[From the moment they stepped off the plane, the Duke and Duchess (O.K., mostly the Duchess, but he played his part too) signaled their intent to allow the quadrillion pictures taken of them to speak louder than the words they uttered mostly behind closed doors. Their clothes made silent statements cross-border respect, cultural awareness and outreach. No detail, or earring, was overlooked.]
By
Vanessa Friedman
So the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (the
British royal couple known more colloquially as William and Kate) have come to
the end of their Pakistan tour, the first royal visit in 13 years. It has been,
by all accounts, a highly successful five days of outreach. They met with Prime
Minister Imran Khan! And schoolchildren! Played cricket! Saw many sights!
And reminded the world of how very effective
fashion can be as a tool of diplomacy.
The rapturous summaries of their every move
were matched only by the rapturous summaries of their every garment. It’s been
a while since clothes were employed quite so strategically and consistently to
send an unspoken, but also unmistakable, message. The effect was refreshing.
From the moment they stepped off the plane,
the Duke and Duchess (O.K., mostly the Duchess, but he played his part too)
signaled their intent to allow the quadrillion pictures taken of them to speak
louder than the words they uttered mostly behind closed doors. Their clothes
made silent statements cross-border respect, cultural awareness and outreach.
No detail, or earring, was overlooked.
Witness the aquamarine-to-silver draped-neck dress by Catherine Walker with matching pants, a bridge between a tea dress and a shalwar kameez, which the Duchess wore to deplane at Nur Khan airbase on Monday.
Witness the aquamarine-to-silver draped-neck dress by Catherine Walker with matching pants, a bridge between a tea dress and a shalwar kameez, which the Duchess wore to deplane at Nur Khan airbase on Monday.
Witness the periwinkle-blue shalwar kameez
she wore on a visit to Margalla Hills, north of Islamabad, designed by Maheen
Khan, who once dressed Benazir Bhutto, Pakistan's former prime minister, as
well as Jemima Khan, Prime Minister Khan’s ex-wife. (Ms. Bhutto’s wax figure at
Madame Tussauds in London wears Ms. Khan’s design. Coincidence?)
Witness the jade-green A-line jacket by Ms.
Walker worn over white pants by Ms. Khan, which the Duchess donned to meet the
prime minister, an embroidered dupatta tossed over her shoulder.
Witness the emerald sequined Jenny Packham
chosen for a reception at the Pakistan National Monument, which happened to be
the green of the Pakistani flag, and which matched the sherwani, a traditional
long coat, by the Pakistani designer Naushemian, worn by her husband.
(The couple has long been adept at
color-coordinating their appearances for maximum image-making harmony.)
And there was more. So much more: earrings by Zeen, a Pakistani high street brand; another shalwar kameez by Gul Ahmed; a kurta by Élan Pakistan; a dupatta by Bonanza Satrangi; a coat from Beulah London. The clothes came at all price points and were often worn in concert: a little British style here, a little Pakistani there. The reaction was, almost entirely, ecstatic. Designers tweeted their excitement at being chosen. Observers applauded. Chroniclers of What Kate Wore went into overdrive.
Part of this, obviously, came from the boost
given to local industry conferred by the Duke and Duchess, whose patronage can
make national names known on the international stage. That’s always a welcome
thing.
But a lot of it also indubitably comes from
the fact that, after Melania Trump, whose intentions with her public clothing
choices are often unclear; Ivanka Trump, who came under fire for wearing her
own brand early in her father’s administration; and Meghan Markle, the Duchess
of Sussex, whose clothes sometimes seems to advance her own agenda above all,
it has become an increasingly rare expression of soft power.
Fashion, when it is employed not simply at
the service of making someone look good, or morally upright, can have resonance
far beyond the ritual. It’s about time someone remembered.
Vanessa Friedman is The Times's fashion
director and chief fashion critic. She was previously the fashion editor of the
Financial Times. @VVFriedman
