Before the clutch became the red-carpet punctuation mark of a gown, it had a more domestic ancestor: the reticule, a small handheld drawstring bag that emerged when women’s hidden tie-on pockets began losing their usefulness beneath slimmer, sheerer late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century dresses. What had once been tucked under petticoats was suddenly carried in public, and privacy became ornament: silk, velvet, beadwork, embroidery, a little theater of necessity held in the hand. The bag was never only a container; it was a social adjustment, a concession to fashion’s old habit of taking away utility and selling it back as elegance. Yoko Ono: Music of Mind at The Broad The modern clutch came into its own in the 1920s and 1930s, when evening moved faster, dresses grew sleeker, and women needed only the glamorous minimum: powder, mirror, lipstick, perhaps money, perhaps not. Tiny dance purses, Art Deco shapes, celluloid and Bakelite, metalwork and beading turned the bag into an o...
Exhaling Life
Essays, food, and personal style for a life of intention.