Photography © Chad Parenteau

 

The Dressmaker or: On the 35th Anniversary of Revolution Girl Style Now

Every few generations, or whenever the gods get restless, they send one of their small number to live among the mortals so that they might sew some excitement into the fabric of the world. The last such visit found Athena awake in Olympia, WA, in the form of a seamstress with an alterations shop on the outskirts of town. At first, she feared the assignment was some kind of cosmic joke: the chosen destination and her occupation seemed a bit too on the nose, but after just one night out on the town, Athena saw the reason for both. Something new was stewing. Yeah, something big was brewing: a feral and feminine thing with teeth. And, so, Pallas Athena—patron of war, patron of weaving—vowed to be of service.

The gowns she made were alive with the energy of chaos. Some had been ripped apart and sewn back together in maniacal new ways. Others puffed in the most peculiar places. Plumes of peacock feathers lined leather harnesses. Tartans from the old families were folded into kilts formed of the thinnest pleats, then fanned out around the waist, dropping into trains with big silver safety pins at the seams and topped with latex bustier bodices. She sewed opalescent sequins onto clear vinyl skirts, stuck gold studs onto clouds of black chiffon — fashioned them into micro minis that floated scandalously high on the thigh. She made red velvet hot pants and pink lace bandeaus. Cloaks of black organza and draped silk capes. Crepe covered corsets. One large leather caftan with long black spikes.

Athena sewed ancient charms and reverse curses into crinolines, layered on MAC’s Russian Red and kissed the insides of every placket. She spat shimmering, celestial saliva into spools of tulle. And then Athena gifted that shit to every punk rock bitch in town.

By the time they finally hit it big, she had winged her way back home. So, that was the last of the god-blessed dresses. But the grrrls from Olympia earned their immortality. And Athena still sings Bikini Kill when she’s all alone.

 

Jen Backman is an English professor at Palomar College in San Marcos, CA. For work, she writes about Thomas Pynchon. For fun, she writes about rock stars and traveling to magical places. She thinks Thoreau was really onto something when he said, “I love the wild not less than the good.”

Chad Parenteau is Associate Editor of Oddball Magazine.