When Mia Goth steps into the dimly lit basement of Victor Frankenstein’s estate in Guillermo del Toro’s new adaptation of Frankenstein, she’s not just wearing a nightgown—she’s wearing a memory. The Kate Hawley-designed teal, sheer gown, ruched like liquid moonlight, isn’t merely fashion. It’s the moment Elizabeth Lavenza sheds societal armor and meets The Creature (played by Jacob Elordi) not as a lady or a monster, but as two broken souls finally seen. The scene, shot in near silence, hinges on texture, light, and vulnerability—and it all started with one directive from Guillermo del Toro: "Make it simple."
The Simplicity That Shocked
Hawley, who previously crafted gothic opulence for Crimson Peak Toronto and the metallic grandeur of Pacific Rim Vancouver, nearly panicked. "Having done nine or so night dresses for Guillermo," she told Marie Claire, "it was a moment of like, Oh, my God, what do I do?" Del Toro’s answer wasn’t about embellishment—it was about stripping away. The gown needed to feel like skin. Like breath. Like something that had been worn through sleep, tears, and longing. The result? A garment so sheer it reveals the curve of Goth’s collarbone, the shadow beneath her ribs, the pulse in her neck. No lace. No embroidery. Just fabric that glows under candlelight.Insects, Memory, and the Language of Fabric
But the nightgown was only the beginning. Hawley’s entire costume design for Elizabeth Lavenza operates like a visual poem. She studied butterfly wings, beetle carapaces, and cellular structures to create patterns that echo beneath the surface of every dress. The emerald gown Goth wears in the garden? Inspired by the iridescent scales of a morpho butterfly—delicate, fleeting, alive. The fabric shimmers as she moves, a living thing caught between life and death. And then there’s the jewelry: a Tiffany & Co. necklace from the early 1900s, commissioned for the film, featuring blue glass beetles encased in gold. Christopher Young, Vice President of Tiffany Patrimony, called it "resurrected art," chosen because "it’s from the age of Mary Shelley." The piece doesn’t just accessorize—it whispers.
The Bandage Dress: A Mirror in Silk
The most haunting piece comes at the end: Elizabeth’s final white dress. Satin ribbons wrap her arms like surgical bandages—deliberate, cruel, beautiful. Goth confirmed to Refinery29 Australia that the design was meant to echo The Creature’s own stitched skin. "It was there to mimic his bandages," she said. "They’re both born from violence. Both abandoned. Both made to be seen as monsters." The dress isn’t just white—it’s layered, translucent, catching light like a ghost. Del Toro wanted Elizabeth to feel "ethereal," Hawley explained. "Iridescence. Ephemeral. Like she’s dissolving into the air." And in a way, she is.Veils, Funeral Gowns, and the Weight of Memory
This isn’t just about Elizabeth. It’s about the entire film’s visual language. Victor’s mother is always swathed in sheer fabric. Veils appear in wedding scenes, funeral processions, even in the shadows of the laboratory. Hawley described these fabrics as "memories made visible." When The Creature drapes himself in a dead man’s coat, he’s not stealing clothes—he’s stealing identity. "He’s wearing the memory of another man’s skin," Hawley said. The same applies to Elizabeth. Her gowns aren’t just period-appropriate—they’re emotional artifacts. Each thread holds a whisper of loss.
Why This Matters Beyond the Screen
In an era where superhero costumes dominate pop culture, Hawley’s work stands out because it refuses spectacle. There’s no armor here. No capes. Just fabric that trembles. And that’s the point. Mia Goth has been called "the cinematic muse" by MEGA Asia—not because she’s beautiful, but because she embodies transformation. Her performance, amplified by Hawley’s designs, turns clothing into psychology. The teal nightgown isn’t a costume choice—it’s a confession. The beetle necklace isn’t jewelry—it’s a relic. The bandage dress isn’t fashion—it’s a mirror. This isn’t just a film about a scientist and his creation. It’s about how we dress our pain. How we hide behind lace, silk, and silence. And how, sometimes, the only thing that can truly connect us is the thing we’re most afraid to show.Frequently Asked Questions
Why did Kate Hawley choose insect motifs for Elizabeth’s costumes?
Hawley studied butterfly wings and beetle anatomy to visually link Elizabeth to The Creature’s origin as something artificially assembled. Insects symbolize metamorphosis—both characters are transformed by trauma, and their clothing reflects that rebirth. The patterns aren’t decorative; they’re psychological, echoing how both are seen as unnatural by society.
How did Tiffany & Co. contribute to the film’s authenticity?
Tiffany & Co. provided a rare early 1900s necklace featuring blue glass beetle motifs in gold, sourced from their historical archives. The piece was chosen because it aligns with the era of Mary Shelley’s novel and reflects the period’s fascination with natural forms in jewelry. Christopher Young of Tiffany stated the design blurs the line between art and adornment, reinforcing the film’s theme of beauty emerging from darkness.
What’s the significance of the sheer fabrics throughout the film?
Sheer fabrics—seen on Elizabeth, Victor’s mother, and in funeral scenes—represent vulnerability and the fragility of identity. They’re not about seduction; they’re about exposure. Del Toro and Hawley used transparency to show how characters are stripped of social masks, revealing their inner pain. The nightgown scene works because it’s the first time neither character is hiding.
Why was Mia Goth’s final dress designed to look like bandages?
The satin ribbons mimicking surgical bandages create a direct visual parallel between Elizabeth and The Creature. Both were created through unnatural means—she through societal pressure and emotional neglect, he through scientific violation. The dress isn’t just symbolic—it’s a declaration of kinship. Goth confirmed it was intentional, making their connection undeniable even without dialogue.
How does this adaptation differ from previous versions of Frankenstein in terms of costume?
Unlike earlier films that used horror tropes—tattered clothes, bolts, lab coats—this version uses elegance as horror. The horror isn’t in the stitches; it’s in the silence between them. Hawley’s designs reject clichés, instead using delicate fabrics and period-accurate details to make the tragedy feel intimate. The monster isn’t grotesque because he’s stitched—he’s grotesque because no one sees him as human.
What role does light play in the costume design?
Light is a character in itself. Hawley chose fabrics that catch and scatter light differently—sheer silk for the nightgown, iridescent green for the butterfly dress, layered white satin for the finale. Del Toro wanted Elizabeth to glow, not because she’s angelic, but because she’s ephemeral. The way the gown shimmers under candlelight mirrors how fleeting human connection is in the film. Even beauty is temporary here.
Arlen Fitzpatrick
My name is Arlen Fitzpatrick, and I am a sports enthusiast with a passion for soccer. I have spent years studying the intricacies of the game, both as a player and a coach. My expertise in sports has allowed me to analyze matches and predict outcomes with great accuracy. As a writer, I enjoy sharing my knowledge and love for soccer with others, providing insights and engaging stories about the beautiful game. My ultimate goal is to inspire and educate soccer fans, helping them to deepen their understanding and appreciation for the sport.
view all postsWrite a comment