It started even before she took the stage in Wilmington to accept the nomination for Vice President. A fellow desi texted, I hope she wears a sari for the inauguration! Female politicians are scrutinized cruelly for their looks and clothing but Vice President-elect Kamala Harris, in addition to representing all of womankind, must also represent Black America and India. And all the aunties are watching.

When I look at Harris I see an accomplished and ambitious professional woman who is impeccably poised and groomed. She’s a beauty who doesn’t seem overly identified with, or worried about, her looks. I was doubtful about her preference for pantsuits over dresses, but bowled over by her campaign uniform. Bounding down the steps of a Biden-Harris jet in white t-shirt, capri pants, suit jacket, and Converse Chuck Taylors, she seemed cool, pragmatic and progressive. (The campaign’s best tweet, from @jezebel: I am worried about Kamala Harris’s arch support) To inspect wildfire damage in October with California Governor Gavin Newsom she switched it up with Timberlands and an army-inspired olive jacket, surrendering none of her glamor or authority.

A sari is a different thing. It’s a flattering garment that complements any figure, and Harris will look ravishing in one. But, like stilettos, wearing one with ease requires years of experience. I’d prefer if she referenced India, and her fellow desis, more indirectly. She can wear something shiny, drapey, or crazy-colored, accessorizing with piles of gold jewelry. Or she can turn to the magnificent example of Michele Obama, who wore a strapless ankle-length embroidered gold sheath by Naeem Khan to welcome the Indian Prime Minister to the White House in 2009.

Harris is now herself a world leader and, in a better world, it wouldn’t matter what she wears. But each time she steps out she looks fantastic, and each time it inspires.

Kamala Aunty by Hanifa Abdul Hameed, 2020. © Hanifa Abdul Hameed, Colors of Honey

SEATING ARRANGEMENTS

Amie Siegel’s 40-minute art film Provenance traces the history of the simple, wood-framed, leather-cushioned chairs, tables and stools that furnished the capitol buildings of Chandigarh, India in the 1950’s. They were designed by the buildings’ architects, Le Corbusier and Charles Jeanneret, with mid-century modern stylings that are, today, incredibly fashionable. The film shows us these pieces (battered, broken, scratched) in place in the government buildings, in the French workshops where they are taken (not without protest) to be restored, and, finally, in the lofts, townhouses and yachts where they land after they are sold through international auction houses, for tens of thousands of dollars each.

As the film’s title implies, the pieces carry considerable aura. Each one was cataloged in Chandigarh with a unique number that’s hand-painted in a florid script, in white paint, on its side. During the refinishing process these numbers are preserved to attest to their authenticity. But after their frames are stripped and stained and their upholstery remade, how “authentic” are they? Slipper chairs originally covered in orange and blue leather are remade in crushed white linen for a loft in Antwerp and pony-printed cow hide for a house in the Hamptons. Wouldn’t it be simpler and cheaper (and more ethical, too) to simply reproduce the pieces?

In the movie we see unused chairs and tables in Chandigarh piled, uncovered, in storage spaces and on the roofs of the buildings. There are couches whose upholstery has been patched with duct tape, chairs whose legs have split and been nailed hastily back together, and tables whose tops are burned from coffee cups. It’s sad that they’re being spirited away for western collectors. And sadder still that they weren’t treasured by their original owners.

Image courtesy of Metropolitan Museum of Art. Amie Siegel (American, b. 1974). Provenance (still), 2013. HD video, color, sound; 40 min., 30 sec.

September 03, 2014 by Nalina Moses