Fashion lingo

I am not a particularly fashionable dresser. My typical attire is jeans or khakis, a shirt with buttons or a sweater, and black running shoes (because black can go with everything). I’ve been described as non-descript. Therefore, it would make sense that I’ve only recently been exposed to some of the commentary on television’s Project Runway (and its numerous spin-offs). 

For those of you unfamiliar with the series, think of it as The Great British Baking Show for fashion designers. Designers compete to meet various design challenges, and after each challenge, one designer is eliminated by the judges until a winner remains. The show has its formulaic catchphrases like host Heidi Klum’s signature line, “As you know, in fashion one day you’re in, and the next day you are out.”  Each show, the judges greet the contestants as if they were meeting for the first time. And fashion design scholar Tim Gunn provides the contestants with sobering mentorship and brings a touch of professorial erudition with words like “mitigating,” “circuitous,” “placating,” and “consternation.” 

For me, Project Runway was an introduction to a whole new professional jargon, one which I had previously had only a hazy awareness of. Clothes are “garments” and the finished projects on the models, with hair, shoes, and makeup, are “looks.” “Pants” show up as singular “pant.” Rather than fixing or tailoring clothes that aren’t working, the designers “edit” their garments. 

The jargon extends to the challenges given to designers. These are sometimes straightforward enough, mandating a “red-carpet look,” “streetwear,” or a “cocktail dress.” Some are a bit more subjective, calling for something “sophisticated” or an “avant-garde design.” I didn’t know what that would entail, and often the designers didn’t seem to know either. Other challenges expanded my vocabulary: an “editorial look” is one that will look good in a fashion magazine (or on the web, presumably); “fashion-forward” is something has the potential of being trendy—what I would call “leading edge.” I’m still hazy about what a “couture gown” is.

The commentary on the looks by the judges are an education in the value system of fashionistas. Good designs are “impeccable and effortless,” “sophisticated, sharp, and architectural” or simply a “show-stopper.” Weaker designs get snark: a bad design might be “too matchy matchy,” “costumey,” “cliché,” “tacky,” or “kitsch.” A design’s construction could make it look “cheap” or “expensive.” Too many components might be “over the top,” “a mishmash,” or simply a “hot mess.” Other designs were “frumpy,” “overly commercial,” or “sad and boring.” Some were mocked as “matronly” or as “old lady” designs, which garnered some deserved pushback from more mature viewers. Over the course of the show, the vocabulary seems to have evolved to be less harsh, though that may just be my impression.

Looking over the show’s transcripts, I find myself hoping some enterprising scholar will construct a concordance of the Project Runway lexicon: the good, the bad, the metaphors, and the catchphrases.

As for me, I haven’t changed the way I dress much. But I’m thinking about it.

_{Featured image by Rudy Issa via Unsplash.}