OPINION:
Now that presidential election primaries are winding down and both parties are preparing for their conventions, the big question is: Which party will win in November?
The answer may lie in the bottom line — of women’s fashions, that is. Each time hems go down, Democrats lose, even though they’ve always been hopeful that they’ll be a cut above that dire prediction.
It all started with the campaigns of President Andrew Jackson, the first real Democrat who capitalized on the emerging frontier states where women, for the first time in American history, had shorter skirts than their counterparts in the East. The reason was simple: Life was tough on the frontier, and in order to get a leg up on all their household and farm duties, women hiked up their hems.
But later in the 19th century Republicans romped as women’s fashions were so long as to sweep the floor. Amelia Bloomer made a valiant effort to come up short, but the knee-jerk reaction for most women was covered by yards of petticoats. When progressive Republicans occupied the White House in the early 1900s, the length of clothes went up a hem or two.
The upsweep was enormous in the 1920s even though it was a Republican decade. It was a roller-coaster fashion ride for young women, with skirts high as the knees from 1921 to 1923, then to the ankles. Back to the knees by 1925, but then to the floor by 1929. Older women, however, stuck to their original no-show garments, and party bosses vowed that the radical fabric contours and stitches of young folk would be banned, just like alcohol.
Democrats had no such hang-downs. President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal lifted spirits and hemlines and encouraged experimentation in women’s fashions. With World War II, the long and short of presidential politics was conservation. Fabrics were scarce, and a 72-inch girth limit was imposed on women’s skirts. Little wonder that FDR was elected to four terms. Rosie the Riveter had no qualms in going to work in overalls that were rolled up well above the ankle (see Norman Rockwell’s painting of Rosie appearing in the Saturday Evening Post in May 1943). Patriotic feelings were running high — from knee to shining knee.
But then, in anticipation of the Democrats losing power, came designer Christian Dior, who in 1947 came out with his “New Look” dresses highlighted by tiny waists and long — I mean, long — circle skirts. No wonder that everyone thought Republican Thomas Dewey would defeat President Harry S. Truman in 1948.
President Dwight D. Eisenhower’s moderate Republicanism saw no reactionary clothing styles. Petticoats returned with longer and fuller skirts. Crinolines — stiffened petticoats designed to hold a woman’s dress — were perfect compromises for the “Modern Republicanism” that Ike fashioned. So, too were jumper dresses, sleeveless designs attached to a skirt that mimicked men’s overalls but weren’t short. Even when hems inched upward, the look was sacklike rather than formfitting, which ensured that the straight-laced midriff majority in the GOP wouldn’t get uptight.
With Democrats in power in the 1960s, fashions were scarcely ho-hem. Miniskirts were the rage as well as short-shorts, vanishing as the Republicans took office in 1969. After President Richard Nixon visited China in 1972, Chinese fashions in the form of long evening dresses took hold, signaling a GOP rout in the fall.
The ’70s and ’80s saw a mixed shopping bag, with President Jimmy Carter caught off guard by women’s fashions. On the one hand, lengths ran the gamut from ankle to short-shorts, but late in his term, silhouette dresses, a tad longer and tied at the bottom, escaped his notice. Ronald Reagan was destined to put a nip-and-a-tuck in Democratic hopes.
The real problem in recent decades is that, for the first time in history, long dresses and shorter versions are coexisting. So it’s difficult to make a good, seamless prediction. As for this fall’s elections, about the only advice I can give both parties hoping for victory is that they simply can’t afford to skirt the issues. Or, for that matter, to hem and haw.
• Thomas V. DiBacco, professor emeritus at American University, is the son of a seamstress.
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