In Detail: Gingham

IN DETAIL

Limited edition designs made from thoughtfully collected fabric offcuts.

GINGHAM: SWEET, SUBVERSIVE OR SOMETHING ELSE?

Often associated with milkmaids and tablecloths, gingham was never high on my list of style icons. I’d pretty much written it off until...

...I found a few metres of this particular gingham adjacent fabric and was instantly drawn to it.

Had I misjudged gingham?

A FABRIC WITH A PAST

What even is gingham, really? The word likely comes from the Malay “genggang” (meaning “striped”), and originally, the fabric was woven with stripes rather than checks. European weavers got their hands on it (classic) and by the 18th century, it had evolved into the checked pattern we know today and became a staple in the west for its durability and breathability.

AND THEN CAME DOROTHY

In The Wizard of Oz (1939), Judy Garland’s blue gingham dress cemented the fabric’s association with childhood innocence, wholesome Americana, and a sickly sweet nostalgia. (Sandwiched between the Great Depression and World War 2, I can, of course, understand the appetite for this)

“It was gingham with checks of white and blue,” wrote L. Frank Baum in the original wizard of Oz books, “and although the blue was somewhat faded with many washings, it was still a pretty frock.”

Romantic, perhaps, but not exactly the reference I look for when getting dressed.

GINGHAM: A TIMELINE

Yet, history shows the above is just one snapshot in time:

1835

Gingham bows appear on elaborate chintz and lace gowns as the height of European fashion.

1919

In Broken Blossoms, Lillian Gish wears a patch on her dress. Those gingham gowns have been passed down the class system, the fabric now only fit for mending holes.

1940s

British Land Girls wore gingham with rolled-up sleeves and heavy boots—a practical choice rather than a twee one

1941

Meanwhile, Katharine Hepburn wore gingham with her usual defiance, challenging its dainty connotations.

1950s

Gingham moves to the city. Paired with capri pants and crisp cuts, it loses its rural innocence.

1959

Brigitte Bardot, possibly ginghams biggest champion, wears a gingham wedding dress, balancing childlike sweetness with something unmistakably sensual.

1960s

Back to the nursery for our checkered pal. The decade’s fascination with childlike dressing sees gingham in empire-line minis, see also Peter Pan collars, and Cilla's bonnet.

1997

Rei Kawakubo at Comme des Garçons prints gingham on stretch nylon, distorting it into something graphic and drawing our eye to the new silhouette created.

WHERE DOES THAT LEAVE US?

Gingham isn’t simple. It carries contradictions; high and low, innocent and provocative, practical and nostalgic. It’s a fabric that shifts meaning depending on the wearer and the context.

What do you think? Does gingham still feel too twee, or do these past references make you see it differently? Hit reply—I’d love to hear your take. Perhaps you loved it all along!

And if you’re curious about how this fabric plays into a new Baue piece, keep an eye on your inbox. Subscribers will get the first look this time next week. Make sure you're signed up if you aren't already, just add your email below.

Until next time...

Anna x

Founder, Maker and Pretty Much Everyone Else at Baue.

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