“What is a sundress?” wondered a young woman i n plaintive tones on TikTok . “I own every dress. Which is the sun one?” Nearly 10 million views later, that burning question continues to light up social media.
Reaction videos included an influencer in Atlanta spelling out how “sundress season” in her Black community means Skims-style dresses that are long and tight, rather than flowy skirts with a fitted bodice. A good-natured, self-described mansplainer admitted that , although no expert in women’s fashion, he knows what he likes. Specifically, what he called “milkmaid style” dresses, preferably in yellow.
“Cause we are simple,” he says. “Yellow, sun.” Which cuts to the crux of the sundress stakes.
It’s not just what a sundress is, says Vox writer Rebecca Jennings. It’s who a sundress is for. “Some men were complaining that women aren’t wearing sundresses ‘like they used to,’” Jennings notes.
“Which feels like a very reactionary response to changing gender dynamics.” Jennings traced the early days of what we now call the sundress in an expansively researched essay called “The sundress discourse, explained.” The garment, she wrote, became a summer staple in the postwar period, popularized by pioneering female sportswear designers such as Claire McCardell and Carolyn Schnurer.
“They’re dresses that were meant to be worn without these fussy undergarments,” she explains, meaning without girdles or even pantyhose. The designer .
