Image credit: Two Earths, by Zoe Kalamaros

by Aimée Burlamacchi

Read the Faculty Introduction.

Janelle Monáe’s 2018 Dirty Computer is what she calls an “Emotion Picture” consisting of a collection of music videos within an Afrofuturist setting, therefore combining film, music and science-fiction elements, creating an opportunity for a particularly layered exploration. The multifaceted nature of the media used in Dirty Computer, along with the multi-layered nature of the issues that Monáe approaches, provoke deeper analysis of what Monáe conveys in Dirty Computer as well as how she conveys it. Notably, Monáe’s Dirty Computer belongs to the rising genre of Afrofuturism, “a style of literature, music, art, etc. that combines science-fiction elements with ideas from the culture and history of Africa and African people” (Cambridge Dictionary).  In Dirty Computer, people are called “computers” and “dirty computers.” The latter refers to people who do not conform and who are sent to “The House of the New Dawn” to be cleaned with a gas called the “nevermind,” which causes people to forget their memories and experiences.

The setting of a dystopian future where people must be cleansed of “[their] dirt, and all the things that make [them] special” does create a risk of reductionism, but Monáe subverts such a risk by integrating elements from modern American society and pop culture to link her commentary back into reality (Monáe 22:45). By combining Afrofuturist elements with a dystopian setting as an allegory for the oppressive institutions involved, Monáe maintains a strong commentary on a number of issues in modern American society. Through analysis of this commentary, it is clear that Monáe uses a feminist approach to the presentation and discussion of female sexuality, characterised by her rejection of the male gaze, in favour of a more overt and aggressive expression of sexuality, which breaks stereotypical standards of the “tame” female sexual identity.

To begin, dystopia meets reality in the song “Screwed,”  where Monáe comments on both the current state of politics and social justice in the USA as well as the owning of female sexuality by playing on the lyrics “We’re so screwed[…] let’s get screwed” (16:28-17:05). Although the lyrics do not reflect this, it can be argued that the commentary relates primarily to the USA’s social and political situation. While the protagonists are running away from government drones, Monáe shows the audience real-life videos of bombings and wars, as well as the Statue of Liberty, effectively bringing the narrative into an American focus and away from the dystopian setting with this small integration of real media. Monáe’s lyrics imply that “we”  are so “screwed” due to the wars and injustices that the USA is involved in, but there is another more covert meaning in this.

In addition to “Screwed” implying the destructive implications of war, Monáe’s lyrics also express her sexual desire almost as a solution to these very injustices: “let’s get screwed” she sings, boldly and assertively, but not in a commanding manner. This declaration is almost an invitation, a solution to the previous “We’re so screwed.” This is further highlighted in the line “You’ve fucked the world up now, we’ll fuck it all back down” again playing on the slang meaning of “fucking” versus the literal meaning. Here, Monáe’s lyrics express to the audience that the world needs more sexual liberation and love, to overcome all the hate and catastrophe. Sex, used in slang in many forms to express something extremely wrong or bad, is given a new perspective: rather than representing oppression, sex is a path to finding one’s own power for change.

Furthermore, by using pronouns such as “we” in the last quote, Monáe creates a sense of unity with the audience and actively involves the listener, thus making her commentary more relatable. However, she also does not shy away from pointing fingers to those who are to blame. She does this with the intentional use of “you” in “you’ve fucked the world up now.” “You,” in this case, can be interpreted as the government, the institutions that uphold traditions meant to restrict individuality and freedom of expression. However, Monáe also points a more direct finger at the government later in the Emotion Picture. In the music video for the song “Pynk,” some characters are seen wearing underwear with the words “it grabs back” (Monáe 25:55). This is a very direct and obvious dig at former President Donald Trump’s infamous sexist quote regarding “grabbing [women] by the pussy”; this act of violation is a symbol of male power in the US trying that often uses sex to control and belittle women (“Access Hollywood”). Here too, Monáe manages to seamlessly sew commentary on the reality of the United States within the framework of her dystopian setting.

Once again, sexual openness and assertiveness are presented as a solution: Trump’s demeaning phrase, both sexually and in terms of power, is responded to with the aggressive assertion that women will grab (sex and power) back. In fact, throughout the emotion picture, power and sex are strongly interlinked, as Monáe states in “Screwed”: “Everything is sex, except sex, which is power, you know power is just sex, now ask yourself who’s screwing you” (Monáe 17:49-17:56). These powerful lyrics highlight the importance of women–especially minority women–claiming their sexuality as their own and reclaiming the power that the male-female power dynamics have taken from them by sexualising, objectifying, and “othering” women. Ultimately, sex is power, and Monáe tells us that both have been too long in the hands of men. Monáe further advocates for women’s sexual empowerment by rejecting traditional depictions of women in relation to sex. Traditionally, women’s sexual identity in media has been restricted to a few archetypes: two of these are the shy, private, understated attitude, and the femme fatale attitude presented through the male gaze. Laura Mulvey,  in her theory of the male gaze in film, states that often in media, women are the object of sexual desire rather than the subjects, as to cater to the pleasure of heterosexual men (809). Monáe makes it abundantly clear that her work rejects such archetypes of women, centering on women as the protagonists in her narrative.

This dichotomy between women as objects versus subjects becomes evident when comparing Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” music video, which has been widely criticised for female objectification, to Monáe’s video for “Screwed.” In Thicke’s video, women are sexualised in a way that makes them completely passive, while at the same time being presented as temptresses and playthings for the men. They look longingly into the camera and dance by shaking their hips while being backed against a wall, while Thicke sings “I tried to domesticate you, but you’re an animal, baby it’s in your nature” (Thicke 0:37-0:45). Here the audience sees women literally compared to animals and men trying to “domesticate them.” Beyond the problematic lyrics, throughout the video sex is used to belittle and control women: on various occasions, Thicke and Pharrel are seen holding a woman by her ponytail, a demeaning gesture somewhat reminiscent of a leash (Thicke 0:50). The various women are being observed by the male characters, and seem to put up a show for them while the male singers simply stand and dance.

Monáe’s representation of women’s sexuality shows completely different elements: all throughout Dirty Computer the predominantly female characters are seen interacting with each other and are arguably given personalities through their dynamic actions. More importantly, power is distributed equally between genders, as opposed to being presented as a sexual object for the pleasure of the male observer.  For example, one of the female characters holds a trumpet to her crotch mimicking a phallus extension to her body, a silly and sexual action that implies a more masculine energy, which would be seen as improper for a woman to express by traditional standards (Monáe 16:50). This boldness in reclaiming sexuality rejects concepts of  “impropriety.” This rejection is important because of the influence it has on a female audience that may think that being sexually explicit and bold is only acceptable for men. Rather than depicting a passive and shy woman looking at the camera and biting her lip like Emily Ratajkowsky in “Blurred Lines,” Monáe creates a different environment. In Dirty Picture, women are not just the observed, striving to please male ideals, but instead quite literally take their sexual identity into their own hands, as portrayed by the same aforementioned trumpet later being used as a camera to record Monáe and a man looking at each other longingly (17:39-17:52). A more literal signal of Monáe’s deliberate rejection of the male gaze is conveyed through costume: Monáe wears a shirt that reads “Subject, not object” obviously confronting Mulvey’s theory of the male gaze with a feminist perspective. These important elements, from costume to actions, subvert traditional depictions of women in music videos by giving female characters the role of the observer rather than the observed.

Another key difference is that in Monáe’s videos, sexual dynamics are not as reductive as the traditional male-female dichotomy. We see same-gender couples, and even what seems to be a polygamous relationship between Monáe, a female love interest, and a male love interest. In rejecting traditional ideals of female sexuality, Monáe also explores ideas of sexual and gender identities, reminding us that women’s sexuality is not as restricted and homogeneous as “Blurred Lines” depicts.

Monáe’s overt ownership of her sexuality, her rejection of the male gaze, and her encouragement to reflect on how sex and power are interrelated all encompass what a female perspective can do for Afrofuturism, and how the genre is evolving to include these issues. Jonita Davis highlights the importance of this new, fresh perspective, and the reason why it is so revolutionary in her article “How Black Women are Reshaping Afrofuturism” when she says: “Those inner lives and experiences of Black women are still largely uncharted for the entertainment public” (12). Having black women represented in media, and specifically in science-fiction, as strong, independent, powerful central characters is so important to so many black women who may be disappointed by the lack of representation in media and art. Positive representation can make real differences in both the way that a group is perceived by others and the way that people perceive themselves; women creators including female representation in Afrofuturism is a stepping stone in creating a more inclusive standard for both media and art.

Arguably, Dirty Computer may have even inspired and opened doors for Cardi B and Meghan Thee Stallion’s “WAP,” a very sexually explicit song that came out in 2020. In fact, a version of “WAP’s” iconic dance move, twerking while doing the splits, can be seen in 2018’s Dirty Computer (Monáe 31:28). Despite its popularity, WAP has been heavily criticised by many for being vulgar, including congressional candidates (Wood). These critiques from the public reflect a typical reaction to women being overt and bold about sex and their bodies in the same way that men are. On the other hand, those who support “WAP” in its entirety affirm its valuable representation of black women in a male-dominated industry (rap) publicly, who take their power back by unapologetically expressing ownership of their bodies and sexuality. That is the legacy and the importance of Dirty Computer, which seamlessly uses media to subvert expectations of black female sexuality, and creates a space and precedent for others, especially black female artists, to do the same.

Overall, Monáe’s work depicts women as central, independent characters as well as overtly sexual beings: “powerful with a little bit of tender,” as Monáe puts it in “Make Me Feel” (Monáe 20:09). Monáe tells us that women don’t have to fit into an antiquated archetype; women are multi-layered, and can be bold, sweet, sexual, and assertive at the same time. By being outspoken about sex and sexuality, Monáe rejects the male gaze and the sexist idea of a woman as a passive object to be observed. By doing so, Monáe’s Emotion Picture brings sexual power back into women’s hands. The representation of women as free to explore their sexual identities outside of societal standards has the power to impact people who simply have not been exposed to these kinds of messages in media and art. We can only hope that Dirty Computer will inspire more similar content of sex and body positivity for women, and that through such content, societal standards may be adjusted to a reality that centers the autonomy of women and takes ownership of female sexuality.

---

Works Cited

Abera, Tsion. “Blurred Lines, Not So Much: Double Standards At Play For Women In Music Videos.” Rewired News Group, 2013, https://rewirenewsgroup.com/article/2013/10/24/blurred-lines-not-so-much-double-standards-at-play-for-women-in-music-videos

“Afrofuturism.” Cambridge Dictionary, 2022. Web. https://dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/afrofuturism.

Benard, Akeia A. F. “Colonizing Black Female Bodies Within Patriarchal Capitalism: Feminist and Human Rights Perspectives.” Sexualization, Media, & Society, vol 2, no. 4, 2016. SAGE Publications, https://doi.org/10.1177/2374623816680622.

Davis, Jonita. “How Black Women Are Reshaping Afrofuturism.” Yes! Magazine, 2020, https://www.yesmagazine.org/social-justice/2020/04/24/how-black-women-are-reshaping-afrofuturism/.

Monáe, Janelle. “Dirty Computer.” Youtube, 2018, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdH2Sy-BlNE&t=1093s. Accessed 9 Oct 2020.

Mulvey, L. “Visual Pleasure And Narrative Cinema.” Screen, vol 16, no. 3, 1975. Oxford University Press (OUP), https://doi.org/10.1093/screen/16.3.6. Accessed 6 Feb 2022.

Thicke, Robin. “Blurred Lines.” Youtube, 2013, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyDUC1LUXSU. Accessed 1st February 2022

Wood, Mikael. “Review: Cardi B And Megan Thee Stallion’s ‘WAP’ Is A Savage, Nasty, Sex-Positive Triumph.” Los Angeles Times, 2020, https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/music/story/2020-08-07/cardi-b-megan-thee-stallion-wap-review.

Image credit: SH Skyline at Night, by Ryan Ouyang

by Ishita Jaiswal

Read the Faculty Introduction.

In the early hours of the morning, a cab enters a completely empty New York City street and stops in front of a grayish-brown building containing a Tiffany’s store. From the cab descends a beautiful woman. She pays the driver, and stands facing a Tiffany’s window, eating what looks like a bagel and drinking coffee in a to-go cup. She looks melancholic, or perhaps the forlorn background music of Henri Mancini’s “Moon River” on a harmonica makes her appear that way. She stands there for a few minutes, but as the sun rises further, she walks away, towards her home.

This is the opening scene from the 1961 film Breakfast at Tiffany’s, one of the most iconic romantic comedies of Hollywood. The woman in the scene, played by Audrey Hepburn, is Holly Golightly, a regular patron of fashionable cafes, or “café-society girl,” of New York (Merriam-Webster). While the scene itself is enrapturing with its landscape and music, what stands out is Holly’s attire. More specifically, her dress. Holly wears a floor-length, all-black dress with a side-slit and fashionable neckline. This dress, made by Hubert De Givenchy, a French couturier, falls in a category of dresses with a name that resonates with women across the globe even today: the “Little Black Dress,” or in short, the LBD. This seemingly regular piece of clothing has been written about extensively, portrayed numerous times in films and television, and redesigned repeatedly by couturiers around the world. But what is it about this article of clothing that makes it worthy of such attention?

While the Little Black Dress may be simple in appearance, its depiction of empowered femininity, freedom, and liberation inspires profound discussions about embracing traditionally defined ideas and cultural definitions of womanhood. This stereotypically feminine attire and its history speaks volumes about reclaiming, displaying, and propagating femininity –the set of characteristics that have been biologically, culturally, and historically associated with women– while continuing to liberate and empower the female body. Iconic designers like Coco Chanel have championed the LBD and other similar dresses as perfect instruments to reclaim and proudly display femininity while liberating the female body from the constraints of uncomfortable and impractical clothing.

However, feminist theorists like Simone De Beauvoir have called this same piece of clothing an instrument of “feminine narcissism” (Beauvoir 585). The story of the LBD and the Coco Chanel’s feminist beliefs seem to be in sharp contrast to that of Beauvoir, a contrast which reignites the debate about the nature of femininity and whether or not its existence is a myth. In a pursuit to further explore this debate and its implications regarding fashion and feminism, it is important to explore the history of LBD, investigate its rise to popularity, and analyze Chanel and Beauvoir’s respective views. In doing so, it can be argued that the little black dress, or feminine fashion of all kinds, remains alive despite ideologies like Beauvoir’s becoming extremely widespread because femininity is not a myth, but rather an active and important component of expression and liberation.

To begin, the term “little black dress” did not originate with the Givenchy dress featured in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. American poet and writer, Shelley Puhak, while outlining the origins of the Little Black Dress in an article for The Atlantic, discusses how black dresses had been designed and worn much before the 19th century. Between the 16th and the 18th century, dresses went from being an expensive kind of attire meant for aristocrats to being the uniform of household maids and working-class women (Puhak). The little black dress and its famous legacy have their beginnings in the 1910s, in the atelier of Gabrielle Bonheur “Coco” Chanel (Puhak). To reiterate, Chanel wasn’t the first person to have designed a short black dress, but she was the one responsible for bringing it into the limelight of high fashion and subsequent ubiquitous popularity (“Vogue” 0:30–0:36). In 1912, an actress named Suzanne Orlandi appeared publicly wearing a Chanel-brand LBD, but it wasn’t until 1926 that this simple and elegant women’s dress became an absolute hit (Museum). Vogue America published a picture of this dress that year dubbing it “Chanel’s Model T,” comparing it to Ford’s widely popular automobile Model T (“Vogue” 0:40–1:00). Vogue also called it “the frock that all the world will wear,” and they were right in assigning such a comparison to Chanel’s LBD (“Vogue” 0:40–0:50). Within the following two decades, the little black dress became a global fashion statement worn by celebrities, socialites, and actors wherever dresses were popular and accepted forms of clothing (Goldstone). Before the LBD, black wasn’t the preferred color for most designers. It was associated with mourning and grief before the Victorian era (Puhak). Towards the latter part of the 1800s, it became a colour of the lower class, and black dresses were seen as a “hand me down for the help” or a required uniform for shopgirls (Puhak). As Chanel brought the color black into high fashion, it became synonymous with style and luxury for everyone (Vaughan). Even today, it is often recognized as a quintessential element in women’s wardrobes. In modern times, women like Princess Diana, Victoria Beckham, Kate Middleton, and Beyonce have worn it (Brunker). At the same time, fast fashion companies like Zara, H&M, and Topshop have produced numerous renditions of the LBD for the greater public. Coco Chanel herself said “I imposed black; it’s still going strong today, for black wipes out everything else around” (Picardie). Overall, it is clear that the little black dress’ unique and attractive design made it a top choice for women of all backgrounds.

However, it wasn’t solely the colour or the beauty of the dress that made it a favourite of women around the world. The LBD has a rich history in terms of fashion and society, which is important to explore in order to understand how it enabled women to reclaim and proudly wear their femininity whilst moving ahead with the times. When the little black dress was first designed, the world had just emerged from the first World War, with another brewing in Europe. The Great Depression came down on all social classes, leading to women entering the workforce in the 1930s and the worsening of many people’s economic situations (Rotondi). At that point, the population involved in the economy consisted mostly of men, who were the primary entrepreneurs and the workers. But the burden of the crashing economic reality was too much for them to bear alone. So, women–who, until that time, were largely responsible for household duties–entered the workforce to help revive the economy  (Rotondi). However, as women entered the workforce, they faced plenty of restrictions that prevented them from working efficiently. One of the most significant restrictions was their clothing. Since the medieval era and during the earlier part of the 1900s, women’s clothing had consisted of long gowns and dresses with cinched waists, corsets, boxed silhouettes, layers, and intricate necklines. This kind of attire was impractical for labor, especially in the factories and offices where women had recently started working in the 1930s (Chilton). So, they adapted to the pressing requirement of practical attire by wearing men’s clothes. Trousers and shirts made their way into their wardrobes, and dresses and skirts were ousted (“When Did Women Start Wearing Pants?”). Coco Chanel, however, opposed this adaptation for a small yet profound reason: by discarding their own dresses and adopting more manly clothes, women were inadvertently rejecting their femininity. However, it can be argued that this “rejection of femininity” represented by this fashion adaptation was not simply a result of the need for practicality that came with the changing times. This rejection may have been an implication of a gender ideology championed by Simone De Beauvoir in her magnum opus, The Second Sex, which was published around the same post-war period when traditionally feminine clothing fell in popularity. In The Second Sex, Beauvoir claims that gender, and the characteristics traditionally associated with it, is a “social construct,” which may have greatly influenced women’s fashion choices.

Since The Second Sex deals greatly with critiquing gender and femininity, it is important to contextualize this concept. Put simply, femininity is the set of attributes that shape, define, and describe a woman. Traditionally, femininity has been defined by nurturing traits and sensitivity (Windsor), sensuality and gentleness (Kite), and humility (Vetterling-Braggin). It also includes the desire to appear beautiful, well-kept, and attractive. But, in The Second Sex, Beauvoir termed femininity, or “the eternal feminine,” as an ambiguous and basic notion (289). She called the inherent set of characteristics that defined a woman a “myth,” and seemingly promoted the idea that nothing inherent defined the male or the female gender (Beauvoir 289). According to her, it was society and culture that formed, encouraged, and propagated the attributes associated with masculinity or femininity (Beauvoir 289). For her, these attributes were merely a way for men to deem women different and often inferior to them. She regarded femininity as a vague and baseless concept, likening it to a dress, which she saw as an equally vague and baseless picture of feminine expression. While discussing how women “dress up,” she claims that dressing up in feminine clothes “concretises feminine narcissism” (Beauvoir 585). She goes on to argue that fashion is merely a way to eroticise a woman and denies that it has anything to do with a woman’s desire to express herself (Beauvoir 585). In fact, for Beauvoir, a woman who thinks of her dress as an expression of her identity is someone who “suffers from not doing anything” (585). Such a commentary on dressing up and feminine clothing clearly demonstrates that Beauvoir’s ideology greatly opposed that of Chanel’s. While the latter claimed that traditionally feminine clothing championed the expression and propagation of femininity, the former called the very existence of women’s fashion into question. Furthermore, Beauvoir’s view that everything associated with gender was a myth and social construct gained popularity. With this rise in popularity, the inherent attributes that made women critical to society, from beauty to domesticity, started losing their significance.

However, even as Beauvoir and those who agreed with her championed this move away from an inherent idea of femininity and its expression via dresses, women like Coco Chanel continued to push against it. Chanel’s appreciation for femininity and its relationship to clothing is apparent when she says, “look for the woman in the dress. If there is no woman, there is no dress,” and “dress shabbily and they remember the dress; dress impeccably and they remember the woman” (“A Quote by Coco Chanel”). So, to ensure that women wouldn’t have to choose between practicality and femininity, she designed clothes that weren’t restrictive. Most of her designs did away with cinched waists, corsets, shoulder pads, and other aspects of a dress that would make it uncomfortable for a workplace. The little black dress was no exception; it was one of the first dresses to have a loose form without appearing too masculine and was comfortable and breathable. It did not have the traditional corseted cut and stitch, yet appeared delicate and feminine. Chanel designed the dress to look luxurious and feel effortless. It even drew ire from male journalists for being unlike usual dresses with a specific structure that highlighted the female body (Charles-Roux).

Even today, many adaptations of the little black dress appear feminine and elegant without being restrictive or impractical. Fashion designers have of course made revealing, impractical, and short versions of the LBD, but women can still easily find and wear a simple, decent, Chanel-like version of the LBD to work, without being impractical or distasteful. Chanel’s creation of the little black dress, and many of her other practical yet elegant designs, can be viewed as her opposition to Beauvoir’s claim that “fashion does not serve to fulfill [a woman’s] projects, but on the contrary to thwart them…the least practical dresses…are the most elegant” (586). Thanks to designers like Chanel, feminine expression in the form of clothing doesn’t have to be enslaved by impracticality. Rather, elegant dresses like the Little Black Dress are practical and fulfill a woman’s desire to express herself completely.

Throughout history, humans have found and enjoyed various ways to express themselves, including language (both written and spoken), music, and art. Fashion, too, is a form of art, and the way we dress is a form of language. So, for both men and women, their clothing represents what they want, how they see themselves, and how they wish to be seen (Edwards). Therefore, Beauvoir’s claim that women who think their dresses are a form of expression are narcissists who are not “doing anything” seems inappropriate at best (585). Considering that this claim stems from her rejection of “the eternal feminine,” her idea that femininity is a myth formed and propagated as a social agenda is also questionable. While several biological proofs exist reaffirming the legitimacy of traditionally feminine traits in women, the desire to express one’s gender identity is itself a proof of femininity being inherent to some extent. To say that women prefer dresses just to please the male gaze rather than wearing them because of their own desire is belittling. For women like Coco Chanel, dresses such as the LBD were a way to let women embrace their own ideas of outward femininity, while giving them a choice to communicate their gender identity without making them uncomfortable. Even today, the various manifestations of the LBD, and the countless other practical dresses inspired by it, continue to do the same.

Dressing up in LBDs, or any dress for that matter, is a choice women should feel empowered to make. Contrary to what Beauvoir argues, this choice does not mean a woman “has accepted her vocation as a sex object” (586). In fact, choosing to wear a dress amongst the plethora of modern fashion styles can be considered a form of expression that strengthens and reinforces a woman’s gender identity and her belief in her own inherent feminine traits. A woman preferring an LBD over trousers and a shirt should not be equated to her making herself “a prey to male desires,” but rather her celebrating femininity (Beauvoir 586). Thus, it can be argued that such a woman considers the traits of femininity to be neither rigid nor a “myth” utilized by society to oppress women.  A woman like Audrey Hepburn who wears the elegant and comfortable LBD may not only find it to be an expression of herself, but also a reinforcement of her power and significance. The iconic little black dress illustrates that Beauvoir’s critiques of dresses may make a patronizing statement about women’s fashion choices; instead, expressing femininity through clothes should be considered an active and important component of female empowerment.

---

Works Cited

“A Quote by Coco Chanel.” Goodreads, 2021, www.goodreads.com/quotes/73850-dress-shabbily-and-they-remember-the-dress-dress-impeccably-and

Beauvoir, De Simone. The Second Sex. Simon de Beauvoir. Vintage Books USA, 2010.

Brunker, Alicia. “The Evolution of the Little Black Dress.” ELLE, 11 Feb. 2020, www.elle.com/fashion/g8192/evolution-of-the-little-black-dress.

“Cafe-Society.” Merriam-Webster, 2011. Web. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/english/cafe-society.

Charles-Roux, Edmonde (1981). Chanel and Her World. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson.

Croizat-Glazer, Yassana. “A Look into The History of Black Dresses and Why There’s Nothing ‘Little’ About Them.” A WOMEN’S THING, 1 Mar. 2021, https://www.awomensthing.org/blog/history-black-dresses

Edwards, Vanessa. “Fashion Psychology: What Your Choice in Clothes Say About You.” Science of People, 21 Apr. 2020, www.scienceofpeople.com/fashion-psychology.

Flanner, Janet. “Coco Chanel’s Revolutionary Style.” The New Yorker, 14 Mar. 1931, www.newyorker.com/magazine/1931/03/14/31-rue-cambon

Goldstone, Penny. “A Short yet Comprehensive History of the Little Black Dress.” Marie Claire, 4 Aug. 2017, www.marieclaire.co.uk/fashion/little-black-dress-524293

Kite, Mary E. (2001). “Gender Stereotypes”. In Worell, Judith (ed.). Encyclopedia of Women and Gender, Volume 1. Academic Press. p. 563

Picardie, Justine. Coco Chanel: The Legend and the Life. 1st ed., It Books, 2010.

Puhak, Shelley. “The Little Black Dress’s Lost Underclass Origins.” The Atlantic, 17 Jan. 2018. www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2017/10/the-underclass-origins-of-the-little-black-dress/542910.

Rotondi, Jessica Pearce. “Underpaid, But Employed: How the Great Depression Affected Working Women.” HISTORY, 11 Mar. 2019. www.history.com/news/working-women-great-depression

Steele, Valerie. Paris Fashion: A Cultural History. 1st ed., Oxford University Press, 1988.

“The World According to Coco Chanel.” Harper’s BAZAAR, 13 Aug. 2017, www.harpersbazaar.com/uk/fashion/fashion-news/news/a31524/the-world-according-to-coco-chanel.

Vaughan, Hal (2011). Sleeping with the Enemy: Coco Chanel’s Secret War. New York: Knopf. pp. 160–64.

Vetterling-Braggin, Mary, ed. (1982). ‘Femininity,’ ‘Masculinity,’ and ‘Androgyny’: A Modern Philosophical Discussion. Rowman & Allanheld. p. 5.

Vogue. “Everything You Need to Know About the Little Black Dress | Vogue.” YouTube, uploaded by Vogue, 31 July 2020, www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGyANIRWMBo.

“When Did Women Start Wearing Pants?” Encyclopedia Britannica, www.britannica.com/story/when-did-women-start-wearing-pants

Wikipedia contributors. “Coco Chanel.” Wikipedia, 10 May 2021, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coco_Chanel.

Windsor, Elroi J. (2015). “Femininities”. In Wright, James D. (ed.). International Encyclopedia of the Social & Behavioral Sciences, Volume 8 (2nd ed.). Elsevier. pp. 893–897