Who knew that Crayola blue denim could be so raunchy? "Kristin in Slim Slacks" is putting on quite a show for a disheveled photographer who takes pictures of her highly sexualized body. Women in hot pants, tube socks and Members Only-style jackets dance around with a shirtless, hairy, jiggly rando who, according to the caption, is named Jonny. A woman practically moons the photographer. This isn't soft-core internet porn. No, my friends, it's the erotic advertising for American Apparel, patting itself on the back on the way to the bank as consumers these days, including Dartmouth students, buy it all up.
By showing explicit images of bodies, American Apparel conditions young people to be comfortable with the naked form, independent of shape and gender. Clearly confident models perpetuate the unisex culture American Apparel is crafting; their unquestioning pleasure in exposing themselves confronts shoppers with a lifestyle of both sexual neutrality and openness.
American Apparel has clothes that range from frumpy to flair, and everything is made of one of three materials: jersey, spandex, or polyester microfiber. There are countless high-waisted skirts, hot pants and V-neck T-shirts that come in any color. You must have noticed their heinous leggings -- bright lam, anyone? -- strutting through classrooms, libraries and the gym. American Apparel clothes sometimes make you wonder if people are actually serious when wearing the brand's prized pieces.
Although the materials certainly aren't luxurious, and the actual styles aren't all that original -- many are '70s and '80s revivals with a little bit of 21st century mix 'n' match thrown in -- I still open my new issues of Nylon and British Glamour to see look after look sprinkled with the stuff. Why has American Apparel, a brand mostly of basics, become ubiquitous?
Their advertisements are everywhere online, including Facebook, in which average-looking women (not emaciated Kate Moss types) wear spandex dresses, little makeup and disheveled hair while posing in front of plain, white backgrounds -- such realism implies that any woman can wear American Apparel clothing. The popularity of the brand rides on the fact that their products can be worn by anybody and the prices are pretty low.
But, as has been said many times before about fashion, buying a particular brand can be equivalent to buying into a type of lifestyle. And the lifestyle American Apparel presents to its consumers is one of casual eroticism. The brand manages to sexualize a plain T-shirt by photographing a woman in bed wearing it with a pair of boy-briefs. A slouchy sweatshirt becomes suggestive when worn only with red hot pants.
While sexy-but-unisex clothing is generally presented in the form of a girlfriend wearing her boyfriend's T-shirt, American Apparel takes gender neutrality to a different level. For this brand, wearing unisex clothing perpetuates androgyny that pervades runways and our own culture. Women used to wear hoop skirts and bustles while men wore pants. Nowadays it seems like women's clothes can be easily interchanged for men's. Wearing each other's underwear may just be the next step toward a unisex culture. Maybe American Apparel has found its niche in those young adults who (perhaps subconsciously) want to defy social norms.
The future of mass culture is full of jersey and microfiber. When I go out and see two girls wearing the same black and white spandex minidress at a frat, I know that American Apparel has created a trend. When I see the same V-neck T-shirt on both a guy and a girl, I am reminded that the college student's love affair with these clothes is powerful. American Apparel's ability to surpass gender boundaries proves that its popularity will last for a while. Perhaps it's the androgynous quality of American Apparel that makes the company find it necessary to expose their models: How else would we know his or her gender? Which raises another question: Why does that matter?
Dylan is a staff writer for The Mirror.
