The 1968 Fashion Show, the History Lesson Melania Missed

This week marked the 50th anniversary of the first—and only—fashion show ever held in the White House. While the February 29, 1968, event hosted by First Lady Lady Bird Johnson has been virtually forgotten today, it received extensive and glowing media coverage at the time. Before the show, organizers and journalists even predicted that it would become an annual occurrence—a permanent fixture on the American fashion calendar along with Press Week and the Party of the Year, now respectively known as New York Fashion Week and the Met Ball.

But the first White House fashion show would be the last. The PR stunt turned into a PR disaster, plagued by bad weather and bad timing (in the middle of the Tet Offensive). It left a swarm of bad feelings in its wake; designers who had been left out lashed out and well-meaning organizers felt stung by complaints that the administration was out of touch, partying while Vietnam burned. Just a month later, on March 31, President Lyndon B. Johnson shocked the country by announcing that he would not seek re-election that fall.

Story Continued Below

Nevertheless, the Trump White House—in particular, First Lady Melania Trump, who rarely wears American designers—could learn something from this ill-begotten intersection of fashion and politics. The 1968 fashion show was the high-water mark of the expectation that Americans buy American-made fashions—especially the first lady, one of the most visible and, presumably, patriotic American women. The decline of the American apparel industry, and all other manufacturing sectors, in the years that followed prompted a similar decline of the Buy American campaign. But the first family still continued to support American garment-makers—until now. Which is why Melania’s America Last outfits make an economic statement as well as a fashion statement.

Of the Trumps’ many deviations from presidential precedent, one of the most unremarked is their complete disregard of the first family’s long-perceived duty to support Seventh Avenue. Donald Trump and his daughter, Ivanka, openly promote their made-in-China clothing lines while trumpeting “American First” policies; Melania Trump chose American designers for her Inauguration Day wardrobe but has largely eschewed them ever since, a lapse somewhat masked by the relative infrequency of her public appearances.

As a former model—one reportedly talented enough to land an EB-1 visa on the basis of her “extraordinary ability”—Trump could be a supremely effective walking advertisement for American design. But apart from an occasional nod to Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein or Michael Kors, she has chosen to wear foreign designers, even for high-profile public appearances and ceremonial events: a Roksanda Ilincic dress for the Republican National Convention; a Gucci pussy blouse for the presidential debate; Stella McCartney for the Thanksgiving turkey pardoning; a Chanel coat for the National Christmas Tree lighting; Delpozo to address the United Nations; Erdem for New Year’s Eve at Mar-a-Lago; an ivory Dior pantsuit for the State of the Union address; Pucci to welcome Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi to the White House; Mary Katrantzou for the Congressional Picnic; a Dolce & Gabbana gown for the Governors’ Ball.

If there is one hard-and-fast fashion rule that has applied to all first ladies of the modern era, it is to buy and wear American-made (or at least American-designed) clothing, even on the campaign trail. Jackie Kennedy’s official designer, Oleg Cassini, was a U.S. Army veteran. Nancy Reagan wore James Galanos, Bill Blass, Adolfo and Geoffrey Beene, often in patriotic “Reagan Red.” Barbara and Laura Bush lived in clothes by Dominican-American Oscar de la Renta and Arnold Scaasi, a Canadian-born New Yorker. Clinton’s pantsuits were by Ralph Lauren. Michelle Obama put her own spin on patriotic dressing, supporting young Seventh Avenue designers—often designers of color—rather than established industry stalwarts. (Another one of her innovations was mixing designer pieces with inexpensive basics from J. Crew and Gap—clothes any American woman could afford.)

Kennedy famously bent this rule, buying authorized, made-in-the USA copies of French couture. And many first ladies since have donned foreign designers for State Dinners or overseas trips, in a diplomatic tribute to their guests or hosts. But, in general, they are expected to fly the flag in public.

This first lady requirement has as much to do with economics as it does with America’s cultural ego.In the 20th century, it wasn’t China that the U.S. fashion industry was up against. It was Europe. Historically, Europe—especially France—dominated manufacturing and design. But after World War II, with European economies in ruins and the French fashion industry co-opted by the Nazi occupation, the United States gained an advantage against its transatlantic counterparts—just as China reaps the reward of our battered manufacturing sector today.

The U.S. didn’t just aim for greater manufacturing shares. When World War II crippled the French fashion industry, Seventh Avenue also fought for a share of its popularity and prestige. The New York Dress Institute was launched in 1941; at the City Hall ceremony, a “New York Creation” clothing label that was to be sewn into every dress made in the city made its debut. As recounted in Booth Moore’s new book American Runway,“First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt passed out 14-karat-gold needles used by union workers to ceremoniously sew the first labels, setting a precedent for cooperation between the White House and the fashion industry that would continue for years to come.”

The first Press Week was held in 1943; the Party of the Year followed in 1947. The Council of Fashion Designers of America was founded in 1962. By 1968, the garment industry was the fourth largest in the U.S., employing 1.4 million Americans, more than 80 percent of them women; it was the largest employer of women in the country.

While the U.S. garment industry faced off against Europe, the role of the American fashion designer changed. While haute couture, the highly regulated Parisian custom-made clothing industry, had long been driven by the creativity and personalities of individual designers, Seventh Avenue was dominated by faceless manufacturing firms who produced multiple ready-to-wear lines. Most prided themselves on the impressive volume of their output, rather than its quality or originality. Indeed, even high-end manufacturers peddled authorized knockoffs of Parisian couture. But in the late 1960s, more and more designers made the transition from hired hand to figurehead, from the workroom to the front office. Their names began to appear on labels and their faces in advertisements—and their designs were original. Finally, designers emerged from the shadows into the harsh glare of celebrity. In 1969, the New York Times would hail the shift as “a turning point in American design” that had “not only lead to structural changes in the dress business but also produced a new attitude toward fashion.”

With its power and profile on the rise, the U.S. fashion industry also became increasingly politically active.On December 6, 1967, a group of Seventh Avenue designers and manufacturers proposed a boycott of French couture and French textiles, in response to anti-American and anti-Israeli statements by General Charles de Gaulle. Thanks to the rise of Swiss, Italian and American textile manufacturers, the U.S. fashion industry was finally in a position to stand up to the French without hurting its own bottom line. Seventh Avenue was tired of playing second fiddle to Europe.

It was in this atmosphere that the 1968 White House fashion show was born. Its host, Lady Bird Johnson, was successor to the fashion-forward Jackie Kennedy—whose iconic style had revolutionized the way that first lady fashion was covered by the press. ThoughJohnson considered fashion “froufrou” and despaired of competing with the famously chic Kennedy, she learned that keeping up with fashion was an effective way of ensuring that the media focused on things she considered more important, rather than fretting about her dowdy wardrobe in print. She even made the International Best Dressed List in 1966. But she also knew that her fashion choices carried enormous political power. “Fashion starts at the White House,” observed Nina Hyde, the fashion editor of the Washington Daily News and one of the organizers of the show. “Front-page news makes front-page fashion. If a woman is going to be in the public eye, other women are influenced by what she wears.”

By early 1968, Johnson’s new friends in the fashion press had persuaded her that a White House fashion show for U.S.-made and designed clothing at time when the U.S. fashion industry was on the rise—and locked in stiff competition with Europe—was a good idea.

Meanwhile, President Johnson had his own beef with Europe. The advent of commercial jet travel had made foreign vacations an affordable option for Americans. In 1967, 3.3 million Americans vacationed abroad, while only 1.5 million foreign tourists visited the U.S. The president hoped to stem this so-called “dollar drain” by encouraging Americans to spend their vacation budgets on domestic travel. His “Discover America” program, launched in April 1967, aimed to give the American economy an estimated $26 billion per year boost.

Thus, the fashion show—titled “How to Discover America in Style”—awkwardly combined a tribute to Seventh Avenue with the President’s pet project. While the U.S. Marine Band played, models walked a white-carpeted runway set up in the State Dining Room. Shots of Mount Rushmore, the Grand Canyon and other U.S. tourist destinations flashed on a screen behind them. Several of the outfits displayed were conspicuously red, white, and blue. “The fashion show has become an instrument of economic policy,” the Washington Post observed.

Back then, the threat to Seventh Avenue came from Europe, and especially Paris. Today, it’s China and the Third World. Not only do they flood the American market with cheap imports and knockoffs, but the vast majority of “American” clothes are produced there, often in sweatshops plagued by accidents and human rights violations. Only 3 percent of American designers actually manufacture their clothes in the United States. In 1968, that figure was 95 percent.

From an ethical standpoint, “Made in America” is not always an appropriate yardstick; there are sweatshops here, too, and much European-made clothing meets the same standards in terms of labor conditions, environmental impact and quality. But from an economic and political one, it’s an important bellwether. Fashion may not start at the White House any more as it did in Jackie’s day, but it’s still impacted by decisions made there.

In an administration characterized by pernicious nationalism, it’s possible that the Slovenian-born first lady’s melting pot of a closet is meant to be a subversive statement of inclusivity. If so, however, it’s inclusive in that narrow sense only, for what truly unites these designers are their jaw-dropping price tags; witness the $51,000 Dolce & Gabbana jacket Trump notoriously wore on a trip to Sicily. (Meanwhile, her husband favors Italian Brioni suits and made-in-China Trump ties, anchored by Scotch Tape.)

Of course, many on Seventh Avenue have flat-out refused to dress the controversial first lady, including Zac Posen, Marc Jacobs, Tom Ford and Sophie Theallet. But there’s nothing stopping her from buying or wearing their clothes, and there are other ways she could lend her support. Trump has not done a Vogue cover as first lady. (Michelle Obama did three.) She has not hosted or appeared at industry events, as Roosevelt, Johnson and Obama did. (Even Queen Elizabeth II recently turned up in the front row at London Fashion Week.)Perhaps most importantly given her tastes for foreign designers,Melania Trump has not championed incentives to lure clothing and textile manufacturing back to U.S. soil.

It’s going to take more than a first lady’s example to make the American fashion industry great again, but it would be a good start. Melania might start by taking the spirit of the original White House fashion show and infusing it with a Trumpian promise: to Make America Chic Again.

Let’s block ads! (Why?)