In 1981 the Eighties still did not possess the image with which they would have entered the collective memory. The shoulder pads have not reached monumental proportions, the fluorescent color has not invaded every surface and the opulence of Dynasty has yet to transform itself into the aesthetic manifesto of the decade. Fashion rather lives in a transition zone, suspended between the soft sensuality of the Seventies and the cult of image, money and success that will mark the new era.
It is precisely this uncertain moment that accompanies The splintersthe Ryan Murphy series based on the semi-autobiographical novel by Bret Easton Ellis and available on Disney+. In the background of a bright and disturbing Los Angeles, a group of privileged teenagers attend the exclusive Buckley School, spending their days among villas, restaurants, convertible cars and parties. However, the arrival of the mysterious Robert Mallory coincides with the murders committed by a serial killer nicknamed the Fisherman and slowly cracks the perfect surface of their world.
The wardrobe also participates in this tension. Clothes seduce, define social belongings and build identities, but at the same time they become a veneer behind which to hide desires, fears and obsessions. Luxury does not protect the protagonists from the violence that surrounds them. It only makes the moment when their universe begins to unravel more fascinating, and perhaps even more disturbing.
The Eighties before the Eighties
The wardrobe of the series is built by Lou Eyrich and Josh Marsh, also supported in their work by stylist Marc Jacobs. A particularly significant presence for an adaptation by Bret Easton Ellis, an author who transformed the names of stylists and fashion houses into an integral part of his writing. Jacobs’ contribution helps to restore a credible 1981, still distant from the stereotypes developed in subsequent years, when exaggerated volumes, bright colors and showy decorations would have defined the most popular image of the decade.
In fact, the palette retains the nuances of the late Seventies, with mauves, greys, dusty blues and slightly dull colours, while the silhouettes begin to become leaner, more conscious and sensual. The chromatic touches thus acquire greater strength and the atmosphere remains elegant, soft and slightly melancholy.
His involvement also creates a suggestive temporal short circuit. In 1981 Jacobs was still a student at Parsons School of Design and would present his first collection just a few years later. In The splinters he therefore returns to the era in which his creative identity was starting to take shape, today contributing to rebuilding that world from the inside.
Before MTV changed fashion
The choice to set the story in 1981 allows the series to also tell a decisive moment in the circulation of trends. MTV would only begin broadcasting in August of that year and magazines, cinema, music and photography were still the main sources of inspiration. Fashion did not travel at the speed of contemporary images and maintained more marked differences between Los Angeles, New York, London and other cultural capitals.
The wardrobe of The splinters It therefore maintains something profoundly Californian. Private school uniforms coexist with jeans, polo shirts, shirts, light blazers and sportswear, while the light of Los Angeles lightens even the most rigorous clothes. The result avoids the retro caricature constructed through leggings, neon colors and excessive shoulder pads, focusing on a youthful elegance still close to the Seventies.
One of the central cinematic references is American Gigoloreleased in 1980. The wardrobe created by Giorgio Armani for Richard Gere had introduced a new idea of masculine elegance, relaxed and sensual, built through deconstructed jackets, soft fabrics and sophisticated shades. That same ease comes through The splinterswhere the expensive dress does not appear stiff or ceremonial, but becomes a second skin.
Brands as a lexicon of privilege
Gucci, Giorgio Armani, Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein, Saint Laurent, Chanel. In the universe of Bret Easton Ellis, brands do not represent simple details of custom, but words of a precise social vocabulary. The author accumulates them in very long and apparently neutral lists, combining clothes, cars, restaurants, perfumes and clubs until he reconstructs a world in which identity seems to coincide with what one possesses. Knowing the right name, wearing it and recognizing it on others means demonstrating that you belong to the correct circle.
The splinters visually translates this process. The kids at Buckley School abandon their uniforms for Gucci and Armani, while the preppy imagery recalls the American elegance of Ralph Lauren, with polo shirts, Oxford shirts, blazers, knitwear and khaki trousers. Denim, central to the youth wardrobe of 1981, refers instead to the phenomenon of jeans designed by Calvin Klein, Jordache, Gloria Vanderbilt and Sergio Valente, which at that time became objects of desire and immediate indicators of status.
European taste intervenes above all when the protagonists leave school and enter the world of the night. Giorgio Armani’s soft lines communicate a sophisticated and unobtrusive sensuality, while Gucci adds the weight of an already immediately recognizable luxury. Black leather, dark suits and sunglasses build a more ambiguous elegance around Robert Mallory, crossed by suggestions of post-punk and new wave.
The insistent presence of the brands thus preserves the same ambivalence that it possesses in Ellis’s novels. On the one hand it produces desire and allows you to visualize each scene precisely. On the other hand, it reveals the void left by characters capable of perfectly describing an Armani jacket, a pair of Calvin Klein jeans or a Gucci bag, but incapable of giving a name to their fears.
California preppy gets creepy
During the day, the preppy language of the American upper class dominates. Blazers with the coat of arms, shirts, polo shirts, classic trousers, neat skirts and sportswear make up the unwritten uniform of kids who grew up in an exclusive world. It’s a clean, reassuring style, linked to private schools and country clubs, but Ryan Murphy progressively alters its meaning.
The darker history becomes, the more fragile that order appears. The precise lines of the clothes contrast with the emotional confusion of the characters, while the apparent innocence of the collegiate style amplifies the sense of threat. Every perfectly ironed shirt seems to protect a secret and every blazer becomes part of the collective performance through which the protagonists try to preserve an impeccable image.
Fashion also allows us to distinguish different personalities according to a principle close to that of Breakfast Club. Thom Wright embodies the sporty and sunny boy, Robert Mallory introduces a darker sensuality through leather trousers and dark suits, while Bret observes the others maintaining a more discreet elegance, consistent with his role as narrator and witness.
Kaia Gerber between Lauren Hutton and Brooke Shields
Susan Reynolds, played by Kaia Gerber, represents the ideal American female of the time. Its seemingly spontaneous beauty recalls Lauren Hutton and Brooke Shields, with high-waisted jeans, shirts, blazers, knitwear and essential silhouettes. It’s a wardrobe that avoids the more obvious theatricality of the Eighties and instead constructs a bright, athletic and unattainable image.
It is precisely this simplicity that makes Susan magnetic. Her clothes seem natural, almost unconscious, but they help consolidate the girl’s position within the group. The perfection of the look in fact hides insecurities and fears, recalling how in Bret Easton Ellis’ universe beauty never constitutes a promise of happiness. It is rather a social capital, a tool of seduction and, sometimes, a form of defense.
Next to her, Debbie Schaffer brings a more decisive and conscious femininity, also marked by platinum hair inspired by Debbie Harry. The reference introduces the energy of new wave and post-punk into the series’ bourgeois veneer, anticipating the cultural shift that would make the decade increasingly daring.
Adult glamor retains the shadow of the seventies
The generational contrast emerges above all through Liz Schaffer, played by Evan Rachel Wood. A former model and mother of Debbie, Liz remains linked to a more mature glamour, built through authentic vintage Saint Laurent and Chanel pieces, fluid fabrics and a decadent sensuality. Even when she stays in her villa, she appears dressed with almost excessive care, as if elegance could hold together a life that is slowly losing consistency.
Her wardrobe retains the imprint of the late Seventies and shows how eras don’t suddenly change at the stroke of a new decade. Fashions overlap, coexist and are interpreted differently depending on age, place and social position.
As in Bret Easton Ellis’ writing, everything appears beautiful just as it begins to break down.
