On a balmy morning in June, Rebecca Miller, a petite 26-year-old actress and Brown University graduate, was perched on a wooden bench in the East Village, just a block from the apartment she shares with her fiancé, a theater director, and two cats. By the looks of her outfit, she was firmly grounded in the 21st century, just another hip lass with loose curls, a scoop-necked top and denim skirt with naughty front slits.
Yes, as we all know, the Victorians held unmarried cohabiting theatre people in the highest social esteem.
An article about neo-Victorians that doesn’t refer to The Diamond Age, the Goth aesthetic, or SteamPunk? Tosh!
This article takes a rather thin concept and stretches it rather unimpressively.
[Update: when I mentioned this article, and Miller’s function as an example, my wife said “150 years ago, she would have been the daughter who humiliated her family and ruined all of her sisters’ chance of respectable marriages.”]