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.

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.