Two of my greatest loves are fashion and film. I’ve always been fascinated with how they intersect. Breakfast at Tiffany’s certainly would not be the same without all of that stunning Givenchy. What would Indiana Jones be without his hat? Would Dorothy have gotten home if the ruby slippers were just plain satin pumps?
A good wardrobe is like another character in a film. It makes the screen come to life in a way that a flesh and blood actor can’t. But it wasn’t always as revered as it is today.
I’m listening to a fabulous podcast – No Place Like Home – that prompted today’s Fashion Friday.
In the 1960’s, there wasn’t really a market for movie memorabilia. Costumes and props weren’t considered valuable (or very important) once a picture wrapped. Things weren’t archived like they are today. They were put in storage closets and forgotten about.
But in the early 70’s, the old Hollywood model changed. Studios were making big-budget pictures – pictures that went over budget – and found themselves needing to offload liabilities to get some positive cashflow. They started with their backlots.
Backlots were basically storage facilities. They housed original scripts, photos, props… and costumes. From a financial perspective, the studios deemed the contents junk. And before they could sell off the backlot real estate, they needed to “get rid of the junk.”
According to historians, all of this movie memorabilia was to be incinerated. Save for the machinery and furniture, which was going to auction, employees could take what they pleased. What was left, was to be destroyed.
A costume designer named Kent Warner was a true fashion and film lover. He is the one who found Dorothy’s ruby slippers – among TONS of other famous movie costumes – in these backlots and saved them from incineration. He convinced the studio execs to auction off some of the film’s most famous costumes.
It was this shift, that set the movie memorabilia market into overdrive. The fashion these beloved characters wore became extremely important and valuable. Had it not been for Kent Warner, we likely wouldn’t see Dorothy’s ruby slippers in the Smithsonian. Or Rocky’s boxing gloves. Or have an entire industry for movie memorabilia.
I love this story. It’s a perfect example of how something that was once considered junk was actually a diamond in the rough. Our cultural fabric is in part tied to these pieces. When I see Marty’s Nike Power Laces or Keanu’s leather trenchcoat I’m transported to another place.
Fashion – as I’ve always known – is transformative.
