Ode to a Grecian hairstyle

When I first saw Chloe’s hairstyle one hot day this past week, I instantly likened her to some exotic princess of the Classical era. I could imagine her standing at the prow of a ship, white skirts billowing. “You look regal,” I said to Chloe, which bemused her. That resemblance owed itself undoubtedly also to the dotted white shirt – even the enamelled earrings continued the theme.

I instantly likened her to some exotic princess of the Classical era

Greek woman, 4th century BC, from www.mlahanas.de

Apparently she spent two seconds on her hair that morning, merely twisting it up and fastening it with a tortoiseshell butterfly clip. Patently hair texture – and length – is all, as my hair would never do this of its own accord. It’s too fine.

“That’s always the way,” I agreed with Chloe. “When you’re in a hurry, your hair ends up looking fantastic. But just try repeating the effort for a special night out!” My hair is so slippery it often falls out of any updo, although I have recently rediscovered hair product, and that does help!

I remember in my early twenties my friend Rapunzel visiting me at my parents’. She and Chloe have similar hair texture, thick and wavy. My dad is the traditional sort, and, admiring Rapunzel’s red locks, he opined that I too should have hair that flowed to my waist. At the time I was sporting a short 20s style bob, and looked like Louise Brooks. I made a face in response to this admonishment. My hair would never actually do that even if I wanted it to. Rapunzel laughed and replied diplomatically that she’d always wanted hair like mine.

I guess the hair is always Greeker on the other side.

What I Actually Wore #0012

Serial #: 0012
Date: 03/11/2008
Weather: 18°, slightly windy, cool in morning, threatening rain
Time Allowed: 5 minutes

What is the correct terminology for a hem that is turned under itself and attached to the lining? Balloon hem? Bubble hem? Cocoon? A quick search on Google turns up 'balloon hem' in reference to a Narciso Rodriguez dress on net-a-porter.com. That’s good enough for me.

There is also something strangely attractive about them. I admit, unashamedly, that I liked them the first time they came round in the 80s, when I was a teen. I had at least two incarnations, one in black and white gingham that I wore with a white t-shirt and a black corset belt, and a coral-coloured dress with white polka-dots that I still have rolled up in a drawer somewhere.

Then quite a few years ago I bought an Obüs skirt in greeny-goldy shantung silk that had a modified balloon hem, slightly twisted. And of course we all know they are back in fashion with a vengeance again! However, the dress I am wearing here – purchased at the Salvos – I would never have bought new simply because it is strapless.

I admit, unashamedly, that I liked [balloon skirts] the first time they came round in the 80s, when I was a teen

I have always hated strapless necklines with a passion – I think because I once saw a gruesome photo in the 80s of a quartet of bridesmaids all straining to catch the bride’s bouquet. Their arms and torsos reached to the heavens; their dresses stayed firmly anchored to earth, thanks very much, and all of Australia was treated to a view of their bosoms. Thank you, Cleo or Cosmo, or whichever magazine it was that published this delectation.

A top worn underneath saves the day. Featuring an asymmetrical hem, and a pretty draped neckline it complements the draped hem nicely. Discovered on the same shopping trip as the dress, the top is from the currently retired Australian label Tina Borg. I added the blue suede shoes and red enamel earrings for a shot of colour to enliven my neutral palette.

Items:
Top: Tina Borg
Dress: Barkins
Earrings: from Love It
Watch: Kenneth Cole
Sunglasses: from Bimbo
Shoes: Robert Robert

Just tulle-ing around

Let’s face it: tulle is a frivolous fabric. Even Wikipedia has not much to say on the subject, and there is little other information about it. Although apparently there is a town in France called Tulle, which I didn’t know.

All the same, there is something enchanting about it. There is obviously a strange dichotomy going on in my fashion personality, since I am attracted to such confections as this hat; the colour pink (pink and tulle even collide in this instance here); and vintage jewellery – as well as stark, straight lines; all shades of grey; and fierce shoes that scare some of my female friends.

When I first saw this hat in a charity shop I was instantly charmed by it, but doubtful that I would ever wear it in public. It was the polka-dots scattering the netting that convinced me, however. (The sales person who complimented my appearance in it had nothing whatsoever to do with my decision.)

When I first saw this hat in a charity shop I was instantly charmed by it

I knew how I would photograph it: I would wear my polka-dotted blouse, and the black tulle gloves – also vintage – and I would sit at a table surrounded by white.

My other inspiration was this 1957 photograph by Antony Armstrong-Jones. It wasn’t until after the shoot that I found the image in a book, and I realised how hazy my recollection of it was – I’d forgotten the context completely. But how amusing to see the similarity of her dress to my blouse! I am still trying to decide whose expression of delight looks more affected…

Below are some more modern frivolities (how adorable are those thongs, and they would totally go with my pink tulle hat!). You can see more here.

(Second from left, John Galliano for Christian Dior; far right, Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel. Other images uncredited.)

Little satin doodad thingies

I have always had a minor, yet tiresome, figure problem that has caused more irritation than angst over the years.

In the fortunate possession of a sister who sewed, I found myself as a teen visiting her with armfuls of clothing that required alteration. Between pinning and muttering how much work I was giving her, she informed me that my shoulders were too narrow.

That had me nonplussed. Too narrow? So that was why the shoulder straps of dresses and tops always slipped off, putting me in danger of major wardrobe malfunctions on the odd occasion. Secretly, I was rather pleased that any part of my figure was smaller than the average. (Of course, I could have wished I was taller, with long legs, but I suppose I drew comfort from the fact that those defects were a common dilemma worldwide.)

When I was a little older and started buying vintage clothing, I made an interesting discovery: there were other women out there who had this annoying problem. I found sewn into the straps of one 60s dress a pair of little satin doodad thingies! Their function was obvious: one slipped the ribbon under the bra strap and snapped it shut, thereby holding the sleeve securely on one’s shoulder. It was an epiphany. One glorious day I found a pair that were attached only by safety pins, so I was even able to swap them at need.

…the shoulder straps of dresses and tops always slipped off, putting me in danger of major wardrobe malfunctions

Recently this problem returned to aggravate me for an entire day in the office. I became so exasperated I resorted to sticky tape. One of my colleagues, amused, told me about a little thing called Hollywood Tape. I can do better than that! I thought to myself, recalling the doodads. They at least had the virtue of being recyclable.

The tragedy was that I could not find them! I searched my lingerie drawers; my sewing box (an old, vintage biscuit tin that I had recently organised); the catch-all dish on top of my tallboy, but they were nowhere to be found. Then I remembered during a recent trip to a haberdasher, I had absently noted that these anachronistic items were still being manufactured. I hied myself back to Clegg’s just yesterday and purchased some. I discovered they even have an official title: Shoulder Strap Retainers.

Now I just need to sit down and sew them into my cute sleeveless top so that I can actually wear it. Or maybe I’ll just lazily pin them in and leave them to be serendipitously discovered by someone else in forty years' time.

‘Fall on your face in those bad shoes’

Pretty shoes are nice enough in their own way. They have their place. Garden parties. Weddings. Meeting your new boyfriend’s parents for the first time.

But give me killer heels for stomping concrete in the city … fierce shoes to break men’s hearts into little tiny pieces and grind them in the dirt! (Not that I would do that of course.)

But give me killer heels for stomping concrete in the city…

There’s a line in a Pixies song about a woman falling on her face in her bad shoes. I often toyed with various notions on what Black Francis meant exactly.

I think I know now.

They weren’t ugly, or disgracefully worn out; they were high and made for teetering, like my new little beauties above. Fortunately I haven’t planted my face in the sidewalk … yet. 

Tame, from Doolittle by the Pixies

got hips like cinderella
must be having a good shame
talking sweet about nothing
cookie i think you're
tame

i'm making good friends with you
when you're shaking your good frame
fall on your face in those bad shoes
lying there like you're tame

uh huh huh

tame