Twin Takes on Tweed

Two looks that capture the spirit of the Thirties and Forties but with a twist: on the left a demure kick of pleats for a lady; on the right, cuffed mannish trousers for former tomboys who like to stride through the world.

I gathered together a selection of tweed garments: a jacket found in a vintage boutique in Bega, NSW, many years ago; a vintage skirt bought from an English girl at Camberwell Market years later; a pair of trousers found in a local op shop. Ditto the fedora and bag, and the Aldo Fanta-flavoured platforms I found on eBay during a mission to find brightly hued shoes.

I had in mind the heroine from Hitchcock’s 1938 film The Lady Vanishes, in which trains, mysterious disappearances and romance feature. And there’s plenty of tweed to be seen in it too!

As for Tweedledum and Tweedledee, they may or may not have been twins, but I think my incarnations of them complement each other nicely.

A Tale of Two Dresses

About a year ago I fell in love with this dove-grey jersey dress from Zara in Dubai. It was on sale and not in my size, so of course I bought it.

As always, I was drawn to the asymmetrical cut and pleated details. It was too big, and I didn’t care; it was comfortable. I first wore it that holiday in Oman over jeans, for modesty in that Middle-Eastern country. It took me around Muscat, to the museums and galleries, the Old Fort and the souq; to the beach. It became imbued with happy memories and joie de vivre.

I returned home to the heat of summer and had to wait for cooler weather to wear it again. Some time after that it languished in the washing basket, waiting for a hand-washing Saturday.

It became imbued with happy memories and joie de vivre.

Imagine my distress when I pulled it forth and discovered it
eaten alive by moths! There are a dozen tiny holes or more, chomped in various parts of the dress’s anatomy. I washed it carefully nonetheless, but I could not wear it. Nor could I bear to throw it away.

Many months later, I thought I would try to have the dress copied (I ought to have taken it on holiday again, this time to the Vietnamese tailors), so I set about finding jersey fabric online, and asking for a price from my tailor. They quoted me three or four hundred dollars at a minimum! Regretfully, I put the dress away in my wardrobe.

One evening, not so long ago, I was walking home down Chapel Street and passed the window of a new boutique, Sadie. Before my gob-smacked eyes there was my Zara dress! Alike in every detail but one: instead of dove-grey, this incarnation was assembled from beige marle. This difference I cast aside as a mere bagatelle.
I wanted that dress.

I returned as soon as could be; reverently lifted the garment from its rail (a small size this time), and whisked it away to a changing room.

It truly was the same dress.

Of course I bought it, and now they hang side by side in my closet. It makes me happy.

What I actually wore #0026

Serial #: 0026
Date: 11/02/2009
Weather: forecast 20°
Time Allowed: 5 minutes

This outfit is all about the dress. I fell in love with that particular shade of blue – a dusky cornflower blue – and I have always had a sneaking liking for silk dupioni, as much as it reminds me of the Eighties. I love the complicated ‘double’ bodice created by a plunging V-neckline and a halterneck, and the inverted pleats at the waist. It’s always the unusual cuts that grab my attention. Some people might call that ‘arty’ dressing. 

In the label’s advertising campaign, the model wore the crimson version of this dress with nothing but an enormous chest-sized necklace; in reality I’d be risking a wardrobe malfunction if I did that. I’ve worn it with a silk camisole and a necklace of thickly woven black thread strung with seed pearls and moonstones. I always thought it looked like the product of some remarkably patient indigenous jeweller somewhere, as the weaving is reminiscent of a fishing net. The tiny teardrop pearls I found many years ago at a stall in Camberwell’s Sunday market.

And just in case I felt too dainty parading about in blue silk, I wore my clomping black heels to bring me back to earth.

Items:

Dress: Ammo
Camisole: Diesel
Necklace: a long-gone boutique that was next to City Hatters in Melbourne’s Flinders Street.
Earrings: Camberwell Market
Rings: (sterling silver) Roun, (grey shell, sterling silver) NGV Shop
Watch: Kenneth Cole
Shoes: Zoe Wittner

Forties in the Naughties

Sapphire likes to dress up just as much as I do, if not more, so when I heard she had a Forties-themed party to go to, I wanted to hear all about it.

Tell us about the party, Sapphire. 

I was invited to a 40th birthday party, with a cute Forties theme. I absolutely adore Forties and Fifties style so I was pretty excited – I’ve always loved Katharine Hepburn too.

The Andrews SistersOriginally my two friends and I wanted to go as the Andrews Sisters, and we searched high and low for some place that would loan us an old army outfit for a reasonable price. But alas, the only thing that looked good was $140 a piece – it was authentic, which explains the price. Then the only thing that was at the right price turned out to be “dancers’” costumes in a previous life and, well… just a little to revealing!

So what did you do instead?

I decided to put my own costume together, especially hoping to find pieces that I would wear again. The shopping process took me quite a while, as it was really hard to find things that are actually Forties. It doesn’t seem to be a very popular decade with vintage shops!

Or there just isn’t much of it around unfortunately. And when you do find something, it doesn’t fit!

Yes, and it was August, so a pretty cold time of year. The fur shrug and thick wool cape helped keep me warm. Stockings were also essential, but not just because of the weather – no woman in the Forties would have been seen anywhere without wearing her nylons!

One of the few people at the party who actually lived through the 40s absolutely loved my costume – the ultimate compliment!

Do you have a favourite piece? 

Definitely – the two piece suit! It's actually a Sixties number which I found in Retro Star, but I managed to twist it to look a little more Forties. I love the little cape with the pinky-red lining! It was just a matter of choosing the accessories after that.

Hmm, as for that lining, I think we could even call it puce! Tell me about your accessories.

The turquoise blouse is from Retro Star, as well as the faux pearl earrings. I absolutely adored the dainty navy straw hat, with its trim of little white flowers. It was from Shag and individually, the most expensive item. The fur collar was from Chapel St Bazaar.

And how did you go on the night?

One of the few people at the party who actually lived through the 40s absolutely loved my costume – the ultimate compliment! She was dressed in a heavenly ensemble of pink wool, pin-curled hair and a precious matching pink hat. Unfortunately people then thought we were the Andrews Sisters after all, and as the night wore on the calls for us to get up and sing grew and we had to make a quiet and quick exit! 

Well, I hoped you rolled out the barrels on the night and drank lots of rum and Coca Cola. And on that note… I’ll say my last goodbye… shoo-shoo baby! 

* The backdrop is of Pellegrini’s Espresso Bar on Bourke St in Melbourne.

A Happiness of Hats

In celebration of the glorious Melbourne Cup – the ‘race that stops a nation’ – I bring you four hats. Or, to employ the collective noun I have just created: a happiness of hats.

At A: a velvet 40s toque, complete with two flowers just above each ear. It makes me feel like a mini Minnie Mouse.

At happiness: a 20s style (alas not an original, I fear, as it is in too good condition) sequinned cap trimmed with a black chiffon rose.

…a navy wool hat fluttering with a light blue ostrich feather and ruined net dates from the 1910s.

At of: this, I think, is a 50s pillbox wrapped in silver and white chiffon. It is one of the very first vintage hats I bought for two or three dollars from a local op shop.

At hats: a navy wool peaked hat fluttering with a light blue ostrich feather and ruined net dates from the 1910s. The ostrich neckpiece was made nearly a hundred years later by myself and tickles my neck.

Hmm, a fortuitous turn of phrase. I think I might go have a flutter tomorrow.