Photo From left, Bernie Sanders, Hillary Clinton and Martin O'Malley at the Democratic presidential debate hosted by NBC News. Credit Travis Dove for The New York Times
Opinion is divided over who won the last Democratic debate, Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders. And polls are awfully close in Iowa and New Hampshire.
But in one area at least, Mrs. Clinton appears to have already triumphed: She has finally, 23 years after she first stepped onto the national stage as first lady, stopped the conversation about her clothes.
Consider: During and after the debate on Sunday, there was, for the first time I can remember, barely a whisper about what she wore. Can you even remember what it was? It was so nondescript, it was just not cause for comment.
(And, yes, I know I am contradicting my point by writing about this, but consider it the exception that proves the rule.)
That's pretty extraordinary, given our obsession with whatever anyone in the public eye — red carpet celebrities, royalty, even criminals — puts on their backs. Last week, the news broke that the shirt El Chapo wore in his Sean Penn video had sold out online, and a hoo-ha was created recently when Marco Rubio wore some fancy footwear (which also sold out online).
Photo The Democratic candidates at a debate in November. Credit Mandel Ngan/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images
But here's a sacrilegious thought: Is Mrs. Clinton's achievement one we should be celebrating? Has she won the battle, but not the real war?
I know that as a woman I should be lauding the end of reductionism-by-fashion, the idea that finally a female of high achievement seeking high office is being judged not by what she wears but by what she says. But I can't help feeling that something important had been sacrificed in the process; that this isn't necessarily a giant leap forward, but a kind of chassé to the side.
After all, how did she escape the issue of clothes? By taking a page from her opponents' playback and making it her ow n. By boring everyone into silence.
Since her campaign kickoff rally last summer in a tone-on-tone suit of cerulean blue, Mrs. Clinton has been shedding the sartorial markers she acquired when she first ran for the Senate and settled on a uniform of gumdrop-bright pantsuits that combined functionality with the conventional political wisdom that clothes are one way women can stand out in a crowd. (See: Queen Elizabeth II, Angela Merkel). But increasingly her choices have become notably muted.
Photo Since last summer, Mrs. Clinton has been shedding the sartorial markers she acquired when she first ran for the Senate. Credit Jewel Samad/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images
First debate: navy collarless suit, white tunic. Second debate: black pantsuit, black scoop-neck shirt. Third debate: neutral burlap-like coat jacket, khaki trousers. Fourth debate: black suit, blue shirt.
Indeed, the outfit Mrs. Clinton wore on Sunday was almost indistinguishable from those of Mr. Sanders and the other debater, former Maryland Governor Martin O'Malley. Both of them wore similar dark suits and blue ties, with Mr. O'Malley in a white shirt and Mr. Sanders in blue. She was missing only the little flag pin on her lapel. They were so matchy-matchy that if you did not know they were opponents, you might have thought they were teammates.
Gone were the tangerines and the verdant greens; the grape and the lemon yellow; the cherry, fuchsia and turquoise that once characterized her suit choices. There have been occasional bursts of red and blue, but they are now more the exception than the rule. She has almost, seemingly, tied herself not just to some of the policies of her former boss, President Obama, but also to his sartorial strategy: wear only gray or blue suits, every day.
Gone is the big strand of white costume pearls Mrs. Clinton wore at the second debate, which made all sorts of subliminal associations with first ladies from Jacqueline Kennedy to Barbara Bush and Michelle Obama, and which seemed an oblique reference to her own time in the White House. They have been retired in favor of subtler pieces that barely register on the bling-o-meter.
Photo Mrs. Clinton at the Democratic National Convention in 2008. Credit Damon Winter/The New York Times
That this happened at the same time Mrs. Clinton was being attacked for being too cozy with the 1 percent on Wall Street (thereby depriving her competitors of ammunition from her own wardrobe) could just have been a lucky coincidence. But either way, it's a telling one. Now there's nothing to say. There's barely anything to see.
I respect that. I think it's a pretty good example of her ability to take the temperature of the times and figure out how to solve the problem presented to her, a useful attribute in a president. But at the same time, I can't help being a little sorry about it. Because in sapping her clothes of potentially controversial content, Mrs. Clinton has also sapped them of personality.
Yes, she does not look like a fruit basket anymore. And maybe she was really a black suit type all along. But whereas the quirkiness of her rainbow-clothing coalition gave humor to her policy-wonkitude, her clothes now say she will do what's necessary to get the job (i.e., getting elected) done. Fair enough. But they say nothing about her tastes, her sense of humor, her idiosyncrasies. They do not humanize her. They do not suggest multiple dimensions.
Invert the clothing equation and it becomes a weapon you can use, as opposed to one used on you. And a pretty powerful one, especially for a woman.
Continue reading the main story Mrs. Clinton seemed to understand this at the beginning of her campaign, with her Instagram joke about "hard choices" accompanying a red, white and blue pantsuit array, with her asides about dyeing her hair, even with her scrunchies, once upon a State Department time. She seemed to see fashion and our obsession with what our role models wear as opportunity and tool, or at least to have come 'round to that view, after carping early on about unfair gender-related focus.
That to me was the biggest advance: not complaining about fashion, not denying it, not ignoring it, but milking it for what it was worth. For what it could do for you: support your message. Underscore it. Add to it.
People are interested in clothes. So what? They want to talk about them? Fine, let's talk. If that's the way to grab attention and engage — if that's an entry point to a broader conversation and deeper connection — it's at least as valid as discussions about, say, what sub sandwich is your favorite.
And that is a lesson worth learning, one I would pass on to my daughters. It is one I wish female politicians — and I hope there will be more and more of them — would learn (male, too, for that matter). But it's no longer being taught.
There are miles and months to go before the Democratic convention, even more until the general election. Things could change. Winning could give Mrs. Clinton th e confidence to play a little — or, conversely, convince her that bland is the way to go. (Losing comes with its own set of lessons.)
Either way, she makes history. And she has the opportunity to change it. To really solve the clothing problem byshowing that it's not a problem.
It's a platform, by another name.
