#DressLikeAWoman is trending on Twitter thanks to comments from Donald Trump on how he likes his female staff to dress like women. Whatever that means. Puzzled tweeters are posting images of astronauts, engineers, avant guard fashionistas – all women, all dressed like women. They’re asking ‘is this what you mean by dress like a woman?’
It’s another Trump offense and another instance of pigeonholing women, asserting his views on the proper female aesthetic and identity.
It got me thinking about Diane Keaton, namely for the iconic wardrobe in Annie Hall, but also because I think she’s the exact sort of woman that Trump would be absolutely stumped to meet, making her my woman number 11.
She’s written two autobiographies, so she’s not shy about sharing details life. She’s single, but had high-profile flings with the likes of Warren Beaty and Woody Allen. She adopted two children after the age of 50 and is raising them solo. And, at 70 years old, she’s happy to go on global television, talk about being sexually frustrated and openly swoon over 20-year-old Justin Beiber in the same manner as an 11-year-old fan girl. Watching interviews of Diane Keaton is fascinating. She’s an open book, speaking with admiration for her past lovers and her desire to not settle down at a young age. There’s an air of chaos that surrounds her, she seems like the dinner party guest who’d accidently spill wine on someone’s white dress and take off her own clothes just to give them something to wear, leaving her own body on show.
There’s no effort to conceal her lack of perfection.
Keaton is perhaps best known as one-half of the world’s most neurotic cinema couple in Woody Allen’s Annie Hall. Like Allen’s character, Keaton’s is riddled with awkward body language, stunted speech patterns and fumbles her way blindly through New York’s aggressive daily rhythm. In 1977, audiences fell heart first for Annie, 40 years later and we’re still very much infatuated.
The iconic Annie image is comprised of long, shapeless hair, a Charlie Chaplin-esc suit and a bowler. It’s endearing and strikingly ‘un-feminine.’ It’s also a single playing card in a whole deck of outfits that parade the film. Considering a specific look is interesting, but reducing Annie Hall to a lone image is reductive. Her character is riddled with contradictions and oddities which have compelled audiences to keep revisiting the film for 40 years, and her wardrobe is the same.
She’s got the style of a woman I’d want to be.