Early costume designers, such as West and Adrian, recognized design as a great force in twentieth-century haute
couture. Their work, crucial in the establishment of
American style as a world competitor, was the first to
outstrip the French, who dominated fashion commercially and artistically. By the 1910s, stars were photographed in cinema clothes for fashion magazines and
Sears-Roebuck catalogues, and the word ‘‘film’’ was used
as an advertising lure. But the public’s desire for these
clothes is ironic, as many are impossible to wear. Jean
Harlow’s form-fitting satin gowns were glued to her body
and steamed off. Mae West was sewn into two identical
garments for a scene, one for sitting, one for standing,
because each was so tight she could not do both in either
of them. Glenn Close also was unable to sit in Anthony
Powell’s sexy costumes for her in 101 Dalmations (1996).
The pink gown Marilyn Monroe wore to sing
‘‘Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend’’ in How to Marry
a Millionaire (1953) was made from upholstery satin and
lined with felt. Given this, it is astounding how many
fashion firsts emerged from the bizarre necessities of a
film set: padded shoulders (Adrian in the 1930s for Joan
Crawford), the cling dress (Rambova for Salome), the
strapless bodice (Jean Louis in 1946 for Gilda, anticipating Christian Dior’s New Look of 1947), the pillbox hat
(John Frederics and Adrian for Greta Garbo in 1932)
and many others.
The provenance of style setting was debated between
Europe and America but, by the mid 1930s, the couturiere´ Elsa Schiaparelli (1890–1973) acceded, ‘‘What
Hollywood designs today, you will be wearing tomorrow’’ (Mulvagh, p. 123). Though some of these firsts
appeared simultaneously (Schiaparelli and Adrian both
introduced padded shoulders), a film spreads a ‘‘look’’
faster than any other medium and credit usually sits with
the costume designer. In 1918, the simple black velvet
suit, white blouse, ribbon tie, and beret designed by the
director Louis Gasnier and worn by Pearl White in The
Mysteries of New York (1914, aka The Exploits of Elaine)
became de rigueur among working women. In 1932,
Adrian’s ruffled gown for Joan Crawford in Letty
Lynton was the first to be mass marketed and Head’s
evening dress with flowered bustiere for Elizabeth
Taylor in A Place in the Sun (1951) became a 1950s
prototype. Even fabrics, such as Adrian’s gingham dress
for Katharine Hepburn in The Philadelphia Story (1940)
and Head’s tropically patterned sarongs for Dorothy
Lamour in Jungle Princess (1936), have started trends.
Styles have been effected by war and censorship. The
censorial 1930 Hays Code forced designers into ingenious uses of glamour to substitute for sheer sex and the
1930s’ glamour ended with World War II’s cutbacks on
costume budgets.
The mid-1960s, with the lifting of censorship laws,
saw design return to extremes. Some costumes, such as
Piero Gherardi’s for Juliet of the Spirits (1965, Academy
Award nomination), Milena Canonero’s for A Clockwork
Orange (1971) and Danilo Donati’s (1926–2001) for Il
Casanova di Federico Fellini (Fellini’s Casanova, 1977),
were exercises in artfully wild imagination. Many generated important fashions. Theadora Van Runckle’s
(b. 1929) clothes for Bonnie and Clyde (1967, Academy
Award nomination) initiated 1930s gangster glamour
(including a braless look). Ann Roth’s (b. 1931) designs
for Jane Fonda in Klute (1971) brought maxi-coats with
mini-skirts into vogue. Phyllis Dalton’s Dr. Zhivago (1965, Academy Award), Piero Tosi’s Death in Venice
(1971, Academy Award nomination), Theoni V.
Aldredge’s (b. 1932) The Great Gatsby (1974, Academy
Award), Anthea Sylbert’s (b. 1939) Chinatown (1974,
Academy Award nomination), Milena Canonero’s Barry
Lyndon (1975, Academy Award) and her Out of Africa
(1985, Academy Award nomination) started romantic
trends. New looks appeared with Ruth Morley’s (1925–
1991) louche outfits for Diane Keaton in Annie Hall
(1977), Betsey Heimann’s white shirt and cigarette pants
for Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction (1994), Rita Ryack’s
matching, hot pastel suits and ties for Casino (1995) and
Kym Barrett’s floor-length leather coats for The Matrix
(1999). After Janty Yates’s designs for Gladiator (2000,
Academy Award), a ‘‘warrior look’’ appeared in couture,
as did elements of Ngila Dickson’s Euro-Asian blends for
The Last Samurai (2003).
Despite their enormously different goals, a relationship between costume design and couture has always
existed. Modern audiences are accustomed to seeing stars
on screen dressed by Giorgio Armani (b. 1934) or John
Galliano (b. 1961) just as earlier audiences were accustomed to screen designs by Elsa Schiaparelli or Christian
Dior (1905–1957). These couture outfits were made not
for characterization but rather for show and served retail
purposes, as exemplified by Armani’s designs for Richard
Gere in American Gigolo (1980), which made him a
household name. But some couturiers have produced
suitable costumes for narratives such as Hubert de
Givenchy’s (b. 1927) creation of virtually all of Audrey
Hepburn’s contemporary film outfits, Lilly Dache´’s
(1898–1989) Carmen Miranda fruit turbans, and John
Frederics’ hats for Dietrich in her von Sternberg pictures,
or his period hats for Gone with the Wind (1939).
Though many costume designers started in vaudeville and revues—such as Adrian, Bernard Newman,
Charles LeMaire, and Max Ree, who worked for
George White’s Scandals, Greenwich Village Follies,
Ziegfeld Follies, and Irving Berlin’s Music Box Revue or
Irene Sharaff, who built her career on Broadway—some
began in couture houses. Hattie Carnegie’s fostered
designers Banton, Greer, Jean Louis, and Howard
Shoup (1903–1987). During Hollywood’s Studio
era, fashion and film were linked popularly. Costume designers had large followings and many, such as Adrian,
Irene, Greer, Shoup, and Banton, ran their own labels,
typically designing personal clothes for stars and clients
while working on as many as ten films a year. By the
1950s, with the exception of Head, who remained publicly known, this fame disappeared. Though costume
design continues to initiate sweeping trends, the costume
designer’s name is rarely recognized. Iconic outfits such
as Liza Minnelli’s black halter-top, shorts, and gartered
black stockings in Cabaret (1972) designed by Charlotte
Flemming (1920–1993), Indiana Jones’s fedora, leather
jacket, and khaki pants for Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
conceived by Deborah Nandoolman (b. 1952), and
Patrizia Von Brandenstein’s white, three-piece suit (off
the rack) for John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever
(1977) are rarely connected to their originators.
But in the twenty-first century, the retailing of cinematic couture has come back. Some Japanese costume
designers have their own clothing lines, as do some
American designers such as Patricia Field. Bollywood
(Indian film industry) designers regularly dress the public. But the ingenuity of the costume designer in film
remains paramount. In the face of restrictions from lighting requirements to the actor’s shape, it continues to
revolutionize tailoring and set groundbreaking trends
while addressing complex cinematic needs.