There was, and still is, a false narrative that bandage dresses were universal – flattering on all body types. And while I find the idea of body types and trends inherently toxic, it was also just not true. These dresses were rarely available in sizes larger than 12, and I don’t recall seeing a single plus-size celebrity wear one.
In 2010, I passed these informal tests and squeezed myself into a size six Karen Millen number (that I couldn’t afford, but a friend could) most weekends. The dress rotated through our friendship group like The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants – except it did the opposite, and only fit one homogeneous body type. We would barely eat before putting on the dress, despite heading out for long nights of underage clubbing and house parties. I remember sneaking into my friend’s kitchen one night in search of toast after finally releasing myself from the shackles of the dress, able to breathe properly for the first time in ten hours.
Bandage dresses, ultimately, were companions to diet culture. And it’s no coincidence that they’re trending again now. We’re in another phase of societal obsession with thinness – a rapid one – and fatphobia often walks hand-in-hand with the global shift to the political right and the rise of fascism.
Kate Manne, feminist philosopher, recently wrote in her Substack Why Are Celebrities’ Bodies Shrinking? about this correlation: “The rise of authoritarianism, and the way women can signal their deference to the powers-that-be by conforming to a certain ideal of conventional femininity. The ideal woman today is very thin, white, highly feminine, and projects a certain frailty without actually being ill or disabled. She is Melania Trump; she is Hannah Neeleman of Ballerina Farms; she is a tradwife. She is a woman who the men in power will happily date and marry, partly because her appearance telegraphs wealth and health and effort. And her frail body suggests someone in need of a strong man’s protection.”
With the rise of SkinnyTok (now blocked by TikTok), a growing cultural obsession with semaglutide injections, plus-size public figures shrinking in unison, world powers dominated by men attempting to roll back the rights of women, people of colour, and LGBTQIA+ communities, and a peak in online fatphobia – the return of bandage dresses feels like yet another blow. Death by a thousand cuts.
It might seem like just a dress, but it is never just a dress. Fashion trends for women are never created or pushed without motive, and the overwhelming messaging right now is that we should shrink: our bodies, our autonomy, our opinions. Don’t get bandaged into the propaganda.
