To Stand or Not to Stand, that is the Question

Lexie Patterson

Should we rise up and give it up for the standing ovation or is it quite frankly time to sit back down?

 Jonathan Anderson’s standing ovation: A triumph. (Photo: Julien De Rosa/AFP via Getty Images) 

I have a fraught relationship with the standing ovation. As someone who will always just rise along with everyone else even if I have absolutely detested the show, I have begun to question this embarrassingly near-uncontrollable social programming. Why do I leap to my feet as if on instinct? And what, if anything, does it really mean?

The thought has been lingering in my mind ever since watching the S26 Jonathan Anderson Dior show, his first real declaration as the house’s newly appointed director. When the final model vanished backstage, the familiar ritual unfolded: the designer shuffled down the runway, T-shirt and jeans, applause. But this time the audience did not just clap, they rose, a full standing ovation. Previous designers who have been granted similar acclaim include the iconic Alexander McQueen, Iris van Herpen, and Christian Siriano. It’s rare. Anderson was tearful, and the triumph of the show was undeniable.

And now, ever since, when a show ends without an ovation, I cannot help but feel a creeping sense of disappointment, as if its absence signals a lapse in awe. However, whilst in fashion it remains a barometer of success; in theatre, its overuse means that it has lost all meaning. So, will the fashion show’s ovations inevitably go the same way? 

I’m not alone. Recently the Guardian has fretted, ‘Why are standing ovations suddenly obligatory?’ The New Yorker has felt the need to write “In Defence of the Standing Ovation”; and The New York Times has demanded: ‘Everyone Else is Giving a Standing Ovation. Do I Have To?’ It is, undeniably, a source of sweeping cultural and social anxiety presenting audiences with the dilemma of choosing between genuine expressions of artistic appreciation and conforming to social diktat. 

The standing ovation has ancient roots. In Rome, triumphs and public spectacles in the theatrum often ended with crowds rising to honour a victor. The Latin ovatio meant praise and triumph; to stand was to signal exceptional acclaim. By the time we reach Elizabethan theatre, the Globe and its ilk, audiences expressed approval through shouting, cheering and throwing flowers. Lively, chaotic, demonstrative, but not yet a formalised recognition. By the Victorian era, however, rising at the end of the performance had begun to acquire a recognisably modern meaning. A standing ovation became a special gesture reserved for star performers of opera and theatre, a mark of rare distinction rather than routine habit. After the Second World War, the practice grew more frequent. As theatre etiquette became increasingly formal, standing offered one of the few ways audiences could show heightened enthusiasm without breaking decorum. 

And now? In the 21st century, the exceptional has become routine. Audiences leap to their feet almost automatically. The standing ovation, once earned, has become expected. But are we applauding for talent, or simply avoiding the embarrassment of being the lone-seated spectator, the Debbie Downer in the room? Once, standing was par excellence. Now, it feels like an act of mean-spirited condemnation to remain seated.  

Back in 2012, the theatre critic Ben Brantley, for the New York Times, championed ‘the sitting ovation’, dismissing the standing one as little more than a reflexive ritual: ‘Don’t Get Up. Really’. He suggested that rising ticket prices, particularly for West End musicals, might play a part. After all, when you’re paying through the nose for a seat, perhaps the instinct to leap to your feet is as much about justifying your expense as it is about celebrating the performance. Audiences are quite literally unified by what they’ve spent, each shared glance a silent acknowledgment: yes, we splurged on these tickets, and yes, it was totally worth it. Utterly fabulous!

In a culture constantly urging us to judge: to like or not, to follow or not, to repost or not, we carry this reflex from screens to seats. Validation comes in numbers, and we are trained to react instantly, to judge immediately. But what if the standing applause became discerning again? Are we made of stern enough stuff anymore to inflict upon the creative silent judgement and to withheld recognition?

While theatre audiences let loose by jumping, applauding, sometimes even shouting or singing along at the end of a show, the fashion world moves with a quiet, controlled coolness, maintaining an appearance of taste and authority. Applause is muted and measured, so, when the fashion audience finally does rise, it feels genuinely extraordinary, but it also casts a shadow over all the shows that passed without such recognition. In those silent moments, do we then judge them by our own response, or by the absence of the crowd’s approval? Perhaps fashion’s restraint seems a touch snobbish, but theatre itself once demanded similarly rigid decorum, back in its past more formal, restrained era. Should the fashion crowd finally rise, or should the theatre-goers sit back down?  

Michael Schulman, defending the standing ovation, confesses in the New Yorker that he once sat through a play so dire that all he wanted was ‘an ejector button’. Yet, he admits, somewhat shamefully, ‘Did I stand? Probably’. In the social labyrinth of awkward do’s and don’ts, possibly the safest social move really is just to fall into line. 

It’s an ingrained social cue we can’t turn off, but maybe we don’t want to. For too long, theatre barred people from its doors, enforcing its classist notions of rights and wrongs. Now, the corsetry has been loosened, and audiences can celebrate the greatness of theatre in a world where their enthusiasm and energy find an outlet. And for fashion, maybe it is time to rise to the occasion, despite our private judgements. Whether you’re clapping out of relief that the show is finally over, or glad you haven’t been ripped off, perhaps there’s no harm in leaping to your feet along with everyone else and, for a brief time at the close of the show, becoming part of the performance yourself. Encore!