On Monday, tennis' finest assembled in Flushing, New York, for the long-awaited 2020 U.S. Open. And while we’re all rooting for Serena and Venus Williams to dominate the nine-day sporting event as they’ve done in the past, it’s not just the tennis action that’s getting us pumped up for the games. Instead, from now until September 8, we’re focusing our attention on the influx of tennis style inspiration that coincides with the arrival of the Open — more specifically, the tennis skirts.
Over the last year, tennis fashion has seen an uptick in popularity, with retro styles from Sergio Tacchini, Tory Sport, and Lacoste making waves both on and off the court. Even Venus Williams joined in on the action with her brand EleVen’s tennis wear line. Photoshoots now frequently take place on the sport’s signature green surfaces, with Chloe x Halle recently taking to their backyard court to shoot their Fendi Peekaboo bag campaign and Instagram influencers flocking to nearby public courts to garner an aesthetically pleasing shot. In fact, the rise of tennis fashion is so significant that back in June, Lyst reported a 33% increase in demand for pleated tennis skirts in just one month. Now, the real tennis style inspiration is here.
Click ahead to shop this season’s most stylish tennis skirts, from traditional tennis whites to bold, Williams-approved alternatives, all in honor of this week’s opening ceremony.
At Refinery29, we’re here to help you navigate this overwhelming world of stuff. All of our market picks are independently selected and curated by the editorial team. If you buy something we link to on our site, Refinery29 may earn commission.
Retro Tennis Skirts
If you're looking to take a throwback approach to tennis fashion this season, these are the styles for you. Just throw on some tube socks, a varsity sweater, and a pair of chunky, white sneakers, and you'll be all (game) set (match).
Tory Sport Tech Twill Pleated Tennis Skirt, $, available at Nordstrom
Sergio Tacchini Pliage Skort, $, available at Sergio Tacchini
Modern Tennis Skirts
From mesh fabrics to fresh silhouettes, tennis skirts don't all look the same anymore — and these modern styles by Outdoor Voices and L'Etoile Sport are proof.
Outdoor Voices Court Skort, $, available at Outdoor Voices
FP Movement Schooling You Shorts, $, available at Free People
L'Etoile Sport Stretch-Jersey And Pointelle-Knit Tennis Skirt, $, available at Net-A-Porter
White Pleated Tennis Skirts
For those of you who are just now introducing tennis styles to your end-of-summer wardrobes, this is the perfect place to start. Not only does a traditional, white tennis skirt look great on and off the court, it'll also fit right in with the TikTok fashion scene.
American Apparel Gabardine Tennis Skirt, $, available at American Apparel
Lacoste Sport Ultra Dry Pleated Tennis Skirt, $, available at Lacoste
Colorful Tennis Skirts
If your style goal is to stray as far away from the traditional tennis look as possible, look no further than these colorful alternatives by the likes of Girlfriend, Gil Rodriguez, and Nike.
Gil Rodriguez Green Terry Tennis Skirt, $, available at SSENSE
As plus-size fashion continues to grow exponentially — the market is estimated to be worth $24 billion by the end of 2020 — the demand for clothing above a size 16 is more apparent than ever. But as the coronavirus pandemic continues to challenge designers and the current fashion landscape, many are beginning to realize just how valuable this market and community are.
While retailers have been seemingly more receptive to size inclusivity in the last few years, luxury designers have only scratched the surface on the topic: A report published by InStyle in February revealed that only 22% of designers that showed at New York Fashion Week produced up to a size 20 or above. (That number is largely influenced by brands like Chromat and Tadashi Shoji, who have long led the charge for size inclusivity in luxury, too, rather than the collective industry.) But the key to a size-inclusive future is not only through demanding change from pre-existing brands. Rather, it is through preparing the next generation of game-changers to be inclusive from the start, while they are still in school. That requires an increase in size-inclusive education, a topic that is still heavily lacking at many fashion colleges.
“The conversation around plus-size or fat fashion has been seen purely as a social justice issue and an activist issue,” says Ben Barry, chair of fashion at Ryerson University in Toronto, which offers a fashion study program centered on inclusivity of size, gender, and race. “This is a business imperative for the fashion industry.”
While plus-size fashion is being addressed more within school curriculums, most institutions are leaving it as an alternative choice of study, should a student want to focus their final project on it, rather than stressing the importance of plus fashion and the vital role it plays in the future landscape of the industry. This continues to fuel the separation between straight and plus-sizes, while sending the message that plus is a separate and lesser entity.
Meanwhile, according to every educator interviewed for this piece, students crave inclusivity more than ever.
“I feel like creativity and following what you are passionate about was encouraged at my school, but not so much size inclusivity,” says Ian Harris, a former apparel design major at the University of Minnesota Twin Cities, who graduated last year. “Nothing was ever strictly covered in regards to plus-size fashion… but if we wanted to make something in plus-sizes, they would help us work through those potential fit problems.”
He adds, “It’s annoying that if I wanted to make plus-size womenswear, and I needed to drape something or get an accurate fit without a model, I couldn’t really get that.” Cesar Cummings, an L.A.-based designer, had even less help when attending a smaller fashion school in California. In fact, after getting the dean’s approval to design plus-size in his courses, Cummings got pushback from a professor, who told him to just “manufacture clothing” during one of his classes. (Cummings fought back and eventually got to design the plus-size clothing he wanted.)
Many schools — including the Moore College of Art & Design and Kent State University — allow students to focus on plus fashion in their design classes or final projects if they have the desire to do so, and offer assistance in various ways should the student request it. But this fails to make inclusive fashion a core element of the curriculum. Only offering support if a student expresses interest in plus makes straight-size designing the default, and many young designers still learning the ropes of the industry will likely cling to the more standard option of a size 6/8 dress mold.
The COVID-19 pandemic has made the need for plus-size curriculums more apparent. As many schools — including the Fashion Institute of Technology — switch to a fully remote or online-first education system for the fall 2020 semester, students have less of an opportunity to explore the market unless it’s worked into classes. While plus-size mannequins may be available in-person at selected institutions, students may have a hard time finding one to have at home, making it even more difficult to pursue plus-size designing.
On the other hand, virtual schooling can lend itself to a more inclusive education. Virtual seminars and panels can allow students to connect with plus-size fashion experts that they may not have been able to in-person. 3-D technology allows students to design for a wide array of body types, rather than just a size 6 or 14 mold.
All to say: While there’s no lack of opportunity available, it’ll require forward-thinkers to prioritize body diversity in a way that hasn’t been done before.
So, what would a truly inclusive curriculum look like in practice? Best intentions aside, no one has quite cracked the code on how to normalize size inclusivity into their curriculum. While designating instructors to assist those who want to design for above a size 14, as many schools do, can be the first step, more needs to be instituted to show the important role that size inclusivity plays in the future success of this industry.
Jennifer Minniti, the chair of Pratt University’s fashion department, tells Refinery29 that the school is currently rethinking and redesigning its entire curriculum around size inclusivity, sustainability, and gender identity. She says she sees more value in injecting size inclusivity into the program rather than offering plus-specific courses. “We’re trying to find a way to provide critical study in the core curriculum, so where it should really underpin the core curriculum,” Minniti says. “So our students can become agents of change and make serious change in the industry.”
In 2018, the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in Los Angeles brought on Nick Verreos — former contestant and current producer on Project Runway — to be co-chair of its Fashion Design program, hoping he would shake things up and diversify the curriculum. Though much is still in the works at FIDM, Verreos says that students are first taught the foundation of design and then how to translate that on different body types, stressing the difference between a size 18 body and a size 6. “We’re really considering offering [plus-size specific design] electives,” Verreos says. “And we do hear from a lot of manufacturers and companies where a lot of times the young entry-level assistants have come into those kinds of companies [not knowing how to design for plus].”
Lisa Hayes, the Fashion Design program director at Drexel University in Philadelphia, tells Refinery29 that they have been incorporating size inclusivity into their program for about the past decade, bringing in plus speakers and educators to show their students the possibilities available to them. Hayes credits much of this to the smaller size of the program, allowing them to jump on different initiatives early such as plus fashion or adaptive clothing for those with disabilities.
At FIT in New York City, the need for plus-size fashion education became apparent when the school put on a forum titled “The Business of Curves” in 2017 featuring plus supermodel Emme. With 500 students in attendance, the desire for more education on the topic was evident, and so Steven Frumkin, Dean of the Jay and Patty Baker School of Business and Technology, put together a handful of courses in their technical design area to satisfy those students. Pre-pandemic, FIT had continued to host inclusive events and hired a Chief Diversity Officer to push the conversation forward. The program has also incorporated 3-D design into its courses, as have other schools like the University of Minnesota Twin Cities, that allow students to dress for more body types and sizes.
Prior to helping change the narrative at FIT, Emme launched Fashion Without Limits in 2013, an initiative co-founded with Syracuse University’s School of Design professors Jeffrey Mayer and Todd Conover, to teach inclusive design. Fashion Without Limits has since expanded greatly, becoming a four-year program offered by Syracuse. “Every time innovation and newness and change happens within a design program to be more inclusive, everyone wins,” Emme tells Refinery29. “It’s scary being first, but you have to take a stand.”
Former Ford Model Angela O’Riley has created a similar program for high schoolers called The Curvy Lab. Conducted at The High School of Fashion Industries in NYC in 2018, it serves to teach young hopefuls about inclusive designing before they even entered college. “When you’re a designer, you have to be able to make something that’s beautiful for whoever your customer is,” O’Riley explains. “So we’re retraining the eyes of these kids to find what’s beautiful in whoever is in front of us or whoever our customers are, and we’re starting with the size 18 curvy mannequin, because that’s where the industry is, but that we’re not limiting ourselves to that.”
The success of Fashion Without Limits and The Curvy Lab raises a question: Would offering plus-specific design courses and programs, rather than incorporating them into the existing curriculum, in fashion colleges be the most beneficial route? While a majority of the educators interviewed said no, Susan Moses — author of the book The Art of Dressing Curves and a helper in FIT’s change toward inclusivity — thinks otherwise. “There are so many aspects of designing for plus that are different,” Moses says.
Moses makes a valid point: Fit is essential when designing for plus bodies, and too often, brands grade up from a size 8 or 10 without taking this into account. Weight can be added to the body in many different ways making one size 18 woman’s shape different from another’s. If young designers are unaware of the rigors and intense amount of training and experience needed to properly fit fat bodies, they could be set for failure.
A better question may be this: Why not normalize size inclusivity in technical classes while also offering plus-specific ones for students who want to expand in that market? “Incorporating size inclusion and plus-size fashion into the curriculum isn’t about a one-off effort, but about lasting systemic change,” says Barry. “It’s about transforming an entire educational system, not just offering it off for your elective.”
Before students at Ryerson even get to design, they are taught — through readings, documentaries, guest speakers, and coursework — about fat activism, as well as other topics like Black liberation and marginalization. They are taught about stereotypes regarding marginalized bodies in the industry, teaching them the significance and importance of inclusive fashion.
“[Before the pandemic], we were building our own dress forms in our Creative Technology Lab, where we were engaging a diverse group of local fat-identifying people in Toronto that identify as men, women, non-binary, and trans, working with them to actually scan their body and build our own dress form in plus-sizes in order to ensure that we have a variety of different shapes and sizes represented,” Barry says.
He adds, “If we’re going to transform fashion education, we need to invite bodies around the table that bring in life experiences that have been marginalized and erased from fashion because that will help us to really illuminate whose stories and whose bodies haven’t been told, who doesn’t feel welcome in our classroom right now, and what we can do to challenge that.”
While there’s no singular way to satisfy the demand for plus fashion, preparing students for the inclusive future of the industry is likely the best way to do so. The logistics of doing so, as shown, are not easy. Funding, of course, plays a big issue, as does student access to these institutions for those who can’t afford to attend. Now, the pandemic adds another level of challenges to address.
But if inclusivity is not made a core value at these fashion institutions, then there cannot be an expectation that fashion will ever progress to truly represent consumers. The future of fashion is now, and that future is inclusive. As designers struggle to stay afloat amidst the pandemic, young hopefuls would be wise to learn how to design for every body type now, before entering the industry. Diversity is always beneficial to your bottom line, and as the industry landscape faces one of its hardest challenges yet, fashion schools will have no choice but to evolve.
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Even before the pandemic, the problems in the fashion industry — from racism, to worker exploitation, to environmental damage — were enormous. But the last six months have amplified those issues, forcing many fashion lovers to grapple with the fact that an industry that brings them so much joy can also create so much damage. One upside, at least, to all this has been seeing how many brands and consumers are compelled to change their habits, and hopefully lead to a better fashion industry for everyone.
Since March, many designers have found themselves with piles of excess inventory. This is a result of many things: retailers who canceled orders; consumers who are cash-strapped, don’t need anything new given their current at-home lifestyles, or both; businesses that closed and, thus, were unable to ship products; and more. Whatever the specific cause, this unsold inventory is a very visible reminder for designers of what happens when overproduction is allowed free rein. Some took this time as an opportunity to get creative with archives, turning to leftover fabric for new collections. In June, Marques’Almeida introduced ReM’Ade, a collection made from upcycled fabrics, after noticing how much deadstock fabric it was holding. In July, Danish brand Cecilie Bahnsen released the “first of many” upcycled collections to come. In August, under Virgil Abloh, Louis Vuitton Men’s Spring 2021 show featured looks from a previous collection. Most recently, another Danish export, Ganni, used deadstock materials, as well as debuted a rental collaboration with Levi’s, during Copenhagen Fashion Week.
Consumers have also been forced to reexamine their relationship to one of the most polluting industries in the world. According to ThredUp’s 2020 Resale report, 70% of consumers agree that addressing climate change is more important now than ever. As a result, the report predicts a rise in secondhand shopping and a dip for fast fashion, the biggest offender when it comes to waste and unethical supply chain. Conscious consumers can no longer justify buying a dress just because it’s pretty and cheap, especially if it comes at the cost of the planet. But a change in our fashion habits requires asking some hard questions: What is the right way to consume fashion? Is there a right way?Can you love fashion and be an environmentally responsible and ethical human at the same time?
According to ThredUp’s 2020 Resale report, 70% of consumers agree that addressing climate change is more important now than ever.
While I’ve asked myself these questions previously, this time around, it’s led to some new developments in my shopping habits. While I’ve always personally dismissed a capsule closet, during the pandemic, I discovered that I only wear the same 10 to 15 items on repeat. This is despite the fact that my wardrobe never seems to get smaller no matter how many rounds of spring cleaning I do. (I am on round four since March, but who’s counting?) And while I can’t wait for the day I wear my yellow pantsuit or that indulgent mini bag that I got Before Quarantine, I no longer have the same appetite to purchase something new. Sure, this might mean that I will continue to wear the same thing over and over again, but that’s okay — I should value my clothing enough to want to wear it week after week, rather than just a few times a season.
This concept is nothing new. Slow-fashion brands have been preaching a “buy better, buy less” mentality for years, a movement that evokes fashion’s former ethos. (There’s a reason why vintage clothing can survive decades of use while a lot of new clothing can barely make it through a year.) This mentality has reached the highest echelons of the industry. Designers who churned out anywhere from four to eight collections a year have been halted by the pandemic; with that, they found time to think and make more conscious decisions. In this spring’s biggest fashion news, Gucci’s Alessandro Michele announced that the brand will go from showing five to two collections a year.
“We have to do things more responsibly,” Ganni’s co-founder and creative director, Ditte Reffstrup, told R29 recently. “If you don’t, there won’t be a spot for you in the industry in years to come.”
Fashion has been due for a reckoning of this kind for quite some time now — the pandemic just sped it up. In addition to the pressure that retailers have put on designers to cater to our every social media trend-driven whim, there is the issue of the archaic fashion calendar, which is always hopelessly out-of-season, with summer dresses arriving in the winter and fall coats in the summer. Not only does it not make sense to the consumers, but it’s even nonsensical to the designers who are making the clothes per these deadlines. The latter has had enough. In May, an open letter, led by Belgian designer Dries Van Noten and signed by other designers and fashion leaders, called for the fashion industry’s “fundamental and welcome change that will simplify businesses, making them more environmentally and socially sustainable and ultimately align them more closely with customers’ needs.”
Though the calls for sustainable and mindful shopping were happening well before this year, for those just tuning in now, there has never been a better time to revamp outmoded shopping habits and start to buy more purposefully and responsibly, shop secondhand, and support brands who are kind to the planet and their workers.
So, where do we go from here?
I’ve accepted that I love fashion too much to quit shopping entirely. What I can do, though, is ask the following questions before I purchase anything: Do I need this in my closet? Do I see myself wearing it in 20 years? Who and under what conditions made it? Can I buy something similar secondhand? Is it worth the money? That last question is especially significant because when money is scarce like it is right now, what you spend it on matters.
So, what should we consider spending it on right now? Here are a few ideas: Brands that follow ethical and environmentally responsible practices, and those that are inclusive; designers making high-quality staples that can be worn for years to come; and fashion that brings joy and comfort during a time when there’s little to be happy about or comforted by. Because, while I tend to reach for the same black turtleneck week after week, it’s the yellow, zebra-printed Victor Glemaud pants I bought two months into lockdown that I pair it with when I need something to make myself feel better about my day. And, when it comes down to it, isn’t that how fashion should always make you feel?
At Refinery29, we’re here to help you navigate this overwhelming world of stuff. All of our market picks are independently selected and curated by the editorial team. If you buy something we link to on our site, Refinery29 may earn commission.
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This February, I found myself struggling through an article I was writing about the rash of violence mostly targeting Asian-Americans wearing face masks. How do I convince Americans that, at least to many East Asians, face masks were a good thing — for everyone? The CDC had recently said face masks did little to prevent the spread of COVID-19, the respiratory virus that was ravaging China, but wasn’t yet known to be in America. In fact, at the time, there was consensus that most people who wore face masks were committing a deeply selfish act; every non-medical professional you saw in a mask meant there was one less for doctors, nurses, and other essential workers. So, how could I explain that, among the people who had first-hand experience of SARS, masks didn’t communicate self-centeredness, gullibility, or paranoia? Back in China, not wearing a mask said those same things about you. I tentatively wrote this sentence: “Those who refused to wear [masks] during the outbreak — or wore them incorrectly — drew criticism.” And I hoped that Americans would have the imagination to understand that perspective.
Fast-forward six months, one pandemic, and close to 200,000 American deaths: Everything has changed. We didn’t have to imagine a doomsday. We inhabit it. And it includes masks.
Now, the idea that I’d have a difficult time explaining to the average non-Asian-American how mask-wearing is considered an act of public health is laughable (even though there are many who still don’t believe masks work). Today, there are plenty of Americans who understand the differences between N95s and non-medical cloth masks, who pay attention to the etiquette around wearing them while exercising, grocery shopping, and taking public transportation. They know about the disturbing cultural pockets of mask-deniers for whom personal liberties are more important than their neighbor’s health. Six months ago, most Americans couldn’t tell you where to buy a facial mask. These days, most Americans likely own at least one.
Like so much about this pandemic, the way that masks have entered the consumer market is unprecedented. “I can’t think of anything that has become as ubiquitous over this short a period of time,” says retail analyst Neil Saunders. With the speed of a fad and the urgency of an essential item, masks went from nowhere to omnipresent in the span of a few weeks. Today, masks can be found in drugstores, big-box stores, and even gas stations. They are — aside from perhaps underwear — the most regularly worn item in America right now.
This has predictably thrown an already unstable fashion industry for a loop. The pandemic upended production capabilities and supply chains, as well as ransacked consumers’ pocketbooks, and thus their abilities and appetite to purchase new clothing and accessories. But to some fashion companies, masks presented an opportunity. Designers like Christian Siriano, Rachel Comey, and Dov Charney quickly pivoted, using their factories to create non-medical PPE (personal protective equipment) to be donated to medical facilities. For them, producing masks was not only a charitable act, but also a potential financial life raft to help offset the loss in revenue of apparel, occasion-wear, and other typically reliable fashion categories.
Some brands I spoke with, like Vida and Brave New Look, believe their decision to manufacture and promote masks has given them a newfound relevance, as well as an essential new revenue stream. Etsy reported that it earned $346 million in three months alone from face masks — a category that didn’t exist the previous quarter. Gap, which owns Old Navy and Athleta, reported $130 million in quarterly sales. The brand Lisa Says Gah offers a popular-selling affordable mask that introduced the company to a new range of customers; 70% of those who bought masks were first-time buyers, a 10% increase from her typical shoppers. A spokesperson from Sanctuary — whose five-pack of masks has become a best-seller across the internet — confirmed that their PPE line has been a boon: “We immediately added PPE masks as a way to keep our business going. We’ve seen an enormous return, and quite frankly, it’s kept us in business.”
For other fashion labels with more established brands and identities, making this transition has been complicated for some of the same reasons that I’d initially struggled with writing about masks in the first place: The initial messages that came out from our government institutions and health organizations were confusing for brands as well as for the population at large. It wasn’t until early April when the CDC finally acknowledged that non-medical masks were effective in slowing the spread of COVID-19 that folks were able to wear them with science on their side; by then, more than 10,000 Americans had already died. Brands felt pulled in two unsavory directions: Start producing “fashionable” masks and risk being labeled as opportunistic (a real hazard, given the ferocity and speed of cancel culture). Ignore it, and risk being seen as negligent.
Making the wrong decision could be catastrophic in ways beyond a brand’s financial health or public image. Dov Charney’s LA Apparel factories, which reopened to churn out masks to a swarm of positive press, soon became a hotbed for infection. Over 300 workers contracted coronavirus and four died before the county’s Department of Public Health ordered the factories to close.
One segment of fashion retail has steered clear of all this chaos, but perhaps to its detriment: luxury brands. You won’t find face masks on high-end retail sites like Net-a-Porter. Matches Fashion didnt’ stock them until this month. And while heritage labels like Louis Vuitton and Prada committed to creating masks and gowns for medical use, they have never sold them to consumers. “If you’re charging high premiums for masks, as some luxury brands will do, you do run the risk of people saying you’re cashing in on a health crisis,” explains Saunders. “Unfortunately, the political debate has become so heated, that even selling masks or offering masks is a lightning rod for criticism. I don’t know any other product that’s been as politicized to the extent that retailers feel the need to bury them away and hide them.” When you search for “face masks” on luxury fashion retailers, you’re more likely to come across $95 SKII facial treatment sheet masks than PPE. Net-a-Porter declined to provide a statement, and Matches did not respond to questions about why they waited until August to stock masks on their site.
High-end designer versions of masks do exist, but they’ve been created by younger, more progressive labels like Marine Serre, Collins Strada, and Off White. A couple department stores, including Nordstrom, offered masks from their existing vendors. “It was a seamless process to add masks into our accessories and we’re excited to offer customers different styles and designs,” a Nordstrom spokesperson said.
But many higher-end retailers who carry these masks are reticent to talk about it. Farfetch never responded to queries, and after a month of discussions with Shopbop for an interview about their decision to highlight masks as one of their top categories on its site’s navigation bar, it eventually pulled out of the interview.
Masks were never going to be an uncomplicated win for the fashion industry — or even an easy one. One of the reasons that masks have been so difficult to introduce is the inherent challenge of designing comfortable, high-quality, safe masks. Masks, writ large, are uncomfortable to wear: They fog up glasses, pull on ears, slide down faces, and give wearers mascne. Certain fabrics that feel good against skin are among the least effective at protecting the wearer or the public. Masks that come with an exhalation valve are more comfortable to wear, but more dangerous for others. Add to that the lack of regulations, standards, or guidelines; for consumers, there’s immense pressure and risks involved with buying the right mask, but very little reassurance that we’re making the right decisions.
Designers and retailers have a responsibility to get it right — and quickly — which Saunders points out is key to retailers establishing masks as a more permanent fashion category. “What you don’t want [as a retailer] is to offer masks that people buy on the basis that they’re going to be protected, and they somehow find out that your masks do a lousy job at protecting people,” he says. “That’s very, very important.”
As common as masks are now, there’s also the very attractive prospect that upon the implementation of an effective vaccine, they will disappear as quickly as they arrived. And, there’s no guarantee that masks will be something people continue to buy for as long as contracting COVID-19 is a daily threat — after all, how many masks does one person even need? Some fashion designers who already cannot afford to take on more risk are wary of investing too much in designing and manufacturing masks, lest the public’s need and desire for non-medical masks disappear after a vaccine. But, if we look at East Asian countries that dealt with the SARS epidemic, mask-wearing has remained a habit. In Japan, where disposable blue and white medical masks are as common an accessory as sunglasses or headphones, established mask-wearing norms likely slowed the rate of COVID-19 spread.
But it’s reasonable — if cynical — to expect that pandemics will become a more common occurrence, as climate change, antibiotic resistance, and globalization become more a part of our reality. And if that happens, it’s possible that Americans’ instincts towards self-expression and originality will lead to a real opportunity for fashion masks to flourish, unlike in Asia, where, for the most part, masks are a purely utilitarian accessory, and “fashion masks” are rare. That spirit, coupled with America’s robust fashion manufacturing capabilities and wide-range of retailers and businesses, could be meaningful for masks’ ability to become an everyday fashion accessory, even more so than in Europe, where fashion brands have largely chosen to skip out on masks and where infection rates are much more under control.
“It says something about American culture that we immediately pivot from wearing something that is functional and does the job, to wearing something that expresses my personality or that makes me look or feel good,” says Saunders. “That pivot from essential item to fashion item is something that’s quite peculiar to the American market. It speaks to the American sense of individuality, but also entrepreneurialism.”
In these six months of mixed messaging, masks — even without bells and whistles (or rhinestones and beaded strawberries) — have clearly communicated a whole catalog of expressions: They’ve signaled political beliefs, tastes and preferences, as well as how neighborly, considerate, and kind their wearer is. The fact that a single garment can convey all of that is unusual, unprecedented, and unbearably heavy. These are qualities that uniquely define our commitments to one other in 2020
If anything is up for that task, it’s face masks — worn in sickness, and hopefully, in health.
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