If you were on this past winter, you most likely saw me. I was the girl bopping around campus in heels, huge nylon bows, skirts with great twirl factor and hair that belonged on an August 1945 cover of Cosmo. I didn’t let the weather tell me what to do. If it was negative 10 degrees, I put my big girl petticoat on, chanted the words of my idol, Doris Mayday, “I would rather get frostbite on my toes than wear some ugly modern boot,” and soldiered on. Yes, I was cold. I hated answering that question. Of course I was cold.
I hated answering many people’s questions. Mostly they came from Dartmouth students; however, professors, townies and the morning Collis squad also buzzed about my project and liked to ask questions. A lot of them annoyed me because in my head, the answers are so obvious. I really hated “How do you have enough clothes to last you a term?” Can we think about this for a moment, please? I have a wardrobe just like you. Mine is just more vintage and less boring than yours. People also kept asking where I got my clothes. While that’s a valid question, saying “pinupgirlclothingdotcom” in one breath became really difficult after a while, especially because I wore a girdle most days. So you can see how I could get bothered. Then most people would not believe that the website was actually named Pinup Girl Clothing, which is simultaneously vexing and baffling to me.
Perhaps the most frequently asked question was, “Why?” Why pinup? This answer is meditated, deliberate and political; it’s my way of paying homage to the women who could not come to Dartmouth simply because of their historical situation. By taking the time to pin curl my hair and hook my girdle every day, I explore the capabilities of women. It was my way of saying, “Anything you can do, I can do in heels and a petticoat.” I intentionally picked this era. Women in the 1920s and 1930s looked great and all, but I simply do not understand the 40s and 50s. It baffles me how the American feminist trajectory actually declined after women gained suffrage. Women went from having strong political voices in pacifist and civil liberties groups during World War I to being satisfied with rationing butter in World War II. I also cannot wrap my head around the crazed competition to be the most average in the 1950s — it was so frighteningly easy. Because I do not understand how everyone conformed so willingly, I grapple with it and have been doing vintage recreation for over two years. Totally immersing myself in activities of the time through my dress, the music I listen to and the movies I watch is my own way of making sense of it all, yet I still do not fully understand.
Why do this every day for winter term? That answer is very simple. I wanted to. Why wouldn’t I want to? I have fun dressing up, and it also forced me to stop in the whirlwind of term to take time for myself. I also knew students would react well to it because students seemed to have liked a pinup photo shoot Ryan Hueston ’14 and I did in the fall much more than either of us ever intended. I didn’t think anything could go wrong.
However, things did go wrong. Besides inconvenient questions, a number of people would remark, “That’s not vintage” when they saw me in my track practice clothes. First, I think I would be aware that spandex, sneakers and a T-shirt do not compile Rita Hayworth’s outfit of choice. But this remark mostly bothered me because it made me feel like people started viewing my outfits as a source of their entertainment, as several of my peers felt entitled enough to monitor what I wore on a daily basis.
Another thing that downright irked me was when people asked to touch my hair. Now, my women of color friends can relate to this. The answer is a resounding no. I am not a pet, nor am I some interactive art display, though people would sometimes just stick their fingers in my faux-bangs without asking. My hair is an extension and expression of myself, and your touch is not welcome.
14We’reDoingVintageEveryDay was not intended to be as political as it became. Not only did people react differently to me, they also treated me differently. For 65 days, I did not open doors for myself. It took me two weeks to notice how students, faculty, townies, men and women all would bolt in front of me to open the door when I was in pinup. I also did not have to wait as long at crosswalks when I was dolled up. Cars stopped short for me while I walked to class, but on my way to practice in sweats, I waited much longer for cars to yield. All of these clues called for introspection and allowed me to realize that I am doing something bigger than playing dress up with myself.
I was blatantly objectified for 65 days. From unwanted touches and constant monitoring to being put on a pedestal, I felt like less of a person most days. Precisely 33 days into my project, I cried in my best friend’s room because the objectification became overwhelming. In a basement where I normally feel very unthreatened, three different men objectified me, becoming aggressive and commenting solely on my appearance. These instances culminated in a breakdown where I questioned if I should continue. I never realized that objectification could really take a toll on someone like that. Since then I learned to internalize that objectifying gaze by turning it back on people and shooting back witty responses. If I never learned to do that, I probably would never even put makeup on ever again. It really was that traumatic.
Doing vintage every day last term taught me much more than I ever expected about the gaze and people’s superficiality. But despite the harder times, I am going to continue dressing the way I do, because I’m beginning to understand how piercing and objectifying a gaze can be — and because I seriously have fun dressing up like this. When I looked in the mirror in modern hair and makeup on my first day of spring break, I broke out into “Reflection” from “Mulan” (1998). I just looked so alien to myself. This is who I am, and I feel great.
