389 NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE “My Compliments to your Dressmaker”: The Past and Future of Wearable Tech “Do you think you can gather more information with your eyes than I can with my sensors?” —Dr. Miranda Jones, “Is There in Truth No Beauty?” Star Trek 60 Although Diana Muldaur gives a commanding performance as Dr. Miranda Jones, the telepathic ambassador to the dread Medusan emissary in the fifth episode of the third season of the original Star Trek, she is not the star of the show. The real luminary of the 60th episode is not human at all, nor Romulan or Vulcan, for that matter. It is the dress that Dr. Jones wears for the duration: a shimmering, lightly woven, jewel-studded confection (see fig. 1 and 2, below). Not even the terrible lighting of the starship Enterprise can dull its effervescence, and not even Captain Kirk’s unwanted amorous advances can diminish its decidedly feminine power. The dress has presence, has agency (more on which in a moment), so it is no surprise that since its debut in the popular imagination in 1968, the garment has also starred in a variety of museum exhibitions devoted to Star Trek fandom, costuming history, and textile appreciation, in venues as storied as the Smithsonian Institute’s National Air and Space Museum (Mills). Indeed, Dr. Miranda Jones’s bedazzling dress exemplifies how science fiction both integrates and expands upon the fashion of its time. In the context of the episode’s original release (October 1968), it is interesting to compare the cover model of the 1 November 1968 issue of Vogue, Françoise Rubartelli, who is bedecked in jewels from the bustline up (fig. 3, below). The description of her Pierre Cardin ensemble could be used to describe Miranda Jones’s gown: “embroidered in a rainbow of dazzle from neck to waist—jewel-bright pailletes, silvery sequins, and bits of mirror ... brilliance carried up to the chin” (“Embroidered” 3). So also could the description of serpentine jewels that snake up the forearm of Veruschka on the cover of the 15 November issue (fig. 4, below): “dazzled here by the accessory of the hour” (“Dazzled” 3) or the silver-toned costume that Lauren Hutton wears on the cover of the December issue that same year (fig. 5, 390 SCIENCE FICTION STUDIES, VOLUME 48 (2021) below): “a feast of dazzle for the Christmas eye” (“Feast” 3). Correlation is not causation, of course; and it is in any case less important to identify which of these costumes precedes the others than to observe that all seem to reach out, like the sensitive, tentacled, and bedazzled feelers of an alien being, to an as-yet undefined future. We see the same anticipatory impulse in a variety of popular fashion lines today: the music videos that accompany Lady Gaga’s Chromatica (2020), for example, are as lushly colored and enticing as any M-class planet Captain Kirk and crew might have measured with their tricorders and also depict enough exquisitely tailored, form-fitting costumes to make Barbarella blush—or, given Barbarella’s breath-heavy victory over the sexual excesses of the “Excessive Machine,” perhaps Duran Duran would be the one blushing. (Fun fact: “Barbarella” is the name of a shade of lipstick by Nars Cosmetics.) Speaking of that Jane Fonda film released in October 1968, a recent story in Town and Country—“How 1970s Comic Books and Barbarella Inspired Van Cleef & Arpels’ New High Jewelry Collection”—features a diamond- and sapphire-studded lapis lazuli necklace in the shape of a diadem that one can easily imagine encircling Barbarella’s neck (Volandes). A recent line of jewelry from Chanel—“Constellation Astrale”—similarly riffs upon the celestial imagery so common in science fiction: with its sparkling gold stars, the necklace might adorn the décolletage of Wonder Woman herself. All these sumptuous objects share the sparkle of that Star Trek dress. What remains fascinating about Miranda Jones’s, however, is not the graceful symmetry of its weblike structure or the lavish appearance of its many sparkling nodes. This futuristic frock continues to delight because it is not, in the end, merely beautiful or decorative. No fashionable object is...