The moon landing hadn't even happened yet when André Courrèges sent models down a Parisian runway in 1964 wearing white plastic boots and silver goggles. It was jarring. People were used to the nipped waists and heavy florals of the 1950s, but suddenly, the clothes looked like they belonged on a lunar colony rather than a cocktail party. 60s space age fashion wasn't just a trend; it was a total rejection of the past. It felt urgent.
We often think of the sixties as hippie central, all tie-dye and bell bottoms. But before the Summer of Love, there was this obsession with the "New Frontier." President Kennedy had promised the moon. Science fiction was everywhere. Designers weren't looking at history books for inspiration anymore; they were looking at NASA schematics and telescopes. Honestly, it was a weird time for textiles. Suddenly, wool and silk felt dusty. Designers wanted materials that felt "now," which meant a lot of PVC, acrylic, and even metal.
The Holy Trinity of Space Design
If you want to understand how 60s space age fashion actually functioned, you have to look at three specific guys: André Courrèges, Pierre Cardin, and Paco Rabanne. They were the architects of the look.
Courrèges was the engineer. He’d worked for Balenciaga for a decade, so he knew how to cut a sleeve, but he wanted to strip everything down. His "Moon Girl" collection featured clinical whites and silver accents. He loved the mini skirt—though he and Mary Quant fought over who actually invented it—and he paired it with flat "go-go" boots. Those boots weren't just for dancing; they were designed to look like a simplified version of an astronaut’s footwear.
Then you had Pierre Cardin. Cardin was obsessed with geometry. He didn't care if a dress was comfortable; he cared if it looked like a circle or a triangle. He created the "Cosmocorps" line, which featured tunics with giant circular cutouts and helmets that looked like they belonged in a low-budget sci-fi flick. He famously said, "The clothes I prefer are those I invent for a life that doesn't exist yet." That sort of sums up the whole movement. It was aspirational, bordering on delusional, but in a fun way.
Paco Rabanne was the radical. He didn't even use fabric half the time. His 1966 collection was titled "12 Unwearable Dresses in Contemporary Materials." He used pliers and wire to link together plastic discs and metal plates. It rattled when the models walked. It was heavy. It was impractical. But it looked like armor for a woman living in the year 2000.
Why the materials changed everything
You can't talk about this era without mentioning DuPont. The chemical industry basically fueled the aesthetic. Vinyl, or PVC, became the go-to for that shiny, high-tech sheen. It was cheap, it was waterproof, and it looked like a spaceship.
But it was also sweaty.
Imagine wearing a full-length plastic coat under studio lights. It was miserable. Yet, the youth didn't care. They wanted to look "mod." This meant boxy shifts, A-line silhouettes, and a complete lack of cleavage. The look was purposefully androgynous. By removing the traditional "sexy" curves of the 50s, designers were signaling a move toward a more egalitarian, tech-focused future where gender roles might be as obsolete as a horse and carriage.
The influence of "Barbarella" and "Star Trek"
Pop culture didn't just reflect 60s space age fashion; it acted as an incubator for it. Take the 1968 film Barbarella. Paco Rabanne actually designed the costumes for Jane Fonda. It was high-camp sci-fi, but the green plastic chainmail and thigh-high boots cemented the "Space Siren" look in the public consciousness.
Meanwhile, on television, Star Trek was doing something different. William Theiss, the show's costume designer, used velour and simple color-coding to denote rank. While it wasn't as "high fashion" as Cardin, it popularized the idea of a "uniform" for the future. People started buying mock-neck sweaters and sleek trousers because they looked like they belonged on the bridge of the Enterprise. It was clean. It was functional. Or at least, it looked functional.
What people get wrong about the Space Age
Most people think this style was a massive hit that everyone wore to the grocery store.
It wasn't.
It was mostly a high-fashion niche. While the average person might have owned a pair of white vinyl boots or a shift dress with a plastic zipper, they weren't walking around in Cardin’s felt "target" dresses. It was too expensive and, frankly, too weird for most of middle America or suburban Britain.
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However, the influence trickled down. The obsession with "Newness" led to the rise of synthetic fibers in everyday wear. Crimplene and Terylene became household names. This shift away from natural fibers changed the textile industry forever. It made fashion faster and more disposable.
The Color Palette of the Moon
If you look at photos from the era, the colors are remarkably consistent.
- Optic White: To represent purity and the sterile environment of a lab.
- Silver and Chrome: To mimic the exterior of a rocket.
- Primary Colors: Bold reds, yellows, and blues, often used as accents against a white background.
- Neon: Toward the end of the decade, fluorescent pinks and greens started creeping in, signaling the psychedelic era that would eventually kill the Space Age vibe.
Why it died (and why it came back)
By 1969, the mood shifted. We actually got to the moon, and honestly? It was just a big gray rock. The fantasy was gone. At the same time, the Vietnam War was escalating, and the "future" started to look a lot scarier than a shiny silver dress. Fashion turned toward the "Back to the Earth" movement—denim, suede, long hair, and natural dyes. The plastic future was rejected in favor of something more "real."
But fashion is a loop. In the late 90s, designers like Alexander McQueen and Thierry Mugler started mining the 60s for inspiration again. They took the hard-edged geometry of Cardin and updated it with 90s technology. Today, we see it in "Cyber-Y2K" trends and the minimalist tech-wear worn in Silicon Valley.
How to spot real Space Age influence today
You don't have to wear a helmet to channel this look. It’s in the details.
- Boxy Silhouettes: Anything that ignores the waistline.
- Metallic Accents: Silver sneakers or chrome-finish handbags.
- Cutouts: Circular "peek-a-boo" windows in tops or dresses.
- Flat Boots: The classic Chelsea or Go-Go boot.
60s space age fashion was a moment of pure optimism. It was a time when we genuinely believed technology would solve every problem, including how we dressed. While we might not be living in the bubble-shaped houses the 60s promised, the visual language of that era—the clean lines, the bold materials, and the sheer guts to look "weird"—still defines what we think the future should look like.
Actionable ways to incorporate the look
- Look for structured fabrics: Avoid anything too flowy. You want materials that hold their shape, like heavy denim, neoprene, or thick wool.
- Stick to a limited palette: Try an all-white outfit with one silver accessory. It’s the easiest way to look "Space Age" without looking like you’re in a costume.
- Invest in a pair of white ankle boots: They are surprisingly versatile and instantly give a "mod" edge to a basic pair of jeans.
- Check vintage shops for "Union Made" labels: If you find 60s-era synthetics, they are often much higher quality than modern fast-fashion polyester and will give you that authentic, stiff silhouette.