In On Swift Horses, costume design by Jeriana San Juan weaves a rich tapestry of symbolism through pearls, iconic 1950s style, and subtle transformations. This visually stunning film uses costume to tell a deeper story of identity, empowerment, and love during a pivotal era. Dive into how costume design shapes character and narrative in this heartfelt tribute to resilience and authenticity.
Spencer Williams: I am beyond excited to welcome today’s guest, costume designer Jeriana San Juan. Jeriana, it’s so good to see you.
Jeriana San Juan: You too! It’s so nice to see you. Thank you for having me.
Spencer Williams: Of course. I really loved this film. It was beautiful, it was humorous, it was heartbreaking. I was just saying behind the scenes that I’m not usually much of a romance drama person, but this film really pulled me in.
Let’s start from the beginning. I’d love to hear about your partnership with director Daniel Minahan. What did the early process of collaborating and learning more about the project look like for you?
Jeriana San Juan: I first talked to Dan about this project quite a while ago, before we filmed, because he really wanted to make it.
Even before there was a script, I read the book—Shannon Pufahl’s novel—and I was really taken by it. I was so curious about how Dan would translate it into a film, because so much of the story takes place in the interior lives of the characters.
You know, they’re living their surface-level lives, but internally they’re questioning everything. So it was a real challenge—how do you turn that interiority into dialogue? How do you make it something that drives the narrative of a film? So in that way, I was really romanced by the story. I was very taken with it.
Dan and I, of course, worked together on Halston, and we’ve actually collaborated on a few other things in between. With Halston, being a Netflix limited series, the scale of that project was enormous. The time constraints, the kind of rigorous schedule you work under—it’s really intense. So we forged a real bond through that process. It’s like surviving a war together.
Spencer Williams: So you were ready to go with this one?
Jeriana San Juan: Yeah! And you know, this project was really a labor of love—not just for me, but for everyone who was a part of it. We shared this incredible passion. Everyone really wanted to do their best work and bring this story to life with all the love we had. It was just an excellent collaboration all around.
Spencer Williams: This film takes place in the mid-1950s, during the Korean War. Let’s get into this period—one of my favorite aspects of costume is, of course, the research. Even though we know what the ’50s looked like, anytime you’re jumping into an era, the research is still key. What did your process look like going into On Swift Horses?
Jeriana San Juan: The research for this one was really interesting. The film is set in the mid-to-late 1950s, but we had a few collective goals going in. One of them was that we didn’t want it to feel too polished or overly staged as a period piece. We wanted it to have a timeless quality—so while it’s clearly anchored in its era, it also needed to feel emotionally accessible and resonant today.
Of course, the characters’ experiences are very tethered to a specific time—particularly when it was still deeply unacceptable to be openly gay or lesbian. So the reality of that era mattered. But still, we didn’t want the costumes to be too “loud.” I often think of it as noise—if the clothes are too noisy, it’s hard to access the words or the emotional core of the scene. We wanted the clothing to live quietly in the DNA of the piece, so that the passion and the story could really drive the audience’s experience.
The challenge was, there actually wasn’t a whole lot of direct reference material to pull from, because so much of queer life in the 1950s was lived in secrecy. It wasn’t well documented. So we wanted to honor that truth and avoid a sort of paper-doll version of the ’50s.
I ended up going to a lot of early feminist texts—like Betty Friedan—and I researched groups like the Daughters of Bilitis. That’s a deep cut for the LGBTQ+ community, but they were one of the first lesbian civil rights organizations in the U.S. They even started a zine in 1955 called The Ladder. I highly recommend looking it up—it’s like a green book for the lesbian community, a kind of underground resource during a time when being found out could literally cost you your job, especially during the Lavender Scare.
I also pulled a lot from photojournalism—Jack Kerouac’s circle, photographers like Nina Leen, Ruth Orkin, Vivian Maier. I looked at artists of the era who were photographing marginalized communities and capturing candid moments.
And then there was John Koch’s work—his paintings really inspired us. They feel like little windows into the in-between moments. They helped us create a mood, something intimate and human.
One of the most invaluable resources was a research library in Rochester called the LILAC Library. It’s the most extensive collection of LGBTQIA+ books, magazines, and historical records.
And then there’s this beautiful book called The Invisibles. Someone compiled hundreds of photographs of queer couples found at flea markets—images that otherwise might have been lost to time. It became a kind of Nancy Drew–style process of piecing together these hidden stories and oral histories.
Spencer Williams: You really did your research! Every time I talk to you, I get this incredible education. Before we get into the individual characters and their costumes, I have to ask—what was it like collaborating with this incredible cast? We’re talking about some beautiful faces too—Jacob Elordi, Diego Calva, Daisy Edgar-Jones. Did you know who your cast was early on, or was it one of those situations where you get them the day before a fitting?
Jeriana San Juan: I actually had the cast pretty early on, which was great. And wow—what an incredible group. Honestly, if I could have Daisy Edgar-Jones in every project from now until the end of time, I’d be thrilled. She’s an absolute dream. And the same goes for Jacob, Diego, Sasha, Will—they were just such wonderful collaborators.
We didn’t have much of a budget on this film—some projects come with big budgets, and some just don’t. But despite that, it was one of the most rewarding collaborations I’ve ever had. I sourced vintage pieces from all over, did a lot of rentals, and we built maybe 25% of the costumes ourselves.
It was such an interesting assignment from a design perspective. Take Muriel, for example—her clothes are, in many ways, a form of a mask. They’re performative at times, and then gradually, as she becomes more self-expressed, her wardrobe shifts to reflect that. So finding that arc through the costume was really powerful.
A lot of that came through in the fittings. There’s always a moment when it just clicks—you find the right combination of pieces, colors, and textures, and suddenly the character is there in front of you. For Muriel, it was this pair of early ’60s ballet flats. The moment Daisy slipped them on, the way she stood—her posture—it just felt right. We started chasing that thread, and the character evolved from there.
It was the same thing for Jacob. We found this incredible buttercup-yellow deerskin jacket from the 1940s. The moment he put it on, I just thought, There he is. And Jacob immediately said, “I never want to take this off.”
Spencer Williams: I was going to ask about that jacket, actually—he wears it through a lot of pivotal scenes, and it really feels like it becomes a part of him. Why was it important for him to carry that jacket throughout the film?
Jeriana San Juan: When we first meet his character, he’s in Stockton—he’s living in this very transient, moment-to-moment way. He’s hustling in backroom card games, and doesn’t have much money. I loved the idea of him wearing something pieced together, something that felt lived in and organic.
We paired a vintage 1930s ringer tee with early ’50s pleated trousers and that leather jacket. It wasn’t about making him look too put-together—the outfit had to feel accidental, like it just came together naturally. The jacket, though—there was a certain elegance to it. It had a beauty that I felt his character might be drawn to. But it was also a little dingy, a little damaged. And in terms of the period, it was actually quite dated, which I loved.
A deerskin jacket felt quintessentially American, and that was important to me. I wanted this to feel like a deeply American story—a deeply American love story. And when Jacob put it on, the sleeves were four inches too short, it didn’t quite fit right—and that was perfect. It looked like he might’ve stolen it off a bar stool. It said so much about who he was without needing to explain it.
Spencer Williams: Let’s talk about him for a moment. Julius ends up in Las Vegas during its golden era, which is really fun—very flashy. How does he acclimate to that environment? He keeps the jacket, but he also starts to blend in a bit more. For once, it feels like he’s not trying to draw so much attention to himself—he’s just working when he can. So, how does this move affect his character arc in terms of costume?
Jeriana San Juan: The move to Vegas definitely marks a shift. Julius’s work as a swindler comes into play—he wants a seat at the high-stakes card tables, and to get there, he needs to wear a suit. That would’ve been his first stop: figuring out how to get a suit.
Then it becomes about the pieces he adds to that—first, it’s just a T-shirt, then a button-up shirt. His wardrobe starts to evolve piece by piece. Visually, things begin to expand for him in Vegas, but I still wanted to set him apart from the average casino-goer—and do it the Julius way. That meant wearing things the way an artist or dreamer might.
I found this relaxed vintage turtleneck, and once we added that, suddenly he was James Dean. It allowed for this cool reinterpretation of period style. I was really trying to make the 1950s not feel so 1950s—not in the overly nostalgic, polished way we often see. I was interested in which pieces from that era have carried through the decades—into the ’60s, ’70s, ’80s, even the ’90s. The more timeless pieces.
So his Vegas look is really about camouflage—about not standing out too much. He doesn’t have much money when he gets there. It all really started with just one suit.
Spencer Williams: Meanwhile, in California, we have Muriel—starting off in a diner before finding herself at a horse race. I’ve always been obsessed with horse race fashion; it’s such a visual culture. It feels like that’s where her second life begins. From there, she meets her neighbor Sandra, and her wardrobe starts to shift—subtle, but definitely a transformation. Would you say her costumes evolve as this new life unfolds?
Jeriana San Juan: Absolutely. Muriel’s evolution was really about giving her more agency. When she first goes to the racetrack, it’s right after her diner shift—so the scarf, the sunglasses, the little trench coat—that’s all meant as a bit of a disguise. She doesn’t want to be recognized or seen by anyone she knows.
Then the next time she goes, she wears a black dress. That was meant to feel like the black dress that lives in every woman’s closet—the one for weddings or funerals. It felt smart and tidy. It was a beautiful cotton dress, summery but structured. There’s a quiet artistry to it, a bit of outsider flair, but still elevated enough for the Santa Anita environment.
One thing I love about the races is that people dress for them. After that first experience, we talked a lot—Daisy and I—about how this arc could unfold. We wanted to show how smart Muriel is. The second time she goes, she knows more about what the environment is, what the people will look like. She wants to blend in a bit more—to move through the space more comfortably.
She’s gained some experience, and with it, a bit of confidence. She’s had a win. She has a few dollars in her pocket. And then, the next time we see her at the track, she’s ready to splay her feathers a little.
That’s when she wears the periwinkle blue ensemble—something she’s actually gone out and bought for herself with her own money. That color was very specific. I wanted a visual signature for her—something we’d been building toward. The look is a little over-the-top, dramatic, almost late ’50s bleeding into the early ’60s.
And that periwinkle was also a nod—to queer culture, to a classic lesbian-coded color. Every bit of that look, down to her little Swiss dot neck gloves, was a full-on moment. A quiet celebration of her blossoming identity, and a tribute to queer culture.
Spencer Williams: What do you hope audiences take away from On Swift Horses? Not just from the costumes, but the film altogether. What did it mean to you, and why are you excited for people to see it?
Jeriana San Juan: Well—gosh, that’s a great question. You know, this movie meant so much to me before we were even doing it, when it was just a concept.
I was raised by gay moms, and an entire chosen family of queer aunts and uncles raised me. This was their time—maybe even their parents’ time. But it’s essential to have representation of that. And for people to see just how difficult it was—the shoulders that we all stand on—for people to live their lives honestly and authentically. For that level of social acceptance to have been built into the world we live in today.
And unfortunately, we’re still fighting. I think that was what really compelled me toward this project. One of the first things I ever wrote down when I looked at this story was: pearls. And the reason is that pearls are such a signature of 1950s women. When I was married, my gay moms gave me a pearl necklace on the day I was married.
And it’s funny because that is such a traditionally feminine, ceremonial thing. It’s a ceremony for women. And when you think about pearls, they’re sort of like a leash. As young women go from being daughters, they’re then led into becoming wives.
Muriel, of course, wears pearls on the day she gets engaged. And those pearls are indeed mine—the ones I was given by my mother.
I hope that the audience will see themselves in these characters. To feel that pulse of undeniable truth. And to feel romanced by it. You know, it’s really beautifully romantic. It’s about our relationships, too—how we see each other. Those dear friends that we meet and instantly connect with. It’s some unspoken thing.
