She Wore White

For men of influence, it’s easy to affirm their authority and importance. They simply wear a dark suit, French cuff shirt and striking tie. This is the recognised uniform of power. There is no parallel for women, however, and those who have walked the corridors of fame have always had to create their own sartorial language. Certainly, some have shown themselves to be more fluent than others, and as a result, many have been derided for their attempts. None more so than Hillary Clinton, who in a bid to stop speculation about her appearance during the 2016 presidential campaign, stuck to her own uniform of Ralph Lauren and Giorgio Armani trouser suits. It appears vice president-elect Kamala Harris has adopted a similar strategy. Until the recent furore over her appearance on the cover of US Vogue wearing a pair of Converse, I’d read very little commentary on her clothing.

I know the dominant school of thought is that this is a good thing, and that women’s outfits should not be a talking point or an anchor for newspaper editorials, but I’ve always considered the number of column inches devoted to what a woman in the public eye wears as being directly proportional to how much other women admire and respect her, and the degree to which men fear her. Take the current and former First Ladies, for instance. The media dissected Michelle Obama’s outfit choices more intently than a sweet-toothed child picks apart a plate of vegetables. From the moment she arrived on Pennsylvania Avenue in her pretty patterned pumps, she created a new narrative that married style and substance, and we were fascinated by it. Her outfit choices were feminine but intelligent, womanly but powerful, fun but not frothy. They reflected her personality – smart but sassy – and her values – diversity for one. Michelle used clothes to speak truths that she couldn’t necessarily vocalise.

You could argue, on the other hand, that Melania Trump has one of the most sophisticated wardrobes of any woman in the public domain, but how many fashion editors and columnists are writing about it? With the exception of her wildly misjudged Zara jacket, nobody cares much whether she’s wearing Givenchy or Gap. Her fashion choices are of no interest because she’s failed to have a voice and invite any interest in who she is or what she stands for.

Clothes don’t maketh the woman, you see, the woman maketh the clothes.

There’s something terribly unfair about a woman having to sacrifice her own personal style to fit a sartorial mandate devised by men for men.

Deborah Spar, author of Wonder Women: Sex, Power, and the Quest for Perfection, told the Huffington Post: “If we can just embrace everyone wearing stuff that’s fun, that’s comfortable, that feels right for their bodies, that’s a saner place.” Two decades into the 21st century, more than 100 years since women were given the right to vote, and 45 years after equal pay for equal work became a legal entitlement in this country, it’s time our frame of reference for what success looks like changed for good. Michelle Obama has been instrumental in moving this process along, and the editorials she’s inspired, but so have others, such as the president of the European Central Bank Christine Lagarde. The former managing director of the IMF operates in the most masculine-dominated workplaces in the world, yet she has always followed her own fashion path, adding vibrant scarves, distinct brooches and interesting earrings to her beautifully tailored separates. Her elegance, femininity and personal aesthetic have never undermined or detracted from her message. In fact, I’d argue they have only magnified it. There’s something to be said for the old adage, “See me, hear me.” When you command someone’s attention visually, they are far more likely to listen to what you have to say.

These women are incredibly smart, and they use clothes not so much as armour, but as an overture; an invitation, not just to understand the personality behind the public figure, but views, opinions and affiliations that might be uncomfortable or inappropriate for them to verbalise. Christine Lagarde’s lively scarves have always been seen as representing her non-conformist streak. Michelle Obama’s mix of high-street with high-end nods to her upbringing in the gritty suburbs of Chicago’s south side. Kamala Harris’s choice of a white suit to accept the vice presidency last November was seen as a show of solidarity with Hillary Clinton, who wore a white suit when she accepted the Democratic presidential nomination in 2016, and with the female members of Congress who all wore them at the State of the Union address last year in a show of support for the rights of women and disenfranchised groups.

If Kamala Harris’s subtle tailoring is a departure from Michelle Obama’s eclectic colours and prints, it is no less interesting, because she too will use what she wears to tell her own story, and so often, the narrative a woman weaves through her clothes is the most revealing of all.

While the majority of men prefer to remain safely within traditional dress codes, I’d argue that rather than offering them protection or the appearance of what is good and right – as it did centuries ago – these days on the back of a recession caused by white-collar crime, banking failures and government neglect, slick suits and expensive silk ties reek of privilege and corruption. Former British prime minister Tony Blair understood this as early as the 1990s and stepped out of the sartorial straitjacket, regularly appearing without a blazer or tie, sleeves rolled up and ready for business. This sartorial overture to the working man won trust, and it became his calling card. Channel 4 News anchor John Snow, meanwhile, has always refused to blend into the background and has frequently sparked discussions about his quirky socks and unique ties. He’s one of the most trusted broadcasters in Britain and I think this is, in part, because he has differentiated himself from the bland suited-and-booted brigade. When MSNBC pundit Steve Kornacki wore peanut butter-coloured trousers on American TV last November, the reaction almost broke the internet. Outside of politics, David Beckham's clothes have always been scrutinised, applauded and ridiculed as much as his wife, Victoria’s. It appears that men no longer receive a Get Out Of Jail Free card from the fashion police.

But it’s because we’re intrigued by these individuals that everything they wear, as well as everything they say and do, matters. If we didn’t care, their sartorial misdemeanours and mini triumphs would be relegated to the Mail Online’s sidebar of shame rather than the front pages of broadsheets. I’m by no means suggesting that levelling the public image playing field is about scrutinising what everybody wears all the time. But I would rather have women and men dress for their personalities and feel happy in their own skin, and suffer a few column inches of criticism along the way than live in a world where fashion is no longer a joy, but generic and safe.

There will always be naysayers, but when you’re true to yourself (in fashion as well as in life), their words won’t slow you down. Plus you can’t please all of the people all of the time, nor should you have to. There will always be someone somewhere who is not going to like what you wear, or say, or do, or represent. And that’s okay.

I look forward to many editorials about Kamala Harris’s style over the next few years, because to my mind, they are not diminishing. They are a salute to her status and a reflection of our admiration of, and interest in, the first, but hopefully not the last, female vice president of the United States.