Pockets

Days after proposing this project as a dissertation I tried to get out of it, cognizant of the charge that pockets are too small to carry anything of real significance. I spent the time imagining, with some accuracy as it turns out, the raised eyebrows that were to follow. You mean, you are writing about pockets, like this one in my pants? Huh. Susan Mizruchi at Boston University not only encouraged me to continue but rolled her eyes demonstratively when she heard my alternative suggestions—a rare bit of reverse psychology during a mentorship that was unfailingly supportive.

In returning to pockets years later, I encountered many other cheerleaders whose interest got the ball rolling. Podcasters Piers Gelly and Avery Trufelman asked insightful questions; I am inspired by their spirited curiosity and storytelling prowess. My agent, Susan Ginsburg, saw potential for a book. She offered always wise counsel and, with Catherine Bradshaw, taught me the ropes. I am grateful to Amy Gash at Algonquin Books for her confidence in this project and for her keen advice in shaping its arc. I truly enjoyed our conversations, even when we had to grapple with real conundrums. I thank the whole team at Algonquin for stewarding this book through production and for their care in making it beautiful.

Much of the writing occurred during that first isolating pandemic year, when time felt amorphous and the being alone-with-people camaraderie of cafes and libraries was not an option. The experience was made much less lonely, however, with the help of an unexpected writing partner, my father Robert Carlson, who gallantly took on an unfamiliar field—and decidedly unlawyerly writing style—with assurance. He is a canny, sometimes ruthless editor and although he always hedged his comments as mere suggestion, I knew when I received some version of the “we need to talk” text that something I had attempted had really missed the mark. He is practically allergic to jargon, and if any remains, it is my fault alone. Thanks, Dad. That was such fun.

Other readers include my sisters: Julia S. Carlson, attuned to the nuance of words, slowed me down and made me better, as she has, it is fair to say, since the age of five. Janet Carlson, alert to rhythm, demonstrated the importance of a well-placed pivot. Colleague Jen Liese helpfully commented on an early book pitch. Pascale Rihouet read the first two chapters and offered great ideas, insisting, for example, that there must be a print depicting the first assassination by handgun. Gabriel Cervantes pinch-hit at a late stage, after we geekily marveled at the story of a pickpocket who lacks his own pockets in Defoe’s Colonel Jack. He provided astute conceptual perspective.

Research was supported by generous grants and fellowships from the American Antiquarian Society; the Costume Society of America; the Humanities Foundation at Boston University; the Metropolitan Museum of Art; and the Winterthur Museum, Garden & Library. Several institutions allowed me to rifle, with gloved hands, the pockets of the garments in their care, including the Costume Institute, Historic Deerfield, the Museum at FIT, the RISD Museum, Peabody Essex Museum, and Historic Northampton. A special thank you to Dana Signe K. Munroe at the Rhode Island Historical Society for her reflections on Joseph Noyes’s waistcoat. Research assistants Kyra Gabrielle Buenviaje and Sophia Ellis indefatigably chased down leads in the databases. Kyra Gabrielle Buenviaje in addition shared perceptive fashion insights. Marc Calhoun and Emily Coxe handily resolved a number of research puzzles. Bethany Johns and Doug Scott generously schooled me in questions of graphic design. Kristie Peterson helped decode the labyrinth world of image licensing and tenaciously tracked down some mysteries.

Friends, family, and colleagues pitched in with pocket references, and many more good-naturedly put up with just one more pocket story I tried out on them. Charlotte Biltekoff discovered a 1907 feminist polemic; Matthew Bird identified (and located patents for) all the objects a boy might hold in his pocket in 1937; Nancy Ekholm Burkert recounted her observations drawing Emily Dickinson’s pocket; Stuart Burrows alerted me to Molloy’s pocket accounting; Alison Carlson made a valiant pitch for Ötzi’s bag; Anna Carlson forwarded a suffragist pocket; Julia Carlson noticed Sterne’s pocket pantomime; John Dunnigan observed that furniture, too, made space for pocket caches; Tim Fulford sent Robert Southey’s endearing reflections on his son’s coming of age via pocketed trousers; Evelyn Fischer and Hannah Garrison kept it coming with memes and social media artifacts; Henry Hawk suggested a contemporary men’s wear bag that perfectly echoed one depicted in a sixteenth-century portrait; Jessica Sewell introduced me to the resourceful Katy kangaroo; and Katherine Stebbins pointed out Jefferson’s reliance on pocket-size tools. Students in RISD’s Apparel Department have shared their inventive pocketing over the years, teaching me about all the thought that goes into including them.

For giving me a sense that objects, too, have stories to tell, I thank my mother, Nancy Whittaker Carlson. Whether taking me to view the latest costume exhibit or to peruse what was on offer at Bob Knopper’s Dignified Junk and Bottle Shop, she pointed out nuances in material and form, turning those visits into adventures. (I still depend on your discerning eye, Mom!) Big hugs to Kieran and Eliza for listening to all those digressive pocket highlights and for the enthusiasm with which they greeted every discovery. And I thank Charlie for everything—you know, from the bottom of my pockets.