Feast Your Eyes: A Tour of the Sartorial ’70s

Of all of the movies to come out of the midseventies, Shampoo arguably screams “SEVENTIES FASHION!” louder than any other. Perhaps that’s because of the world its lead character—a Beverly Hills hairdresser (Warren Beatty) who pathologically womanizes his elite clientele—occupies: that of rich women in long pearls and 450SL Mercedes.

Beatty is perfect as a poncy, motorcycle-riding party boy in collarless white tunic shirts, rash French-poet hair, tight jeans, swinging necklaces, and turquoise-encrusted concha belts, navigating a hazardous terrain of ficus trees, highlighted tips, and frosty white fingernails.

The women of Shampoo epitomize midseventies style, particularly Julie Christie in dusty lavender ensembles (and what became a truly iconic haircut), and the infantilized if delectable Goldie Hawn in velour minidresses, rose-colored glasses, and tiny floral panties.

A hilarious fashion standoff happens between Nixon supporters and the infiltrating Laurel Canyon hippies. Beatty, in his velvet tuxedo and ruffly shirts has no problem out-sexying the staid, wealthy establishment of Beverly Hills in a look that must have been Mike Myers’s inspiration for Austin Powers.

This is a flawed film but an interesting one, particularly when viewed alongside What’s Up, Doc?, in which Barbra Streisand was not yet in control of her industrial complex. This movie was the project of a Barbra who was going for total control of her own image, and bending it in a drastic new direction.

Scarlett Newman in Garage magazine wrote: “Before the film was even made, Streisand’s then-boyfriend (and former hairdresser, who would also serve as a producer on the film) Jon Peters was supervising an effort to reshape her look. Babs was suddenly very blonde, very tan, very sexy, and very Hollywood. The new Babs was rocking skin-tight denim and hot pants and going braless.”

Ms. Streisand’s frizzy coif is paired with a puzzlingly expensive-looking array of very tailored, very Upper-East-Side, Bonwit Teller–style pantsuits and Diana-Ross-esque pharaonic gold stage ensembles. For an up-and-coming club musician, her style remains oddly consistent throughout the film, and it does so even after she attains world superstardom and unspeakable fortune by upstaging her alcoholic husband (Kris Kristofferson). This mystery is finally explained by one of the more thrilling costume credits in film history: “Ms. Streisand’s clothes from . . . her closet.”

Barbra definitely should have won an award for possessing the best manicure ever seen in film—or perhaps even human—history.

David Bowie plays a highly sensitive alien subject to manias triggered by the cacophony of modern life. The film suggests that we all are “alienated”—fatigued from technology overload and the speed of innovation.

Against a setting of seventies bureaucratic dullness—root-beer-colored sedans; plaid couches and sport-coats; wide, dark brown neckties; dark wood paneling and burgundy Naugahyde restaurant booths—Bowie appears to have fallen from space by way of Carnaby Street and/or the lost wardrobe of Brian Jones.

The alien provides a shock of the new in feminine cut suits (made by Ola Hudson), wide-brimmed velvet fedoras, high-waisted gaucho pants, and dazzling bright print shirts in gleaming polyester—and completely outclasses his love interest by looking every inch the well-born woman himself.

Psycho-fans of Bowie will thrill at the hooded overcoat he wears in the opening scenes, which appears to be the same garment on the cover of the Low album.

Here is where you can see the real effects of the decade’s fashion evolution.

Annie Hall’s outfits, while technically designed by Lauren, are very much Diane Keaton’s interpretive invention: vests and ties and upturned collars; wide-legged, high-waisted trousers; and men’s felt fedoras. Keaton envisions femininity as being somewhere on the spectrum between Charlie Chaplin and Katharine Hepburn. The styles all remain relatively current—the looks of New York intellectuals really don’t change very much, based as they are in old Preppy.  Still, it’s fun to see the big contrast between New York and California, after Annie goes West; not only is the difference of cold vs. warm weather apparent in her wardrobe, you can also see the influence of all those trippy Golden State vibrations.

Usually artists in movies are particularly terrible artists—not so Laura Mars, who was lucky enough to have her fashion shoots done by immortal Vogue photographer Helmut Newton.

Faye Dunaway plays the artist with a precognitive eye for murder, in the deadliest style location of all: the art world of New York City in the mid-1970s. Punk and new wave didn’t technically exist yet as full-fledged subcultures, but their fashions were just beginning to creep in around the edges.

The plot takes place during winter, so get ready for lots of Sherlock Holmes plaid trench coats and gem-toned angora. Apart from the slim, flared cut of the sport-jackets worn by Tommy Lee Jones, most of the fashion consists of easy designer looks that could all be worn today. In clothing, that’s the mark of a classic.

By 1979, fashion was already tiptoeing into the eighties, when a fleet of new silhouettes was born, flipping the slim-cut script of the seventies with high spiky hair, padded shoulders, drop-waists, and studded belts. The legacy of the seventies lies in the uniqueness of its pant legs and large collars, which have more or less been unrepeatable in mainstream fashion ever since. 


’70s Style Icons is playing on the Criterion Channel now through April 30, 2020. Watch the series trailer below: