A Widow's Wardrobe: Fashion, propriety, and the Minnesota Woman of the 1950s
While writing The Priest's Confession, I found myself fascinated by the unspoken language of clothing in the 1950s. For a woman like Eleanor Vance, trapped in the rigid role of a respectable war widow, her wardrobe was both a cage and a potential key to her own liberation. Every choice, from the somber navy she wore to church to the shocking burgundy she chose for a private meeting, was a reflection of her internal battle. In researching the era, I realized that for a woman in 1950s Minnesota, fashion was about so much more than style; it was about propriety, practicality, and the quiet courage it took to choose a color that wasn't gray.
The Ideal Silhouette: A Study in Structure
The dominant look of the 1950s was a direct and luxurious rebuttal to the austerity of the war years. Christian Dior’s “New Look,” which debuted in 1947, had fully taken hold by the time Eleanor Vance was tending her garden in Havenwood. It was a celebration of hyper-femininity, built on a foundation of structured undergarments that created a specific, idealized hourglass shape.
Two silhouettes reigned supreme. The first, and more popular, was the full-skirted style. This look featured a tightly cinched waist that suddenly exploded into a wide, full skirt, often a circle or dirndl style, that fell to the mid-calf. This wasn't achieved by fabric alone; it required a scaffold of petticoats and crinolines to create the necessary volume. The second was the sleek, form-fitting pencil skirt. While seemingly more modern, it was just as restrictive, often hobbling a woman’s stride and requiring a girdle to achieve a perfectly smooth line from waist to hip.
Regardless of the skirt, the top half of the silhouette was consistent: soft, sloping shoulders and a full, high bustline, emphasized by the conical, heavily stitched bras of the era. The most iconic garment of the decade was arguably the shirtwaist dress. Popularized by designers like Anne Fogarty, it was the perfect canvas for the 1950s look, featuring a tailored, button-front bodice and a full, pleated skirt. It was respectable, feminine, and could be adapted for any occasion, from a morning of errands to an evening social.
The Midwestern Translation: Practicality in a Cold Climate
While the pages of Vogue and Harper's Bazaar might have shown Parisian models in delicate silks, the reality for a woman in Havenwood, Minnesota, was dictated by a far more practical authority: the weather. The high-fashion silhouette was adopted, but it was translated through a lens of practicality and durability.
The harsh Minnesota winters demanded fabrics with substance. Wool, tweed, and warm flannel were staples. A stylish woman would have a fitted wool coat, perhaps with a wide collar and large buttons, that buttoned over her full skirts. For more casual wear, the “car coat,” a shorter, boxier style, was popular for its practicality.
Summers, though often hot and humid, were still approached with modesty. Crisp, breathable cotton was the fabric of choice. Gingham, a cheerful checkered cotton, was incredibly popular for shirtwaist dresses and blouses. Floral prints on cotton percale or polished cotton also allowed women to embrace the decade’s femininity while staying cool. These fabrics had the distinct advantage of being washable, a crucial consideration for a housewife in an era before easy-care synthetics became dominant.
The Unspoken Rules: Clothing as a Moral Code
More than style, 1950s fashion was governed by a strict and largely unspoken set of rules about propriety. For a respectable woman, getting dressed was a ritual of signaling her place in the social order. Leaving the house without a hat and gloves was practically unthinkable. These accessories weren't just decorative; they were markers of a well-bred lady, signifying that she did not perform manual labor. Gloves were to be white or ivory, short for daytime and longer for evening.
For a widow like Eleanor, these rules were magnified tenfold. Society expected her wardrobe to reflect her tragic, respectable status. While the initial period of deep mourning in all-black might have passed, a widow was expected to remain in a state of “half-mourning” for a considerable time. This meant a palette of somber, muted colors: navy blue, charcoal grey, lavender, and mauve. To wear a bright, vibrant color like red or the deep burgundy Eleanor chooses would have been seen as a shocking, almost disrespectful statement—a sign that she was not properly honoring her late husband's memory and was perhaps, brazenly, making herself available once more.
The Havenwood Man: From the Cassock to the Cardigan
Men’s fashion of the era reflected a similar, if less restrictive, code of conformity. The uniform for the professional man was the gray flannel suit, a look that symbolized a conservative, corporate mindset. For a priest like Father Michael, the uniform was even more rigid and timeless: the simple, severe black cassock, a garment designed to erase the man and elevate the office.
However, the postwar era also saw a rise in more relaxed, casual menswear. For a weekend gathering or a quiet evening, a man in Havenwood might wear pleated trousers in gabardine, a knitted cardigan or V-neck sweater over a button-down shirt, and perhaps a casual sport coat. This contrast highlights the strict separation of Michael's world from that of the other men in his parish; while they could shed their workaday suits for the comfort of a cardigan, his sacred uniform was a constant, a 24-hour symbol of the vows that set him apart.
Novel Connection
Understanding these strict codes of dress makes Eleanor’s journey in The Priest’s Confession all the more poignant. Her initial appearance in a "sensible navy blue dress" is her uniform, the very armor of the respectable widow she is forced to be. Her decision to wear a burgundy dress to her first private meeting with Michael is a quiet but powerful act of rebellion. It is the first time she chooses a color for herself, a color of passion and life, signaling to both Michael and herself that the woman she was before her grief is not entirely gone. Her wardrobe is a map of her soul's reawakening.
