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No matter what era you live in, the general rule for a high-class woman of fashion is that your dress should reach the floor. Take a look at the paintings in your local art gallery. You’ll see that we often have no idea what the footwear was like because we can’t see it. This is true in both European and in East Asian fashion history.

There are a few points in history where hemlines rise a little. We get to see bare feet in some Egyptian paintings. We get to see some pointy little European shoes in the mid-17th century, when the skirts were ludicrously wide, but all that structural support also lifted them up off the ground a bit. We see shoes again in the 1820s. But all these are temporary blips. Mostly, hemlines reached the floor. If they don’t reach the floor, they reach the ankle. Calves, knees, and thighs are all left to the imagination.

What about women from cultures not well represented in your local art gallery? Well, unfortunately, most clothing is made of perishable materials, so unless a culture left a lot of records, paintings, or statues, we mostly don’t know. But it seems likely that they varied.

Christopher Columbus reported that the Taino people on San Salvador wore nothing at all. In 1879, a schoolteacher in Denmark dug around in a peat bog and uncovered the preserved corpse of a woman from around 200 BCE. She had a long woollen skirt to protect her from the Scandinavian climate.

Incan women wore a large piece of fabric wrapped around the body, reaching to the ankles and tied with a sash. Some Mayan women are depicted wearing a loose skirt of beaded net that reaches to mid-calf.

On the journey to Mali in 1352, the Arabic traveler Ibn Battuta complained that women there did not veil their faces. One presumes that if they’d been wearing a miniskirt, the veil would have been just the beginning of his modesty complaints.

The 18th and 19th Century

Even if we confine ourselves to Western women with their floor-length skirts, it’s hard to be certain of all women. Paintings tend to feature upper-class women wearing their best, not lower-class women in their workday wear.

As far as regards hemlines, we do know that working women tended to wear slightly shorter dresses so as not to trail in the mud. But we are talking just a couple of inches shorter, not a couple of feet shorter.

Whereas, if you were rich or pretending to be rich, why stop at the floor? What could show off your status more than taking good fabric, woven by hand, and twirling it in the dirt behind you?

In 1760, the Irish novelist Oliver Goldsmith wrote mockingly:

“Women of moderate fortunes are contented with tails moderately long, but ladies of true taste and distinction set no bounds to their ambition in this particular. Nothing can be better calculated to increase the price of silk than the present manner of dressing. A lady’s train is not bought but at some expense, and after it has swept the public walks for a very few evenings is fit to be worn no longer. More silk must be bought in order to repair the breach, and some ladies of peculiar economy are thus bound to patch up their tails eight or ten times in a season.”

Fashionable trains shortened in length somewhere through the 18th century, but that doesn’t mean they disappeared. Jane Austen, writing about the early 19th century, mentions girls pinning up each other’s trains before a dance. There are also plenty of illustrations showing women walking with their trains hitched up and slung over their arm, which shows you that this had far more to do with the fashionable display of wealth than it did modesty, because with the dress hitched up that way, you can see those ankles.

Of course, Jane Austen was writing before Queen Victoria took the throne, spreading her own dress sense and morality around the English-speaking world. Perhaps you’ve heard the old tale that Victorians were so prudish they placed frilly little covers on the legs of the piano and the dining table, lest the thought of legs be too provocative. Well, it makes a cute story. I was very disappointed to learn that it’s not true.

Yes, many Victorians did wrap the furniture legs in fabric and frills, but it wasn’t because the piano was too sexy. It was because the piano was expensive, and the cover protected it from dents and scratches. Also, they were Victorians. They liked fabric and frills. It was both an aesthetic and functional choice. As one author put it, it’s hard to pretend they did it for decency’s sake when 80% of the population still lived in a one-room house. They can’t have been as innocent as all that.

As we discussed last week, the infamous bloomers shocked everyone in the mid-19th century by placing the hemline somewhere between the knee and mid-calf. But hardly any women wore them. That included Sojourner Truth, the six-foot-tall escaped slave turned abolitionist and women’s rights activist.

When she was asked why she didn’t wear bloomers, she said, “I had bloomers enough when I was in bondage. You see, they used to weave what they called nigger cloth, and each of us got just such a strip and had to wear it width-wise. Them that was short, got along pretty well. But as for me, tell you, I had enough bloomers in them days.” (Source)

Which just goes to show that context really is everything, at least when it comes to fashion. Displaying your legs because you think you should be free to make that choice is one thing. Displaying your legs because you have no freedom to choose anything else is entirely different.

By the 1870s, the bloomers were pretty much gone. But guess what? The trains are still with us. They even got a new name. The new style was called the mermaid, and it sucked all the fullness out of the skirt and moved it down at the back, on the ground in a fan shape.

The tightness of the skirt actually made it hard to walk or sit, and Godey’s Ladies’ Magazine recommended that women always sit sideways on the edge of the chair, which sounds pretty exquisitely uncomfortable.

But at least they had a better solution to the wear-and-tear problem than Oliver Goldsmith’s ladies had. Dressmakers sewed a little piece of muslin underneath the train. That piece could be removed and washed or replaced when necessary.

Hemlines in the War

With World War One, women started working in essential roles where beauty took a back seat to survival, and having a maid to look after your impractical wardrobe was no longer an option for many who had taken it for granted just a few years earlier. Sure enough, the hemlines came up a few inches. The ankle was no longer scandalous.

Women working solidly important jobs, like those in the Red Cross, wore uniforms that went just past the knee. But modesty is still important, and the answer to preserving it was boots. That’s according to the Smithsonian’s fashion history. But as I’ve patrolled the Internet for pictures of this, my observation is that a lot of these women aren’t wearing boots. I can see plenty of stockings, but the fact that I can see them says that hemlines had changed a lot. Some women wore mid-calf hems, some were ankle-length, but none were at the floor. The tide had turned.

Women working solidly important jobs, like those in the Red Cross, wore uniforms that went just past the knee. But modesty is still important, and the answer to preserving it was boots. That’s according to the Smithsonian’s Fashion History. But as I’ve patrolled the Internet for pictures of this, my observation is that a lot of these women aren’t wearing boots. I can see plenty of stockings, but the fact that I can see them says that hemlines had changed a lot. Some women wore mid-calf hems, some were ankle-length, but none were at the floor. The tide had turned.

When the Roaring ’20s got started, hemlines took an abrupt hike: knee-length, or even almost—but not quite—above the knee hems, were great for a night out at the speakeasy. The full, flowing skirts of the previous century looked beautiful in a waltz, but these new flapper girls weren’t dancing the waltz, and long, flowing lines didn’t fit the Charleston or the Lindy Hop at all.

In 1929, the stock market fell, and so did the hemlines. But it might be noted, not anywhere near previous levels. Dresses for everyday wear stretched to several inches below the knee. Evening wear did return to floor length, but no one ever claimed that practicality was a top priority for evening wear.

Women in World War Two faced new challenges. They went to work much like they had during World War One, but fabric was also rationed. Shorter skirts meant less fabric needed (an important consideration when you have to save ration coupons to buy clothes, fabric, shoes, and yarn). Pleats were definitely out. A-lines were in because they required the least fabric.

Many women also joined organizations with a mandatory uniform. The Women’s Legion in England mandated khaki skirts that ended 14 inches above the ground. On the model, that comes to a few inches below the knee. But I can’t help noticing that measuring it that way means women of different heights will be showing different amounts of leg.

50s women preferred tailored two-piece suits, by which we mean skirts, not pantsuits, and those skirts reached mid-calf. Even wedding dresses in the 1950s were often not floor-length, falling just below the knee.

The Miniskirt

In the late 1950s, designer Mary Quant decided to go one better and promote the miniskirt. She had no pretensions about to whom it appealed. In 1967, she said in an interview that “good taste is death; vulgarity is life.” She believed in polka dots, stretch fabrics, and colors like mustard yellow. Her designs were intended for the young, and she modelled them herself.

The naysayers shouted words like “disgusting,” and churches and schools around the world forbade girls from wearing them. In the inevitable argument about whether she or someone else actually invented them, Quant claims that the girls on the street invented them. She’d put out a new skirt, and the customers would say, “Shorter! Shorter!”

Interestingly, the shocking amount of leg displayed by the mega-mini was countered by an extremely modest look higher up: no cleavage ever showed.

The feminist movement split on the mini. Some saw it as liberating: no more pretending that the female body is anything other than what it is. Others viewed it as objectifying women: flaunt your curves, girls, because men won’t value you for anything else.

Quant’s theory was that clothes should be easy to move in. Others have claimed the miniskirt isn’t easy to move in. You have to think about how to sit, how to bend over, how to get in and out of a car in a miniskirt. Quant’s answer to that was tights, also in bright colors.

It was she who persuaded manufacturers to produce and market them. Prior to that, women were mostly wearing stockings held up by garters attached to your belt. That doesn’t work when your hemline is eight or more inches above your knee. Quant popularized tights, but that didn’t mean everyone wore them. There are plenty of pictures of girls in short skirts with miles and miles of bare leg before hitting a mid-calf sock or even a Bobby sock. Queen Victoria would have needed her smelling salts.

Hemlines Diverge

In the 1970s, hippies kept the mini, kept the knee-length, kept the mid-calf length, but also brought out the maxi, dropping hemlines back to the floor. The maxi, or ankle-length skirt, had garnered attention in 1965 when Phyllis Dalton won an Academy Award for Best Costume Design on Doctor Zhivago. In the movie, it was designed to evoke pre-revolutionary Russia, but within a few years it was showing up in the collections of famous designers like Jacques Heim and Oscar de la Renta, and no less a star than Barbra Streisand had appeared in one.

By the early 70s, it was a serious contender with the mini in popularity. But, like so many fashions, it went out again by the end of the decade, not to reappear until the late 90s, when its appeal to retro fashion was part of the charm. Just to keep things fun, Mary Quant, champion of the miniskirt, was also a champion of the maxi skirt.

By the end of the 1970s, the story of the hemline is murky because fashion was changing so fast. Gone were the days when one length, and one length only, was acceptable. Various models, even on the same opening day of a boutique, were wearing everything from mid-calf to miniskirt, and we have not yet gone back to a one-size-fits-all mentality.

The boho chic and vintage of the 90s and 2000s included skirts of every possible length, including asymmetrical and tattered. Even trains are still with us. You’ve probably seen a bride in one. One popular wedding guide lists a dizzying array of no fewer than eleven different types of train available, ranging from the extended cathedral to the tufted bustle.

Princess Diana was married in a train that was 25 feet long. Kate Middleton reeled in the royal opulence with a mere nine feet. And it isn’t just wedding dresses. Take a look at the Academy Awards, and you’ll see plenty of trains. The people there are dressing for the photo op, and they look stunning.

But even on the red carpet, practicality can rear its ugly head. The writer Neil Gaiman attended in 2010 and managed to step on Rachel McAdams’s dress, and the Los Angeles Times printed a huge panoramic picture of him staring at her train, hoping he hadn’t left a footprint. He tells the story with good humor. One hopes that Rachel McAdams found it just as amusing.

So, what does cause the rise and fall of your hemline?

There are several interesting theories.

One theory says that hemlines rise and fall with the stock market. I am not so sure about this theory. It certainly isn’t true prior to the 20th century, when hemlines stayed at floor- or ankle-length regardless of the market. It is true that hemlines went up in the good old days of the 1920s and down again in the dark days of the 1930s, but they went up again during World War Two, precisely because the economy was so strained and fabric was hard to get.

The theory is also hard to square with the fact that, in the past few decades, it has been possible to look good in almost any length of skirt, depending on your style choices.

Another theory says that, from the 20th century on, the shorter your skirt, the younger you are—or at least the younger you wish you were. So hemlines follow whatever we think the ideal age for a woman is.

In the 1920s, it was very young, almost boyish, so hemlines were high and chests were as flat as possible. In the ’50s, the ideal woman was somewhat older, more mature, with voluptuous curves like Marilyn Monroe, and wearing longer skirts.

In 1966, the face of the decade was Twiggy, the 16-year-old model superstar from London, and the ideal look went back to very young, very thin, and presto, we get miniskirts.

This theory may be true, but it’s really just punting the question. Maybe hemlines do follow the age of the ideal woman, but why does the ideal age change? And what does that say about the explosion of different lengths over the last few decades? Does it mean you can be beautiful at any age at all?

I certainly hope so.

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Selected Sources:

One of the many sources for this episode was the Smithsonian’s Fashion: The Definitive History of Costume and Style. Also, the DK’s Fashion: The Definitive Visual Guide. Fashion United has an article on Mary Quant and the miniskirt, and you can read Neil Gaiman’s account of the Oscars in his article for the Guardian.

Featured image is by Galina Krupoderova from Pixabay.