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Side parts are an integral part of “Nosferatu.” And no, I’m not talking about side characters; for those who are hoping for an analysis of the iconic Guido Herzfeld’s portrayal of the Transylvanian innkeeper, or a detailed breakdown of Extra 47’s shocked look in the background of Scene 28, this is not the article for you.

By side part, I refer to the iconic hairstyles in the film that simultaneously defy all sense of historical logic and firmly anchor “Nosferatu” as a product of the early 1920s.

“Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror” is a German Expressionist film set in the fictional German town of Wisborg in 1838. Vampire Count Orlok preys on Ellen Hutter, the wife of an innocent estate agent. Orlok brings the plague to Wisborg due to the rats lurking in his coffin, causing the deaths of many innocents in the town. It is only through Ellen’s sacrifice that Orlok is vanquished.

The hairstyles of the 1830s, just before Queen Victoria ascended to the throne of England, would have featured a straight part in the hairline of women, right along the brain’s longitudinal fissure. Natural waistlines were popular, with sleeves that floofed and then came back to a narrow band around the wrist. There was a preference for open necklines in day dresses, a sort of “V” shape, and lots of lace and ribbonry.

Filmed in 1922, “Nosferatu” makes an admirable attempt at portraying historically accurate clothing. Although the sleeves of female lead Ellen Hutter are decidedly rooted in the 1860s pagoda style, overall the silhouette creates a distinctly Victorian feel.

The hair and makeup, on the other hand, firmly embrace the contemporary trends of deep side parts, dramatic eye makeup, and lipstick emphasizing the cupid’s bow. One could justify the makeup decisions with the silent nature of this film, which requires the facial expressions of the actors to be quite clear, but the hairstyle is entirely an aesthetic decision.

Although the hairstyles are deeply ahistorical, this decision makes “Nosferatu” far more interesting to watch — the mashup of Roaring Twenties style with early-Victorian fashion is visually jarring, contributing to the mood of the horror film and enabling one to think about the time period this film was created in and that which it seeks to portray.

The dark eye makeup paired with restrained black silk dresses and sleeves reminiscent of bat wings makes Ellen look like a goth who stumbled into a Victorian mourning dress. Her face, framed by a side bang and just-below-chin-length curls is clearly a nod to the aesthetic of the 1830s while making her appealing to 1920s audiences.

The 1920s fashion in Nosferatu parallels other twentieth century themes woven into the narrative. Like the hair styles, the stifling presence of rats, disease, and death throughout the film should be viewed as something significant to contemporary viewers. The 1918 influenza hit Weimar Germany hard, complicating an already miserable situation in the aftermath of the First World War and the terms of the Versailles agreement. Rats were everywhere in the trenches, leading to mass contagion when soldiers returned home.

Perhaps this film’s portrayal of fictional vampires was a way of externalizing the real horrors that many had lived through in the First World War, the ultimate consumer of human blood. 2,037,000 German soldiers were killed in World War I, making it the most brutal conflict Germany had ever seen. Lingering trauma from “The Great War” haunted the nation, contributing to the emotional turmoil, visual distortion, and hyper expressive acting characteristic of German Expressionist films in this time period.

This 1920s-tinged horror story also makes you think about the actors themselves — did this little boy waving out of a cottage window live through both World Wars? What did this beautiful young woman look like in the decades after this movie was filmed?

There is something deeply moving about the experience of watching a film in which every single person on-screen lived vastly different lives than our own — a world before Hitler rose to power, when indoor plumbing codes had yet to be established and the female actresses fainting at the sight of vampires had just gained the right to vote.

The side parts remind us that no art is created in a vacuum. Every piece of media we consume is filtered through the consciousness of someone living in a distinctive society that will never be replicated again.

In this sense, “Nosferatu” is a cultural artifact that must be preserved for coming generations as a warning against the horrors of war and disease.

Laura Martens is a Harvard College sophomore double concentrating in Government and German Language & Literature. Her column “Fashion and Fantasy” explores how historical accuracy in costume design alters TV and film narratives. She can be reached at laura.martens@thecrimson.com.