In Anora, Clothing Is Power

Anora is a film about dressing for the job. Sean Baker’s latest drama follows a titular street-smart sex worker — who goes by Ani — as she slips in and out of different worlds and teeters on the fringes of a more privileged life. Exploring the promise of the American dream and how clothes can represent the life you want, Anora is, on the surface, an aesthetically pleasing fashion film. But the movie’s ensembles, which are the work of costume designer Jocelyn Pierce, are imbued with layers of labour.

The story starts when Ani (Mikey Madison), who works at a Brooklyn strip club, is assigned a special client: Ivan, the 21-year-old son of a Russian oligarch who is visiting New York on a billionaire’s budget. Next thing you know, she’s doing house calls, becoming his hired girlfriend and (spoiler) marrying him in Vegas. It’s an escapist romp through aspirational worlds — until his powerful parents find out and force them to get an annulment. In the story (which takes place over a week) costume changes are scant but full of significance. And for Ani, they’re a performance of power.

Look no further than the opening scene, which follows Ani on a night shift at a Brooklyn strip club. A beat-heavy song plays and candy-coloured lights fill the space as she finds prospective clients to take to the VIP room. From her ultra-mini school-girl skirts to her zip-up dresses to the tinsel scattered in her hair, she’s presenting a particular kind of fantasy. Beyond her clothes, it comes through in the way she pops her bubble gum, the upward inflection of her voice and her doe-eyed conversational stares. She works hard, and her manufactured magnetism proves it.

This oeuvre is then contrasted by the image of her after her shift. The club’s kaleidoscopic lights are left behind for her cold early-morning commute home. At work, she’s an emotionally impenetrable object of desire, but at the end of the day, she’s cuddled in a hoodie, sleeping on an empty grey bus with her headphones on. In these back-to-back scenes, skillful aesthetic subversion illustrates class struggle.

Costuming contradiction is constant throughout the film, but nowhere else is it more apparent than in her first house call to Ivan’s mansion. Here, she wears a turquoise Hervé Léger bandage dress, its glossy saturation juxtaposing against his airy, antiseptic abode. To Ivan, Ani is new and exciting. In her view, he represents a life of financial freedom. This statement look is the manifestation of her fish-out-of-water status, and the promise of power they offer each other.

 

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To the bratty Ivan, spending (his parents’) money is like breathing — he doesn’t even think about it. He has a private jet, alcohol on tap and hired help who make his bed each morning. To Ani, cash is hard-earned and work is constant. She rooms with her sister in Brighton Beach behind loud train tracks that screech while she tries to sleep. He is settled in an airy manor, rests in red silk sheets and plays video games all day. She’s scrappy and always ready to fight. He cowers at any sign of conflict, abandoning Ani when goons enter the mansion to break up their marriage per his parent’s orders.

In this break-in scene, Ani’s new sartorial stature comes under threat when she loses her ring, which is her badge of upward class mobility. It’s forcefully taken off her finger when the men tie her up, an intrusive act that prompts her to kick and yell and bite. During this struggle, another key clothing item enters the story: a red scarf. The garment, belonging to Ivan’s mom, is used to tie her up. A striking crimson colour, slightly sheer and undeniably expensive-looking, it’s the ultimate signifier of the world she’s entered, and now, it’s being used to gag her. When she’s finally untied and brought along to search for Ivan, the outfit that she changes into is very telling.

Here, she’s dressing for the job of Ivan’s wife — asserting her role as part of the billionaire family. Wearing the floor-length fur he bought her and ultra-high heels, it’s not exactly the ideal ensemble for searching all night through the streets, but it’s her stab at establishing status. Notably, the scarf’s meaning intensifies as the story progresses. When they’re searching for Ivan, Igor — the muscle hired to tie her up, who also comes from a working class background — offers it to her to keep warm. After first pushing it away, she finally acquiesces and wraps it around her neck.

This accessory stays on until the very end when she’s forced into an annulment in front of Ivan’s snobbish parents. As she’s berated for her profession and disregarded by Ivan, the scarf — haphazardly thrown on, lacking in styling intentionality — stands out. It’s physically comforting to her, but we get the sense that it doesn’t quite fit.

tag yourself. i’m anora pic.twitter.com/fvn6HUqUrt

— tia (@cineminx) November 3, 2024

When the annulment is finalized, she takes off the fur coat and throws the scarf at its rightful owner, Ivan’s mom. At this point, all the emblems of her new life are removed. Gone is the performance — the flirty fantasy at the club and the illusion of power as Ivan’s wife. Before returning to her old life, she gets one more item as a consolation prize: the ring, which Igor secretly saved for her. But this token is just a reminder of how empty she feels.

Instead of a bumping beat in an effervescent club, the film’s final sounds come from Igor’s worn-down car as he drops Ani off at home. The screen goes black and we’re left only to listen to the windshield wipers, streaking lazily back and forth while rain falls outside. All that’s left for Ani — now wearing a hoodie instead of designer garb — is more work. More cold commutes home, interrupted nights of sleep and forced friendliness with prospective male clients.

Is she better off because of the Cinderella experience? That’s left unanswered. But one thing’s for sure: She’ll always know the power of making an outfit into a pitch.