Demob suits and postwar practicality

As British servicemen returned home after the end of World War II, they were issued with what became known as “demob suits”—a standardized set of civilian clothing provided by the government to ease their transition back into everyday life. These suits, often made from coarse wool and cut in conservative styles, were emblematic of the era’s emphasis on utility and restraint. For many men, the demob suit was their first civilian outfit in years, and it carried with it both a sense of relief and a reminder of the nation’s ongoing austerity.

The suits were part of a broader government initiative to manage the postwar economy and ration limited resources. With fabric still in short supply and clothing rationing in place until 1949, practicality was paramount. The demob suit typically included a jacket, trousers, waistcoat, shirt, tie, and sometimes a hat—designed to be serviceable rather than stylish. While some men were grateful for the free clothing, others found the suits ill-fitting or outdated, leading to a black market in tailoring and alterations.

Women, too, faced the challenge of making do with limited materials. The “make do and mend” ethos, promoted during the war, continued into the postwar years. Dresses were repurposed from old curtains, and coats were turned inside out to extend their life. Creativity became a necessity, and sewing skills were highly valued. This period saw a rise in home dressmaking, with patterns and advice columns appearing in women’s magazines to help readers stretch their wardrobes further.

In this climate of scarcity, fashion became a reflection of resilience. Clothing was not just about appearance—it was about adaptability, resourcefulness, and the ability to maintain dignity in difficult circumstances. The demob suit, in particular, stood as a symbol of the nation’s attempt to restore normalcy, even as it grappled with the economic and emotional aftermath of war.

Royal weddings and the return of opulence

In stark contrast to the austerity of everyday life, royal weddings in the postwar period offered the British public a rare glimpse of glamour and grandeur. These events were not merely personal milestones for the monarchy; they became national spectacles that allowed citizens to momentarily escape the drabness of rationing and economic hardship. The 1947 wedding of Princess Elizabeth to Lieutenant Philip Mountbatten was especially significant. Coming just two years after the end of the war, it was a carefully orchestrated display of continuity and hope, broadcast on radio and covered extensively in newspapers across the Commonwealth, including Australia.

Princess Elizabeth’s wedding dress, designed by Norman Hartnell, was a masterpiece of opulence in an age of scarcity. Crafted from ivory duchess satin and adorned with thousands of seed pearls and crystals, the gown was inspired by Botticelli’s painting Primavera, symbolising rebirth and renewal. Despite the lavish appearance, the dress was subject to the same rationing rules as any other garment. The princess famously used clothing coupons to obtain the fabric, a gesture that resonated with the public and reinforced her image as a monarch in touch with her people.

These royal nuptials had a profound influence on fashion trends both in Britain and abroad. Brides across the Commonwealth, including in Australia, sought to emulate the regal elegance of the princess’s gown. Dressmakers received requests for similar silhouettes—nipped waists, full skirts, and intricate embroidery—ushering in a renewed appreciation for craftsmanship and femininity. The wedding also sparked a surge in demand for formalwear, with department stores and local tailors offering affordable versions of royal-inspired designs.

Beyond the wedding dress itself, the entire event was a showcase of postwar aspiration. Guests arrived in tailored suits and elegant hats, and the ceremony was steeped in tradition and pageantry. For a population still grappling with ration books and bombed-out streets, the wedding served as a reminder of the enduring power of ceremony and the possibility of a more prosperous future. It was a moment when fashion, monarchy, and national identity converged, offering a vision of beauty and stability in uncertain times.

The New Look and fashion’s feminine revival

When Christian Dior unveiled his debut collection in Paris in 1947, the fashion world—and indeed the broader public—was stunned. Dubbed the “New Look” by Harper’s Bazaar editor Carmel Snow, Dior’s designs featured cinched waists, rounded shoulders, and voluminous skirts that fell well below the knee. This dramatic departure from the boxy, utilitarian silhouettes of wartime attire marked a turning point in postwar fashion, signalling a return to luxury, femininity, and excess fabric—an audacious move in an era still governed by rationing and economic restraint.

In Britain, the New Look was met with both admiration and controversy. While many women were eager to embrace the elegance and romanticism of Dior’s vision, others criticised it as wasteful and regressive. The use of yards of fabric for a single skirt clashed with the lingering ethos of austerity, and some saw the style as a step backward for women who had taken on more practical roles during the war. Nevertheless, the allure of the New Look proved irresistible to many, and its influence quickly spread across the Commonwealth, including to Australia, where fashion-conscious women followed European trends through magazines and newsreels.

British designers, constrained by ongoing rationing and the Utility Clothing Scheme, initially struggled to replicate Dior’s lavish designs. However, they soon began to adapt the New Look to suit local conditions. Skirts were made slightly less full, and embellishments were kept minimal, but the overall silhouette—hourglass figures and graceful lines—remained intact. Department stores in cities like London, Sydney, and Melbourne began offering more affordable interpretations, allowing a broader range of women to participate in the new fashion wave.

For many women, adopting the New Look was about more than just style—it was a statement of optimism and self-expression. After years of making do with repurposed garments and rationed materials, the chance to wear something beautiful and indulgent felt like a reclamation of identity. The emphasis on femininity also aligned with a broader cultural shift, as societies sought to re-establish traditional gender roles in the wake of wartime upheaval. Yet, even as the New Look celebrated a return to softness and glamour, it also sparked conversations about women’s autonomy and the evolving meaning of fashion in a changing world.

In Australia, the New Look resonated strongly with women eager to move beyond the drabness of wartime utility. Local designers and home dressmakers alike embraced the style, often modifying it to suit the climate and available materials. Sewing patterns for full-skirted dresses and fitted bodices became popular, and fashion pages in Australian women’s magazines featured tips on achieving the look with limited resources. The New Look thus became not only a symbol of postwar renewal but also a canvas for creativity and adaptation, reflecting the resilience and aspirations of women on both sides of the globe.

Postwar fashion and national identity

In the wake of World War II, British fashion became a canvas for a nation grappling with austerity, resilience, and reinvention. With rationing still in effect and fabric scarce, clothing was less about indulgence and more about ingenuity. Yet even within these constraints, style became a subtle form of self-expression and national pride. The government-issued demob suits, given to returning servicemen, were more than just garments—they were symbols of transition, marking a shift from military life to civilian identity. These suits, often ill-fitting and made from coarse wool, were a far cry from luxury, but they carried emotional weight and social significance.

Women, too, navigated this sartorial landscape with creativity. The “make do and mend” ethos wasn’t just a slogan—it was a necessity. Dresses were reworked from old curtains, coats were turned inside out to extend their life, and embellishments were added to disguise wear. This resourcefulness became a badge of honour, reflecting both the hardships endured and the determination to maintain dignity through dress. Fashion, in this context, was deeply intertwined with national identity—it told the story of a people rebuilding, reimagining, and redefining themselves.

For Australian women watching from afar, British fashion during this era offered both inspiration and a mirror. The shared wartime experience created a sense of kinship, and the British approach to style—practical yet quietly elegant—resonated across the Commonwealth. It was a reminder that fashion could be both a survival strategy and a statement of hope.

The impact of Dior’s New Look on British style

When Christian Dior unveiled his New Look in 1947, it sent shockwaves through the fashion world—and Britain, still emerging from the shadows of war, felt its tremors acutely. With its cinched waists, padded hips, and full skirts that swept the calf, the New Look was a dramatic departure from the utilitarian silhouettes of wartime. For many British women, it was both a revelation and a provocation. After years of rationing and restraint, Dior’s designs offered a vision of femininity that was unapologetically luxurious, even decadent.

But embracing this new aesthetic wasn’t straightforward. In a country where clothing coupons were still in circulation and fabric remained tightly controlled, the New Look was initially met with resistance. Critics decried the extravagance of using up to 20 yards of fabric for a single skirt. Yet despite the controversy, the allure of Dior’s vision proved irresistible. British designers began to reinterpret the look in more modest forms, adapting it to local materials and sensibilities. The silhouette—nipped-in waist, rounded shoulders, and voluminous skirts—became a symbol of postwar aspiration, a sartorial sigh of relief after years of deprivation.

For women in Australia, the New Look arrived with a sense of delayed glamour. While our climate and lifestyle didn’t always lend themselves to heavy tailoring or layers, the essence of Dior’s femininity—graceful lines, soft fabrics, and a return to elegance—was eagerly embraced. Department stores in Sydney and Melbourne began to stock New Look-inspired pieces, and local dressmakers quickly adapted patterns to suit the Australian figure and climate. The look became a way for women to reconnect with their femininity, to feel beautiful again after the practicalities of wartime fashion.

It wasn’t just about clothes—it was about confidence. The New Look gave women permission to take up space, to celebrate their bodies, and to indulge in beauty. In Britain, it marked a turning point in fashion’s role within society, shifting from necessity to desire. And for Australian women, it offered a glimpse into a more glamorous world, one that felt both aspirational and attainable. Dior’s influence lingered well into the 1950s, shaping not only wardrobes but also the way women saw themselves in a rapidly changing world.