Across the Fence: Dirndl and Lederhosen

Oh, the joys for so many tourists in Germany of experiencing the Munich Oktoberfest! Or the Stuttgarter Volksfest, its hardly less popular cousin … And to see more and more visitors dress up in dirndl and lederhosen (the English pronunciation of either is hardly any different from the German one), THE typical traditional German clothing. Maybe to buy oneself such a costume in one of the exquisite stores you find in either city and to get the vibe of what it means to fit in. Only … dirndl and lederhosen are NOT a national tradition in Germany. They are a regional one. And as many American G.I.s returned from Bavaria after WW II, they brought home their Bavarian experience as that of Germany.

What is a real German tradition, though a dying one, is the wearing of a regional tracht (pronounce truh-t,), which derives from the German verb “tragen” (pronunce ‘tru-gan, meaning to wear). The historical background is that aristocracy didn’t want commoners to seem they were of the same noble background as they, even if some commoners might have been much wealthier. Therefore, there were dress regulations for specific trades, professions, and positions, for work, and for festivities until the 19th century.

As of the 19th century, probably along with the commoners’ growing awareness of their value as an economical class and along with romanticism as a celebration of individual emotions and experiences, also with growing nationalism, the wish for identification through clothing brought along the regional tracht. The more cloth and embellishments such a regional tracht showed off, the richer its wearer.

Indeed, aprons were featured in many female attires. Depending on the region, their strings still signal whether a woman is married or single, depending on which front side they are tied. So does the Black Forest Bollenhut of one specific valley; red balls on the head mean that a woman is single, black signals that they are married. Some traditional costumes feature elaborately embroidered ribbons tied to the apron – they are actually an enticement for males to flirt with the wearer! That’s where the German verb “anbandeln” (pronounce un-bundln, meaning to take up a ribbon) comes from.

A German tracht also expressed the period a grieving person was undergoing during the grieving year. There always have been fashionable and unfashionable items. And by most traditional regional garb the wearer can be even identified as to what village they come from.

The Third Reich celebrated the tracht as a symbol of cultural identity. The 1950’s sentimental movies with regional backgrounds, so-called Heimatfilme (pronounce ‘hi-mutt-filma, meaning movies about the homeland) were created to bring back a feeling of an intact world in a Germany that lay in ruins – with lots of folk music, dancing, and trachten (that’s the plural of Tracht). In the 1960s, with feminism and hippiedom on the rise, the concept of clothing changed. A lot. Until, for whatever reason, in the early 2000s dirndl and lederhosen celebrated a comeback – if only during festive occasions.

My grandmother gifted me with a home-made dirndl when I was five. Later, when I was with a musical group that traveled and performed all over Germany as well as internationally, I had a working tracht and a festive tracht for stage appearances. I loved the dress – but it wasn’t me. My roots were from an entirely different region in Germany. So, that’s why when you ask me whether I as a woman with German roots own a dirndl or ever wear one, you will find me answering with a clear no. It’s simply not in my genes.