When the first stills from the 2024 Nosferatu remake were released, I was immediately captivated. The images hinted at some exquisitely rendered 1830s-inspired costumes — with their distinctive silhouettes and rich textures, they promised a feast for any lover of Gothic fashion history. Judging by the promotional photography alone, the costume department had clearly paid close attention to period detail; at least at first glance.
In this article, we’ll dive into a close Nosferatu costume analysis — specifically, Ellen Hutter’s (portrayed by Lily-Rose Depp) costumes — celebrating the moments of brilliance while also exploring a few choices that continue to puzzle me. But beyond the film itself, Nosferatu taps into something larger: a growing resurgence of modern Gothic media, where the aesthetics of the uncanny, the melancholic, and the dark take centre stage.
As we navigate another period of economic instability, it’s no coincidence that we find ourselves returning to the Gothic. Historically, there’s been a pattern of Goth and recession going hand in hand; during the late 1970s and early 1980s, or c. between 2007 and 2010. From the brooding elegance of the Byronic hero trope to the enduring appeal of Victorian Gothic influence, today’s cultural climate is ripe for a revival. And where better to explore that than through the haunting world of Nosferatu?
A Brief History of the Gothic
Gothic literature emerged in the late 18th century as a response to the Enlightenment’s emphasis on reason and order. Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764) is widely credited as the first Gothic novel, introducing a rich visual vocabulary of crumbling (haunted) castles and supernatural intrusions. Writers like Ann Radcliffe (The Mysteries of Udolpho, 1794) and Mary Shelley (Frankenstein, 1818) followed, shaping a genre that foregrounded the emotional, the irrational, and the sublime. At the centre of these stories are the limits of human reason and the enticing pull of the unknown, drawing heavily from the Romantic movement, with early Gothic tales revelling in the medieval and the monstrous.
Key Elements of Classic Gothic Tales:
- Dark and macabre themes
- Castles, decaying buildings, and ruins
- Supernatural elements (ghosts, curses, etc.)
- A sense of foreboding and mystery
The Victorian Gothic
In the 19th century, the Gothic shifted from remote ruins to the gaslit streets of industrial cities. This Victorian Gothic influence brought with it an obsession with death, madness, and spiritualism. Edgar Allan Poe’s macabre short stories (such as The Tell-Tale Heart, 1843 or The Fall of the House of Usher, 1839), Wuthering Heights’ violent passions (Emily Brontë, 1847), and Dracula’s transgressive sensuality (Bram Stoker, 1897) all speak to a society grappling with rapid scientific change, urban anonymity, and social repression.
Victorian Gothic differs from its origins in the way it engages with the supernatural. Where early Gothic novels externalise fear through the supernatural, Victorian Gothic internalises it, turning horror inward. It examines psychological terror, societal anxieties around industrialisation and social class, and the supernatural within a more recognisable setting and modern context. The uncanny was no longer confined to crumbling castles but haunted everyday life.
Gothic subculture and style
Flash forward to more contemporary times, and the Victorian Gothic influence finds new life in fashion. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, Gothic fashion emerged as a distinct subcultural style, evolving out of Punk and New Wave movements. As a result, it absorbed elements from both their aesthetics and attitudes. The dark, dramatic makeup now iconic to Gothic styling, for instance, owes much to Punk’s rebellious edge.
Beyond its roots in countercultural fashion, the Gothic look also draws heavily from its literary origins: the macabre, the supernatural, and especially the trope of vampirism, a recurring theme in both early Gothic literature and modern reinterpretations. One of the most enduring sources of inspiration is Victorian mourning dress: predominantly black, richly textured with lace and velvet. These historical echoes give Gothic fashion its sense of theatricality and timeless melancholy.
Interestingly, fashion historians and economists alike have noted a recurring pattern: since the latter half of the 20th century, moments of economic or cultural instability often coincide with a resurgence of Gothic subculture in the mainstream. These recurring waves of visibility (during the “W-shaped” recession of the early 1980s, the financial crisis between 2007 and 2009, and around COVID) have even earned Goths a somewhat prophetic reputation, frequently dubbed the “harbingers of recession.”
Modern Gothic Media: Goth and Recession
As we stare down the barrel of another recession, Gothic aesthetics and storytelling are once again rising to the surface, offering both an eerie escape and a haunting reflection of contemporary anxieties.
In 2022, The Guardian declared that Goth style had officially returned to the mainstream after nearly two decades in the cultural periphery. This revival coincided with the debut of Tim Burton’s Netflix series Wednesday, a reimagining of Wednesday Addams from The Addams Family. With her black hair, alabaster skin, and a wardrobe limited to monochrome due to her “allergy to colour,” Jenna Ortega’s Wednesday ushered in a new era of Gothic iconography, giving a modern edge to this well-known aesthetic.
Jenna Ortega during the Beetlejuice press tour.
The return of the Goth was briefly interrupted by the bright-coloured Brat Summer, but in 2024, Burton followed up with a sequel to Beetlejuice, which inspired a slew of Goth-Glam red carpet and press tour looks. Most notably Jenna Ortega’s own method dressing, often including nods to the original 1988 Beetlejuice.
By late 2024, the Gothic current surged stronger with the release of a highly anticipated reimagining of Nosferatu — a modern take on the 1922 silent film, itself an (unauthorised) adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, one of the most enduring Victorian Gothic novels. This new Nosferatu not only revived an icon of horror but also reignited interest in Gothic literature and fashion (history).
Looking ahead to 2025, the trend shows no signs of slowing. Several upcoming films lean heavily into classic and contemporary Gothic media: Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights, and Sinners (Southern Gothic) join a slate that includes more modern interpretations like The Bride, 28 Years Later, and Until Dawn — all of which are dripping in Gothic imagery.
The Enduring Allure of the Byronic Hero
Long before vampires sparkled, the Byronic hero trope was born in the imagination of one man: Lord Byron. A towering figure of the second generation of Romantic poets, Byron helped shape one of literature’s most enduring archetypes: pale, magnetic, emotionally tortured, and devastatingly handsome, often with a shadowy past and a love for one woman only. This figure would evolve across centuries, shaping Gothic fiction and haunting pop culture to this day.
The prototype first appeared in Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812–1818), and it didn’t take long for readers to recognise the resemblance between the poem’s hero and Byron himself. He played into the myth, cultivating an image of dangerous charisma. “Mad, bad, and dangerous to know,” was how Lady Caroline Lamb famously described him.
The aesthetic appeal of the early Byronic hero with his pale skin, unruly dark curls, and full lips also laid the groundwork for what we now associate with early Gothic fashion: open-necked shirts, tousled hair, poetic, and almost spectral.
In 1816, Byron challenged his travelling companions, a party that included Percy and Mary Shelley, to write ghost stories. That same stormy night gave birth to two legendary Gothic tales: Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, and The Vampyre by John Polidori. Polidori’s story, inspired by an idea Byron had begun and abandoned, reimagined the vampire as a pale, aristocratic seducer, eerily similar to Byron himself. Initially attributed to Byron by the publisher to leverage the poet’s fame, the tale was the first English-language vampire narrative and directly inspired Bram Stoker’s Dracula almost 80 years later. This moment in literary history lit the match for the vampire craze that continues to this day.
From Byron to Heathcliff, Dracula to Edward Cullen, the Byronic hero has proved strangely resilient. But, why does this figure hold such sway, particularly in times of crisis? Perhaps it’s the intensity, the raw emotion, the disdain for convention, the seductive promise of detachment. In a world governed by rules and anxieties, the Byronic hero remains a romantic symbol of resistance and tragic allure.
A Nosferatu Costume Analysis
It’s time to get into the actual Nosferatu costume analysis. The 2024 adaptation is set in 1838 in the fictional German town of Wisborg — a moment of fashion history situated between the extravagance of the 1830s and the more sombre silhouette of the 1840s. There are five key areas I want to explore in the Nosferatu costumes: sleeves, skirts, undergarments, bonnets, and outerwear.
Sleeves
The 1830s were big on sleeves, literally. Early to mid-decade fashion embraced overwhelming volume with the gigot or leg-of-mutton sleeve, creating a strong, broad-shouldered silhouette that almost bordered on the theatrical. By 1838, however, fashion was beginning its descent into the sleeker, more sombre lines of the 1840s. The Nosferatu costumes reflect this transitional moment with varying degrees of sleeve volume.
Skirts
After the slim silhouettes of the 1810s and 1820s (and prior to that), skirt volume began to increase again in the mid-1830s. This trajectory would culminate in the vast crinolines of the 1850s. But in 1838, the voluminous skirt was still achieved through sheer weight: multiple layers of (corded) petticoats. Since the cage crinoline had not yet made its debut, these skirts retained a denser, more organic structure, but were limited in the circumference that could be achieved.
Undergarments
Undergarments in the 1830s were functional, showcasing near architectural feats. From structured petticoats to corsets, these hidden garments shaped the entire silhouette. Without these layers, the signature sleeves and skirts could not be achieved.
Bonnets
They are a frequent casualty of cinematic reinterpretation. Hair and headdresses often fall victim to modern aesthetic preferences. Contemporary period dramas love a tousled blowout, but real 1830s hair was intricately styled, often exaggerated with side curls and centre parts. Bonnets, veils, and other headwear were essential accessories rather than optional extras.
Coats & Capes
Outerwear in the 1830s had to accommodate the architecture of the garments beneath. Capes, cloaks, and pelisses were designed to drape over ballooning sleeves and expanding skirts.
The Nosferatu Costumes: Look by Look
Let’s begin our Nosferatu costume analysis with one of the standout ensembles: Ellen Hutter’s (portrayed by Lily-Rose Depp) floral printed day/evening dress.
In researching historical parallels, I found two similar dresses dating from around 1835 to 1840. Both are made of cotton or a blend (printed challis), much like Ellen’s. From the stills and production shots, the costume appears to be constructed from similar lightweight fabric. The design is faithful to the period in both silhouette and textile choice. My favourite detail? The sleeves. There’s a delicate pleating and frill at the shoulder, followed by that iconic 1830s gigot shape; full around the elbow before narrowing again at the wrist.
When comparing the movie costume with the historical examples, one dress (likely closer to 1835) showcases a far more exaggerated puff, while the other (probably closer to 1840) features a more restrained silhouette. Ellen’s costume falls beautifully in between, aligning perfectly with the film’s 1838 setting.
Floral printed textiles were hugely popular in the 19th century, and the 1830s in particular saw a rise in availability due to improvements in dyeing and printing technology. These prints became more accessible to the lower-middle classes, which is important given the Hutters’ modest means in the film. The costume designers clearly considered this social context. I’m especially fond of the dress’s muted sage green; a soft, dusty tone that leans slightly cool, almost mint. The colour complements the film’s desaturated, shadowy palette, lending it an ethereal and distinctly Gothic atmosphere.
When I first watched Nosferatu, I was momentarily confused by the neckline. I had assumed the scene took place during the day, until the characters began talking about dinner. Then, the off-the-shoulder cut made much more sense. One of the most common inaccuracies in period dramas is the frequent appearance of short sleeves and open necklines during the day. In reality, necklines like this were strictly reserved for eveningwear.
This brings me to one of my favourite historical nods in the Nosferatu costumes: transformable garments. In the 19th century, people approached clothing with a level of sustainability we’ve largely abandoned. Clothes were expensive, made to last, and often designed to serve multiple functions. Transformable dresses were especially common among those of limited means like the Hutters.
Ellen’s costume includes detachable sleeves, allowing it to shift from day to evening wear. We never actually see the short-sleeved version in the film (at least not that I recall), but the option is there. It’s a thoughtful, historically grounded detail that shows the designers’ commitment to authenticity.
During the day, dresses would have been worn with higher necklines and long sleeves, often layered with accessories like lace collars and pelerines, as can be seen on this dress worn by Queen Victoria during her first Privy Council meeting in 1837.
Another standout moment in Nosferatu, and one rarely afforded by contemporary period films, is the glimpse we get of the foundational undergarments beneath the gowns. I was genuinely delighted to see it. Not only does Ellen wear a corset, but crucially, she wears a chemise underneath it — an often-ignored layer in film. We also see a corded petticoat, and potentially more layers beneath, though it’s hard to say exactly how many from the images alone. There’s even padding to support the leg-of-mutton sleeves.
These structural underpinnings are essential for creating the signature 1830s silhouette. And here again, the Nosferatu costumes shine, not just in visual effect, but in the way they reflect the material reality of women’s dress in this period.
Next up is Ellen’s outdoor look, which she wears several times throughout the movie layered over different dresses. She’s styled in a cape, or mantle — a garment we sadly don’t see very often in contemporary fashion anymore. While the dolman became the dominant outerwear choice in the latter half of the 19th century, with its close fit around the waist to emphasise the bustle silhouette, earlier decades favoured the cape. Its loose structure far better accommodated the voluminous leg-of-mutton sleeves of the 1830s.
Here are some fashion plates from 1838 for comparison.
Ellen dons this cape again later in the film, and in that particular scene, we get a clearer look at the bonnets featured throughout the Nosferatu costumes.
Now, I was genuinely delighted to see the inclusion of bonnets in the costume design. All too often, they’re one of the first casualties of aesthetic simplification in period films, but I adore a hat!
In the production stills released ahead of the movie, the bonnets looked spot-on, with those wide brims so characteristic of the early 19th century. They still looked lovely on screen, but upon closer inspection, something about the construction felt just a little off. Ellen’s bonnet, for instance, features some rather unusual pleating at the back, and Anna’s (Emma Corrin) also diverges from the expected period shapes.
That said, I must give full credit to the costume designers for committing to lace bonnets and decorative indoor headdresses for Anna Harding. It’s something that is rarely attempted in recent productions and a welcome detail.
Before we close off this Nosferatu costume analysis, I must direct your attention to what can only be described as a costume crime: the dinner dress worn by Anna Harding (Emma Corrin). It still baffles me that it’s featured in the same movie as all the other brilliant and very historically accurate costumes.
I mean… what on earth is that? I have yet to encounter a single fashion plate from the 1830s, or any decade of the 19th century, for that matter, that features anything resembling this bizarre neckline and shoulder cut-out situation.
It’s as if someone took one of those cold-shoulder tops from the 2010s and Frankensteined it onto a Victorian skirt. A rare misstep in an otherwise thoughtful lineup of Nosferatu costumes, and one that feels entirely out of sync.
Nosferatu Costume Analysis: The Final Verdict
It’s honestly a travesty that Nosferatu didn’t win the Oscar for costume design despite its nomination. This was an incredibly thoughtful and meticulous take on late-1830s fashion, executed with a level of historical awareness and attention to detail we haven’t seen in a while, and, judging by the early set photos from upcoming productions like Wuthering Heights, aren’t likely to see again anytime soon.
That said, if there’s one element that felt slightly off throughout the film’s otherwise impressive costumes, it’s the fabrics. Across several outfits, the textiles looked surprisingly lightweight, lacking the kind of depth, weight, and texture you’d expect from garments of this era. At times, they even read as a little flimsy. Whether this was a deliberate stylistic decision by the costume department, or simply a result of modern fabric manufacturing processes (which differ significantly from 19th-century techniques), it’s hard to say. But it does raise interesting questions about how material choices affect the authenticity of historical costuming.
Still, minor fabric gripes aside, the Nosferatu costumes reveal a film that deserves far more credit than it’s received.
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