What to Wear to a Successful PhD Thesis Defense? A Skirt’s Worth of Academic Rejection Letters

Some peo­ple are par­a­lyzed by rejec­tion.

Oth­ers, like Michi­gan State University’s Earth and Envi­ron­men­tal Sci­ences PhD can­di­date, Caitlin Kir­by, sport rejec­tion like a man­tle of hon­or… or more accu­rate­ly, a pleat­ed skirt falling to just below mid-thigh.

“Suc­cess­ful­ly defend­ed my PhD dis­ser­ta­tion today!” Kir­by wrote in a Tweet that has since gar­nered over 25,000 likes. “In the spir­it of acknowl­edg­ing & nor­mal­iz­ing fail­ure in the process, I defend­ed in a skirt made of rejec­tion let­ters from the course of my PhD.”

The cus­tom gar­ment, which Kir­by teamed with a dark blaz­er and red waist­band, was orga­nized in two tiers, with a tulle ruf­fle peep­ing out beneath.

MSU’s Career Ser­vices Network’s Direc­tor of Employ­er Rela­tions, Karin Han­son, told the Lans­ing State Jour­nal that rejec­tion comes as a shock to many high achiev­ing MSU stu­dents.

Kirby’s deci­sion to upcy­cle 17 dis­ap­point­ing let­ters received over the course of her aca­d­e­m­ic career was par­tial­ly inspired by a Parks and Recre­ation episode in which the skirt of Leslie Knope’s wed­ding dress is a wear­able col­lage of news­pa­per arti­cles about the char­ac­ter, drawn from ear­li­er episodes

More to the point, Kirby’s skirt is part of an ongo­ing cam­paign to acknowl­edge rejec­tion as a nec­es­sary, if painful, part of aca­d­e­m­ic growth.

The whole process of revis­it­ing those old let­ters and mak­ing that skirt sort of remind­ed me that you have to apply to a lot of things to suc­ceed. It seems coun­ter­in­tu­itive to wear your rejec­tions to your last test in your Ph.D, but we talked about our rejec­tions every week and I want­ed them to be a part of it.

And, as she lat­er not­ed in a tweet:

Accep­tances and rejec­tions are often based on the tra­di­tion­al val­ues of acad­e­mia, which excludes POC by not valu­ing the approach­es, research ques­tions, and expe­ri­ences that POC tend to bring to their work.

Kirby’s let­ters were culled from a vari­ety of sources—scholarship appli­ca­tions, sub­mis­sions to aca­d­e­m­ic jour­nals, and pro­pos­als for con­fer­ence pre­sen­ta­tions.  Unfor­tu­nate­ly and We regret to inform you are recur­rent motifs. About 8 let­ters were left on the cut­ting room floor.

But she is pre­pared to low­er her hem­line, when she starts apply­ing for jobs, fol­low­ing a stint at the Research Insti­tute for Urban and Region­al Devel­op­ment in Dort­mund, Ger­many, the result of a suc­cess­ful Ful­bright appli­ca­tion.

Fol­low Kirby’s exam­ple and turn your tem­po­rary set­backs into a pow­er skirt, using the tuto­r­i­al above.

via Boing Boing 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read Rejec­tion Let­ters Sent to Three Famous Artists: Sylvia Plath, Kurt Von­negut & Andy Warhol

T.S. Eliot, as Faber & Faber Edi­tor, Rejects George Orwell’s “Trot­skyite” Nov­el Ani­mal Farm (1944)

Gertrude Stein Gets a Snarky Rejec­tion Let­ter from Pub­lish­er (1912)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Decem­ber 9 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain, res­ur­rects Dennison’s Christ­mas Book (1921). Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

What Happens to the Clothes We Throw Away?: Watch Unravel, a Short Documentary on the Journey Our Waste Takes

When we throw our clothes away in the West, they don’t all go to a thrift store or to a recy­cling cen­ter or a local land­fill. Instead, every year 100,000 tons of clothes make their way across the ocean to India. In this aware­ness rais­ing short doc from UK-based film­mak­er Megh­na Gup­ta, we see the end point of these bales and bales of West­ern fash­ion, and the women and men who turn our waste back into thread. The thread then begins its own jour­ney, inevitably wind­ing back up as cheap import­ed clothes. And the cycle begins again.

Gup­ta lets the women speak for them­selves, in par­tic­u­lar Resh­ma, a young moth­er and wife who works in one such recy­cling cen­ter in Pani­pat, North India. We see her dai­ly life as well as the process turn­ing our castoffs into thread. Upon enter­ing the coun­try, the clothes are cut so they can’t be re-sold. Then women like Resh­ma remove but­tons, zip­pers, and any oth­er non-cloth com­po­nent.

Far, far away from even a pass­ing encounter with a West­ern­er (apart from what they’ve seen on the Dis­cov­ery Chan­nel), Resh­ma and her co-work­ers cre­ate a nar­ra­tive and an image of the peo­ple send­ing all these clothes. The West must have a water short­age, Resh­ma says, that is stop­ping peo­ple from wash­ing their clothes. The West also must have a very strange diet to pro­duce the plus-size gar­ments they keep com­ing across.

Now, the West doesn’t have a water short­age, but accord­ing to EDGE (Emerg­ing Design­ers Get Exposed), the cloth­ing and tex­tile indus­try is the sec­ond largest pol­luter in the world, sec­ond only to oil, pro­duc­ing 20 per­cent of glob­al waste water, and a glob­al waste total of near­ly 13 mil­lion tons of fab­ric. Pro­duc­ing cot­ton is water-intensive—with 5,000 gal­lons need­ed just to make a pair of jeans and a t‑shirt.

Recy­cling is important—it’s been a con­stant mes­sage to the pub­lic since the 1970s. But the glob­al foot­print that this film hints at, all those car­go ships, all those trucks, all that fuel and those miles traveled…is this real­ly a solu­tion? How do we stop the demand and the dis­pos­abil­i­ty?

The doc doesn’t answer those ques­tions, and doesn’t mean to do so. It just wants you to see a small fam­i­ly in the mid­dle of a large glob­al machine. They seem hap­py enough. But they also see their fate as God-giv­en, at least in this life this time ’round.

“You tend to get dressed for oth­er peo­ple,” Reshma’s hus­band says. “But at the end of the day you’ll be as beau­ti­ful as God made you. All peo­ple have a nat­ur­al beau­ty.”

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

M.I.T. Com­put­er Pro­gram Alarm­ing­ly Pre­dicts in 1973 That Civ­i­liza­tion Will End by 2040

Watch Oscar-Nom­i­nat­ed Doc­u­men­tary Uni­verse, the Film that Inspired the Visu­al Effects of Stan­ley Kubrick’s 2001 and Gave the HAL 9000 Com­put­er Its Voice (1960)

Google Cre­ates a Dig­i­tal Archive of World Fash­ion: Fea­tures 30,000 Images, Cov­er­ing 3,000 Years of Fash­ion His­to­ry

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

Vogue Editor-in-Chief Anna Wintour Teaches a Course on Creativity & Leadership

Imag­ine a famous mag­a­zine edi­tor, and smart mon­ey says the image that comes to mind has a bob hair­cut and sun­glass­es. No one has defined the role of mag­a­zine-edi­tor-as-cul­tur­al-force, and so con­sis­tent­ly lived it, more than Anna Win­tour, and the online edu­ca­tion com­pa­ny Mas­ter­class has some­how con­vinced her to take her hand off the wheel of Vogue — and put aside those over­sized shades — just long enough to star in a course about how she steers that behe­moth of a pub­li­ca­tion through the waters of fash­ion. “I know many peo­ple are curi­ous about who I am and how I approach my work,” Win­tour says in the trail­er above. “This is a class for those who want to under­stand my lead­er­ship style, and then under­stand the expe­ri­ences that have helped me become an effec­tive leader.”

You may well have already heard a thing or two about Win­tour’s lead­er­ship style, the famous­ly exact­ing nature of which has pro­voked dif­fer­ent reac­tions from dif­fer­ent peo­ple (and pos­si­bly even inspired a best­selling nov­el and its fea­ture-film adap­ta­tion).

But as Win­tour her­self explains it, “you need some­one who can push you, that isn’t pulling you back” — sen­si­ble advice even for lead­ers of com­pa­nies, teams, and class­rooms who don’t mind pro­ject­ing a some­what more laid-back image. But even for those who want to project as much indi­vid­ual strength and resolve as pos­si­ble, “it’s real­ly, real­ly impor­tant to sur­round your­self with a team whose opin­ions that you trust, who are not in any way fright­ened of dis­agree­ing with you, and you have to lis­ten.”

In her Mas­ter­class, Win­tour teach­es, in oth­er words, “how to be a boss.” That phrase appears at the top of its syl­labus, whose twelve lessons include “Anna’s Man­age­ment Tips” and “Edi­to­r­i­al Deci­sion-Mak­ing” as well as “Pho­tog­ra­phers and Mod­els,” “A Look Back at Icon­ic Cov­ers,” and “Trans­form­ing the Met Gala.” Though geared toward view­ers with an inter­est in the busi­ness of fash­ion (case stud­ies include the careers of Miuc­cia Pra­da and Michael Kors), “Anna Win­tour Teach­es Cre­ativ­i­ty and Lead­er­ship” also offers prin­ci­ples for any human endeav­or that requires inven­tion, group work, and meet­ing hard dead­lines over and over again. You can sign up for Win­tour’s course here.

FYI: If you sign up for a Mas­ter­Class course by click­ing on the affil­i­ate links in this post, Open Cul­ture will receive a small fee that helps sup­port our oper­a­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Annie Lei­bovitz Teach­es Pho­tog­ra­phy in Her First Online Course

Mar­garet Atwood Offers a New Online Class on Cre­ative Writ­ing

David Lynch Teach­es an Online Course on Film & Cre­ativ­i­ty

Enter “The Mag­a­zine Rack,” the Inter­net Archive’s Col­lec­tion of 34,000 Dig­i­tized Mag­a­zines

Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Bill Cun­ning­ham (RIP) on Liv­ing La Vie Boheme Above Carnegie Hall

George Orwell Blasts Amer­i­can Fash­ion Mag­a­zines (1946)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Imagined Medieval Comics Illuminate the Absurdities of Modern Life

In 2005, the U.S. Depart­ment of Agri­cul­ture revised its famous food pyra­mid, jet­ti­son­ing the famil­iar hier­ar­chi­cal graph­ic in favor of ver­ti­cal rain­bow stripes rep­re­sent­ing the var­i­ous nutri­tion­al groups. A stick fig­ure bound­ed up a stair­case built into one side, to rein­force the idea of adding reg­u­lar phys­i­cal activ­i­ty to all those whole grains and veg­gies.

The dietary infor­ma­tion it pro­mot­ed was an improve­ment on the orig­i­nal, but nutri­tion­al sci­en­tists were skep­ti­cal that the pub­lic would be able to parse the con­fus­ing graph­ic, and by and large this proved to be the case.

Artist Tyler Gun­ther, how­ev­er, was inspired:

I start­ed think­ing about the mes­sag­ing school chil­dren in 1308 were force fed to believe was part of a heart healthy diet, only to have the rug pulled out from under them 15 years lat­er when some monk rearranged the whole thing.

In oth­er words, you’d bet­ter dig into that annu­al goose pie, kids, while you’ve still got 6 glass­es of ale to wash it down.

The imag­ined over­lap between the mod­ern and the medieval is a fer­tile vein for Gunter, whose MFA in Cos­tume Design is often put to good use in his hilar­i­ous his­tor­i­cal comics:

Mod­ern men’s fash­ion is so incred­i­bly bor­ing. A guy wears a pat­tered shirt with a suit and he gets laud­ed as though he won the super bowl of fash­ion. But back in the Mid­dle Ages men made bold, brave fash­ion choic­es and I admire them great­ly for this. It’s so excit­ing to me to think of these inven­tive, strange, fan­tas­tic cre­ations being a part of the every­day mas­cu­line aes­thet­ic.

The shapes and struc­tures of women’s head­wear in the dark ages are tru­ly inspir­ing. Where were these milliners draw­ing inspi­ra­tion from? How were they engi­neered? How com­fort­able were they to wear? How did they fit through the major­i­ty of door­ways? What was it like to sit behind a par­tic­u­lar­ly large one in church? I’m still scrolling through many an inter­net his­to­ry blog to find the answers. 

Kathryn Warner’s Edward II blog has proved a help­ful resource, as has Anne H. van Buren’s book Illu­mi­nat­ing Fash­ion: Dress in the Art of Medieval France and the Nether­lands.

The Brook­lyn-based, Arkansas-born artist also makes peri­od­ic pil­grim­ages to the Clois­ters, where the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um hous­es a vast num­ber illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts, pan­el paint­ings, altar pieces, and the famed Uni­corn Tapes­tries:

On my first trip to The Clois­ters I saw a paint­ing of St. Michael and the dev­il almost imme­di­ate­ly. I don’t think my life or art has been the same since. None of us know what the dev­il looks like. But you wouldn’t know that based on how con­fi­dent­ly this artist por­trays his like­ness. After gaz­ing at this paint­ing for an extend­ed peri­od of time I want­ed so bad­ly to under­stand the imag­i­na­tion of who­ev­er could imag­ine an alli­ga­tor arms/face crotch/dragon pony­tail com­bo. I don’t think I’ve come close to scratch­ing the sur­face.

Every time I go to that muse­um I think, “Wow it’s like I’m on Game of Thrones” and then I have to remind myself kind­ly that this was real life. Almost every­thing there was an object that peo­ple inter­act­ed with as part of their aver­age dai­ly life and that fas­ci­nates me as some­one who lives in a world filled with mass pro­duced, plas­tic objects. 

Gunther’s draw­ings and comics are cre­at­ed (and aged) on that most mod­ern of conveniences—the iPad.

The British monar­chy and the First Ladies are also sources of fas­ci­na­tion, but the mid­dle ages are his pri­ma­ry pas­sion, to the point where he recent­ly cos­tumed him­self as a page to tell the sto­ry of Piers Gave­ston, 1st Earl of Corn­wall and Edward II’s dar­ling, aid­ed by a gar­ment rack he’d retooled as a medieval pageant cart-cum-pup­pet the­ater.

See the rest of Tyler Gunther’s Medieval Comics on his web­site and don’t for­get to sur­prise your favorite hygien­ist or oral sur­geon with his Medieval Den­tist print this hol­i­day sea­son.

All images used with per­mis­sion of artist Tyler Gun­ther

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Make a Medieval Man­u­script: An Intro­duc­tion in 7 Videos

Medieval Monks Com­plained About Con­stant Dis­trac­tions: Learn How They Worked to Over­come Them

Why Knights Fought Snails in Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inkyzine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Octo­ber 7 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domaincel­e­brates the art of Aubrey Beard­s­ley, with a spe­cial appear­ance by Tyler Gun­ther. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How Ladies & Gentlemen Got Dressed in the 18th Century: It Was a Pretty Involved Process

We can iden­ti­fy most of the last few cen­turies by their styles of clothes. But it’s one thing to know what peo­ple wore in his­to­ry and quite anoth­er to know how, exact­ly, they wore it. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured videos that accu­rate­ly re-enact the whole process of of how sol­diers and nurs­es dressed in World War I, and how women got dressed in the four­teenth and eigh­teenth cen­turies. Today we go back again to the eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry with two videos from Nation­al Muse­ums Liv­er­pool, one that shows us how Euro­pean gen­tle­men got dressed in those days, and anoth­er that shows us how ladies did.

One obvi­ous way in which dress­ing points to changes over the past few hun­dred years: both the gen­tle­man and the lady require the assis­tance of a ser­vant. The gen­tle­man begins his day wear­ing his long linen night­shirt and a wrap­per over it, Japan- and India-inspired gar­ments, the nar­ra­tor tells us, that “reflect British inter­ests abroad.”

To replace them comes first a volu­mi­nous, usu­al­ly ruf­fled shirt; over-the-knee stock­ings held in place with breech knee­bands; occa­sion-appro­pri­ate shoe buck­les and cuf­flinks; option­al linen under­draw­ers; many-but­toned and buck­led knee breech­es; a waist­coat (whose top few but­tons remain open to reveal the shirt’s ruf­fles); a linen cra­vat; a buck­led stock; a coat on top of the waist­coat; and of course, a fresh­ly-dust­ed wig.

Get­ting clothes on for a day in the eigh­teenth cen­tu­ry was even more com­pli­cat­ed for ladies than for gen­tle­men, as evi­denced by the fact that its video requires two addi­tion­al min­utes to show every step involved. We begin with the shift, an under­gar­ment worn with­out knick­ers. Like the gen­tle­man, the lady wears over-the-knee stock­ings, but she ties them with rib­bon garters (at least for days not involv­ing much danc­ing). Over that, “a knee-length white linen pet­ti­coat worn for warmth and mod­esty,” and over that, a stay made using whale baleen. Pock­ets were added in the form of bags worn at the hips, but bags known to get lost if their ties came undone — hence the nurs­ery rhyme “Lucy Lock­et lost her pock­et.”

Prop­er eigh­teenth-cen­tu­ry female dress also required pet­ti­coats of var­i­ous kinds, a ker­chief, a stom­ach­er (often high­ly dec­o­rat­ed), more pet­ti­coats, a gown, a linen apron (with a bib pinned into posi­tion, hence “pinafore”), a day cap, and then anoth­er apron that “serves no pur­pose oth­er than to indi­cate the fine sta­tus of the indi­vid­ual wear­ing it.” Con­spic­u­ous con­sump­tion mat­tered even back then, but so did the painstak­ing cre­ation of the ide­al female fig­ure, or at least the impres­sion there­of. Not only do these videos show us just the kind of cloth­ing that would have been worn for that pur­pose and how it would have been put on, they also show us high­ly plau­si­ble atti­tudes pro­ject­ed by dressed and dress­er alike: the for­mer one of faint­ly bored expec­ta­tion, and the lat­ter one of resigned indus­tri­ous­ness tinged with the sus­pi­cion that all this can’t last for­ev­er.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Get­ting Dressed Dur­ing World War I: A Fas­ci­nat­ing Look at How Sol­diers, Nurs­ers & Oth­ers Dressed Dur­ing the Great War

How Women Got Dressed in the 14th & 18th Cen­turies: Watch the Very Painstak­ing Process Get Cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly Recre­at­ed

The Sights & Sounds of 18th Cen­tu­ry Paris Get Recre­at­ed with 3D Audio and Ani­ma­tion

The Dress­er: The Con­trap­tion That Makes Get­ting Dressed an Adven­ture

How to Make and Wear Medieval Armor: An In-Depth Primer

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

3 Iconic Paintings by Frida Kahlo Get Reborn as Vans Skate Shoes

Atten­tion Fri­da Kahlo tchotchke hounds.

You can scratch that itch, even if your sum­mer itin­er­ary doesn’t include Mex­i­co City (or Nashville, Ten­nessee, where the Frist Muse­um is host­ing Fri­da Kahlo, Diego Rivera, and Mex­i­can Mod­ernism from the Jacques and Natasha Gel­man Col­lec­tion through Sep­tem­ber 2).

Tak­ing its cue from Doc Marten’s Muse­um Col­lec­tion, Vans is releas­ing three shoes inspired by some of the painter’s most icon­ic works, 1939’s The Two Fridas, 1940’s Self-Por­trait with Thorn Neck­lace and Hum­ming­bird, and—for those who pre­fer a more sub­tly Fri­da-inspired shoe, 1954’s refresh­ing­ly fruity Viva la Vida.

Vans’ lim­it­ed edi­tion Fri­da Kahlo col­lec­tion hits the shelves June 29. Expect it to be snapped up quick­ly by the Waf­fle­heads, Vans’ ded­i­cat­ed group of col­lec­tors and cus­tomiz­ers, so don’t delay.

If this line doesn’t tick­le your fan­cy, there is of course an abun­dance of Fri­da Kahlo trib­ute footwear on Etsy, every­thing from huaraches and Con­verse All-Stars to socks and baby booties.

via Juxtapoz/MyMod­ern­Met

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Brief Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Life and Work of Fri­da Kahlo

Dis­cov­er Fri­da Kahlo’s Wild­ly-Illus­trat­ed Diary: It Chron­i­cled the Last 10 Years of Her Life, and Then Got Locked Away for Decades

Vis­it the Largest Col­lec­tion of Fri­da Kahlo’s Work Ever Assem­bled: 800 Arti­facts from 33 Muse­ums, All Free Online

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

What is Camp? When the “Good Taste of Bad Taste” Becomes an Aesthetic

Even if you don’t care about high fash­ion or high soci­ety — to the extent that those two things have a place in the cur­rent cul­ture — you prob­a­bly glimpsed some of the cov­er­age of what atten­dees wore to the Met Gala ear­li­er this month. Or per­haps cov­er­age isn’t strong enough a word: what most of the many observers of the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art’s Cos­tume Insti­tute annu­al fundrais­ing gala did cer­tain­ly qual­i­fied as analy­sis, and in not a few cas­es tipped over into exe­ge­sis. That enthu­si­asm was matched by the flam­boy­ance of the cloth­ing worn to the event — an event whose co-chairs includ­ed Lady Gaga, a suit­able fig­ure­head indeed for a par­ty that this year took on the theme of camp.

But what exact­ly is camp? You can get an in-depth look at how the world of fash­ion has inter­pret­ed that elab­o­rate and enter­tain­ing but nev­er­the­less elu­sive cul­tur­al con­cept in the Met’s show Camp: Notes on Fash­ion, which runs at the Met Fifth Avenue until ear­ly Sep­tem­ber.

“Susan Son­tag’s 1964 essay Notes on ‘Camp’ pro­vides the frame­work for the exhi­bi­tion,” says the Met’s web site, “which exam­ines how the ele­ments of irony, humor, par­o­dy, pas­tiche, arti­fice, the­atri­cal­i­ty, and exag­ger­a­tion are expressed in fash­ion.” But for a broad­er under­stand­ing of camp, you’ll want to go back to Son­tag’s and read all of the 58 the­ses it nailed to the door of the mid-1960s zeit­geist.

Accord­ing to Son­tag, camp is “not a nat­ur­al mode of sen­si­bil­i­ty” but a “love of the unnat­ur­al: of arti­fice and exag­ger­a­tion.” It offers a “way of see­ing the world as an aes­thet­ic phe­nom­e­non.” Most any­thing man­made can be camp, and Son­tag’s list of exam­ples include Tiffany lamps, “the Brown Der­by restau­rant on Sun­set Boule­vard in L.A.,” Aubrey Beard­s­ley draw­ings, and old Flash Gor­don comics. Ele­vat­ing style “at the expense of con­tent,” camp is suf­fused with “the love of the exag­ger­at­ed, the ‘off,’ of things-being-what-they-are-not.” Camp is not irony, but it “sees every­thing in quo­ta­tion marks.” The essen­tial ele­ment of camp is “seri­ous­ness, a seri­ous­ness that fails.” Camp “asserts that good taste is not sim­ply good taste; that there exists, indeed, a good taste of bad taste.”

“When Son­tag pub­lished ‘Notes on Camp,’ she was fas­ci­nat­ed by peo­ple who could look at cul­tur­al prod­ucts as fun and iron­ic,” says Son­tag biog­ra­ph­er Ben­jamin Moser in a recent Inter­view mag­a­zine sur­vey of the sub­ject. And though Son­tag’s essay remains the defin­i­tive state­ment on camp, not every­one has agreed on exact­ly what counts and does not count as camp in the 55 years since its pub­li­ca­tion in the Par­ti­san Review“Camp to me means over-the-top humor, usu­al­ly cou­pled with big dos­es of glam­our,” says fash­ion design­er Jere­my Scott in the same Inter­view arti­cle. “To be inter­est­ing, camp has to have some kind of polit­i­cal con­scious­ness and self-aware­ness about what it’s doing,” says film­mak­er Bruce Labruce, chal­leng­ing Son­tag’s descrip­tion of camp as apo­lit­i­cal.

And what will become of camp in the all-dig­i­tiz­ing 21st cen­tu­ry, when many eras increas­ing­ly coex­ist on the same cul­ture plane? Our time “has can­ni­bal­ized camp,” says cul­tur­al his­to­ry pro­fes­sor Fabio Cle­to, “but to say that it’s no longer camp because its aes­thet­ics have gone main­stream is an over­ly sim­plis­tic read­ing. Camp has always been mourn­ing its own death.” Even so, some of cam­p’s most high-pro­file cham­pi­ons have cast doubt on its via­bil­i­ty. The phrase “good taste of bad taste” brings no fig­ure to mind more quick­ly than Pink Flamin­gos and Hair­spray direc­tor John Waters (who speaks on the ori­gin of his good taste in bad taste in the Big Think video above). But even he speaks pes­simisti­cal­ly to Inter­view about cam­p’s future: “Camp? Noth­ing is so bad it’s good now that we have Trump as pres­i­dent. He even ruined that.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why So Many Peo­ple Adore The Room, the Worst Movie Ever Made? A Video Explain­er

David Fos­ter Wal­lace on What’s Wrong with Post­mod­ernism: A Video Essay

The Star Wars Hol­i­day Spe­cial (1978): It’s Oh So Kitsch

Susan Sontag’s 50 Favorite Films (and Her Own Cin­e­mat­ic Cre­ations)

John Waters Talks About His Books and Role Mod­els in a Whim­si­cal Ani­mat­ed Video

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Fashion Designers in 1939 Predict How People Would Dress in the Year 2000

Some two decades before The Jet­sons brought their ani­mat­ed vision of the future to the small screen, the cin­emagazine Pathetone Week­ly ran a fea­turette in which the “most famous” fash­ion design­ers in the U.S. pre­dict­ed what the well-dressed woman would find her­self wear­ing in the year 2000.

Can­tilevered heels, mul­ti­func­tion­al gar­ments to go from office to evening wear in mere sec­onds, tech inte­gra­tions, dress­es made of alu­minum and trans­par­ent net…

As one com­menter on YouTube astute­ly observed, “Madon­na wore most of these before we even reached 2000.”

As is to be expect­ed, these futur­is­tic fash­ions exhib­it­ed the flat­ter­ing bias cut that we in 2019 asso­ciate with the peri­od in which they were envi­sioned.

Gise­le Bünd­chen, the top super­mod­el of 2000, could cer­tain­ly hold her own against her glam­orous 1939 coun­ter­parts, but the same can­not be said of the truck­er hats, low slung jeans, velour track suits and den­im every­thing that tru­ly defined the look of the mil­len­ni­um.

The biggest los­er of the year AD 2000, as envi­sioned by those famous design­ers of 1939, is the Amer­i­can male, whose drapey harem pants, Prince Valiant ‘do, and ill advised facial hair make George Jet­son look like like Clark Gable.

The poor guy does deserve some cool points for wear­ing a phone, though. (It’s like they had a crys­tal ball!)

And his radio may well pre­fig­ure the iPod, which made its debut in 2001.

Because pock­ets were pre­sumed to be going the way of the dodo (and skirts for women), a util­i­ty belt holds his keys, change, and “can­dy for cuties.”

This last item is sure­ly an unnec­es­sary bur­den, giv­en the nar­ra­tive empha­sis on the female cloth­ing designs’ man-catch­ing prowess.

(Imag­ine the 21st-cen­tu­ry fem­i­nine dis­ap­point­ment when their elec­tric head­lights revealed what they’d reeled in.)

Per­haps the most use­ful inno­va­tion to come from this exer­cise is the “elec­tric belt to adapt the body to cli­mac­tic changes.”

Don’t tell 1939, but I think we’re gonna need a big­ger belt.

As to the iden­ti­ties of the famous design­ers and the delight­ful­ly chat­ty (“Ooh, swish!”narrator), they seem to have been lost to the ages. Read­ers, if you have any intel, please advise.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

1930s Fash­ion Design­ers Pre­dict How Peo­ple Would Dress in the Year 2000

In 1964, Isaac Asi­mov Pre­dicts What the World Will Look Like Today: Self-Dri­ving Cars, Video Calls, Fake Meats & More

Watch Bauhaus World, a Free Doc­u­men­tary That Cel­e­brates the 100th Anniver­sary of Germany’s Leg­endary Art, Archi­tec­ture & Design School

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in New York City on April 15 for the next install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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