Chic and "The Phantom Thread"

Have you seen "The Phantom Thread"? We could talk for hours about its layered, remarkable story.

One line of dialog that stuck with me is the couturier Woodcock's response to his sister, Cyril, who informs him that a patron has decamped to another designer. He asks who, then why. "I suppose because the clothes are... chic", she says, flatly. He spits, "'Chic'? I hate 'chic'...that filthy little word."

I lost a few minutes pondering his response; his clothes are elegant, rigorous, but lack even a stitch of wit (as does he). Even for the mid-'50s era of the film, they are controlled, and project a glacial beauty.

Some reviewers call the clothes in "The Phantom Thread" chic because of their rigorous elegance. But the society women wearing them look untouchable, trussed; they are clothes for entrances.  Women are not expected to move in them. (One does fall face-first onto her plate.)

To the modern eye, such restriction is not chic; chic in our time embraces movement and fluidity, and we prize a less recherché presentation. Women are willing to wear shapewear, but not corsets.

Whether it even matters to be chic is another question. The answer is no, chic is a tiny dart on the fabric of life, not the whole cloth. Still, when we shop, we look in the mirror and hope to look "good". And if we can have that little extra tweak toward chic, no one complains.

Countless books teach the reader how to be chic in the French, English, Danish, business-world, socially-responsible or age-appropriate manner. You know the canon: neutrals, current but not trend-enslaved, quality accessories, your colour palette, a signature accessory. Not many writers say that a slim, long-limbed figure is a serious asset, because most of us would just close the book right there!

Such books brush over the concept of good design, but fashion magazines are actually its enemy, because advertisers in magazines like Vogue target a young market, and showcase their 'aspirational' status-billboard pieces.

Photo: Chanel.com

At the other end of the spectrum, clothes that will fit a mature customer are too often stripped of any design interest (not that you will see those in Vogue).

Let's look at some examples of design-bereft and design-imbued goods at similar price points. (I am avoiding the judgement of "good" and "bad" design, which is a more subjective matter.)

1. A walking shoe
Both are in the "comfort" zone, but one has élan, one is just a shoe.
Left: Black Lace by Flexi

Right: Van's Old Skool

2. A black bag
Both fabric bags have a logo and a shoulder strap—but one doubles down with logo'd fabric which is supposed to impress.
Left: Coach "Edie 31" jacquard bag
Right: Want "O'Hare" shopper tote   

3. An embroidered navy sweater
"Chic" is sometimes defined as refusal of embellishment, but that is not an absolute. One is fussy, one fluid.
Left:  Navy seashore-embroidered sweater, Talbot's
Right:  Navy gold star-embroidered sweater, J. Crew

Writer and Instagram star Sophie Fontanel, who has an abiding appreciation of chic, says women ought to absorb images from anything but fashion magazines: fine and decorative arts, literature, architecture, film—and people-watch avidly. She is asking us to build our eye, so that when the market tries to sell us a mess of a sweater, we walk right by.

Woodcock feared chic; its modernity threatened his dominion over his swans. But chic is little more than good design, worn with confidence and good posture. It can be jeans and a tee shirt, today. There is no big mystery, and there is no imperative to be chic unless you want it. Practical is fine, pretty is fine, comfortable is fine, as are a dozen other effects.

And if you are interested in chic, you will probably refuse at least 75% of the mass market offerings, and make sure you feel at ease in whatever you do choose.