Arts Commentary & Writing, No. ❶❹
Jan 29, 2022 – Jan 15, 2023
Inherent Vice
Of Hand and Industry: Explorations of a Deaccessioned Gilded Age Skirt
Reviewed by Kate Irvin and Lisa Morgan
The American skirt from the Gilded Age isn’t just fabric—it’s a relic of transformation, an object caught between two worlds. Touch it, and the faint scratch of worn fabric under your fingers tells the story of a labor force, driven by both necessity and innovation. The cotton, once pristine and perhaps lovingly dyed by hand, now carries the faded imprint of mechanized processes that swept across the nation, reshaping industries and lives. Each stitch, while uniform, carries the ghost of a handcraft tradition, one slowly eroded by the factory loom’s relentless rhythm. In its fabric lies a paradox: the beauty of mass production—the efficiency, the accessibility—and the lost artistry of a past where every piece held the slow, deliberate effort of a human maker.
The garment, though simple in its cotton-based design, embodies the tension between two spheres: the industrial and the handcrafted. The dimity checkerboard pattern woven into the fabric, combined with the intricate mother-of-pearl buttons, reveals this duality—on one hand, mass-manufactured fabric; on the other, meticulously crafted buttons, a vestige of a time when industrial scale and personal touch could coexist.
Even as the skirt demonstrates the craftsman’s hand through its detailing, it raises deep questions about what constitutes “craft.” The stark divide between industrial labor and artisanal craftsmanship can be traced back to the Gilded Age, when industrialization began reshaping design and manufacturing. This shift gave rise to factory systems where the distinction between designer, worker, and laborer became more pronounced. In a world of mass production, the individual was displaced, and the connection between maker and object grew obscured. The skilled labor of the craftsman—once revered for creating objects of beauty and utility—was swallowed by the machinery of factory work.
Following Swati Chattopadhyay’s method of reading material traces as sites of labor, loss, and transition, I approach this skirt not just as an object of beauty but as a record of the changing economies of craft and industry. In pre-industrial India, craftspeople were not only creators of material objects but also integral to the social fabric of their communities. Craft was both an expression of personal creativity and a form of communal duty. The artisan's skill was celebrated in the final product. The industrial model, however, introduced a capitalist framework where laborers became disconnected from craft and community. This separation between designer, maker, and consumer is emblematic of the tensions inherent in global production systems.
In the case of the American skirt, the roles of designer, craftsman, and laborer reveal how the garment exists within these ideological tensions. The skirt, though plain and utilitarian in design, embodies the contradictions of industrialization. The cotton used to create the skirt, like much material from this period, was sourced from colonial India, where the labor of marginalized populations fueled the cotton trade. In the context of the Gilded Age, this garment represents the luxury and privilege of the elite, who could afford such finely crafted clothing while benefiting from the exploitation of colonial labor.
The historical implications of this garment deepen when we consider “inherent vice”—the idea that objects deteriorate over time due to material failure and neglect. But inherent vice can also serve as a metaphor for the structural failings of the industrial and colonial systems that produced such garments. The disintegration of the skirt—its stains and discoloration—mirrors the moral decay of the industrial system that depended on the exploitation of people and resources in colonized lands. The lack of preservation or care for the garment in the museum’s collection reflects the disregard for the histories and lives that sustained such practices.
As we consider these objects, we are forced to confront the legacy of colonialism and capitalism that permeates even the simplest of garments. As Chattopadhyay suggests, craft is never divorced from the traditions of its creation, nor from the labor that sustains it. The divide between hand and industry is not just material but social, reflecting larger questions about power, identity, and historical erasure. The narrative of the skirt is not merely about fashion or design, but about the people whose labor—both in the colonies and industrial heartlands—sustained the systems that produced such garments.
The examination of this skirt also invites a critique of museum collection practices. In institutions that prioritize high-status objects—often those belonging to the wealthy or powerful—the stories of the makers and the marginalized are often erased. The focus of the museum falls not on the laborers or the artisans, but on those who wore these garments and the social circles they represented. This skewed representation of history reinforces existing hierarchies, as the objects preserved and displayed become symbols of elite culture, while the stories of those who produced these objects remain hidden.
In this sense, the museum becomes a colonial space where only certain histories are legitimized, and others are suppressed. The focus on elite objects, like this skirt, reflects the values of a system that privileges certain bodies and stories over others. As a result, the museum’s collection practices perpetuate a narrow, one-dimensional view of history that overlooks the complexities of production, labor, and colonialism. This calls for more equitable collection practices that acknowledge the contributions of all individuals involved in the creation of material culture—not just the privileged few.
The idea of using data humanism to create more equitable practices within museums is an exciting notion. By recognizing that all objects—whether industrially produced or handcrafted—are products of human labor, museums could shift toward a more inclusive narrative, honoring the interconnectedness of all laborers and creators. In the context of the American skirt, this means acknowledging the roles of both the industrial mill workers who produced the fabric and the artisans who crafted the delicate mother-of-pearl buttons. Data humanism can help us move beyond simplistic binaries, embracing a holistic understanding of the human relationships embedded in the making and consumption of objects.
The American skirt from the Gilded Age is more than just a garment; it’s a material representation of the complex, painful legacies of colonialism, industrialization, and elitism. It speaks to the tensions between handcrafted and industrialized objects, highlighting the ways in which labor, trade, and power intersect in the production of material culture. By critically examining this object through Chattopadhyay’s lens and the concept of inherent vice, we can better understand the historical, social, and ethical dimensions of industrialized craft.
The skirt becomes more than a relic of the past; it’s a lens through which we interrogate the inequalities that persist today. From colonial exploitation to contemporary museum practices, the skirt challenges us to confront neglected histories and imagine a more inclusive, equitable future for both craft and industry.