Medhurst’s text, Unsuitable: A History of Lesbian Fashion, is a powerful reclaiming of the past. Through clear and captivating prose, she vividly showcases the stories of lesbians and queer individuals whose lives have been hidden, forgotten, or intentionally left out of mainstream narratives.
Meticulously researched and full of humanity, Medhurst offers both an educational and validating experience for readers, emphasising how clothing has long been a form of self-expression and defiance, especially within queer communities.
From Sappho to Christina of Sweden, her text is an essential read for anyone eager to dive into the rich but repeatedly neglected history of queer communities, exploring how fashion has shaped lesbian identity and resistance.
- What methodologies did you employ to navigate the complexities of uncovering lesbian histories through fashion, especially given the deliberate erasure and lack of records, to write your text, Unsuitable: A History of Lesbian Fashion?
Unsuitable was brought to life by a range of approaches, and it often depended on the topic at hand. For instance, when writing about Anne Lister’s lesbian self-fashioning, I trawled through Anne’s diary entries to discover her own perspective on her clothes, as well as to make connections with the clothes and style choices of others in her community. Sometimes, though, I had to be a bit more inventive with my approach to lesbian history. Where there was little solid evidence, lesbian fashion history is more like a patchwork of examples; when exploring the role of seventeenth century ‘female husbands’ within a wider lineage of lesbian fashion history, I had to consider pop-cultural examples from the period, considering how they might reflect the reality of real people’s non-normative lives. It could definitely be a challenge.
- Which archival finds or cultural moments most challenged or expanded your understanding of the sartorial choices of queer individuals across different historical and geographical contexts?
Something that really changed the way that I approached lesbian fashion history in Unsuitable was going through online archives of lesbian magazines from Weimar Germany – Frauenliebe and Die Freundin. I’d always planned for the book to be trans-inclusive, of course, but the extent to which trans lives (under the label ‘transvestites’) were intertwined with lesbian culture and fashion within a metropolitan Weimar context was astounding. Articles about how to dress as a transvestite were published in multiple copies of the magazines, and adverts for lesbian club nights (such as ‘monokelfest’, where ‘every lady gets a monocle for free’) were nestled next to adverts for the same club’s transvestite social evenings. These finds were the basis of a chapter in the book, and I personally think that it’s one of the most important that I’ve written.
- How do you trace the evolution of lesbian sartorial identity from figures like Queen Christina and Gentleman Jack to contemporary queer fashion icons, and what continuities or disruptions do you observe?
Something that I thought about while writing the book was how lesbian fashion history is almost a string of influences – that some historical figures may not explicitly be icons of lesbian fashion, but they’re still very much precursors to lesbian fashions that have developed over time. This is, I think, particularly true for Queen Christina, whose sexuality (and gender) has been so much debated that she belongs within lesbian historical study no matter what her actual thoughts on the matter might have been! And there are definitely recurring themes within the clothes that she wore and the way that she styled herself, even if the garments may be very different. The freedom of expression that’s evident in descriptions of her appearance are mirrored, for me, in lesbian feminist activist fashion of the late twentieth century, where lesbians turned the idea of ‘ugliness’ on its head by dressing in ways that were practical and oppositional to the male gaze. No matter how far apart we live, we’re all human, after all – we’re not really all that different.
- Your text discusses a spectrum of styles, including Black lesbian aesthetics, trans lesbian fashion, and gender nonconformity. How do these varied expressions of self intersect, and what complexities do they reveal about the multiplicity within lesbian communities?
It was really important to me that I navigate some of the (many) intersections that overlap with lesbian identity and consequently lesbian fashion. I was conscious that I write as a cis, white author, and that so much of the most recorded and celebrated lesbian history is cis and white – even though this isn’t reflective of the reality. The different identities and experiences that people have are instrumental to their relationship with clothing, and the way that people’s bodies are perceived by the people around them affects the way that their self-fashioning is received, too. Not all lesbian fashion choices are the same. It’s difficult to answer a question about complexity, because there’s so much to say (and I hope that I’ve said some of it in the book) – but essentially, lesbian fashion history is often an analysis of the way that we shield and/or celebrate oppressed bodies to the world. When a body is oppressed in a number of ways, the ways that it can be shielded or celebrated with clothing or style choices can be very different, and it’s important to make these distinctions.
- In what ways has the mainstream fashion industry historically marginalised or coopted lesbian and queer aesthetics, and do you see a genuine shift in this dynamic today?
In recent years there have definitely been concerns that lesbian and queer fashions/aesthetics are being co-opted by the mainstream fashion industry, and these aren’t unfounded. It’s also nothing new: complaints about lesbian style becoming watered down by mainstream reimaginings have been being published in lesbian books, blogs and magazines for decades! For example, Doc Martens have been a queer staple for a while, but since the 1990s lesbians have been complaining about their growing mainstream appeal. I do think, though, that things are different today. With social media, we all have more of a personal presence – I think that queer fashions are more likely to be recognised as queer (or at least as having queer origins!) because we’re all online insisting on them.
- What do you hope Unsuitable will contribute to ongoing discussions about fashion as both a medium of queer visibility and a tool for subversion?
It’s my hope that Unsuitable will bring more attention to specifically lesbian influences on queer fashion, and the importance of clothing to the discovery and analysis of lesbian history. I think that queer fashion (and queer fashion history) can sometimes be quite male-centric – and while of course queer men’s fashion cultures and contributions deserve attention, I really just wanted lesbians to have a moment to shine. I hope that the book will inspire others to carry on this research, too.
- How do you position fashion within lesbian communities both as a marker of inclusion and as a mode of resistance against prevailing heteronormative expectations?
I think that fashion plays a more important role within lesbian communities and lesbian history that it’s often given credit for. Fashion isn’t just following the latest trends – it’s any way that we dress and present ourselves with intention, and for lesbians the intention behind our self-presentation can say a lot. It can be a way to form a community identity, with quasi-uniforms. It can be a way to rebel against dominant culture. My position is that fashion is an incredible lens through which to consider social histories, and that I’m considering lesbian social histories within a heteronormative world.
Medhurst’s text, Unsuitable: A History of Lesbian Fashion is now available in Hodges Figgis
