published in Motley Magazine, January 2019
What do the pantsuits of Clinton, the maple-imprinted socks of Varadkar, the rolled up sleeves of Obama and the blood red hats of Trump’s America have in common? What does it matter that female world leaders seem to possess a plethora of pantsuits and penchant for short, coiffed bobs? Or that the Healy-Rae’s seem to eat, sleep and broker in their paddy caps? It is fashion (used loosely in relation to the Healy-Rae’s), it is politics. Fashion is inherently political, as human society is inherently political. Whether you soak in high fashion or high street, whether you wish to rebel against fashion or embrace the newest trends, you are inevitably making a statement. Politicians are no different, what they wear is, embarrassingly, almost as important as their policies.
To quote Miranda Priestly of The Devil Wears Prada, if ‘you think [fashion] has nothing to do with you, [if] you go to your closet and you select that lumpy, loose sweater, for instance, because you’re trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back, what you don’t know is that that sweater is not just blue. It’s actually cerulean. And you’re also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns… and then it trickled on down [to] some clearance bin. It’s sort of comical how you think you made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you’re wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room from a pile of… stuff.’ Fashion and clothing illustrate a persona, political or not. It influences judgement and is a beacon of subliminal messaging right from the pocket of Hillary’s pantsuit.
The infamous pantsuit, the trousered equaliser of politics, the statement outfit that is so nondescript it is a statement in itself, is the emblem of female politicians. It is the difference between First-World leader and First Lady. During Bill Clinton’s presidency, FLOTUS Hillary was adorned in pastels and skirts which were immediately swapped upon her accession to the position of Secretary of State in 2008. Instead, she adopted the pantsuit in bold, bright colours. Media fixation on her clothes was diminishing the message of her speeches and her work, Hillary even jokingly stated, ‘If I want to knock a story off the front page, I just change my hairstyle.’
While First Ladies such as Jackie Kennedy and Michelle Obama can exercise an unapologetic femininity, it seems any time by female politicians not spent in pantsuits is time spent apologising for just that. In 2007, Hillary Clinton made a speech on the exorbitant costs of further education on the Senate floor. She was wearing a pink pantsuit and, underneath, a black v-neck shirt. According to The Washington Post, it was an ‘undeniable’ amount of cleavage. A neckline which prompted fashion journalist, Robin Givhan, to go on a bizarre rant about Senator Clinton’s apparent contentment at ‘being perceived as a sexual person’ and at being sexually objectified as ‘to display cleavage in a setting that does not involve cocktails and hors d’oeuvres is provocation.’ Therefore, the no-nonsense, high-necked pantsuit is born in technicolour – so nondescript, it’s not cause for comment. For The Atlantic, ‘it says both ‘I am a woman’ and ‘I am so much more than just a woman.’’
The technicolour of world leader’s pantsuits however, is not as nondescript as we may think. The slogans for political campaigns are saturated with symbolism, the outfits of political figures are no different. Upon Michelle Obama’s first day as the First Lady of the United States, she wore a lemon-yellow dress and coat, the colour of the flower worn in the lapels of politicians who supported the suffrage movement. Just as Jackie Kennedy did on Inauguration Day, Melania Trump wore powder-blue. Hillary Clinton wore white on three significant occasions throughout the 2016 campaign – at the Democratic Convention where she accepted her presidential nomination, during the last presidential debate and finally, at the inauguration of Donald Trump. It was the colour of purity of the suffragettes and was worn, according to Vanity Fair, to protect them from ‘their opponents claim of immorality.’ Democrat blue, worn by Hillary throughout her campaign, and Republican red, the colour of Donald’s (seemingly) only tie and that of those MAGA hats, when combined result in purple. Both Hillary and her husband, Bill, wore purple and black suits as she read out her concession speech in 2016. A symbol of unity and bipartisanship, purple was fitting as she announced that despite the chasm of division which fractured American society, ‘I still believe in America, and I always will. We must accept this result and then look into the future.’
Aside from colour, the stylists of politicians look just as closely at cost. Corey Roche, a stylist of major political figures, surmised this in saying that, ‘if a politician is caught in an expensive label, the public will eat
[them]
alive.’ The Trump family are experts at playing bait to this cost-hungry court of public opinion. It is a pantomime of the anti-establishment, just as khaki and polos became the uniform of the Charlottesville neo-nazis. Roche stated he has never seen a politician wear a Hugo Boss or Armani suit, except for Donald Trump. No First Lady has ever worn stilettos to visit hurricane victims, except for Melania. No senior political advisor has ever blurred ethical lines by marketing their own namesake clothing line, except for Ivanka. They do not attempt to convey warmth or empathy with what they wear, just as Taoiseach Charlie Haughey did not attempt to live within his means when he used £15,800 of party funds to pay his Chevret shirt bill in 1999.
Cost-effective, media-effective – the motto of image-conscious politicians (and what politician isn’t?). The clothes worn by political figures will eternally be analysed by the media and their voters. Photo opportunities can propel or plummet approval ratings. Outside Dublin Castle on the 26th of May, Leo Varadkar rolled up his sleeves as the 8th amendment was repealed. This traditional, Clintonian aesthetic of the political elite is, as articulated by The Washington Post, a ‘sartorial ballet when they are standing in front of blue-collar workers, young voters or the disenfranchised.’ (See also: Beto O’Rourke, Barack Obama and, in a desperate attempt to assimilate progress, Eoghan Murphy.) Regardless of personal or public opinion surrounding our current Taoiseach, it is blatant that he is (most likely) the only Irish politician who understands fashion as a diplomatic tool.
Leo Varadkar was nominated in the Most Stylish Man category in the 2015 Peter Mark VIP Style Awards, and has since proven he is adept at exercising his eye for fashion in the name of politics. He paints himself as the picture of modernity in his gym-wear, his strong suits and his novelty socks in contrast to his predecessor, Enda Kenny’s ‘too long trousers and ill-fitting blazers.’ On Budget Day 2018, Varadkar wore blue, a symbol of stability, trust, wisdom and intelligence. Upon Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s visit to Ireland, a man renowned for his colourful, fun socks paired with business-like suits, Varadkar wore his embellished with the Canadian maple. It is a far-cry from the boxy-suits of his ministers and establishes himself as a man who understands the politics of fashion.
While fashion statements are not as important as political ones, how one dresses is symbiotic to how they are viewed, as a political figure or even as a weather forecaster. TD Mannix Flynn said the impeccable dressing of RTÉ weather woman Jean Byrne, makes that ‘it is not the weather, it is who is delivering the weather report.’ Politics is no different. In a pantsuit, Hillary makes that she is louder than her outfit. In novelty socks, Varadkar makes that he is likeable, modern and the poster-boy of a new Ireland. He did not partake in the grassroots activism of the Repeal campaign, but his rolled-up sleeves said ‘let’s get to work.’ Trump’s tie, often sellotaped into place, does not say ‘politician’, it says ‘anti-establishment.’ We have the opportunity to say nothing, while saying everything. Whether it is through a Repeal jumper, a pantsuit or a yellow vest, fashion can be politicised to say something words cannot.