Fashion: When the word becomes a garment and the garment becomes a sign

Source: The written garment: When language frees clothing from reality

A garment described in words ("the written garment") enjoys absolute exemption from any practical function or physical limitation. Unlike the photographed or real garment, the written garment does not get dirty, does not wrinkle, and does not tear; it never pinches, and it is always the right size. In other words, language idealizes the object. The word 'wool' does not itch; the word 'silk' does not rustle. Writing transforms the garment into a pure object of meaning, thereby allowing fashion to exist as a system of signs rather than as a collection of fabrics.

Image: 19th-century crinoline dresses. Thousands of women, including Jewish women, died due to fire catching in the dresses)

(Roland Barthes, Système de la mode, 1967)

Explanation: Between fabric and symbol: The duality of fashion

Fashion is not just what a person wears, but primarily how it is spoken of. The physical garment wears out, wrinkles, and tears, while 'the written garment' is eternal, conferring meaning and symbolism. The uniform of a soldier, a bus driver, a police officer, a rabbi, or a farmer is not just fig leaves, but garments of skin; fashion is functional and symbolic at one and the same time.

Perspective: The real purchase: Not a garment, but an adjective

Talking about clothing creates abstraction. Take the example of "wool": in reality, wool is a coarse fiber that comes from a sheep. In the fashion text, the word "wool" or "soft knit" is detached from the animal and the coarseness, becoming a synonym for "warmth," "hominess," or "a romantic winter." We don't buy the garment; we buy its adjective. We buy "lightness," "elegance," or "nonchalance." We buy a brand, not just a piece of clothing.

Barthes argues that an image is polysemous. When we see a photo of a woman in a short white dress, we can interpret it in countless ways: "She's going to the beach," "She plays tennis," "She's childish," "She's poor." The text serves as an anchor—it forces us to interpret the image in only one way.

Going Deeper: Philosophy of clothing: Between reality and image, between value and status

From ancient Greece to our own day, there has been an ongoing debate over the question of being and existence: Is reality a tangible substance or merely an image, a garment for a spiritual, philosophical reality? Is reality the body or the garment, is it light or vessel? Jean Baudrillard, a twentieth-century French philosopher, built upon Roland Barthes's ideas, noting that beyond talking about the garment, there is also its value (in his book The Consumer Society and elsewhere). Philosophy can be articulated about any pair of jeans or winter coat, yet value is an important variable in the garment's symbolism. The value of clothing is a status symbol, a key to entering the class world desired by the wearer, whether a status of wealth or wisdom, or conversely, streetwise indifference.

Culture: A blue raincoat as a metaphor: When a garment tells a life story

One of Leonard Cohen's best-known songs is "Famous Blue Raincoat" (translated into Hebrew by Tzruya Lahav). The song tells of betrayal and adultery, of lost innocence and exploitation, and in a single line Cohen describes the betrayer: "The last time we saw you you looked so much older / Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder." The title of the song is not about betrayal or sorrow; rather, it shines a spotlight on the man's clothing. A blue raincoat torn at the shoulder—a coat that symbolizes bohemian life, betrayal, and the heavy burden of that friend's life, and of course his desire to stay dressed like a young man, which only underscores his aging. Just looking at the garment is enough to understand the character of the person wearing it.