Virtuous shopping

This morning, killing time between a doctor’s appointment and brunch at Dino’s Deli in Windsor, I entered the hallowed halls of the Salvo’s, Prahran.

It was like entering Aladdin’s Cave.

I later found out (during the ten minutes it took the salesgirl to ring up my copious purchases) that the new manager had redesigned the layout of the store, with one front window specialising in good quality vintage, and the opposite corner featuring a rack of vintage smalls. She had even brought in some of her own items, collected over the years.

I purchased all of these garments bathed in the warm, virtuous glow that I was helping the needy.

As for me, I had barely time to mutter ‘Good morning’, I was so busy snatching up an armload of vintage printed dresses and tops to try on. I then turned to survey the other corner and immediately saw the crowning glory: a seafoam green, chiffon 50s party dress hanging high on a mannequin. When I went to ask the salesgirl if she could lift it down for me, I caught sight of the above mary-janes on the counter. (I’ll have those too, thanks.)

I guiltily entered the changing room bearing the sign ‘NO MORE THAN 4 ITEMS’, loaded down with about 20 dresses and a basket of shoes and lingerie. At least it was early, with few shoppers about.

My haul:

1. Aforementioned chiffon dress. One man, some kind of show producer, offered to fight me for it, until he heard I practice martial arts, upon which he backed hastily away.
2. Taupe linen 50s Sunday-afternoon-stroll dress. Camellia print in black and olive; cute bow belt.
3. 70s graphic print shift dress. Collar and short sleeves, block print in navy, maroon and fuchsia.
4. Sleeveless shift dress #1 in teal with white lace print, belt missing. All rayon.
5. Sleeveless shift dress #2 printed with Japanese style floral pattern, in blues and gold on white.
6. Open-weave cotton shirt, ¾ sleeves, paisley print in various shades of blue.
7. Short sleeved shirt with Marimekko style print, greens and olives on white open-weave cotton.
8. Pale rose vintage full slip with copious quantities of lace on bodice and hem.
9. Tangerine vintage full slip (tag from Myer still attached!), with pleated chiffon flounces.
10. Half-slip in white, with tiers of heart-shaped lace and ribbons.
11. Two pairs tap pants, one black, the other cobalt blue with white lace trim.
12. Two delicious pairs of shoes (pictured).
13. One pair cream coloured, opera-length lambskin gloves that … er, fit like a glove!
14. One rayon print scarf, featuring watercolour illustrations of national monuments of England, arranged in alphabetical order. (From A, Arundel Castle, Sussex – to Y, York Minster and Bootham Bar.)
15. Last, but not least, the bedspread (also pictured above).

There were three or four dresses that sadly did not fit, or suit; I discover my vintage size is SW or SSW – Small Woman or Small(?) Small Woman, but I have no complaint.

Shopping guilt? What shopping guilt? I purchased all of these garments bathed in the warm, virtuous glow that I was helping the needy.

Cinderella’s dressmaker

Once upon a time, many days ago (actually, two weeks) a very thoughtful friend rang me and read out loud the words on a flyer posted near his studio (and I paraphrase): VINTAGE GARAGE SALE! ANTIQUES! RARITIES! LOVELY LOOT! TWO DAYS ONLY!

I was so excited when I wrote down the details I could hardly make out the words later, but I deciphered enough so that I and two friends made it down there on Saturday.

We discovered that the fashion designer Karen Merkel was holding the sale. You might think I would be instantly transported into a fantasy dress-up land, but I did not purchase any clothing.

However, I did pounce on a trove of sumptuous fabrics and embroidered trims that are inspiring enough to weave a fairy-tale with, and live happily ever after. All I need is some glass slippers.

Pretty little delicacies of silk

If you have been to the Central Highlands in Vietnam, it is very likely that you’ve visited Dalat, a town touted as Vietnam’s mini Europe. And if you’ve been to Dalat you must have visited Crazy House. It is aptly named, although mere words cannot adequately describe it; a picture is worth a thousand. 

Handicrafts are sold in several of the public rooms, but there is a Mai Anh Craft gift shop in the garden where, much to my motorcycle driver’s consternation, I spent at least half an hour browsing amongst the silk goods. It took a moment to decide to purchase the pretty belt pictured above that fastens with silk cord around the hips. Made of ovals of coloured silk, it is embroidered; appliquéd with silk baubles; and trimmed with sequins.

I was also trying to choose between two silk necklaces. One of them was impossibly tangled up, and it took the salesgirl at least 20 minutes to unravel the knots. Of course no sooner than she had done so and I tried it on, I realised that I much preferred the other: the butterfly and ladybug necklace you see below. I apologised laughingly, for as the Vietnamese are fond of saying it was really a case of “Same, same, but different.”

But I had to be sure.

Stylish Steps

It is not difficult to be stylish. Even just a little bit of effort goes a long way.

A case in point: this morning I saw a young woman, wet hair hanging limply to her shoulders and her fringe skinned back. Not a scrap of makeup adorned her pale face; and the dreary grey of her ill-fitting, non-descript suit did nothing to improve her complexion. She looked as unhappy and grey as the weather.

Yet her problems are so easy to remedy.

1. Never underestimate the importance of a good haircut – or hairstyle. By the latter I mean styling hair variously, eg, high ponytails, French twists, chignons etc. Another excellent idea is to apply a comb to it occasionally.
2. Wear some makeup. You don’t need to go out in full battle regalia, but perhaps some under-eye concealer and blush. They are of particular assistance in suspected case of unflattering clothing shades. Optional extras: mascara and lippie.
3. Add an accessory!* Or two, or even three. (You have to wear shoes anyway, so they don’t count.) But don’t go overboard. Remember what Coco said: “Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off.”

In the case of the young woman mentioned above, a colourful scarf** would have gone a long way to improve her look; maybe even a coloured bag and shoes. Not to mention drying her hair.

And what you don’t wear is as important as what you do: try to leave the scowl at home.

* Want more on accessories? Look here.
** Need to know how to tie a scarf? Look here.

O (wo)man!

Last year in Oman, I wandered through Muttrah Souq with X. He had a specific objective: to buy an Omani man’s traditional robe and embroidered cap. In our search for authentic clothing, we were forced deeper and deeper into the maze, leaving the glamorous shops and most of the tourists far behind.

At last we found a merchant selling goods that pleased X, after he convinced them that he wanted a dishdasha that any Omani man would wear. He settled on basic pale blue with pinstripes, but no-one could lay their hands on a kummah that fit his head, until a passer-by (getting into the spirit of the thing) declared his uncle, or possibly brother, had just the thing. He sped off and before long returned with a length of folded fabric. X was directed to sit on a camping stool whilst a cluster of Omanis surrounded him and correctly wrapped the muzzhar, or turban, around X’s head.

Eventually they all glanced at me, wondering which costume I would like to choose. It hadn’t yet occurred to me to purchase one but suddenly it seemed imperative.

Omani women’s clothing is more colourful than their Gulf neighbours’, but I didn’t want anything gaudy. Several garments were displayed to me before I found one that satisfied me.

So here I am in my Muscat-style thawb, (the women’s version of a dishdasha) suitably embellished with gold threads and pink tilli (locally made braid). Of course I should be wearing my pretty green pashmina to cover my head – not around my neck as directed – and they neglected to sell me the necessary pair of pantaloons. That was probably just as well, as between us, X and I only just managed to scrape together enough Omani rials and UAE dirhams to pay for my expensive pashmina and robe.

My silver dangly earrings are from the same souq, but my gorgeous Arabian slippers are from Dubai.

Where to next?