Transcriber: Robert Tucker Reviewer: Ariana Bleau Lugo
I'm going to speak to you today
about the importance of the dress
and the complexity that a lot of women
in the history of women in professions
have had with it.
And I've been thinking about this because of my research on Louise Bethune,
my work with Architect Barbie,
and also as a practicing architect.
I have come to see the dress as a symbol of power,
and this power was invented here.
So, December 18th marks the 100th anniversary
of the passing of Louise Bethune,
America's first professional woman architect,
and a fellow Buffalo gal.
Bethune was like many professional women at the time,
in that she faced the prejudice that men around her felt
that she lacked the talent, the intellect,
and the business acumen for professional life.
But Bethune also faced an additional prejudice,
and that was in her dress.
You see architects in the late 1800's
were expected to supervise construction,
and because women were confined to wearing dresses at that time,
it was believed by many that they lacked the ability to supervise construction.
But supervise construction Louise Bethune most certainly did,
probably by wearing men's trousers underneath her dress.
Bethune supervised at least a third of her firm's projects over her career,
and in particular the Hotel Lafayette across the street.
Bethune was also a founding member
of the Buffalo Women's Wheel and Athletic Club,
one of the first women's bicycling groups in the United States.
Indeed, Bethune was the first woman in Buffalo to own her own bicycle.
The Wheelers did a tremendous amount to support the suffrage movement.
In fact, Susan B Anthony said that Wheelers had done more
for the suffrage movement than anything else.
So, women continued to enter the architectural profession,
and they continued to dress fashionably,
and by the Civil Rights era, and after, when they had reached critical mass,
they were dressing mostly to suit themselves.
And, in general, they were wearing pantsuits --
preferably in black.
Now, in 2011, I had the great opportunity to work with my friend and colleague,
Despina Stratigakos,
professor at the UB School of Architecture and Planning,
on the design and launch of Architect Barbie
in collaboration with Mattel.
It was the I-can-be career doll of that year.
This doll was immensely popular among its target demographic:
little girls.
But there were some people in the profession who were critical.
In general, I dismissed many of these comments, because comments like:
"She doesn't wear enough black," and "She's got on too much pink."
"She isn't cool enough to be an architect."
All of those in my mind seemed superficial,
and they missed the point behind the project,
which was to spread awareness of architecture to little girls.
But there was one group, who criticized the project, that did give me pause,
and this was women of a certain age,
those baby boomers and the generation before,
who had worked in the trenches and paved the way for Gen-Xers like me,
and the generations that followed.
When women from that generation critiqued the project,
well, that did sadden me.
Many of these women felt that the whole idea of Barbie
stood for every stereotype against which they had fought for so many years,
and the fact that the doll was wearing a dress,
well, no woman would wear a dress to work,
especially on a construction site, and be taken seriously.
So, I closed out 2011 with these two histories on my mind.
First, the prejudice that Louise Bethune and her contemporaries experienced by men
who said that because she was confined to a dress, she could not be an architect,
and then contemporary women critiquing a doll in a dress,
and saying that that doll represented architects.
And then tragedy struck.
On December 30, 2011, I woke up and I could not stand.
By the end of the day, I was in a hospital ICU on a ventilator
and paralyzed from the neck down.
I was diagnosed with Guillain–Barré syndrome,
a neurological, autoimmune syndrome
that breaks the connection between the brain, the spine and the muscles.
Most people survive Guillain–Barré,
however, of the few who do succumb,
they do so because of complications with the ventilator -- which I was on.
My case was particularly severe.
It is a strange thing
to go from being a vibrant, energetic person
in the prime of her life one day,
to becoming an invalid on life support the next.
I can tell you that I was filled with deep despair.
However, this story has a happy ending as I stand here before you,
(Laughter) (Applause)
but there were moments, I'll be honest,
when the complications with the ventilator took place,
and I thought that those moments, I was going to die.
However, miraculously, glacially, incrementally, I began to recover,
and when I finally got off the ventilator,
I was able to push my body to make those neurological connections,
so I could learn how to walk and talk and feed myself.
My recovery was isolating and, at times, painful,
but, in general, I was so glad to be alive,
and I was desperate to get back to being the old Kelly.
You see, 2011 had been the most fulfilling of my career,
an I so much wanted to be that person again.
On March 16th, 2012, I was released from hospital,
and when I began to make occasional public appearances,
especially the rare professional appearance,
I desperately wanted to seem strong and in control,
even though, as you can see, I was often in a wheelchair,
I was frightfully thin,
and I needed my husband's assistance for the basic of skills.
So, I remember saying to my speech therapist,
I'm an architect, I work in a male-dominated profession,
I am often the only woman in a meeting,
I cannot sound like a Looney Tunes character.
And so also one of the most salient concerns I had was what to wear.
Because I needed something that looked professional,
yet at the same time I could manage on my own.
Now, I have always loved the dress.
My husband will tell you,
for every occasion I have a little black dress,
accompanied by a little red dress, a blue dress, a red dress --
I have all the dresses.
However, I also had an arsenal of suits, power suits,
that I would wear to meetings when I wanted to own the room.
The problem, as you may have noticed, is that my hands haven't recovered.
They may never recover.
Zippers are difficult: buttons are impossible.
I needed something that I could wear to work,
that I could manage on my own, if I was going to be in control.
So, I wore dresses.
I wore dresses for fun, I wore dresses for play and parties,
I wore dresses to work,
I even wore dresses on the construction site.
And I have since redesigned Architect Barbie --
(Applause)
-- to look like a certain architect and, I know, complete in power dress.
And I think she looks great.
But what is a power dress?
Well, in 1977, John T Malloy
published the groundbreaking book "Dress for Success."
And it was from that book that came the idea of the the power suit.
And that power suit was meant
for the wearer to convey strength, leadership and skill.
The power dress does the exact same thing: Allows the wearer to present strength.
For Louise Bethune the society of Gilded Age America
dictated that she be confined to a dress.
And then those around her,
who either lacked imagination or were threatened by a strong woman,
used that dictate to limit her abilities
in terms of her career ideas and other freedoms.
But the power behind Louise Bethune was in demanding equality despite the dress.
And the fact that she wore a dress on a construction site, and on a bicycle,
challenged the people around her to rethink what a woman in a dress can do.
Architect Barbie's costume by any adult standard is not a power dress.
But that dress is not intended for an adult audience;
it is intended for a 7-year-old girl.
And the power behind Architect Barbie is in the message:
I can be.
That is: I can be anything I want to be and wear the dress,
or my value is in how I see myself, not how others see me.
Indeed, the message behind Louise Bethune, and Architect Barbie,
is that I'm good enough to be what I choose.
And as for me, well, I identify with both Louise Bethune and Barbie.
At this point in my life and my career,
I'm limited in certain choices because of my disability.
But, as I emerge from my cocoon,
I'm able to pursue my professionalism with grace and dignity,
because of the dress,
and the lessons I have learned from Louise Bethune and Architect Barbie.
We three, all blondes, I might add,
and the power dress were invented here in Buffalo, New York.
Thank you very much.
(Applause)