'Stories We Wear' book review: Tailored truths

There is a classic debate that asks the question; do clothes make the man? Or does the man make the clothes?

Keeping aside the gendered nature of the question, it is one that is worth pondering. One could argue both sides, make salient points and pick examples out of the ether to support their thesis, but it is undeniable that clothes — and one can safely extend that to appearance and the way we carry ourselves — is a reflection of the wearer’s personality. Whether one chooses to wear designer, traditional or western garb, or even refuses to partake in the trend and opts to wear ‘what is comfortable’, it is a statement of who we are.

In Shefalee Vasudev’s Stories We Wear: Status, Spectacle and the Politics of Appearance, it is a simple truth that reveals itself. Appearances matter. Yes, it is a fact you have probably always known; in some cases, even chosen to disregard. But as you flip through the pages, it manifests as something you cannot ignore. It makes you understand the depths to which appearances help in creating your personal monomyth.

None of these self-realisations or contemplations is forced. It comes as the author takes you through a myriad of, sometimes a bit meandering, essays. When she speaks about the khadi as a political symbol, you recall the politically inclined family member or neighbour for whom khadi or khadar was part of their identity. When she writes about the carefully curated, paparazzi-ready look the celebrities pull off at the airport and contrasts it with the uniformed and neatly tailored appearance of the Central Industrial Security Force officers, you recall your own experiences with a uniformed member of our society. You might even think of the chance encounter with a celebrity and remember what they wore and question — for instance — why wear sunglasses indoors?

The reader’s personal realisations aside, the book talks about hidden-in-plain-sight truths. From power suits to brooches and garments, politicians and their attire carry meaning. Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s style is curated — the author says — to reflect an India that takes pride in its nationhood and economic aspirations while projecting stability and cultural rootedness. Vasudev also looks at the other side of the political aisle, where Rahul Gandhi has been reimagining his political image with his white T-shirt, scruffy beard and rushed body language of a ‘man on the move’. Sarees are worn to suggest ‘decolonised simplicity’ or ‘one of the people’.

The most chilling bit in that chapter is a line from Julia Sonnevend: “charm will shape the future of democracy worldwide, as political values will be increasingly embodied by mediated personalities”.

The section about the evolution of khadi from the days of Mahatma Gandhi to its latest iteration and the multiple struggles of the khadi industry to rebrand itself is interesting.

The book moves through stories of people. A CISF personnel who wears the uniform like a superhero costume. “Uniform symbolises the mental transition of an officer from being a civilian to being part of a security force,” an officer says. The mini-revolution in small towns triggered by OTT platforms and series which showcase strong rural women. On the truth behind fire injuries in India. Survival does not mean winning; there is stigma and challenges for the victims because of the social focus on appearance. It is a sobering read, one that points to the need for compassion alongside medical support.

The tale of Masaba Gupta, daughter of Sir Vivian Richards and actor Neena Gupta, reclaiming the word ‘Lovechild’ — once scandalous — into a personal brand is intriguing and heartening. It shows the importance of narrative. The audiences are no longer sheep with a bank balance. In a crowded influencer market, relatability and inspiration are currency. The journey of life is branded — self-love, growth, health journey, self discovery et al. Stories need to be told, untold and retold.

The author also lays bare the hypocrisy of the fashion industry. The producers who greenwash their considerable sins by co-opting sustainability jargon and keywords, stripping them of meaning. The consumers for the paradox over their claim to care about sustainability and the success of fast fashion in India.

What really comes through, repeatedly, is the class difference, both economic and caste, that plays a role in all these aspects. In the same location, a celebrity wears a curated look for social media while the CISF officers don their uniform as a responsibility. Artists from marginalised societies use their unique voices and style to force the mainstream to pay attention. Coffee and cafe culture continue to be part of the elite, at least in how they are consumed in popular culture. Tea, the author mentions, does not have the same cool quotient. True, tea does lack that pizzazz, and connoisseurs of its finer details are far less vocal. Yet it remains a fundamental part of everyday life, punctuating breaks between the hustle. 

In the end, Stories We Wear is more than clothes. It is a projection of the self. It encompasses fashion, hope, aspiration, death, helplessness, social distinction, responsibility and more. Everything tells a story. Our story.