“Is it possible to be neighbors and, at the same time, duchesses?” To the question asked of Meghan Markle in a recent interview with Emily Chang on the television program Circuitfollowed by a wild response: “I’m just being myself. I think I was probably different a few years ago, when I couldn’t express myself as much… To be honest, that wasn’t very like me. I haven’t seen glass pantyhose since ’80s movies, when they came in egg size.” The Duchess of Sussex was referring to L’eggs, the hosiery brand launched in 1969 by the T-shirt and underwear manufacturer Hanes. With this sentence she also wanted to imply that she is a product of the present, not like the glass stockings that she had to wear according to an apparently unwritten protocol of the British royal family. “It’s a silly example, but it’s an example of when you can dress how you want, tell the truth and present yourself in public in a natural and authentic way; it’s about being comfortable with yourself. And that, of course, has had different phases in my life,” continued Meghan, dressed in a yellow outfit by Californian brand Jenni Kayne with cashmere jersey and a pleated skirt (which her fervent detractors have already taken care to point out is polyester and that the “look” is made in China). Obviously he wasn’t wearing socks and his sandals were the famous Hermès Oran.
The perception of transparent stockings as a symbol of oppression is not exclusive to Meghan, but her experience speaks well of the ideological, and almost political, tensions that have engulfed this seemingly harmless garment.
The first time Meghan didn’t wear stockings – at least the first time she counted on her not wearing them – was when she announced her engagement to Prince Harry in 2017. The most affected British monarchists then saw a decision that jarred with Queen Elizabeth’s nearly ninety years of wearing them. To the somewhat questionable comments of “biracial, commoner and divorced” that flooded the internet in those days, there was now added the audacity of showing up without socks: Is Meghan Markle leading the anti-stocking movement?he wondered The cutNew York Magazine’s home page covering politics, feminism, business, relationships, mental health and style.
Shortly after, Meghan accepted the stockings. Specifically, those from Heist, a London-based brand that has at least championed greater inclusivity in its concept of skin-mimicking shades with up to seven different shades for different pigmentations. A sharp decision, because not only did it ease British phlegm by using a local brand, but it was also in line with the time when inclusiveness and equality were the main theme.
Apparently, after the wedding, the company realized that the duchess didn’t choose the color of her panties well, so they gave her darker stockings that would be more suitable for her. She returned them due to the brand’s policy of not accepting gifts, but the brand later confirmed that Meghan purchased some.
This exhibition catapulted the fame of this brand – and that of wearing transparent stockings – to new popularity, as had already happened with Kate Middleton. In 2011, WWD had already noted that the Princess of Wales had increased sales of crystal stockings by 85%. A year later the “Kate effect” is confirmed: at Asda they grow by 500%, at Selfridges sales of transparent models grow by 46% after the royal wedding. Brands like Wolford or Falke have also benefited from the phenomenon.
It is evident that an a priori decision as irrelevant as whether or not to wear transparent stockings takes on a special meaning when it is made by a real woman, an ecosystem as conservative as it is influential that ends up reaching the general public. Who better to star in a narrative of idealized femininity than a princess?
Tensions over the choice of glass stockings – a garment rich in history and cultural significance – are not new. At first it was men who wore them. Made of velvet or coloured, they were a symbol of distinction in medieval times, and at the beginning of the 20th century they conquered women’s wardrobes, covering the first glimpses of bare legs.
In 1935, chemist Wallace Carothers discovered nylon, the first truly synthetic fiber. Four years later, the DuPont company launched the world’s first socks with a material “as strong as steel, as thin as a spider’s web.” In May 1940, nylon stockings debuted in Gimbels department store in New York at a price of $1.50. Their combination of transparency, resistance and low cost made them an immediate success: four million pairs were sold in just a few hours.
That novelty not only changed the structure of women’s legs, but also marked the beginning of the democratization of fashion and the era of mass consumption in the textile industry. After the war, those transparent stockings became one of the first objects of desire of the new consumerism.
In 1959, inventor Allen E. Gant Sr. made a definitive breakthrough: he combined socks and underwear into a single garment, the tights. Just in time for the rise of the miniskirt, which made them essential allies of the Sixties. Twiggy or Jean Shrimpton popularized them as a symbol of freedom and modernity, with bright colors, but their real-life application, in a transparent or “embodied” version, had more to do with modesty and values associated with conservative women. Thus, feminists began to question that ideal, and what had represented elegance and decorum for decades began to be seen as an extension of male control over the female body.
In the late 1970s, photographer Deborah Turbeville forced the female gaze on nude stockings, demonstrating that, while difficult, they could also be aesthetic.
In the 1980s, pantyhose were associated with new female power, the office uniform, shoulder pads and working girl Crystal pantyhose have found a new meaning, now covered in an aura of power, thanks to series like Dynasty or movies like Women’s weapons. They were the female equivalent of Wall Street’s red suspenders and soon the most prominent women adopted them with all the genius possible: silk stockings completed the outfit of every woman at the top of the social pyramid, from the American “ladies who lunch” to Diana of Wales in the United Kingdom or Isabel Preysler in our country.
But the reign of glass stockings began to falter with the advent of turn-of-the-century casual fashion. Just like you remember The New York Timessheer stockings went into decline in 1995. Michelle Obama condensed the change in 2008, when she admitted she stopped wearing them “a long time ago.” With this statement – as pragmatic as she herself – she sent a clear message: the personal, even in terms of measures, continues to be political.
In recent years some fashion brands have tried to claim them: Helmut Lang, Awake, Gucci or Anya Hindmarch. Even Saint Laurent, with a 2019 campaign photographed by Jurgen Teller, in which crystal stockings, in this case black and very low density, became an erotic symbol. In the same year the model Mariacarla Boscano stars on the cover of Vogue Korea with flesh-colored stockings. In 2025, stockings continue to be a borderline garment: while in Spain the Marie Claire company, founded in 1907 in Castellón by Francisca Íñigo, has definitively closed, globally it is expected that by the end of 2025 the pantyhose market will reach 22.6 billion dollars (Cognitive Market Research).
The most controversial trend of 2025 is colored versions. Prada or the guests of the autumn fashion shows in New York are proof that fashion is willing to give them a new opportunity and, perhaps, a new meaning. What remains to be seen is whether the glass ones will be able to break out of their traditional role and win over today’s women.
