From the U.S. Presidential Race to Sweden’s Nobel Prize Organization—The Politicization of the Pussy Bow

Fashion’s engagement with politics is being pushed beyond slogans, and not just by pink-hatted activists. In Sweden last week, women and men took to wearing pussy-bow blouses in support of Sara Danius, who stepped down as the permanent secretary of the Swedish Academy (the bestower of the Nobel Prize in Literature), in protest of the system that allowed for her removal in the wake of a #MeToo scandal.

Americans following this hashtag movement (#Knytblus, #Knytblusförsara) can’t help but be reminded of Melania Trump’s appearance at a 2016 presidential debate in such a blouse. Whether it was worn in silent protest against her husband’s “grab ’em by the pussy” declaration or not the sphinx-like Mrs. Trump never revealed, but the double meaning of its moniker didn’t escape notice.

Unlike a raised fist or a black beret, the pussy bow is a strange candidate for a protest symbol. For most of its existence, this silky and potentially flirtatious furbelow was a seemingly innocuous decorative touch; an exemplar of hyper, saccharine femininity borrowed from the nursery, where in children’s books one might find a beribboned kitten lapping milk from a rose-painted saucer. Its intersection with power began in the 1980s as women suited up and took aim at glass ceilings. The iron-fisted Margaret Thatcher is said to have appreciated the “softening” effect of a bow blouse. Danius’s preference for them is both personal and professional.

An elegant academic who has written about Marcel Proust and Gustav Flaubert, Danius has never hid her love of fashion. In fact, three gowns she created with the Swedish couturier Pär Engsheden were recently exhibited in “Secrets of Couture” in Stockholm. “The dresses interpret her personality but also her literary authorship and favorite foreign writers,” says Ingrid Giertz-Mårtenson, one of the curators, who recalls when Danius was asked how her fashion sense corresponded to her intellect, the scholar replied: “I believe everything in life is of great importance—also the way we dress. I really cannot see the difference between that and a novel—on the contrary. With time I find it more and more interesting to try to understand also that part of life.”

According to Giertz-Mårtenson, Danius first adopted the pussy-bow blouse and pencil skirt as her uniform for ease; over time it became her “brand.” Maybe it is her way to say: I can be smart and pretty, or I can care about fashion and ideas, too. Whether or not Danius wore her bows with irony, her supporters wear them earnestly. “The story is actually symbolic for so much more than just the Swedish Academy,” says K-ourage designer Anna Blomquist, who notes that the creative community was active in its virtual support. Besides the culture minister, Alice Bah Kuhnke, stylists Robert Nordberg and Marina Kereklido posted selfies. The creative directors of Hope and House of Dagmar, Frida Bard and Kristina Tjäder, also showed their support on Instagram. Carin Rodebjer decided on a different approach. Though she’s behind Danius “100 percent,” the designer wanted to separate commerce from the equation and did not react on social media. Not that that was bad for business: “We had many amazing customers who posted their support wearing Rodebjer blouses, and we also sold blouses during that day because women wanted to come to our store to talk about the scandal and to buy blouses to support Sara,” Rodebjer says.

The scandal enveloping the Academy is almost biblical, at least as it’s been portrayed in the media. Men seem pitted against women; the old guard against the modernizing Danius, the first woman to serve as secretary. This tradition-bound institution was founded in the 18th century by King Gustav III and still operates by the original rules.

Last year Jean-Claude Arnault, the husband of poet and member Katarina Frostenson, was accused of sexual misconduct—charges that both he and his wife deny. (To complicate matters even more, the pair ran a club that received funding from the Academy, and there have been suggestions of financial irregularities, not to mention leaks of winners’ names.) A law firm was brought in to investigate; it recommended handing over the case to the police, which the Academy declined to do. Frostenson refused to step down, a decision supported by a committee vote. Three of those who voted for her removal resigned as a result. Unimaginably, things got worse from there, and though it’s not possible here to go into the myriad devolutions of the case, a chain reaction had been set off that eroded trust in Danius’s leadership abilities. The upshot of an emergency meeting last week was that both Frostenson, who had earlier refused to resign (it was her husband, after all, who was charged, not her), did, as did Danius, who said: “All traditions are not worth preserving. Caring for a legacy must not mean an arrogance and distance to society at large.”

Though members can resign, they are lifetime appointees; there are no provisions in the Academy’s laws for replacing members who choose to withdraw. There are guidelines, however, as to the minimum number of votes needed for the system to operate. Currently there are not enough active members to form the necessary consensus. In short, the Academy, which recently awarded prizes in literature to Bob Dylan and Kazuo Ishiguro, is at an impasse. The turmoil and uncertain future of this microcosm reflects the larger world far beyond the spires of Stockholm. How to move forward? Perhaps by tying a bow on a blouse. Coincidentally, or not, there were quite a few options on the Spring runways.

From the U.S. Presidential Race to Sweden’s Nobel Prize Organization—The Politicization of the Pussy Bow