Corsetry: In History, In Herstory
I have my variety of obsessions — those brief blips in which I consume myself with one particular subject. The list varies widely, ranging from the Evil Dead franchise to Elijah Daniel videos. It’s true that often my passion for these things eventually subsides to simple fancy, but while they last it becomes difficult to view my world without the lens of obsession, and lately, the veil that pervades my worldview has been period clothing.
It’s hard to say where my penchant for petticoats or my proclivity for corsets came from, but the fascination is strong. I’ve occupied myself with watching YouTube videos from historical societies or fashion history experts on the dress of different time periods. However, my new passion for period fashion has highlighted a societal distaste for any women’s dress predating 1900. The general misconception seems to be that corsetry was the primary form of sexist repression, and while it is true that in some ways the corset is an emblem of literal gender immobility, I would argue that the corset could be just as liberating as it was, well, binding. Furthermore, I find a historical review of the corset reveals more about the power of clothing choice than it obscures, and in looking to the corset, we may be able to better understand how we view and police fashion today.
Another common misconception is that the corset was a stagnant garment. This is simply not true, as the corset changed in form and function depending on the trends of the era as well as the class status of the woman. For example, the purpose of the corset in the Regency Era was not to achieve an hourglass figure, but to deemphasize the waist and significantly raise the bust, whereas the corset of an 1830’s working woman may have been better suited to improving posture and serving as a useful place to stick pins for dressing her lady. The corset was a utility as much as it was a garment, and depending on the person and time period those uses varied widely. Before the advent of the brassiere, the corset was a woman’s only support. I consider this not unlike the function of clothes today. We do not just wear what is fashionable at all times, but often what is practical, and the less-varied wardrobes of past eras demanded clothes which suited a variety of needs. Perhaps at the time that meant corsetry, but today we might find modern equivalents in bras for breast support, braces for back support, or even purses for holding odds and ends.
But this doesn’t matter because the corset just disappears after the Great War — right? It’s true that the popularity of corsets diminished with the need for resources during the war, but perhaps not in the way you might think. When rations were imposed on metal for the war effort many women turned their attention away from corsetry, but the prevalence of shapewear persisted in fashion well into the 1950s with the girdle. Perhaps the outright form of shaping changed, but the purpose it served was just fulfilled by other means. Even still, shapewear hasn’t died away as spandex remains a very common force in the fashion world, and corsetry seems to be making a comeback. It’s true that the nature of shapewear is different. Today it is much more of a choice than it was from the 17th through the mid-20th century, but that may be because supporting can be achieved without shaping, whereas they were once a package deal. Nevertheless, corsets are a fashion statement again, about a century since they fell out of style.
However, the capacity in which the corset has reentered our sphere of knowledge seems to be inherently tied to a very dangerous corset trend — tight lacing. Today it’s more common to hear corset training, but the idea is the same. By tightening a corset to a ridiculous degree, a woman may obtain that optimal pencil-sized waist. Trendsetters such as Kim Kardashian have reintroduced the concept of corsets as exercise regimens, rather than as the aesthetic statements or tools that they have been for the better part of a few centuries. Still, tight lacing has a history too.
Tight lacing first appeared in the 1840s and 1850s and remained in vogue until the early 1900s. By the end of the Victorian Era, scientists eschewed tight lacing for health risks, and although it was on trend, the style was still widely criticized. Moreover, in the two centuries prior, corsetry had mostly occupied a supportive role and was wholly safe. That scene in Pirates of the Caribbean where Elizabeth Swann faints from tight lacing? It’s actually inaccurate to 1700s corset trends and born from the notion that all beauty standards are forced upon women, when the reality is sometimes women just like to wear things. We have curated an idea of corsetry that is not entirely accurate to its long tradition, and the way we dismiss it today as an old sexist practice virtually eliminates the voices of the women who chose to wear them. It might be true that modern corsetry trends are dangerous and occupy a place in the celebrity fashion machine, but in viewing corsetry through that lens alone, we ignore a long and fascinating tradition of women’s fashion.
You may think this irrelevant if you have no interest in corsetry or period clothing, but we still place a great importance on women’s fashion. Moreover, the question of clothing choice is more open to public scrutiny than ever, and that scrutiny reaches minorities of all kinds, not women alone. For people who have been victimized by misogynist standards of beauty, it can be hard to claim your own choices. We may reject pink because we have been told that pink is for girls, and it becomes a symbolic move to deny our love for it. Under the guise of gender equality, Western society polices the way that women dress, and it allows the phantom of racist hatred to de-veil Muslim women who would rather cover up. Under the guise of progressivism, that same society polices how transgender people present themselves, and it allows the slime of transphobic malice to govern trans bodies.
I encourage you to seek out aesthetic decisions that reflect your personal identity, and this extends far beyond pure aestheticism. If you feel that there are clothes that you’re expected to wear that you do legitimately enjoy, wear them. If there is a standard of beauty you are expected to uphold and you love how it looks on you, own it. If you’d rather go against the normative fashion grain, then that choice is yours.
Allow me to be crystal clear. There isn’t inherent power in wearing a mini skirt, nor is there intrinsic power in donning a full-length dress. Our power comes from choice. In a world that dictates what victims of bigotry should and should not wear, the most important decision we can make comes entirely from ourselves. Corsets are making a comeback, and what that means for a corset-wearer is entirely dependent on them. With safety in mind, a little corsetry never hurt anyone. Therefore, by the liberty of my own choice, I will be busy trying to incorporate 1830s puffy sleeves and cropped tops to make the elusive perfect garment.
It’s ridiculous. It’s stupid. It’s mine.
