After 1965, the most serious competitor to the ILC suit for later lunar missions was a hard, one-piece suit manufactured by the stratospherically successful (if ultimately disgraced) corporate conglomerate Litton Industries. Even as they failed to meet the standards for lunar use, the streamlined suits were staged by NASA as the future of space travel through the 1970s. Courtesy Nicholas de Monchaux
PopSci recently co-hosted an event called Thrilling Wonder Stories. Architects, designers, journalists, musicians, novelists and, yes, scientists spoke about their work—which everything from UFO mythology to the history of terraforming. Each presenter was also asked to consider the near future, to think about and sometimes even show us what their vision for the future might look like. The event takes its name from a mid-20th century science fiction pulp magazine, and the allusion is apt. Each talk began in the past, with real research and real facts, and used that as a springboard to envision what will happen tomorrow, or next year, or next decade.
Often these visions were fantastic. You can see why PopSci would want to be a part of this, seeing as we’re all about the future, even the far-out version (have you seen our old covers?). So, here is our vision for the next several weeks: videos of some of the talks, photos and summaries of others, and Q&A’s with a few of the speakers. It was a thrilling and wondrous weekend, and we aim to share it.
First up, Nicholas de Monchaux, who is an assistant professor in the University of California, Berkeley’s architecture department. He talked about his book “Fashioning Apollo,” which is about spacesuits and fashion. He explains it best:
One of the things I find most fascinating about the idea of the spacesuit is that space is actually a very complex and subtle idea. On the one hand, there is space as an environment outside of the earthly realm, which is inherently hostile to human occupation—and it was actually John Milton who first coined the term space in that context.
On the other hand, you have the space of the architect—and the space of outer space is actually the opposite of the space of the architect, because it is a space that humans cannot actually encounter without dying, and so must enter exclusively through a dependence on technological mediation.
Whether it’s the early French balloonists bringing capsules of breathable air with them or it’s the Mongolfier brothers trying to burn sheep dung to keep their vital airs alive in the early days of ballooning, up to the present day, space is actually defined as an environment to which we cannot be suited—that is to say, fit. Just like a business suit suits you to have a business meeting with a banker, a spacesuit suits you to enter this environment that is otherwise inhospitable to human occupation.
From that—the idea of suiting—you also get to the idea of fashion. Of course, this notion of the suited astronaut is an iconic and heroic figure, but there is actually some irony in that.
For instance, the word cyborg originated in the Apollo program, in a proposal by a psycho-pharmacologist and a cybernetic mathematician who conceived of this notion that the body itself could be, in their words, reengineered for space. They regarded the prospect of taking an earthly atmosphere with you into space, inside a capsule or a spacesuit, as very cumbersome and not befitting what they called the evolutionary progress of our triumphal entry into the inhospitable realm of outer space. The idea of the cyborg, then, is the apotheosis of certain utopian and dystopian ideas about the body and its transformation by technology, and it has its origins very much in the Apollo program.
But then the actual spacesuit—this 21-layered messy assemblage made by a bra company, using hand-stitched couture techniques—is kind of an anti-hero. It’s much more embarrassing, of course—it’s made by people who make women’s underwear—but, then, it’s also much more urbane. It’s a complex, multilayered assemblage that actually recapitulates the messy logic of our own bodies, rather than present us with the singular ideal of a cyborg or the hard, one-piece, military-industrial suits against which the Playtex suit was always competing.
The spacesuit, in the end, is an object that crystallizes a lot of ideas about who we are and what the nature of the human body may be—but, then, crucially, it’s also an object in which many centuries of ideas about the relationship of our bodies to technology are reflected.
[this comes from a great Q&A with Monchaux from Thrilling Wonder co-founder Geoff Manaugh’s website BLDGBLOG]