Rapunzel’s grandmother

On the arm of the chair sits my friend Rapunzel’s grandmother, Anne. Rapunzel has very little knowledge of her as she died when her mother was 16; the latter did not talk about her much except to reminisce how much she adored her.

Anne gave birth to Rapunzel’s mother in the 1940s, when she was about 36, quite old for that era. Judging by the clothing of this trio of girls we guess this photograph was taken (in Wangaratta, as written on the reverse) in the 1910s.

Recalling a black and white photograph of Anne on her mother’s dressing table, she remembers how she gazed at in fascination.

As a child, Rapunzel thought Anne was the most enchanting woman: dressed in a long satin gown, fur bolero and a tiny little hat.

The most glamorous touch was the string of pearls around her neck. Rapunzel fondly imagined she was at a fancy party, but when she saw this photo more recently, she realised Anne was actually standing near a rusty corrugated iron fence. “How Aussie is that?” she laughed to me.

As for me, I was equally fascinated by this relic from Rapunzel’s family archive. A tiny little photograph – half the size of today’s standard – the card thickened with age, I brought it up close to peer at it in delight. The photographs of Julia Margaret Cameron immediately sprang to mind. Although they are from an earlier year (she photographed Alice Liddell, Lewis Carroll’s inspiration for Alice in Wonderland), they have the same soft, gentle quality; portals into a long-vanished world.

These three little Australian girls have a mischievous look in their eyes however, unlike Cameron’s models. Some of the latter adopt an impassive stare; others present their profiles as they gaze into the middle distance, forever lost in their own thoughts. A century later, we can only admire them.

Blinging in the new year

Sadly I didn’t see the fireworks on New Year’s Eve: I was far from the banks of the Yarra. We only glimpsed the smoke in the sky, but that’s no reason not to celebrate.

Reflecting on the pile of loot I brought home with me from my holiday, I have made a new resolution to spring-clean my drawers, downsize my closets.

Not these babies, though: they are distinctly upsize.

Whilst shopping in the Mall of the Emirates in Dubai, I wandered into Aldo (which sells only shoes here in Melbourne) and pounced on these enormous rhinestone earrings in delight. They were ridiculously large and I didn’t need them. I put them down. I was searching for an evening bag, after all.

Of course, when I finally returned to buy the clutch I had my eye on, my gaze fell upon the earrings again. Temptation won out, and observing that they in fact matched my belly-dancing outfit excellently, I snatched them up and purchased them before commonsense had a chance to prevail. If I would not stop at an outfit that jingles, then why boggle at these oversize chandeliers?

So raise your glass: here’s to having fun with fashion this year. Bling-bling, darlings!

Sweet dreams are made of these

I am not an avid collector of vintage lingerie. What little I do have in my lilac-scented drawers I have simply happened upon in the course of ordinary ‘hope-shopping’.

That being said, I have managed to unearth some pretty delicates, among them this diaphanous short-sleeved robe with its remarkable lace trim, and the mint green striped slip, also trimmed in peppermint lace. You also may have seen my ruffled long underwear on my profile page; they’re extremely amusing.

This robe has long-lost its label, but it must be made of nylon or its ilk, and the Kayser ‘Satin Stripe’ slip of tricel with nylon. Although the artificial fibre does not stop the robe from floating about me like a cloud, of course they would be even lovelier if they were made of silk.

I’m sure I would loll still more decadently, like a thirties star of the silver screen, a glass of champagne at my elbow and sweet dreams in my head.

Below are some illustrations of lingerie from British and Australian Vogues.

Headlined Lingerie to linger in, these illustrations accompany an article entitled 'The Happy Invalid', by Rosamond Harcourt-Smith.
British Vogue, January 1947.

From cami-slips in pale blue, to carnation printed harem-hemmed half-slips, to stockings in the new colour of 'Pumpkin'… stockings and lingerie are two of a kind.
Illustrations: May Routh; Australian Vogue, June 1960.

Sleep cool this summer, brevity is news in slumber wear; here, four young, engaging looks…
Photograph: Duffy; Australian Vogue, June 1960.

And most amusing of all is this bright orange liftout: Vogue's undercover story: the new foundations. In 1960, there were only three figure types: the triangle, the inverted triangle, and the rectangle.

I particularly love 'and the best clothes to go for are those with a decided Chanel or Balenciaga bias…' That still stands true today! If only I could afford the real thing.

Perhaps I'll get lucky and something will appear in my Christmas stocking?

Cutting edge

This has to be one of the very best covers Australian Vogue has ever done ­– at least as long as I have been reading it.

Back when I bought it I was already at art school, but it didn’t take a graphic design student’s eye to see that the sharp graphics and literally cutting-edge composition made a striking cover. A cover that must have been influenced by iconic magazines of this era, such as the Face; a cover that had visual appeal and would guarantee hands would reach for it on the newsstand.

I particularly like the typography, the way in which it fills the negative space, and interacts with the model’s silhouette. You would never see Australian Vogue cutting a face in half today!

It is amusing to note however that the cover does not at all fulfill its promise with the editorial layouts inside.

Still, I’ve kept my original copy on my shelf for 18 years on the strength of it.

Australian Vogue, April 1990. Photograph: Martyn Thompson.

Behind the veil

Veils evoke mystery, they hint at the shape of a face, give an alluring glimpse of a shadowed eye. Once upon a time. These veiled hats do nothing of the sort.

Historically, veils were worn first as a symbol of status – they were forbidden to common women and prostitutes – and then for religious reasons of propriety: to cover the hair or hide the face from men’s sinful gazes. Women also wore veils during mourning, or when they were up to mischief – a midnight rendezvous with a lover, or some other secret errand. It can’t have taken long for courtesans to appropriate a semi-transparent veil, for the undeniable sensual mystique lent to the wearer.

These hats are pure frivolities, designed to make feminine hearts go pitter-pat, and men’s a-flutter at a coquettish sideways glance.

It is in this spirit I don an 80s cocktail hat in purple satin (above) and a modern version in black straw and violet roses (below). I found both on the same trip to the Salvos a few weekends ago.

Hats, for me, are strongly associated with Georgette Heyer’s Regency romances, where the purchase of a hat was a momentous occasion, accompanied by clapping and expressions of feminine delight.

In light of this, it is so sad to me that many women greet the sight of a hat with fear and horror, as though it is a creature ascended from hell that has perched on the wearer’s head. There are exceptions of course: on the beach, at the races, or a wedding, but for everyday fashion-wear, a hat is a rare bird indeed.

This green flight of fancy (below) is vintage 50s, a double bow of silk organza attached to a wire headband. I found this on eBay from an English seller who suggested it would be suitable for a bridesmaid. I fell in love with it at first sight, and was thrilled to win it for a very reasonable AU$15.

From bridesmaids to brides… probably the most common sighting of a veil in the West today is on a bride. Wikipedia gives us some interesting and/or amusing facts: Brides used to wear their hair flowing down their back at their wedding to symbolise their virginity, now the white diaphanous veil is often said to represent this. … I don’t think that applies these days.

And: Roman brides, for instance, wore an intensely flame-coloured and fulsome veil, called the flammeum, apparently intended to protect the bride from evil spirits on her wedding day. I’d like to see a bride today wearing an orange veil with her oyster satin dress!

Also: The lifting of the veil was often a part of ancient wedding ritual, symbolising the groom taking possession of the wife, either as lover or as property, or the revelation of the bride by her parents to the groom for his approval.

Hmmm, the chances I’ll be wearing a veil as a bride grow slimmer…

This headpiece of sculptured fabric (above) is also vintage 50s. I admired this frivolity for quite a while in Chapel Street Bazaar before I finally gave in and bought it. It would be difficult to find a modern piece that was equally original. I like that it is not at all prissy, like most of the fascinators girls wear these days.

The veil was actually sold as a tulle bonnet thrown in with a job lot of scarves from eBay. I couldn’t quite get my head round that one: it looked more like a hairnet for a factory worker. It was seeing them tossed together in a basket that inspired me to reinvent the bonnet. They make quite a pretty and serendipitous pairing, don’t you think?

A match made in heaven in fact!