The AIDS crisis in the 80s was one complicated by layers of oppression and politics, and one many Native communities were hit disproportionately hard by due to inequity in access to healthcare on reservations and in urban centers, as well as community isolation, homophobia and racism. It was referred to by some as “new smallpox,” which illustrates the sheer degree of devastation the pandemic wrought on Indigenous communities in the US.

Copy of the quilt hanging in the entrance hall to the NAAP, British Museum.

The quilt to the left was created by a Native mother whose son passed away from complications arisen from AIDS, and was given to the NAAP after his death. A copy made by Christopher Gamora, an Ojibwa artist, resides in the collection of the British Museum for their Living and Dying gallery in 2004. Its made based on the original, with a few noted differences like the hanging orientation of the hide, and, most notably, the names of deceased clients of the NAAP embroidered in beading were removed. This was due to lack of time to seek out the appropriate level of consent from each of the deceased families, which struck me as a good example of collaborative museology practiced in good faith. A representation of a unique Native American response to the AIDS crisis is a very valuable teaching tool for context on the crisis’ impact, and recreating it with meticulous detail as well consideration for how certain on display in Europe would detract from, rather than help in healing the origin community.

Researcher Max Carroci sees as the act of making these quilts as “the very moment of remembrance that establishes a connection between memory and lived experience, one that is entangled with the notion of “wrapping” and the cognate concepts of protecting and preserving widely shared by Native Americans in ritual and healing practice.” This function of art and textiles in particular as vehicles of healing and records of historical emotion within communities is just as large a part of a knowledge system as the technical and logistical information potentially stored in khipus. Not only is this quilt a material record of the hardships this community went through, its also a record of how a community uses materiality to heal, remember and recover. The names of those who passed, the number of turkey feathers adorning the bottom, the type of shell used in the beading: the twining with knowledge of the craft with knowledge of the past and present is the cornerstone of how textiles braid into Indigenous knowledge systems.

One of the people that first drew me into historical costuming and fashion history in general was Bernadette Banner, and by extension, British dress historian Cathy Hay. And anyone who learns about Cathy Hay then learns of the Peacock dress.

The gown colloquially known as the “Peacock Dress” was a custom ballgown created by Jean Phillipe Worth for Lady Mary Curzon, the Vicereine of  India, for the 1903 Delhi Durbar in celebration of the 1902 coronation. It’s creation began with teams of zarbozi embroiderers in the Kishan Chand workshop in India, where they embellished huge panels of silk taffeta with iridescent beetle-wing cases and gold and silver beading. Then the panels were shipped to the House of Worth in Paris, where the dress was constructed and the finishing touches added. The dress itself is a very deliberate symbol and enforcement of colonialism and British dominance, with its use of peacock motifs representing a replacement of the Mughal Peacock throne by British power. The throne was destroyed during a British raid in 1857. Even the specific type of fabric that formed the base of the dress was a traditional fabric for Mughal kings.

The Peacock dress is currently held in Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire by the National Trust collections, with none of the Indian artisans who worked on it named, and is a shell of its former self. The delicate zarbozi beading has tarnished and dulled, and all of the wondrous colours present on the dress in its prime have faded. Hay, after visiting the dress, became infatuated with it and resolved to raise money to recreate it in original practice. There was years of work that went into her recreation project, with commissioning Indian embroidery studios and pattern making all documented on her YouTube channel, and often signaling that the project would have different connotations than its original counterpart. It was a burgeoning and popular project within the historical costuming community, with lots of potential, funding and momentum. And then, the cracks began to show. It’s a beautiful piece of history, but is it really?

Hay began receiving feedback, from craftspeople of colour and Indian sewists in particular, that strongly discouraged her from continuing the reconstruction. Many felt that the recreation of the dress was at best unnecessary and at worst a history repeating itself while its problems fall on deaf ears. The head embroiderer of the company Hay commissioned burned the peacock dress embroidery sample after finding it, citing it an “inauspicious sign” that wasn’t to be made anymore. Nami Sparrow, an Indian-American YouTuber, called on Hay to end the project as it supported the trauma of colonialism, implicit or not.

An Indigenous seamstress from Arizona named Cher Thomas was also involved in the conversation. Thomas runs her own clothing business that is intimately connected to her heritage, and she hails from multiple Indigenous tribes around the US including the Akimel O’odham and the Cocopah. She calls out Hay’s “guilty conscience” and the part it played in her wanting to recreate the dress but “do it better” or “decolonize it,” pointing out the white saviorism in assuming that role for herself and the appropriateness of the project without consulting Indian creators. She encourages Hay to use her platform to uplift Indian designers and dress historians and using the funding accrued not for charity-tourism but for the projects they want to pursue in their communities, and stresses the importance of a transfer of power in this work.

Personally, I totally understand the initial appeal of a recreation project as ambitious and potentially gorgeous as Worth’s Peacock Dress. I mean look at it! However, understanding the context this dress was made in, the express imperialist purpose it was made for, the colonial way it was manufactured, the people who’s labour it exploited and the potential effects the recreation could have on the modern costuming landscape, it is blatantly obvious that beauty is not and should never be the sole reason for a historical recreation in an archaeological context. We need to be asking deeper questions, especially about our position relative to our work. I exist in a very similar positionality to Cathy Hay, and have absolutely fallen into the same privilege trap while researching projects of my own. Thomas’ perspective was invaluable to me while I was learning about this dress, and I carry it with me when I consider recreation projects of my own. I think this case study is a good example of how experimental archaeology can be destructive and harmful to Indigenous and colonized communities, just like excavation, and we need to think very critically about why we do the work we do. Not everything is as surface level as beetle-wings and swishy skirts.

The Peacock Dress on display in Derbyshire, all rights belong to the National Trust Collections.

Lady Curzon in the Peacock Dress, painted by William Logsdail in 1909.