Bluestocking Oxford

By Belle R

The romance novelist Daphne du Maurier (1907-1989) is not typically associated with the world of fashion, nor is she considered a style icon of her era. It is not that she had no interest in clothes, but rather that her legacy is not defined by her appearance nor is she particularly known for following conventional trends, or being fashionable in the traditional sense, during her lifetime. However, clothing played a surprisingly significant role in both her personal life, and in the experiences of her fictional characters, particularly when given deeper consideration. Whether consciously or not, fashion becomes a subtle but powerful lens through which du Maurier explores identity, gender, and transformation—in her own life and in her novels, especially in Rebecca (1938) and the gothic My Cousin Rachel (1951). 

Du Maurier was born in 1907, growing up during a time when a woman’s physical appearance, and the way she presented herself, were considered crucial to her success in both social and professional spheres. Societal expectations around femininity were rigid throughout du Maurier’s life, as such a woman’s style and grooming often determined her social standing, opportunities, and the way she was perceived within the social sphere in which she was situated – and du Maurier understood this deeply. 

The way Daphne du Maurier dressed and the way she presented herself through her appearance were shaped not only in her adult life and by the socio-political context of the world around her, but also her childhood. Du Maurier grew up in a theatrical family. Her father was actor-manager Gerald du Maurier, who was deeply involved in the world of theatre – a space in which clothing and appearance are integral to defining characters’ identities. There is an argument, therefore, that this environment may have significantly influenced du Maurier’s understanding of clothes as more than just fabric—they became costumes, signifiers of identity, and tools for navigating both the personal and public spheres. Thus, her awareness of fashion as a means of transformation and self-expression effected how she presented herself and came, as we will see, to play an equally symbolic role in the construction of identity in her published works. 

Interestingly, she often expressed a desire to have been born a boy and resisted traditional femininity from a young age. She avoided dresses, often dressed scruffily, and preferred to wear shorts, trousers, and ties as a child. She decided to give this masculine side of herself a name, and imagined herself as her male alter ego, Eric Avon— the captain of the cricket team. There are various reasons as to why this may have come about. Daphne du Maurier’s childhood was marked by a complex family dynamic that shaped her sense of identity and her understanding of herself. Her father, Gerald, was a powerful figure, ensuring that the household revolved around him and Daphne aimed to hold her own in this environment, meaning that her relationship with her mother, Muriel, was distant. Daphne and her sisters vied for the attention of their father and the power that acceptance from a male presence would give them as women, meaning all three of the du Maurier daughters invented male personas for themselves, perhaps as a way of exploring their own identities outside the rigid expectations of femininity.

This alternative reality allowed Daphne to explore parts of herself that felt beyond the constraints of her gender. A male persona allowed her to express the qualities of power and independence that she perhaps felt were unavailable to her as a woman, both in spirit and in her clothing. Alongside this, du Maurier simply enjoyed the freedom of being loosely dressed, almost always wearing trousers. As Margaret Foster explains in her biography of du Maurier, she would come to describe herself as a “half-breed,” a female on the outside but with a boy’s soul. Her view of femininity was not a simple, outright rejection of it, but possibly an exploration of fluidity in gender roles. Despite her resistance to the constrictions of culturally defined femininity and desire to wear male clothing, she would still apply makeup when required by social norms. Ultimately, she understood the significance of fashion during the early twentieth century – what it represented, how it was gendered, and how it defined an individual’s experience in society, and defined them personally. This fascination with identity and appearance finds deep expression in her fiction. 

In her most famous novel, Rebecca, clothing is not simply decorative – it becomes a powerful symbol of identity, memory, and transformation. Rebecca tells the story from the point of view of an unnamed protagonist, instantly stripping her of a clear sense of self and identity. She marries the mysterious Maxim de Winter and moves to his grand estate, Manderley, only to be haunted by the lingering presence of his glamorous, deceased first wife, Rebecca. Rebecca, the first Mrs. de Winter, is described as stylish, poised, and effortlessly elegant, often shown in luxurious gowns or jewels, directly contrasting with the meek, lacklustre descriptions of the unnamed protagonist.

 Rebecca is described as having a “beauty that endured, and a smile that was not forgotten,” and her presence lingers in the very fabric of Manderley, especially in her wardrobe. The wardrobe and its contents are rigidly preserved by the head housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, who remains obsessed with the ghost of the former Mrs. de Winter.  “Look, this is her dressing gown. She was much taller than you, you can see by the length,” states Mrs. Danvers, highlighting Rebecca’s fashionable beauty. She forces the protagonist to “Put it up against you,” instantly making her feel inferior to the deceased Mrs. de Winter. “It comes down to your ankles,” Mrs. Danvers explains. “She had a beautiful figure. These are her slippers. She had little feet for her height. Put your hands inside the slippers. They are quite small and narrow, aren’t they?” Through this display, she ensures that the protagonist feels second-rate compared to Rebecca in both beauty and femininity, as conveyed through her fashion.

As we see, in contrast, the new Mrs. de Winter is initially defined by her awkwardness and lack of style. She is timid, self-effacing, and painfully aware of her inadequacies as is the rest of the household. Her bitten nails, lank hair, and frumpy clothes mark her as an outsider in Manderley’s polished world. Yet, as the story unfolds, she begins to adopt a more polished appearance, reflecting her growing confidence and maturity. She starts to resemble the late Mrs. de Winter, fulfilling both her own and others’ expectations of what a lady of the house should look like. “It’s gone forever, that funny, young, lost look that I loved” confesses Maxim, highlighting the fact that her endearing youthfulness is becoming replaced by her desire to embody the late Mrs De Winter, both in looks and in spirit. In doing so, she conforms more closely to the gender roles and fashion norms of the time – an awareness of which we know du Maurier herself was keenly attuned to.

A pivotal moment that underscores the narrator’s sense of otherness—and the ever-present shadow of Rebecca-comes at the de Winter costume ball. There, at Mrs. Danvers’ suggestion, the narrator wears a gown unknowingly identical to one Rebecca had worn years before. This choice deeply unsettles Maxim, who turns “ashen white” on viewing her, showing how fashion takes on both physical and emotional significance, the how debacle described as a “wretched tribute to convention” as the protagonist donning a gown that she is told will align her more closely with the house’s dress code, she is subtly instructed that it will blend in more seamlessly with her surroundings. Her fashion choices ultimately mirror her attempted internal transformation—from a shy, inexperienced girl to a more assertive, self-possessed woman – and the social expectations tied her new status, yet she seems to fail in this at every turn, with the ball scene being a key moment in her attempted transformation.

One particularly telling moment is the narrator’s wistful fantasy: “I wish I were a woman of about thirty-six dressed in black satin with a string of pearls.” This yearning encapsulates her desire not just to grow up, but to embody the sophistication and mystery she associates with Rebecca. It’s not simply envy (though that’s important, too) it’s a struggle with identity, with what it means to be a woman, and how that performance is shaped by what one wears.

In fact, so iconic and impactful were Rebecca’s gowns and sophisticated style, that she inspired a real-life line of fashion. As reported in a 1940 Washington Post article titled “Ghostly Heroine of ‘Rebecca’ Inspires New Lavish Frocks,” these exclusive “Rebecca gowns,” sold only in select boutiques, were so rich and lavish in treatment that only one exclusive shop in each city had the privilege of featuring them. The collection, which included negligees, chiffon, suits and gowns with lace details, was created in shades of mauve and orchid—colours described as melancholy, remote, and mystic, evoking the spirit of the fictional Rebecca. This fabulous tidbit in the history of fashion speaks to the powerful influence of du Maurier’s use of clothing to convey presence, identity, and social power. It equally points to how American women were drawn to Rebecca, who was becoming a cultural template for femininity.

Clothing is equally important in du Maurier’s My Cousin Rachel, where mourning attire plays a symbolic role. The novel tells the story of young Philip, who, when his guardian dies under suspicious circumstances, becomes entangled with the enigmatic Rachel, the widow and possible murderer. As his obsession grows, he is torn between love and suspicion regarding her intentions. Rachel is described as “shawled and secret,” with her clothing reinforcing both her emotional distance and the mystery and fear that surround her. Here again, fashion is not mere decoration, but a device that signals deeper psychological and social undercurrents, shaping how others perceive Rachel. Her physical being is defined by her attire, particularly her association with deep black mourning and veiled widowhood, underlining her mysterious character and secretive past. Rachel is perceived by many as being a seductive, manipulative woman, yet this becomes confused in the mind of Philip due to her modest and dignified clothing in the form of all-black mourning attire. This allows Rachel to slowly manipulate Philip’s perception of her, and therefore control the narrative autonomously. Thus, fashion in My Cousin Rachel is not only symbolic of her emotional distance and mystery, but also of the complex power dynamics at play between Philip and his cousin.

In both her life and literature, Daphne du Maurier used clothing as a quiet but powerful way to explore the complexities of identity, gender, and self-expression. Her characters often exist in a state of flux, caught between who they are, who they are expected to be, and who they long to become. The clothes they wear tells us everything we need to know about how du Maurier understood fashion as a fundamental vehicle for constructing identity.
 

References

Counter, R. (2020, October 19). Who really inspired Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca? Vanity Fair.

Du Maurier, D. (2013). Myself when young. Little, Brown.

Du Maurier, D. (2013). The Rebecca notebook and other memories. Little, Brown.

Du Maurier, D.  (1938) Rebecca. Virago Press.

Du Maurier, D. (1951). My Cousin Rachel. Virago Press.

Du Maurier, D., & Forster, M. (2012). Daphne du Maurier. Random House.

Ghostly Heroine of ‘Rebecca’ Inspires New Lavish Frocks By Marshall Adams The Post Fashion Editor. The Washington Post (1923-1954); Jan 27, 1940; ProQuest Historical Newspapers: The Washington Post, pg. 11

Laing, O. (2018, February 23). Sex, jealousy and gender: Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca 80 years on. The Guardian.

Maitland, H. (2020, October 20). The cast of Rebecca on bringing Daphne du Maurier’s novel alive through fashion. British Vogue.