I have never, and will never love a man as much as I love my Penny Lane inspired Afghan coat. Sounds like the starting line of pretentious poetic drivel, but I assure you, you will be spared the wanky examination of the depths of my inner psyche and my inability to love a human being as much as a material possession. Sure, my relationship with this glorious coat could be a prime example of a power imbalance. Maybe my coat will never return my feelings and I’ll be doomed to another unrequited love. However, it cannot be helped, for you see in my coat I am the ‘It Girl’ of the era: Stevie Nicks 2.0. When I open the door, the world turns to slow motion as all eyes are fixed on me and jaws drop. Women want to be me; men want to be with me. Rock “n” Roll royalty. Don’t you know? Bob Dylan is about to write the next melodic tale of heartbreak at my hands. Derek & The Dominos’ ‘Layla’ blasts in the background as I swish my luscious locks behind me (or maybe Toto’s ‘Hold the Line’? I’m still undecided on the details). Unfortunately, the sad truth is I sincerely doubt anyone is actually whispering about me, apart from to say “Uhhh, is that pen on her jacket?”– oh, the perils of a vintage shop.
Associated as the coveted emblem of the hippie subculture of the late 60s and 70s, the long suede overcoat lined with sheepskin or goatskin, which was worn as protection from the extreme winter, originated in the Ghazni province – the most popular and recognisable being the knee-length, long-sleeved ‘Pustakis’ or ankle-length ‘Pustins’. In a classic tale of cultural appropriation, the lovingly crafted embroidered intricate patterns travelled across borders to the West through ‘Hippie capitalism’, in which Afghanistan’s modernisation programme of the early 1960s welcomed foreigners – primarily made up of Hippies who eagerly embarked upon the ‘Hippie Trail’, stumbling upon products to sell back home. Foreign travel became a spiritual act, enabling the individual to gain a ‘free-spirited’ outlook on the world, forming a core value of the counterculture’s rejection of the ‘close-mindedness’ of the state. This of course fell victim to Adorno’s critique of the entrenchment of capitalist values in our society, best symbolised through the transformation of Kabul’s ‘Chicken Street’; originally populated by vendors selling – you guessed it! – poultry. ‘Chicken Street’ was akin to a religious site for Hippie fashion and tourism, though chicken feathers were swapped for fur as people flocked to grab a piece of the revolutionary coat that promoted ‘free love’, sticking it to the man and it was known, above all else, it was not hip to be square.
Adorned and, most importantly, popularised by The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd and David Bowie, this iconic piece of Afghanistan’s traditional national menswear found a new home in Britain and the US; emphasised by Australian National University’s Professor Tim Bonyhady in his study of Afghanistan’s history through clothing – “by 1969 many more pustinchas were being worn outside Afghanistan than within it, as they maintained their appeal with the most beautiful people and became part of youth’s uniform”. Yet, despite its largely masculine origins, the coat now also goes by another name: Penny Lane. For those unfamiliar with the 2000s hit film, ‘Almost Famous’, Kate Hudson embodied the role of the fictional ‘band aid’ – not a mere ‘groupie’ – which sparked the coat’s resurgence into women’s fashion in the early 2000s, in which its previous design was replaced with faux suede. Now, with the increasing popularity of Amazon Prime’s adaptation of Taylor Jenkins Reid’s bestselling novel ‘Daisy Jones & The Six’ gripping Gen-Z, bohemian chic has made a name for itself once again in women’s fashion. Google search ‘Afghan coat’ or ‘Penny Lane’ and you will be redirected to numerous fast-fashion outlets offering their interpretation for women everywhere. In fact, Amazon were so sure of its customers’ desire to dress like Daisy Jones herself that they set up a storefront in which pieces inspired by the characters’ costumes can be purchased. Even ‘Free People’ have brought the 70s wardrobe back to life in its ‘Daisy Jones & The Six’ capsule collection, with the logo tee costing a whopping £68 – ‘Hippie capitalism’ at its finest. What fascinates me the most is that the coat in our re-imagination has now gained a distinct female edge as bohemian chic returns to the forefront of women’s fashion.
Dismissed as “the 60s to a disco beat”, the scholar’s decision to neglect the seventies era in favour of male-dominated stories of the New Left, SDS, ‘Yippies’, ‘Hippies’, and the Civil Rights Movement, fails in capturing the radicalism of the ‘second wave of feminism’. This wave was seen as acting “outside the larger movement” as a response to the era’s discourse on sexual freedom, identity politics, ‘participatory democracy’, the effectiveness of nonviolence and, most especially, intersectionality. It also fails in understanding how fashion was intrinsic to female protest as a statement on identity politics. Critiqued as “counterrevolutionary” by male New Left activists, the second wave of feminism was a reaction to the sexist rhetoric and “dark side of the sexual revolution”, which left female activists with “the conviction that feminism and the left were antinomies” – as proposed by the feminist historian Alice Echols. Accounts of slogans such as “free grass, free food, free women” cried at Woodstock, or anti-Vietnam War posters declaring that “girls say YES to boys who say NO”, identified a need for the reclamation of women’s bodies amongst disenfranchised activists, as shown by Jane Ciabattri’s 1973 account of the radical questions posed at feminist ‘consciousness-raising’ meetings. Ciabattri’s findings included questions not too dissimilar to ones we may hear at our universities’ feminist societies including: “Have you ever felt that men have pressured you into sexual relationships? Have you ever lied about an orgasm?”.
Similarly, disillusioned by white middle class projection within the feminist movement and the ‘chauvinism’ displayed within the Black Power Movement, pioneering black feminists, such as Frances Beal, conceptualised a ‘Double Jeopardy’ in the racial and gender oppression of black women as they stressed the need for innovative, intersectional protest movements; a discussion which draws parallels upon Candice Brathwaite’s 2020 best-seller ‘I Am Not Your Baby Mother’ in her reflection of black British motherhood.
Moreover, the permeation of heterosexist narratives in the overarching feminist movement, such as Betty Friedan’s caricature of lesbians within the feminist movement as ‘The Lavender Menace’, and the masculine rhetoric of the Gay Liberation Movement, pushed the need for separatist lesbian activism, such as the emergence of the ‘Radica-lesbians’ and their 1970 “The Woman-Identified-Woman” manifesto. Through the lens of the resurgence of late 60s/70s fashion in popular culture, I propose that parallels can be drawn between the second wave of feminism and the activism of today. Though we may feel removed- given that this discourse took place well over fifty years ago, the spirit of the ‘sixties’ – or ‘long sixties’ in the progression of radical activism well into the 1970s – is alive today. Highlighted through the ‘Me Too’ movement, debates regarding the commodification and objectification of the female body in feminist discourse, or decolonising historical narratives and perspectives at universities, the ‘free the nipple!’ social media movement, the effectiveness of nonviolent protest, Black Lives Matter, ‘slut-shaming’ and the role of pornography and Trans activism. The initial conversations of the radical activists of the 1960s/1970s have spanned across the evolution of modern technology and is still beating alive.
In my opinion, the beauty of the era is that there is no one true defining ‘It Girl’ or standalone fashion icon as the fashion was of a diverse spectrum, expressing one’s position in the discourse on identity politics. This spectrum spanned from the self-proclaimed ‘free spirit’ Hippies, tie-dye sandal-wearing bohemian Joni Mitchells of the world, the ‘Camilla Dunne’ wannabes, or the turtleneck academic can-turn-to Ali MacGraw’s bohemian-preppy combo lovers. There was also the androgynous, laid-back, and effortlessly cool look which was nailed to a T by Patti Smith for the gender-neutral and nonbinary.
European arthouse’s Charlotte Rampling oozed and asserted sex appeal cut with raw vulnerability, Pam Grier represented the face of ‘blaxploitation’ cinema, with her ‘foxy’ plunging halter tops and chic flares emphasising her midriff. The spectrum continued to Stevie Nick’s ‘witchy’ gothic inspired, ethereal silhouettes, the ‘bad bitch’ of music Blondie, the pussybow blouse wearing ‘girl next door’ Jane Fonda, Diana Ross’ look as the queen of disco and sequins, and Diane Keaton of ‘Annie Hall’. There was also the option to indulge in a dressed-down anti-feminine look sourced from men’s vintage stores, or to encapsulate Twiggy’s bold mix of the shift mini dress and go-go boots with repurposed menswear.
The list of figures does indeed go on with so many more faces I could have mentioned. The point is, whether you wanted to ‘walk like a man’, assert your sexuality on your own terms, be the disco dancing queen, live the dark academia lifestyle of your chosen university, or stand at the picket lines fighting for rights, there was a cult figure for all, offering a tuxedo, go-go boots, high-rise or low-rise flares – depending on your preference – freed nipples, ethereal chiffon, or tie-dye.
When reflecting upon International Women’s Day, we must remember how our feminist discourse and continued fight for women’s rights – whether that be for educational equality, equal pay, against the objectification of our bodies, or even the right to be recognised as a woman for trans women everywhere – can be owed to the cult icons whose legacies enable us to express our gender, sexuality, and political allegiance through what we wear. Personally, the resurgence of fashion from the era re-imagined by Gen-Z is one that excites the hell out of me.
Written by: Amelia Craik
Edited by: Michele Ngue-Awane