The Handmaid’s Tale — first published way back in 1985–86, before there was an internet, before there were cellphones, before there were even lattes — or, at least, before lattes were deployed as a stealth weapon from Europe to the extent that they are now — this novel, which by now ought to have become quaint and archaic, has become more believable over time, not less.
The iconic red-and-white outfit is now an internationally understandable meme, popping up in state legislators and cosplay conventions alike, and in such diverse locations as Texas, Scotland, and Sweden. Sweden, you say? Yes. Sweden.
Did I see multiple references to it — “The Handmaid’s Tale Is Not a Blueprint,” “Make Margaret Atwood Fiction Again” — in the giant Women’s March of last January? I did. Did I see a Tyrannosaurus rex dressed as a Handmaid in the DragonCon parade? I did. Is there a YouTube hit by Funny or Die entitled “Finally, They’ve Made a Handmaid’s Tale for Men?” There is. Did I see a photo of a container of liquid soap in a red cape and a white bonnet, entitled The Handsoap’s Tale? I did. Has someone sent me a little knitted chicken in a Handmaid’s outfit? They have. Has the high-fashion designer Vera Wang done an entire fall line themed “Handmaids”? She has. It’s an homage: The bonnets are black, but nonetheless. For something to become so recognizable, it has to dovetail with the hopes and fears of the moment.
