Forget va-va-voom cleavage, fashion’s new EROGENOUS ZONES are much more subtle, writes ANNE HARRIS.
Last autumn, Phoebe Philo of Céline, pathfinder of many a look, sent a brown wool dress down the runway. The front, like Milton’s nun, was sober, steadfast and demure. The back was a sensation: apart from the tie at the neck, it was naked to the waist. This season, many designers, notably Alexander McQueen and Roland Mouret, have gone bareback. And almost without exception, designers have chosen the osteo path, revealing shoulder blades, the collarbone (endearingly called by its medical name, the clavicle), the ankle, and even (Céline again) the ribcage.
“Show. Don’t tell.” is the guiding principle of many disciplines, from theatre to parenting; nowhere more than in fashion. How much we show and what we show not only reflects women’s power and choices, but is also a peep box into societal change. Is fashion turning its back, literally, on erogenous zones? Or is there something more subtle afoot? I once asked a male colleague what he considered the most erotic movie scene of all time. “The shot of Vanessa Redgrave’s bare back in Antonioni’s Blow Up,” he said. Given that the film, acclaimed for its portrayal of decadence in 1960s London, features an explicit orgy, his response demonstrates the perverse nature of eroticism in art and fashion.
Take Ralph Fiennes in The English Patient. Describing his doomed love affair with Kristin Scott Thomas to a shocked colleague, he seeks to identify the part of her he loves the most. The discreet object of his desire was that torc the runs from the base of the neck out to the shoulder. “The clavicle,” says the stunned colleague. This appears to be the new sensuality in fashion: slow burning but explosive and not without a health warning.
The big news now, is that apart from some offerings for fans of House of Cards (Robin Wright can hardly walk up the stairs, so constricting are her pencil dresses), power dresses are over. With their attendant Spanx and sadistic heels, power dresses were for dominatrices or dolls. It was as though Chanel, Patou and Vionnet had never released us from the whalebone.
The 2016 woman is all the more sexually interesting for being unaggressive. Placing the emphasis on the top part of the body invariably means longer lengths and lower heels. But the new radical simplicity brings its own disciplines. It’s a tease, and thus an enhancement of sexuality, and if you’re thinking of cancelling the gym membership, hold off. A toned back takes work – you practically need to be an Olympic swimmer. Cut-outs at ribcage level require not just a tiny waist, but perfect lymphatic drainage (even babies have cellulite here). The revolution is in the arms. Simultaneously hidden and revealed, there is an off-the-shoulder style to excite everyone. At Peter Pilotto it’s Augustus John’s “gypsy”, smocked, full-sleeved (best on the ingénue); at McQueen it’s Bardotesque balletic cap-sleeved jersey, skimming the most fleshly part of the arm (surprisingly forgiving) and Erdem’s constructionist clavicle exposure is for the gym bodies.
And the high street is on to it. By January, Zara had a crisp white blouse with sleeves slashed to the collarbone – sorry, clavicle. And Savida at Dunnes was bringing in its
laser cut-outs.
Show and hide. What better style maxim.
Images by Jason Lloyd Evans
Anne Harris
This article appeared in a previous issue, for more features like this, don’t miss our April issue, out Thursday April 7.
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