Dressing History: Nostalgia and Class in the Worlds of Ralph Lauren

Over the last number of years, it has been recognized that advertising is not simply a state of affairs whereby the consumer is manipulated “as a victim” into purchasing a particular item. As a matter of fact the relationship between consumer and advertiser has become much more sophisticated, to the point in fact that a “polysemous” process is at work. What is integral to comprehend for the purposes of this paper is the concept that advertisers make use of “established codes of status, desire, fear, and need.” (Pavitt, “In Goods” 38) It is also important to recognize that the consumer is intimately involved in defining or refining his or her identity by purchasing a particular product or embracing a manufactured look. The question “Is that me?” comes into play here in a very significant way. As sociologist Zygmunt Bauman has observed, the purchasing of products such as clothing to define one's identity occupies the same important role as choosing a profession. (Cited in Pavitt, “Branding,” 156). When looking at the advertisements for the products of designer Ralph Lauren, — whether Polo, Polo Sport, or Purple Label — the words that come to mind are nostalgia, taste, refinement, class and old money. What the people behind the ads do (no doubt with Ralph Lauren's full consent) is attempt to harness the patina of age, with all that that entails, in order to create a series of “worlds” where time stands still. These ads and the related marketing programs are quite similar to Roland Marchand's description of the popular “social tableaux”. Marchand comments that “reflections of society” advertisements were utilized in early magazine illustrations to link people to specific social settings. They relied on “scenes sufficiently stereotypical to bring immediate audience recognition.” The social tableau advertisements of the 1920s and 1930s, had, as Marchand notes, a tendency to focus on an upper-class atmosphere with such prevalence that “a historian relying exclusively on their manifest evidence could only conclude that most Americans of that era enjoyed an exceedingly affluent and leisured mode of life” (Marchand 165, 166). A key trope in this recipe is the perception that what is stylistically “classic”, in sartorial and material terms, is automatically equated with the casual yet sophisticated taste of the upper classes. The Veblien notion of the “veneration of the archaic”, which as Paul Fussel has demonstrated, “shows itself everywhere”, is a concept that many people hold in high esteem, if not revere. (Fussel, 71-73)2 This ideal holds sway across many facets of the advertised worlds of Ralph Lauren. What this means, in essence, is that the whole notion of oldness, of time, of history, can not only be tastefully packaged, but more importantly, can hold great appeal to many people hoping to catch a morsel of the finery. The idea of a specific high-class look, or more accurately, what John Seabrook calls the “haberdasherical embodiement of an Anglo-American aristocrat” comes significantly from the products of mass culture (Seabrook 50).3 Lauren and others have been influenced by a variety of film and popular depictions which reflect a specific and defined version of the mediated past. These images have been resurrected periodically and have appeared in their own film versions; from The Great Gatsby to Annie Hall to Out of Africa. Just as earlier films and early film stars such as Cary Grant and Noel Coward provided examples to Lauren as an influence, both personally and professionally, they have been resurrected and recycled for a newer audience. This process has been combined with new retail avenues which have brought a formerly hard to find look to the general public. Exclusive menswear shops and upper-market department stores were once the private shopping outlets for a select and wealthy clientele. Those that are around today, such as Saks and Barney's, have now broadened their appeal and in turn, have reached out to capture as large a market as possible. Where once there were only a few shops in a few select cities catering to the upper end of the market, they now dot the landscape and can be found in virtually every city and in most department stores in boutique form. In the past, shopping in these exclusive stores used to be a form of elite education – an introduction to a quasi-restricted arena. This was akin to taking a grand tour of Europe, summering in some exclusive resort, going to the right school. The stores were part and parcel of a complete education in refinement, manners and style and provided a specific kind of knowledge to a very select few individuals. Now, access to such a world, or at least the vestigial trappings of “good taste”, can be purchased by virtually anyone. Certain retail establishments offer a canned version; a ready-made adaptation of elite Anglo culture, accessible and obtainable for the right price. These shops (such as Polo Ralph Lauren), their products and their image, now provide direct access to the material conditions of culture, affluence and tradition that used to only be accessible through birth, education and travel (Collins 187). The Lauren ethos provides a very sophisticated shortcut to a world that was once the privilege of the few, but that now can be bought, accessed, and displayed. The large, glossy and tasteful Ralph Lauren images that grace the pages of The Sunday New York Times Magazine, The New Yorker, Esquire, GQ, Vogue and so on are often block ads that feature a narrative lifestyle. For the most part “group portraits” or isolated fragments are the dominant features. The portraits are usually of groups — three, four, or more men and women, girls and boys — dressed in Ralph Lauren finery. The fragments are either close-ups of beautiful faces or snapshots of accessories such as socks, shoes, ties. From the obvious Polo logo to the “undercoded” tie or belt with no discemable badge, the viewer and potential purchaser of virtually any product from the Ralph Lauren universe is automatically a member of a manufactured-identity club. No special signet ring, no embossed card, are necessary, for the wearing of Ralph Lauren is entry and proof in itself that one is now part of a unique universe. One has purchased the image of wealth, class and “the good life.” This is primarily what is conveyed by the marketer's imagination in the ads and in the created style of Ralph Lauren. By purchasing the shirt, the scent, the shoes, one has entered the exclusivity of the highest levels of society — at least symbolically and vicariously. The world that Ralph Lauren creates is based on exclusivity yet, at the same time, is meant to attract the masses. What most people who purchase the Lauren lines of clothing and home decor want is, at the very least, the accouterments of historically grounded symbols of class. Lauren's advertising and imagery is directed towards this longing. Commodities of all kinds, from cars to watches, have become vital in defining self-worth. Not possessing the right look can be detrimental to one's self-esteem, one's career, and one's love life (Luciano 9). Beyond this very potent appeal, Lauren's world is a form of fantasy fulfillment for many. It harkens back to a mythologized sense of history, to an era when time stands still. An advertisement that appeared in the New Yorker and in other magazines in 1998 solidifies this approach. Pictured in black and white is a stone mansion, a vintage automobile, art deco furnishings, and walking sticks with silver handles. There is an attempt within this and other ads to convey a sense of time-slowed down in an effort to recapture the unhurried and leisured world of the country gentleman. The images imply an individual who does not have to worry about rushing, but has the power to slow down time, to stop it, to almost capture it. (See Figure 1) In an ad campaign run in the mid 1980s, Ralph Lauren wrote in the text, “There is a way of living that has a certain grace and beauty. It is not a constant race for what is next, rather an appreciation of what has come before. There is a depth and quality of experience of what is truly meaningful…. This is the quality of life that I believe in” (Seabrook 51). This fragment says much about the ethos of the Lauren ideal. “What has come before,” is a reference to history, to myth, to tradition. This anachronistic approach to style allows the Lauren empire to capitalize on diverse and deep associations with historical allusions. Designers, filmmakers and other purveyors of taste have often looked to the past for inspiration and, more significantly, for authority. The power of the past to bestow influence is unlike any other force in lending legitimacy and status to something, especially something new. Architects, planners and politicians seeking to quickly legitimize a new site or even a new country resort to the power of classicism or another proven epoch to prop up the new with something timeless. This is also why historical signifiers permeate the invented world of Ralph Lauren. The tactile appeal of crocodile or the lusciousness of cashmere are automatic references to old money, exclusivity and even landed aristocracy. Cape Codlike homes a la the Kennedy's, festive groups gathered on manicured lawns to play sports or just lounge, and images of intact familial generations (complete with grandfather/scion and grandmother/clan matriarch) are themes that are evoked again and again. By wearing, displaying or purchasing some facet of the world of Ralph Lauren, one is demonstrating that one possesses “class” or more accurately, the disposable income to don these clothes. It is as if the polo, the button down, the tasseled loafers or the tweed jacket gives one a pass into a dream world of taste, manners, old money and refinement. From the golf photos to the picnics, from yachting to the antique cars, the shorthand implied is a level of status and taste that was once the preserve of the elite but that now can be available to anyone with the sense/cents to buy. …are based on recognizable homegrown images: the western ranch, the prairie farm, the Newport mansion, the Ivy League college. The feeling of déjà vu is intentional: Lauren is an orchestrator of images. Although his clothes are not faithful replicas of period dress, their appearance does reflect popular ideas about various romantic periods of American history. We have seen them all before, in paintings, in photographs, on television, and, especially, in films. (2, 3) The advertisements exude the intangible notions of privilege and refinement, exclusivity and even high culture. The attempt is to transfix the potential consumer with these signs so that s/he will desire this form of mass exclusivity, exclusively. The intentionality is subtle yet extraordinarily effective. The East Coast family pictured in (See Figure 2) blends health and beauty. Everyone seems self-satisfied, brimming, even glowing, with their status and the viewer can't help but long to be a part of it all. The key to all this is the almost tangible wish-fulfillment that is harmonious with so much about consumption and marketing: the desire to belong. Whether it is the notion of belonging to a family or a “feel good” lifestyle, Lauren makes it accessible. Unlike couture, this is not about distinction or exclusion but about inclusion (Agins 85). According to none other than Martha Stewart, “When people buy his products, it gives them the feeling of having class and stature. They're buying a piece of his world” (In Caminiti 439).4 And so much of it is for sale. In one main sense, clothing — or fashion5 — affords the viewer/ wearer/ purchaser status. This operates on both overt and subliminal levels. The purchase of a polo shirt becomes a surrogate (albeit a false one) for entry into a world of wealth, taste and distinction. This has always been so — in particular since the court life of the fourteenth century — and continues to be the case today. Fashion, like the driving of certain cars or the wearing of a particular wristwatch, provides a sartorial shorthand for what the wearer wishes to be or be thought of. As Alison Lurie observes, “to choose clothes, either in a store or at home, is to define and describe ourselves” (5). By merging a fantasy world of Gatsbian plenty into the mass tastes of consumers, Ralph Lauren — the man, the empire, and the ads — tantalizes and entices the consumer into an environment that is barred from most, yet is purchasable to a degree. If fashion is about making one “feel special”, providing an opportunity for “play-acting” and lifting individuals “into a world of luxury or pseudo-luxury, beyond work, drudgery, bills, and the humdrum everyday” (Leach 91), then Lauren has succeeded. So effectively is this accomplished that the consumer becomes caught up in a world of Veblenian consumption. What this can mean is that simply having just one article is not enough. The lone polo shirt in the closet “hangs” in diametric contradiction to the rules of plenty. A form of addiction takes over and there is the unstated desire or even the overt intention for the consumer/viewer to purchase multiples and quantities. This desire for more than just one suggests that the more you have, the closer to the idealized vision in the ads. And this is supplemented by the ambiance of the stores and the intent implied with the colognes and perfume advertisements. Long before I ever met him, Ralph Lauren was a part of my life. For years, I had slept on his sheets, dried myself with his towels, worn his clothes, applied his mascara and given Polo shirts, ties and fragrances as gifts (always gratefully received) to the male members of my family. And although I have yet to paint a room in one of his hues or cuddle up with a lion cub, as model Bridget Hall does in his Safari ads, I hope one day I will. (140) Thus by surrounding one's self with everything “RL,” one can enter the world of the ads! This is a world that has stood still, one that is not affected by the vagaries of industrial civilization. In these ads, as in the Ralph Lauren universe, there is no reference to contemporary society. These worlds are both historical recreations and ahistorical reconfigurations. The ads, like the stores and the boutiques, are devoid of anything that is technological or even modern. There are no clock radios, computers, stereos. As Rybczynski has astutely recognized, “There are pipe racks and humidors in the bedrooms, but no cordless telephones, no televisions…. The mechanical paraphernalia of contemporary living has been put away, and replaced by brass-cornered gun boxes, silver bedside water carafes, and leather-bound books” (11). Perhaps this is suggestive of the idea that the people who inhabit this world have servants to do the mundane tasks. The fantasy is of “old world splendor” or the “English country house” where living well is an art and a career. Here, there are no distractions. The absence of technology reflects the focus on the past. This is a nostalgic fantasy of a world when there were no intrusions, and in particular, reinforces the “veneration of the archaic” as an ideal. It was realized that a high-status garment need not be recognizably better or more difficult to produce than other garments; it need only be recognizably more expensive. What was necessary was somehow to incorporate the price of each garment into the design. This was accomplished very simply: by moving the maker's name from its former modest inward retirement to a place of outward prominence. (Lurie 132, 133) One of the most significant aspects of the Ralph Lauren universe is the clearly identifiable Polo logo on the left side of the shirt. This icon is enormously rich in communication and affords the wearer a remarkable degree of currency. Like the Lacoste Alligator, the Polo pony logo is one of the most potent displays of pseudo-high class decor. Like the and it says in an form that for is not just a shirt. 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