Now 91 years old, Jean-Luc Godard is regarded as one of the key pioneers of the French New Wave, a revolutionary movement in cinema. While the landmark works of the nouvelle vague date back to the late 1950s and 1960s, what remains notable about the vast array of analysis that both Godard and his fellow “Young Turks” inspired, is that a complete grasp of their innovative practices has not yet been truly realised. One aspect that I personally believe has been completely largely both in Godard’s work and the nouvelle vague more generally, is the cinematic use made of fashion. By refashioning the lens through which we dissect Godard’s films, we can gain a more coherent understanding of and appreciation for his work. This is not to say Godard himself started any particular fashion trends or is solely responsible for how fashion was utilised to create greater layers to his film-objects. Instead, Godard’s understanding of how fashion is a fundamental instrument of cinema supports Bazin’s notion that “the more we see the screen as a mirror rather than an escape hatch, the more we will be prepared for what is to come,”1 marking the 1960s as a decade of social and political change. A demonstration of this is clear in both his debut film, À Bout de Souffle (Breathless, 1960) and Le Mépris (Contempt, 1963), two very contrasting films that both signify the shift in cinematic practices but more importantly the change in gender relations that were finally taking place during this decade. Fashion must be seen as a heterogenous form that is applicable to both spaces and the screen as a material surface, as well as its more traditional form of “dress” and its relation to bodies, specifically the female body. If fashion is to be considered an active component and a fundamental tool of cinematic language, then examining these two quintessential films of Godard will highlight how as a director he was able to weave further layers into his film-objects. Ultimately, it is Godard’s rebellious nature that shines through in his ability to master the tool of fashion within the arsenal of the film language.  

Retailoring the Space of the City 

If cinema was to achieve an effective introspection of society, then it was the actual city streets that could reveal the most about society. By shooting on the streets of Paris, Godard democratises the experience of cinema, as regular citizens become part of the filmmaking process and encounter film in a very new and alternate form. Thus, in his feature debut, there is a real sense of “raw reality that clings to the city,”2 as a result of this innovative and new way of filming. Thus, Godard set out to create a distinct juxtaposition between the beauty of Paris and its dark underbelly, that would perhaps spoil the illusion of the French capital, but in turn create a more authentic image of the city. The first real shot of Paris is the iconic tracking-shot of Patricia (Jean Seberg), as a newspaper vendor, lazily strolling down the Champs-Élysées, one of the busiest streets of Paris, with Michel (Jean-Paul Belmondo) who is on the run having just killed a police officer (see figure 1). 


Through the manipulation of space Godard creates both a tension and contradiction within the image. Placing Michel, a criminal, in this famous Parisian street elicits a strange relationship between beauty and evil that ultimately forms a more coherent sense of reality by disrupting fixed images of Paris that were often reinforced by the glamorised cinematic portrayal of the city. This is further emblemised by Michel and Patricia’s troubled affair. It is therefore only “in space that such conflicts come effectively into play” and can be visibly shown.3 Thus, the Paris of À Bout de Souffle serves as a “modern patchwork and an allegorical setting,”4 where anarchy is brought into the heart of Paris, emphasising this idea of how space is woven into the narrative of the film.  As the couple drive through Paris at night, the camera’s gaze cuts away from the two of them to the fountains that are lit by the silhouetted streetlights while their dialogue continues, with Michel stating: “No it’s normal, informers inform, burglars burglar, murderers murder, lovers love.” In other words, what we are is what we do. Godard is therefore inscribing text onto space by shifting the focus of the spectator’s attention from the protagonists conversating to the urban landscape, as Michel’s observation lingers with the scintillating image of Parisian streets at night. Moreover, Godard establishes a visual reference to Michel’s words by highlighting that the actions of an individual within this urban space is how a true identity is formed. Interweaving text into the cinematic space also distorts one’s perception of this space, in this case Paris, as well as challenging the spectator to reconceptualise the lens through which they view these spaces. If this is not made clear by a simple cut, then Godard makes it overt by literally inscribing texts onto buildings as the words in neon: “MICHEL POICCARD: ARRESTATION IMMINENTE” runs across a Parisian building, that is dressed in various neon-worded advertisements and signs (see figure 2). 


Consequently, Godard is not only drawing the cityscape directly into the narrative of the film but is also alluding to the potentiality of the streets as a space to rebel and reject structures of power. Of course, Godard is not necessarily suggesting enacting the same violent and criminal actions as Michel who, as stated before, is on the run after killing a police officer, although this is an explicit symbol of rejecting authority. Instead, the streets are the only sites at which true social change can take place. One only needs to be reminded of when Patricia is using the streets to evade a detective who is following her, while these series of shots are matched with a cut to a crane shot of a President Charles de Gaulle parade (see figures 3-4). 

Perhaps, Godard is inexplicitly alluding to how both the streets and the mass people, through which Patricia weaves in and out of to escape, are the optimum spaces for how social change can be brought about. After all, these are the same spaces where the eventual strikes and civil unrest of May 1968 would take place, against de Gaulle and his government. Godard is not necessarily foreshadowing such events or directly calling for affirmative action but is instead revealing the potential that lies within both the city space and the people. Only by creating spatial contradictions that “express conflicts between socio-political interests and forces” can actual contradictions of social relations be realised.5 



In other words, by staging a chase scene, which shows an agent of authority in pursuit of an individual, against the backdrop of a parade celebrating the same governmental powers creates a stark juxtaposition that leads one to question the true reality of social-political operations, and the often-veiled political structures, which can only be realised spatially. Further still, it is no coincidence that Patricia eventually escapes the French detective by losing him in a cinema, as she climbs out of a toilet window after sitting briefly in front of the screen. In doing so, Godard establishes a clear relation with cinema and rebellion as they enable each other. Thus, Godard’s presentation of space in À Bout de Souffle interrogates the filter through which one views both cinema and reality, awakening one to the potential of the city. In fact, the spectator is provided with regular cues to question this notion through the recurring motif of protagonists wearing sunglasses and the repeated presence of reflected surfaces, forcing one to also confront their own reflection. Ultimately, Godard’s portrayal of Paris, in his feature debut, refashioned the city’s identity through this reconceptualisation of space within the screen. 

Space as a Fashionable Formal Tool 

While it is evident that the New Wave directors refashioned the urban space within film, it is necessary to also consider how space, in its most general term, was fashioned into a formal device of cinema and thus became a useful tool for depicting a narrative. Godard’s Le Mépris incorporates space as a “repetitive cinematic device” that is no longer seen as part of “novel mise-en-scène configurations”,6 but instead expresses the growing estrangement and separation of Paul (Michel Piccoli) and Camille (Brigitte Bardot). Early in the film Godard establishes the use of space as a key formal device that he will use throughout to primarily narrate, often privileging this technique over dialogue. When Paul first meets the producer Prokosch (Jack Palance) at the Cinecittà studio in Rome, assisted by his translator Francesca (Giorgia Moll), Godard enacts what Ross Adams terms as a “scale shift”.7 Initially, when Paul first encounters Francesca the camera captures them in a medium-close-up shot, giving prominence to these two figures. However, as the pair walk towards the large doors from which Prokosch will eventually emerge from, the camera’s gaze gradually pulls back and away from the characters, demoting Paul and Francesca as they become only marginally included in the shot. When Prokosch appears on this raised platform, he still occupies a decentred position like the other two, as the camera’s gaze remains fixated on the large green doors and the “decaying concrete awning announcing itself as Teatro No.6”8 and the weathered paint, establishing a greater dramatic presence than the characters themselves (see figure 5). 

Le Mépris

This shot alone is indicative of how “the space of a (social order) is hidden in the order of space”,9 it is clearly visibly within the spatial dynamics of this scene how the structure of the almost tyrannical-like studio system is propagated, where often the producer has an autocratic role. Thus, Godard asserts a meta-tone by using space as a formal device that will serve as an introspection for the decaying studio system. 

Also of significant importance is the use of character positioning within scenes, something that can already be witnessed in the scene just described. Godard’s manipulation of character positioning draws attention away from their actions and towards the static and negative space that occupies the rest of the shot. For instance, during the most pivotal moment of the film, which is almost a 30-minute sequence of Paul and Camille quarrelling in their apartment, the camera’s gaze fixates on the depth and space of the apartment that “engulfs and diminish”10  the figures of Paul and Camille, as their marriage slowly crumbles. Both characters at times are side-lined to the very edge of the screen (see figure 6), privileging the static and negative space that occupies in-between. 

Le Mépris

The spectator’s focus therefore is not necessarily on the dialogue that is occurring nor the characters’ facial expressions, but more the dividing walls and rooms that signify the growing separation between these two characters. This negative space is emblematised by the fixed bronze statue that often obstructs or interrupts the shot during this sequence.  Interestingly, the interior setting for this scene contrasts to Godard’s original debut film and its predominant focus on the exteriority of the Parisian streets. While Patricia is seeking to assert her own agency by establishing her independence within the streets of Paris; Godard instead decides to limit and contain Camille’s movements in order to mobilise and characterise space. It is ultimately the “dominance of space” that in many ways functions as the main character of this narrative.11 While the camera’s gaze adopts a voyeuristic position, it is evident that Godard uses space to represent the burgeoning void in Camille and Paul’s relationship, as they struggle to find the right words to express how they even feel, especially Camille. Godard rethreads our experience of interiority and with that subjectivity. His sudden “visual and compositional interruptions” remind the spectator that not only are they witnessing the tragedy of a marriage breaking down, but also “the essence of cinema itself”,12 therefore defying the rigidity of big-budget studio productions that had ruled cinema for so long. 

Godard not only fashions spaces within Le Mépris, but also sound, or in this case, lack of sound, playing with the materiality of the film object. By viewing Godard as a tailor who stitches together “a strip of celluloid”, building a “relationship between surface and texture” (Surface), he is simultaneously refashioning our experience with the filmic object. In the Nausicaa audition scene, Paul and Camille enter the theatre and take their seats opposite to one another, creating a clear symmetrical divide on screen that is heightened by the irritating photographer occupying the centre, confirming Godard’s intentions here (see figure 7). 

Le Mépris

Not only is space presented as a competitor to the action taking place, but as the camera’s gaze tracks across this symmetrical line between the couple Godard interrupts the sequence by enforcing distinct moments of silence, as all noise is cut from the soundtrack even though the performer on stage continues to sing. Evidently, Godard is playing with the materiality of film, as Bruno would highlight that the “folding texture of the

editing is at play here”,13 subverting one’s expectation of how this scene would normally unfold and further privileging the use of space by removing all other possible distractions, by re-stitching the sound-on-film. This innovative technique of momentarily cutting all noise from the soundtrack would appear again in Godard’s subsequent film Bande à part (Band of Outsiders, 1964), when the trio hold a minute’s silence in the famous café scene. Such a formalistic device further reinforces Bruno’s notion of viewing the filmmaker as a tailor, as Godard physically weaves patterns and stitches celluloid together by editing and cutting strands that are no longer part of the ‘customised garment’ he is creating. Although Godard was perhaps more constrained by the big-budget production of Le Mépris, he still found ways to fashion fabric of the film object that directly challenged established cinema studio codes. 

The Garçonne look 

The fashion of the nouvelle vague challenged standard cinematic tradition of costumes. Typically, costume designers fabricated clothes to “serve the purpose of the narrative”, however this often led to the “supremacy of the costume designer as a dictator of fashion”, leading to many couturiers working in cinema as subsidiary costume designers who often “subsume[d] their styles to the narrative and characters”.14 Consequently, this sparked much debate regarding the involvement of fashion in film that “centres on the questions of exhibitionism and art; whether clothes should perform a spectacular as opposed to a subservient role in film”,15 which is still hotly disputed. If the 1950s had been a “highly stylized decade in cinema”, both in France and internationally, then the 1960s “seemed to bring about no less than a revolution” within film costumes.16 Godard’s À Bout de Souffle certainly marked this revolt, as there was no use of costume designer or courtier, instead Seberg, herself, provided her own wardrobe, which was also often the case for Italian neorealism and Dogme cinema, keeping with “both the aesthetic and industrial demands of the Nouvelle Vague”, promoting a certain realism that remained at the core of this movement.17 As the New Wave moved away from its relationship with haute couture and “dispensed…the role of the costume designer”, fashion thus sought “its inspiration in the street”,18 eager to convey an ease of naturalness in the aesthetic makeup of the film that was reflected in the outfits worn. 

The initial shot of Patricia strolling down the Champs-Elysées sets an immediate and distinct tone for Seberg’s character that will continue throughout. Patricia is captured wearing cigarette trousers and, what would become the iconic, New York Herald Tribune logo t-shirt (see figure 8). 


To complete the look, Michel even comments “why don’t you wear a bra?”, noting Patricia’s deliberate decision to reject this supposed essential piece of female clothing. With the freedom to choose her own outfits, Seberg instantly portrays her character as a female with agency who actively rejects traditional fashion codes. Instead of a skirt, Seberg chooses more “convenient” trousers and rejects high-heeled shoes that would “impede walking” for penny loafers, refusing to deform or mould her body for the benefit of the male gaze,19 especially as she refuses to wear a bra. Pamela Church-Gibson describes this moment as “iconic […] not only in cinema but within fashion imagery”,20 as the female individual on-screen had established a new-found agency through her ability to self-fashion an identity that directly challenged female stereotypes. Luc Moullet indicates that Patricia “purge[s] her femininity of its superficial aspects”  through her simplicity in dress and her pixie haircut.21 She thus promotes her style as “fashionable in its own right”, crafting a more modern Parisienne identity.22 There are clear echoes of Judith Butler’s notion of gender performativity in the way Seberg dresses, as Moullet also highlights that “by affecting a masculine appearance in the way she lives and with her boyish hairstyle, she is all the more feminine”,23 reinforcing this idea that the gendered body “has no ontological status apart from the various acts that constitute its reality”.24 Through her plain and ordinary stylings, Seberg made the unfashionable trendy reinforcing this notion of anti-fashion that was embedded within the New Wave and demonstrating how fashion, as a whole, “increasingly concerned itself with day-wear and, in particular, ‘working’ clothes”.25 Consequently, other females quickly sought to replicate her defiant attitude by imitating her look and purchasing the New York Herald Tribune t-shirt. The fact that this t-shirt can still be purchased today and that on the New York Times website the t-shirt is directly attributed to À Bout de Souffle, recognising how this piece gained “global fame overnight”, both signify the symbolic value of this t-shirt that marked a distinct change in attitude to fashion during the 1960s.26  

Patricia’s self-fashioned style, I argue, was a direct retaliation to fashion of the previous two decades, which had perpetuated a restrictive image of an excessively feminised woman. Godard creates a direct contrast between these two different images of the female, through subtle cues like newspapers and magazines that Michel is sometimes reading which feature pictures of women either nude or in a bikini (see figures 9 and 10). Further to this, when Patricia explains to Michel that, “I find that Parisiennes’ dresses are too short and that it makes them look cheap” she is actively placing herself in opposition to “the prevailing standards of French femininity at the time”, both in her opinions and in her choice of dress.27 



Patricia’s style thus typified the garçonne look in this new age of modernity. Patricia’s “throwaway use of a Dior day dress”,28 rejecting Dior’s “New Look”, coupled with telling Michel that she wants to write articles “to be independent from men”, exemplifies “dramatic, provocative changes sweeping the world of French fashion” during the 1960s,29 as there was a newfound female desire for independence. Thus, Seberg’s choice of a marinière shirt (see figure 11) for her character would become an “anti-fashion staple”,30 again typifying a rejection of fashion norms and haute couture, choosing more comfortable and simple clothing that was not overtly feminine.


Henceforth, the character of Patricia and her style of dress projected an image of “a young woman, unattached and uninhibited, represent[ing] an ideal that continues to dominate public imagination” (Bruzzi & Gibson 130), that would disseminate through fashion culture. Blake Gopnik highlights how in a 1964 issue of The New York Times Magazine, the striped shirt was described as a “collector’s item for the young crowd”,31 signifying its popularity as an “anti-fashion staple”. More importantly however, Yves Saint-Laurent’s inclusion of the marinière shirt in his premier collection of 1962 arguably caused a fashion revolution in haute couture, completely rejecting the “top-down model” as fashion from the streets now started to influence these elite fashion designers. It is necessary to note that the marinière shirt first appeared in Coco Chanel’s nautical collection of 1917, which caused its own fashion revolution at the time, when heavy corsets were discarded for this more casual wear. Nonetheless, Chaplin highlights that magazine issues as recent as 2014 still refer to Seberg as a “style icon” with her stripy t-shirts.32 Patricia’s choice of dressing, and at times cross-dressing when she would wear pieces of Michel’s clothes (see figure 12), including his shirt and hat, signalled “changing sexual roles” and the “collapse of old morality”,33 which was also reflected in Patricia’s relationship with Michel. 


Typically, Patricia’s betrayal of Michel, which leads to the police killing him, would mark her as a femme fatale who would be “destroyed at the end” in order to eradicate her “potential danger”,34 however her refusal to conform to social expectations of the female indicated by her fashion choices, “clearly foreshadow the coming explosion for women’s liberation”,35 as gender norms would be completely rethought during this decade. Patricia’s active choice to reject the fashion culture of haute couture and set trends of the previous decades was fundamental to constructing a new defiant image of the female that would establish greater autonomy in the years to come. 

Satirising Female Dress       

It follows that, because Godard is acutely aware of Bardot’s star power, there is a need to analyse Camille’s outfits in Le Mépris, which ultimately serves as a critique for the exploitation of the female body in cinema, while simultaneously liberating Bardot from being viewed as a mere “pin-up girl” and instead being recognised for her acting abilities. Throughout the film, there is a continual juxtaposition between Camille being nude and fully clothed. The opening scene is that of Camille naked, constructing an immediate image of a “woman whose essence is exhausted by the desire to be desired by the male gaze”,36 as she lists different parts of her body and asks Paul whether he finds them pretty. Although there is an idea of passionate love between the two characters, the subtext of this initial scene is certainly a critique on how the ‘pin-up girl’ “represents a qualitative regression in cinematic eroticism”,37 especially as Godard never reveals to the male gaze what they are craving most, which is Camille’s breasts and genitalia. This sexual teasing from Godard serves as both a protest against “the producers’ demand to use Bardot’s sexiness”, as well as a criticism “addressed to the complicit spectator who comes to the cinema in order to satisfy his voyeuristic and fetishistic drives.”38 In contrast to this, often during poignant moments, Camille is fully clothed in ordinary outfits like either a navy pencil or grey pleated skirt complimented with either a marinière shirt and navy cardigan or a pink striped shirt. 

On set photo of Bardot in one of Camille’s two main outfits.

On set photo of Bardot in Camille’s other main outfit.

These simple stylings are not supposed to be significant within the film. Kelley Conway indicates that Godard is of course aware of Bardot’s status as a “fashion icon”, which was prominent from as early as 1959, when Fay Hammond wrote in the Los Angeles Times that “Brigitte Bardot sets the fashion pace of Paris.”39 Thus, Godard’s deliberate underplay of the tool of fashion satirises the hegemonic structure of the film industry and its use of the “pin-up girl” often for the benefit of couturiers who use films to “showcase their designs”, aware that spectators would adopt “styles worn by their favourite film stars in their latest films”, which was often the case with Bardot.40 This is further reinforced by the fact that Tanine Autre, the costume designer for the film, was deliberately omitted from the credits. Certainly, a clever and purposeful post-film meta critique that again demonstrated Godard’s intention to limit the significance of fashion within Le Mépris, which sought to challenge the hierarchical system of cinema. 

In addition to this, not only does Camille’s ordinary outfits serve as a critique of the “pin-up girl” but it also allows there to be a greater focus on her acting abilities. Conway explains that there has long been a discourse that “Bardot is gorgeous but without talent”, she was viewed as the “blond, big-busted pin-up girl who ostensibly existed for the pleasure of the male viewer”,41 regardless of her acting abilities. However, Bardot’s compelling performance in Le Mépris marked her, in the words of Conway, as a “generative factor in the rise of the French New Wave”, with her more relaxed and natural acting style “symbolizing rebellion against an older generation”,42 while liberating her from the shackles of merely a “pin-up girl”. According to Conway, she is thus a “compelling figure of transition”, who served as a bridge from the prescriptive and limiting model of femininity in the 1950s to a more liberated and rebellious form that took rise during the “sexual revolution” of the 1960s.43 To further accentuate her acting performance, it is noteworthy that Bardot’s “blond mane”, which is a “key element of her iconography”,44 is frequently covered by a headscarf (see figure 15), and at one stage a wig (see figure 16).

Le Mépris

Le Mépris. 

Vincendeau states that “the blonder the hair, the greater the star”,45 indicating its symbolic value of “virtue and the angelic”, as well as its “sexual allure”,46 emphasising how, in Bazin’s words, “the pin-up girl tends to revert to the category of sex imagery and all its hypocritical vestiary complication.”47 Henceforth, the use of Camille’s headscarf and wig therefore at times reduces this possibility of Bardot’s “sexual allure” as a “pin-up girl” from impeding the narrative and deterring the audience’s attention during pivotal moments of the film. Notably however, in the final moments of the film, leading to Camille’s demise, there is no headscarf or wig that is part of her outfit. Although she wears a traditional summer hat immediately prior to the car crash, the final shot of Camille is still her and her “blonde mane” fully exposed and on show. This again reinforces the notion, as alluded to earlier, that the New Wave marked a new period for “an alternative model of stardom”, ultimately signalling the death of the “pin-up girl”, which had become considered an obsolete and restrictive system that was contrary to the more progressive times of the 1960s. Ultimately, Godard’s deliberately restrained use of fashion serves as an important meta-critique for how the cinema industry of the past had been using fashion more for capitalist gains, to both promote couturiers’ designs as well as exploit sexual elements of the female body to attract audiences. Therefore, Godard’s revolt against common cinematic practices was emblematic of the rebellion that had been taking shape during the New Wave both in cinema and in fashion. 

From a very brief examination of two seminal films of Godard, it should now be clear that fashion is inextricably woven into the fabric of cinema’s core principles. If we consider cinema to be a medium dedicated to revealing the hidden truths of society, and a mirror, as Bazin suggested, onto lived reality; then fashion indisputably has an instrumental role in aiding the spectator to identify signifiers that provide insight into the orderings and experiences of society. Godard’s palpable influence on cinema should be credited to his ability to capitalise on cinema’s symbiotic relationship with fashion, an obvious way to tailor images that fashion rebellion, which can then be copied and adopted within society. By continuing to return to the works of Godard and challenging ourselves to refashion the lens through which we view his films, we will quickly realise that they contain many layers that remain underneath the visible surface, of which the fashion in his films is just one.


  1. André Bazin, What Is Cinema? Vol. I (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2005), p. 7.
  2. Naomi Greene, The French New Wave: A New Look (New York: Wallflower Press, 2007), p. 84.
  3. Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space (Malden: Blackwell, 2016), p. 365.
  4. Richard Neupert, A History of The French New Wave Cinema (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2009), 215.
  5. Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, p. 365.
  6. Ross Exo Adams, “Figure “, Critical Quarterly 53 (2011): 15.
  7. Ibid.
  8. Ibid., p. 16
  9. Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, p. 289.
  10. Ross Exo Adams, “Foreground, Background, Drama: The Cinematic Space of Le Mépris”, Critical Quarterly 53 (2011):19.
  11. Ibid., p. 25
  12. Ibid.
  13. Adrienne Auslander Munich, Fashion in Film (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2011), p. 95.
  14. Stella Bruzzi, Undressing Cinema (Hoboken: Taylor and Francis, 2012), pp. 3,5,8.
  15. Ibid. p. 8
  16. Eugenia Paulicelli, Film, Fashion, And The 1960s (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2017), p. 84.
  17. Chaplin, La Parisienne in Cinema, p. 90.
  18. Ibid., p. 78
  19. Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex (Vintage, 2011), p. 585.
  20. Pamela Church Gibson, “‘To Care For Her Beauty, To Dress Up, Is A Kind Of Work’: Simone De Beauvoir, Fashion, And Feminism”, Women’s Studies Quarterly 41:1-2 (2013): 99.
  21. Jim Hillier (ed.), Cahiers du Cinéma vol. II: the 1960s (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992), p. 42.
  22. Chaplin, La Parisienne in Cinema, p. 91.
  23. Hillier, Cahiers du Cinéma vol. II: the 1960s, p. 42.
  24. Judith Butler, Gender Trouble (London: Routledge, 1999),p. 136.
  25. Pamela Church Gibson and Stella Bruzzi, Fashion Cultures Revisited (London: Routledge, 2013), p.134.
  26. https://store.nytimes.com/products/herald-tribune-t-shirt
  27. Chaplin, La Parisienne in Cinema, p. 91.
  28. Bruzzi, Undressing Cinema, p. 7.
  29. Roberts, cited in Chaplin, La Parisienne in Cinema, p.92.
  30. Church Gibson/Bruzzi, Fashion Cultures Revisited, p.130.
  31. Blake Gopnik, Warhol (Ecco, 2020), p. 1046.
  32. Chaplin, La Parisienne in Cinema, p.91.
  33. Naomi Greene, The French New Wave: A New Look (New York: Wallflower Press, 2007), p. 85.
  34. Stella Bruzzi, Undressing Cinema (Hoboken: Taylor and Francis, 2012), p. 125.
  35. Greene, The French New Wave, p. 85.
  36. Yosefa Loshitzky, The Radical Faces of Godard And Bertolucci (Wayne State University Press, 1995), p. 171.
  37. André Bazin, What Is Cinema? Vol.2 (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013), p. 161.
  38. Ibid.
  39. Fay Hammond, cited in Pamela Robertson Wojcik, New Constellations (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2012), p. 193.
  40. Bruzzi, Undressing Cinema, pp. 6,5.
  41. Wojcik, New Constellations, p.184.
  42. Ibid.
  43. Ibid.
  44. Ginette Vincendeau, “And Bardot … Became A Blonde: Hair, Stardom And Modernity In Post-War France”, Celebrity Studies 7:1 (2015): 106.
  45. Ibid.
  46. Ibid., p. 99
  47. Bazin, What Is Cinema? Vol.2, p.160.

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