Wilson, Elizabeth. "Audrey Hepburn: fashion, film, and the 50s." in Women and Film: a Sight and Sound Reader, Eds. Pam Cook and Philip Dodd. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1993.

Elizabeth Wilson's piece is mainly a reflection on the admiration and fascination that the author felt for Audrey Hepburn as she was coming of age in the 1950s and 1960s. Wilson expands on this by asking why she felt this for Hepburn, rather than the Marilyn Monroes or Elizabeth Taylors of Hollywood. She traces this back to Hepburn's fashion, particularly as her style reflected her characters. Hepburn was the antithesis to the artificial, confined American domesticity promoted by Hollywood in that era, as evidenced by her aura of European sophistication. The apparel (and attitude) evident in her films, Wilson argues, were the forerunners of a new movement of minimalist and free youth fashion: a revolution, almost.
Transformation was a key theme in many of Hepburn's films, such as the chauffeur's-daughter into society-princess story of Sabrina. Even when these changes are visually represented by upgraded fashion, such as in Sabrina, Wilson holds that there is still an air of freedom surrounding Hepburn: her Givenchy dresses seemed modern, not matronly, and the fact that this actress had the choice of being outfitted by a true Parisian designer was a testament to the power Hepburn's style held over her audiences. Though many of her films may end with Hepburn's free-spirited characters succumbing to "adult life," Wilson contends that Hepburn showed young women of the era that they had more choices than simple domesticity, and created an entire style to prove it.

Handyside, Fiona. "`Paris isn't for Changing`Planes; it's for Changing your Outlook': Audrey Hepburn as European Star in 1950s France." French Cultural Studies 14.3: 288

 

Fiona Handyside’s article follows the path of Audrey Hepburn’s career that resulted in her image as the quintessential “European star” to the American audience. In the 1950s, she was the antithesis of “busy contemporaries” such as Marilyn Monroe, with her generically “European” accent, slender frame, and air of confidence. This became the ultimate portrayal of a European woman as Americans wanted to believe it. Hepburn’s image as such was the product of two different forces: Hollywood studios, and European couture houses, namely that of Givenchy. Beginning with Sabrina, Givenchy and Hepburn formed a life-long partnership, and his clothing was present in many situations throughout her life. This made promotion for Sabrina and other films seamless, as the ties between designer and muse stretched across cinema, journalism, and advertising. Hepburn wore Givenchy in her 1954 wedding to Mel Ferrer, enabling further personification of her own “star style.”
The focus of Sabrina is the transformation of a young girl via Paris and Givenchy designs, culminating in a happy marriage. The progression of this plot uses not only narrative, but also the visual imagery of wardrobe to convince the viewer. In the famed scene at the train station, Hepburn’s Givenchy-designed gray suit owns the screen, as the unrecognized sophisticate stops William Holden’s character dead in his tracks. The clothing is placed above the narrative at this point, defining a character in a way that words could not. Sabrina was the beginning the association between Hepburn, Paris, and Givenchy: the city itself is the symbol of style, transformation, and the revelation of a new kind of femininity.

Guy, Alison and Banim, Maura. "Personal Collections: Women's clothing use and identity." Journal of Gender Studies, 9.3 (2000): 313

 

Though “Personal Collections” has no distinct connection to Sabrina or even the medium of film, it is a study of the relationship between women and their perception of clothing, which is largely the basis of the popularity of Audrey Hepburn among such women. She represented everything they hoped to be, in terms of style, and this remained with them throughout their lives (as Moseley discussed). The authors contend that clothing is often associated with negative experiences, particularly related to women’s gender identities; women are forever contained by a fear of the patriarchal system that can distort self-image and perception of the self and others. However, fashion can also offer the converse to this: it is the chance for freedom, experimentation, self-discovery. The study puts forth three different views of the self as projected through one’s clothing: “The woman I want to be,” “The woman I fear I could be,” and “The woman I am most of the time.”
Perceptions of Hepburn lie in the first category, “The woman I want to be.” Fans have aspirations of clothing in order to create an image perceived as successful: images that have already been realized in another capacity and seem achievable to at least some extent. In movies like Sabrina, Hepburn represents archetypes of feminine success, such as the transformation into an exotic sophisticate and Sabrina’s eventual winning of a husband. Yet while the aspirations may be standard, the authors hold that aspiring for such an image works as a form of rebellion and experimentation: women may actively engage with clothing to create an image that is consistent with aspects of their real or perceived identity. It is the yearning for this perceived identity that has played an enormous role in the continuous popularity of Hepburn’s films.

Moseley, Rachel. "She's Everybody's Dream Girl." The Observer online edition. March 7, 2004

 

Moseley, who is somewhat of a scholar on Hepburn and her effect on popular culture, discusses the actress’ resonance with “ordinary women,” an obsession that began in the 1950s and continues strongly to this day. The way that films can influence all aspects of one’s life is evident with the female response to Hepburn, particularly the interviews Moseley quotes with such ordinary women. Hepburn is described as being “modern because she was different, but still obtainable.” In the post-war period, she represented a historically specific time period: she was feminine liberation and modernity, all while remaining lady-like and suitable to the more containing “standards” of the day. Hepburn’s appearance in films was simply more possible than many other stars of the period. Even Givenchy’s designs, beginning with Sabrina, were deceitfully simple.

Though Moseley admits that Hepburn has never been historically associated with women’s liberation movements, her trademark style was marked with low-maintenance flair such as flat shoes and short haircuts, which appealed strongly to busy women in the mid 20th-century. Even qualities that would seem to inspire a backlash among women, such as her extraordinarily thin frame, were just seen as “part” of her, rather than something to be directly imitated. The goal was simply the recreation of elegance, which Hepburn exuded effortlessly throughout her career.

Crowther, Bosley. "Screen:'Sabrina' Bows at Criterion; Billy Wilder Produces and Directs Comedy." The New York Times, September 23, 1954.

 

Crowther's article is the original review of Sabrina that appeared in the New York Times following its premiere in the city in September of 1954. The review is very helpful in understanding Sabrina's role as a film at that point in history: as is evidenced by this review compared to more contemporary pieces discussing the film, the difference in perception of the film is substantial. Crowther cites the film as "the most delightful comedy-romance in years," and imparts the kindest words upon Humphrey Bogart and William Holden; he claims it is their film as much as it is Hepburn's. This is a sharp contrast to modern discussions of the film, which nearly all focus on Hepburn and her style in particular.

At the time of the review, Hepburn was not yet the immensely famous star that she is remembered, and it is apparent that her "image" that would stand for years to come had not fully been developed. There is no mention of her couture ensembles or style beyond her "frail and slender" frame". Yet though the reviewer had very favorable words for the film, including director Billy Wilder's adaptation of a "recognized thin" play by Samuel Taylor, as evidenced by more recent criticism, the relatively light-hearted film would not have survived as powerfully without Hepburn's growing popularity as style icon.

Smith, Dina M. "Global Cinderella: Sabrina (1954), Hollywood, and Post-War Internationalism." Cinema Journal 41.4 (2002): 27.

 

Smith’s complex article focuses on the relationship between the United States and Europe post-World War II, in the framework of politics, foreign policy, economics, and the cinema. Films of that era, like Sabrina, she argues, twist the classic Cinderella story to fit the gendered metaphors intrinsic in foreign policy of the time, namely that Europe, as the “culturally savvy orphan” is in need of a “strong rich man,” like America, to save it. The Europe of these films was like a “postcard fantasy” to sheltered Americans: Paris was marketed as a one-dimensional entity that was the visualization of the notion of culture. Smith traces this relationship between American and French film industries back to the era of Lumiere and Pathe Freres. France, and Paris in particular, was something to be consumed, for its food, literature, fashion, and everything else: this idea is central to the plot of Sabrina, and is reflected in much of Hepburn’s career as a “European” star, as argued by Handyside.

Smith also comments on the casting of Bogart, who she claims had an identity of “rugged cowboy American individualism,” as an antithesis to Hepburn’s European sensibilities. In this film, Bogart’s character is the epitome of American economic style, yet by the end, he is inextricably attached to Europe, as both an idea and physically. The author finds many ties between American and European cultural codes referenced in the film, such as how Sabrina needs her Parisian makeover in order to socialize with the higher class of Americans. The film, as mentioned in many other placed, was the first full-scale use of European fashions in an American film; these only emphasize Hepburn’s thin, “hungry” European body, which becomes the clothing that she wears. Smith notes that this film made significant inroads to “incorporate and denationalize” French cultures and its products, something that has continued in American film through the present.

There is an omnipresent dichotomy between the design of haute couture and the design of costumes for films: couture is entirely dependent on the casting of clothing as a spectacle, while costumes only serve as understated representations of a narrative. Bruzzi traces the origins of couture in Hollywood back to Coco Chanel’s ill-fated attempt at crossing over in 1931 to the breakthrough of Hubert de Givenchy in Sabrina. The film marked the beginning of the diminishing power of Edith Head and studio costume designers as arbiters of style. This transformation is echoed in the film’s plotline, as Head designed Sabrina’s uncouth, pre-Paris attire.
    Beginning with Sabrina, Givenchy and other designers began to use films as showcases for their designs. Hepburn wore Givenchy in a number of other films throughout her career, and the designer’s signature styles, many of which he created specifically for the actress, are evident in each. He had crossed the threshold of costumes as narrative, and they now could be as much a part of the film as the actors. Funny Face, a Givenchy/Hepburn collaboration of the late 1950s, was the most obvious display of this, as Hepburn’s bookshop clerk-turned-model spends much of the film walking down the runway wearing Givenchy’s designs, which command nearly every scene they are featured in. In Sabrina, this is the case not only for the luxurious white-and-black gown Sabrina wears in the ballroom scene: when William Holden’s character suffers a case of mistaken identity at the Glen Cove train station, the viewer is transfixed by the Givenchy-designed “Parisian suit” the new Sabrina wears. Bruzzi mentions the notions of the “iconic” and the “spectacular,” which often coincide in couture-costumed films. These costumes must have an independent and prior meaning, and such as the case of Sabrina’s gown, the clothing has a stronger impact on the actor than vice versa.

Collins' Vanity Fair article is essentially a retrospective of the storied relationship between Audrey Hepburn and the French designer Hubert de Givenchy, as inspired by the 1995 remake of Sabrina and the designer's announcement of his retirement. Beginning with the 1954 film Sabrina, Hepburn and Givenchy maintained a friendship and fashion partnership that would last until the actress' death in 1993. During production of the film, director Billy Wilder and star Hepburn decided that it would be most appropriate for Sabrina's clothing to be the product of a legitimate Paris designer, as the formerly dowdy character returns to Long Island after spending time at cooking school in that city. The up-and-coming designer Hubert de Givenchy was chosen, and Hepburn approached him to arrange fittings. After a case of mistaken identity (he believed that Katherine Hepburn would be wearing his clothing), Givenchy let the production borrow three pieces: a gray suit, a luxurious black and white ball gown, and a tasteful, boat-necked black cocktail dress.

It was arguably the fashion in Sabrina that made the film so wildly successful and influential; Hepburn was transformed into a different woman in Givenchy's clothing. Though Collins does not explore the relationship between film and fashion in much depth, her article is a good introduction to the power of the relationship between designer and muse, with an especially strong focus on Sabrina. Quoting many of the parties involved in the film, there is the sense that they were rendered awestruck by this relationship between Givenchy and Hepburn. The public agreed, as Givenchy's designs and Hepburn's image became inextricably attached for decades, and both Collins and the designer himself make note of how Hepburn's style has retained fans and audience even moreso than her movies in many cases.

Article about Latino Morrissey fans in the context of an annual Smiths convention in Los Angeles. Klosterman is one of very few authors who directly addresses the issue of race; he writes that the "predictably pasty" Smiths fans of the past were replaced with Latino fans who treated it as a contemporary event, instead of a nostalgic festival of rememberance. He also addresses the issue of Morrissey's sexuality: Klosterman suggests that a religious, machismo culture chooses to ignore Morrissey's presumed homosexuality. The reaction of two Anglo fans at the convention is also mentioned, who accuse Morrissey's new fans of being "too enthusiastic" and express contempt for the Latino fans, a sentiment that is not expressed in any other articles.

 (The book linked is the only source in print or internet the article is currently available)

Argues that since its inception, popular music has been a product of mass media and consumption. The audience of rock music is influenced by the media and their own experiences, particularly the distinction between "street" and "suburban" cultures. Relevant to my paper, many Latino Morrissey fans, especially in the LA area, seem to relate to both identities. He cites class and ideologies, as well as ethnicity, as critical for understanding the contexts of rock music.

Profile of the Sweet and Tender Hooligans, preeminent Smiths cover band among the Latino fan community. Unlike most cover bands who simply try to emulate the artists, Jose Maldonado, the singer, attempts to BECOME Morrissey, and is revered among fans. During their concerts, fans often burst into tears and run across the stage in an attempt to touch Maldonado, the same way they treat Morrissey, who rarely tours. Maldonado believes that their popularity is a combination of the band's role as huge Morrissey fans coupled with their selfless devotion to pleasing the audience at the expense of creativity.

Article from a Southern California alternative weekly newspaper discussing the local popularity of Morrissey amongst young Latinos. The perspective is that of a Latino journalist, whose friends and relatives are Morrissey fanatics, attempting to understand and appreciate the artist. Arellano suggests that Morrissey is the linkage between traditional Mexican ranchero music and the 1980s pop that his new fans heard on the radio while growing up. He is critical of the way the media has portrayed Latino fans as a sensation or novelty, often using stereotypical language, such as describing fans at a concert as "East L.A. homeboys." The author suggests that this is a misdirection of rock critics' disapproval of Morrissey as a wash-out who has continued far past his prime.

Journal article using the Smiths as a case study of a "star" who exists as a contradiction between image and reality, especially focusing on the "Englishness" exuded in both their existence and their music. Stringer argues that Morrissey's lyrical and public attention has always been a "white England," about which he often sang in protest, which is especially interestign in the context of Latino American fans. He concludes that it is unclear whether fans of The Smiths listen because they appreciate the foundations of the band's image, or their "working over" of often-repressed social and political boundaries.
(Link is to PennText - article available through JSTOR.)

Though Strausbaugh's volume is essentially a diatribe against aging rock artists who continue performing through middle age, it is a sentiment echoed by many critics and fans alike. His main argument is that rock has essentially been a music of political rebellion (though Morrissey as a "rock" artist is debatable, for these purposes he qualifies under this definition). Interestingly, though Morrissey has been often criticized, using Straughsbaugh's definitions, Morrissey is still "rebelling": his beliefs have never seemed to be controlled by a record label or manager, and he claims to still have the beliefs that he sings about in 20-year-old songs.

In this book about nationalism and expression of English ideals through song, the first chapter is about the working-class mentality that has pervaded British pop culture in the post-war period, using the lyrics of The Smiths and Morrissey as a case study. While this is described as a particularly British image, it is also part of an immigrant ideal: to be recognized for hard work and rewarded. However, Zuberi rejects the idea that Morrissey was speaking to people of all races and declares that he was glorifying only the white working class, which is curious in comparison to how Latinos have accepted his music as working-class anthems.

Portrait of Morrissey as the "outsiders' outsider": one whose "obsession with the margins of culture and society...fuels this uncommonly extreme devotion of his fans." Veltman also details many of the allegations of racism that plauged Morrissey in England and eventually drew him to move to the U.S. Unlike many other articles, this one comes to terms with the fact that Morrissey might really be a has-been, regardless of his adoring fans; the Smiths have been much more influential, and contemporary Morrissey is just reprising the past. Veltman ends with the idea that Morrissey's image as a pop-culture-hating outsider might just be that: an image ironically cultured by the media he claimes to despise.

Lisa A. Lewis, the editor of this collection, comments in the beginning that the book is a response to the stigma of fandom; instead, it looks at fandom as a response to difficult social conditions, which is an especially apt way to view the popularity of Morrissey and the Smiths. Lawrence Grossberg's essay "Is There a Fan in the House?: The Affective Sensibility of Fandom" argues that rock fans are bound together by a consumer sensibility that makes them desire pleasure. This idea is not entire correct for Morrissey's fans , as media and consumer ideals have had little impact on his fan base over the past two decades, but it is useful to understand another model of fandom to which Morrissey fans can be compared.

Hill's book features a discussion of previous literature in the field of cultural & fan studies, followed by his own argument of fandom as a dually-natured entity. Much of Hill's ideas focus on the formation of fan communities and the actions within them. This book is a good resource for understanding different theories of fandom, but Hill's community model may not be as appropriate, since Morrissey's Latino fans have been predefined as a community by their ethnicity before their identity as fellow Morrissey fans.

Link to streaming MP3 of a Latino-focused NPR program exploring Morrissey's appeal in Southern California & interviews with documentarian William E. Jones and Morrissey impersonator Jose Maldonado. The common themes of immigration, religion, and class struggle are offered as unifying Morrissey with Latinos, along with the idea of Morrissey as an outsider that has always framed his popularity. Morrissey's response to the fanbase are mentioned, such as in songs such as "The First of the Gang to Die" about a LA gang member, and "Mexico", which compares life on opposite sides of the border.

Profile of William E. Jones, the filmmaker behind the documentary "Is it Really So Strange?" which discusses the phenomenon of Latino Morrissey fans. Aitch cites Morrissey's move from England to LA as the takeoff of the fan base. Jones discusses the difficulties he had creating trust among the community while documenting them, and the dichotomy of Morrissey the Man versus Morrissey the Icon.

Brief profile of William Jones, director of the documentary "Is it Really So Strange?" from the alternative LA Weekly. Jones' project began as photography of cover bands and conventions. He also mentions the obsessive nature of Morrissey tattoos: they exist in all forms from his signature to album covers and are the subject of contests and much discussion.

LA Times Magazine, Nov 19 2000. Southern California is the center of the explosion of Morrissey Latino fans. Lott's article focuses especially on The Sweet and Tender Hooligans, a Smiths & Morrissey cover band led by Jose Maldonado, who is essentially a Morrissey impersonator. The fans of the Hooligans are almost entirely Latino and look at Maldonado not as a singer but as a direct ambassador of Morrissey, channeling the music of the singer, who rarely tours. Morrissey fandom is discussed as a rebellion against traditional machoism in Mexican culture, and Lott mentions that Morrissey, as an Irishman in England, dealt with many of the same ethnic struggles as Mexican-Americans.

From Blacktable online magazine; a devoted Morrissey fan attempts to explain the rationale that has kept Morrissey idolized worldwide twenty years past what should have been his "peak". Elders argues that the mystery shrouding Morrissey's personal life is what has allowed him to remain a respectable artist over time. Regarding his Latino fans: "But sublimated people, or minorities, or marginalized races don't identify with Morrissey because he's different...Morrissey is himself, uncompromisingly so."

Article for the Canadian Broadcasting Corp. by a journalist from the UK's "The Guardian". Taylor covers a conference held in Manchester, English titled "Why Pamper Life's Complexities?": named after a Smiths song, and the first academic conference held in the band's honor. Using quotes, papers, and interviews at the conference, Taylor explores how the Smiths and Morrissey appeal to even distinguished academics, many of whom presented papers with the qualification that they were themselves mega-fans of the group. The author presents several reasons for the continuing appeal, such as Morrissey's mysteriously ambiguous sexuality, and his passionate lyrics - he was described by one conference-goer as everyone's "invisible friend."