 1958.” I truly feel for the life that led to that poem;
so far it’s been the best vehicle for teaching my students, who often believe
that we are post-feminism, what it means to be robbed of your agency then and
now. I don’t know how much I can say about admiring the words and actions of
women like Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem in any essay already too long, except
that I do. Certainly connected to that are the millions of women, like my
mother, who though brought up to see the domestic sphere as their destiny, made
their way in the very male public spaces of “work.”
Truth be told, I feel more alienated by limited and rigid
gender construction in the modern rockabilly culture that emulates the
mid-century history than the history itself. To be clear, between the dance
scene, the music scene, the fashion scene, the car scene, etc and all the
related scenes like hillbilly, burlesque and more, I find plenty of progressive
people who are complex in their thinking, artistry, aesthetic, gender politics, and other things people put
in lists. HOWEVER, there is a very strong contingent that makes me feel as if I
need to have been married by 21, birthing a rockabilly baby already, and riding
in my man’s hotrod as an accessory, in order to claim to be authentically rockabilly.
Combine that with my inner dorkiness and this explains why I always feel like
an imposter. Most of the time, I’m not unhappy about that. If any people are going
to get subjugated into an accessory, it ain’t me.
Related to that is a seeming anti-intellectual bent to the
culture. I understand perfectly well that some are emulating the working class
of the mid-century. But I’m always baffled at the need to preserve some things
that a little bit of thought could dispel, like racism or sexism, or the need
to actually be working class in order to be considered authentic, rather than
just a weekender who, you know, needs a reliable import to drive to work. I’m
assuming this is connected; I’m having trouble finding scholarly or even
bloggerly writing that takes on the topic of gender politics in modern rockabilly
subcultures. I’ve found articles on women in the history of rockabilly and a
few photo books which may address this, but no in-depth writing so far. Still looking.
So where do I land? How do I justify the look, when I swear
that the personal (fashion ethos) is political? The best explanation is
connected to the women of the time period that I love. I tap into existing expectations,
so I can knock them down. Really think I look demure in my petticoat? Wait till I cuss
more than my sailor father and your sailor father anybody’s sailor father that
ever was. Do you think that a woman who only owns pink suits can't be excellent at her job? Watch me. That sorta thing.
As always I could be kidding myself about my power to
transcend oppression and its symbolism simply with my sassy reappropriations.
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