We are intrigued by uniforms. Their dramatic tailoring, formality, strong silhouettes and symbolic power continually draw us to them. Historically the military uniform has been particularly fascinating, and it influences profoundly the way we dress ourselves today. Navy and khaki, two excellent colours for dressing, can be traced back to the killing fields. From soldiers in the trenches came the trench coat, its origin forgotten by our society at peace. Also consistently borrowed from uniforms are brass buttons, knapsacks, exaggerated collars, frogging, buttoned-down pockets, epaulettes, ankle boots, overalls and chevrons.

Part of the appeal for us is the dual character of uniforms. Designed to convey control, discipline, authority and conformity, they have always simultaneously invited ideas of perversion, erotica, transgression and subversion. When Quentin Crisp wrote of his desire for “something in uniform,” he was expressing their unintended sexual appeal. (He had a special liking for sailors with their money to throw around and their tight uniforms that had button-front trousers.)

One uniform that surprisingly captured the imagination of high-fashion was the blatantly unsexy Mao suit. It is pictured here for French Vogue with the captain ‘Veruschka come Mao, un’idea di Salvador Dali per Vogue Paris, 1971’. In ’79, British Vogue also featured on its cover a model in a Mao suit, and an Australian issue of Vogue from ’81 paired a Mao suit with a red cap, red scarf and sunglasses.

But the most dramatic uniform of all is that of the Nazis. When Hitler came to power extensive cost and effort went into designing an aesthetic that communicated absolute power, and formed strong bonds of allegiance. The well-cut, all black SS uniform was designed by the graphic designer Walter Heck, and manufactured by Hugo Boss.

The SS uniforms were stiff and tight, with heavy boots so that posture was controlled and movements confined. The peaked caps, tight tailored jackets with high collars, jodhpurs and black leather boots were immensely stylish and made the men who wore them into a streamlined machine, with an unsettling beauty.

Anything with such striking visual impact has a sexual allure. The relationship between sex and the military is multifaceted. In Yukio Mishima’s novel Confessions of a Mask, for example, the sexual and possessive lust for a man in military uniform is bound up with a longing to be such a man.

The same complexities are evident when images of sexually repressive Nazi Germany are appropriated in fetishistic circles. Black leather and boots are staples of sadomasochism, and they relate directly back to the SS. According to a different SS, Susan Sontag, fascism became erotic precisely because of its connotations of absolute domination. People got off on it because they stored a reserve of sexual energy in power play, which the SS symbolism could tap in to.

The fantasy of absolute power was most complete in the SS, Sontag wrote, because “they acted it out in a singularly brutal and efficient manner; and because they dramatised it by linking themselves to certain aesthetic standards.”

Punk and rock have been playing dress-up with uniforms since their beginnings, and have a long-standing fascination with fascism. Brian Jones posed for the camera in a Nazi uniform while standing on a naked doll; The Stooges donned the swastika; Joy Division (named after a brothel frequented by the SS officers) wore Hitler Youth uniforms; Siouxsie Sioux got beat up when she wore vinyl stockings and a swastika on her arm; and Vivienne Westwood’s famous destroy T-shirt (pictured here), was worn by Johnny Rotten in the video for Pretty Vacant.

For all of them, the appeal of Nazi imagery was the shock and offence it could generate. In the 60s and 70s the place to find authentic uniforms and military surplus was the amazing boutique I Was Lord Kitchener’s Valet (at London’s Portobello Road and later also on Carnaby Court and Kings Road). They stocked Nazi paraphernalia, used movie costumes, iron cross pendants, smoking jackets, top hats, canes, tunics, plastic jewellery, boas, fox stoles, pith helmets, Victorian dresses, Victorian furniture and other treasures. Little wonder Kitchener’s clientele included Jagger, Hendrix, Clapton, The Beatles and The Who.

The suggestion that whoever recognises the visual appeal of the Nazis signifies approval of their ideology is groundless. If our aesthetic urges were that straightforward, Vogue, a magazine centred on the pursuit of private property, wouldn’t be able to feature the Mao suit on its cover.

We should recognise the quality of Third Reich imagery, not least because it helps us understand why so many Germans fell for it. The controversy over Prince William wearing a nazi uniform to a fancy dress party, or over Brian Ferry’s remark on the beauty and value of Leni Riefenstahl’s films and Albert Speer’s architecture, is absurd. Fashion, like fascism and fetishism, is about theatre, and it will continue to prescribe new uses and meanings to things, in the name of performance.