By Terry F. Robinson
The 18th-Century Common
https://www.18thcenturycommon.org/robinson-and-celebrity-couture/
Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0)
Sean John, DASH, Material Girl, William Rast, OVO, House of Harlow, Yeezy, Paper Crown, the Jessica Simpson Collection, Rocawear, The Row, Twenty8Twelve. Celebrity fashion labels are flooding the marketplace, and the phenomenon shows no sign of stopping. Rihanna recently announced a collaboration with Chopard for a joint collection of jewelry, combining “urban chic and classic glamour.”1 And this coming October, Sarah Jessica Parker will launch her new SJP footwear collection on the Internet behemoth Amazon, featuring the exclusive designs “Dash,” “Flirt,” and “Wink.”2 InStyle.co.uk broadcasted the affair with the texty title “OMG! Soon You’ll Be Able to Shop SJP’s Shoes On Amazon.”
Not everyone, however, is a fan of the pop-up celebrity designer. Upon receiving the Couture Council’s Award for Artistry in 2012, the late Oscar de la Renta spoke out against the trend: “Today, if you play tennis, you can be a really good designer,” he said, “Or, if you’re an actress, you can be a designer. I’ve been at it for 45 years and I’m still learning my craft.”3 In addition to suggesting that upstarts are infiltrating the fashion world, de la Renta’s statement imagines a time—his time—when the art of fashion recognized quality design that bespoke training, skill, and experience, rather than sheer fame.
Elegiac musings may have their appeal, but do they reflect reality? There’s no question that celebrity style has long had an impact on the fashion world—think Beau Brummell, Lillie Langtry, Jean Harlow, Katherine Hepburn. The question is how new is the celebrity-cum-couturier? The life of the British actress Mary Robinson would suggest that celebrity clothing and accessory lines are, in fact, nothing new.
Mary Robinson’s meteoric rise to fame began in 1776 with her dazzling performance on the London stage as Juliet, and in 1779 with her spirited rendering of Perdita in David Garrick’s adaptation of Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale. The latter representation captivated the Prince of Wales (the future George IV), and an infamous romance between the newly styled “Perdita” and “Florizel” ensued.
Like many starlets today, her love life became a source of scandal and intrigue. When the Prince’s affection waned, Robinson left the stage and travelled to France. She befriended Marie Antoinette and was courted by the wealthiest man in Europe, the Duke de Chartres. In 1782, after her return from the Continent, Robinson indulged in romances with the dashing young dragoon Colonel Banastre Tarleton, a leading commander of British troops in the war against the American colonies, and Charles James Fox, the charismatic leader of the Whig party.
Robinson’s stage career, though brief (she retired from the boards at the close of the 1779-1780 season), was a tour de force. Her performances—both as an actress and a mistress—earned her widespread acclaim and notoriety. In the manner of magazines such as Hello! or People, the newspapers reported continually on her whereabouts. And while paparazzi did not yet exist, painters did. Top artists of the day, Thomas Gainsborough, John Hoppner, Joshua Reynolds, and George Romney, all painted portraits of her.
Robinson’s acting and amours sparked her popularity, but it was her fashion sense and style that kept the flame ablaze. By decorating herself in stunning confections known as the “Perdita Hood,” the “Robinson hat for Ranelagh,” the “Perdita handkerchief,” and the “Robinson gown,” she transformed herself into one of the foremost fashion icons of her day and sent the stylish set into a frenzy.4
Her most voguish look was the 1782 “Perdita chemise,” a hoop-free muslin tube cinched at the waist and styled after Marie Antoinette’s version of the gown: the Chémise à la Reine. This design—later promoted in England in a different form by the Duchess of Devonshire (remember Keira Knightley in The Duchess?)—paved the way for the neoclassical gowns of the 1790s and early 1800s. According to one London newspaper, Robinson’s trend-setting styles “set the whole world ‘a madding.’” Women eager to appear à la mode began adorning themselves in her sartorial creations.
Robinson’s fashions attest to her desire to ensure unending media buzz. But they also demonstrate the fact that she literally made a name for herself in the world of fashion. Her signature designs were both recognizable and reproducible. They were, after all, labeled “the Perdita” or “the Robinson”—a form of proto-celebrity branding.
Unlike modern celebrities, Robinson did not profit financially from her designs. Yet her savvy marketing of them ensured her decisive impact on contemporary couture. Robinson made her mark in other artistic circles as well, becoming one of the top authors of her day—a playwright, a novelist, and a poet. Samuel Taylor Coleridge deemed her a woman of “undoubted Genius.”5 Ultimately, Robinson ensured her legacy in the world of fashion and in the world of letters. Victoria Beckham—eat your heart out.