There once was a girl who had a little curl

What is it about the combination of frilly white lace and black stockings? Cute, but saucy; nice, but naughty. Add some curls and a touch of red and we have a little Victorian doll blown-up life size. It harks back to a time when a glimpse of a woman’s ankle was a scandalous affair of note. A time when women submitted meekly to the men in their life – or else they sat on the shelf. A mute doll, either way: a problematic and uncomfortable notion.

Interestingly when I tried to do some research online on Victorian dolls and Victoriana, I came upon sites dedicated to the collection and decoration of Victorian style dolls – aimed at adult women. I hurriedly clicked away.

Cute, but saucy; nice, but naughty. Add some curls and
a touch of red…

And then there’s ‘steampunk’ – a much more fascinating concept, as Wikipedia describes it: “the word is … used loosely to describe imaginary, mock-Victorian worlds, where the look and technology of the Victorian era may sit alongside impossible machinery or fantastic creatures”. Which leads me to Neo-Victorianism. The rabbit-hole just gets deeper the further you go… and I would love to have gone to the conference “Neo-Victorianism: the politics and aesthetics of appropriation” held in 2007 at Exeter University.

Image credits: black and white engraving in bottom left: "Maison tournante aérienne" (aerial rotating house) by Albert Robida, c.1883. All others public domain.A few months ago (in the middle of winter) a friend and I were driving through Prahran, a popular area of Friday-nightlife, and I saw a young girl in her twenties channelling Brassaï, dressed up in an extremely short white dress and black stayup stockings. Their tops were clearly visible, falling short of the hemline by several inches. She wore bouncing blonde curls and was very pretty, like a doll. “… but, on the street?” I said in doubtful astonishment to Gigi. I sincerely hope she was hiding a few moves up her sleeves in case she had to defend her honour, because she was hiding little else.

I bought my dress in Vietnam months ago, from a great boutique called Tuyet Lan Orchids. I was initially drawn to the heavily embroidered soft fabric, but was suspicious the dress was originally designed for much shorter people. The salesgirl assured me however, that leggings – which I didn’t have the heart to tell her I Just Don’t Do – would negate the brevity of the skirt.

For me this is just a saucy party dress, but I’ll keep it cute by wearing my frilled ‘modesty shorts’ underneath and my high, high red heels on my feet. Good for stomping on impertinent toes.

The Romance of Train Travel

Mapping the route. Photograph by Norbert Schoerner.

I have always loved travelling by train. I remember the old ‘Red Rattlers’ that were still running in Melbourne in the 1970s – trains from a bedtime story with wooden interiors and high-backed seats. You could travel with the doors open and the wind whizzing through your hair.

Yesterday I returned to Melbourne from the country via train, a trip of about four hours. It was a more modern train, and I had my iPod plugged in, my iPhone to entertain me should I need it, and a Grazia magazine in my bag. Yet I found more romance in leaning back in my seat and staring out the window; daydreaming while the Fred Williams landscape swooped past.

I found more romance in … daydreaming while the Fred Williams landscape swooped past.

The ultimate train journey would have to be the Trans-Siberian Express from Vladivostock to Moscow, although I’m not sure I would be quite as glamorous as pictured in these photos by Norbet Schoerner, torn from British Vogue*. I certainly won’t be wearing tracksuits with a bumbag slung around my hips, but I doubt I’ll be retiring for the night in cashmere knickers and a Stephen Jones rabbit-ear hat, cute as it is!

Click on images for larger version.

Bartering for vital supplies … drinking coffee and contemplating greasy eggsSupper in the cabin: caviar, tea, vodkaAsleep in the cabin … Messing about as jet-lag starts to kicks inBreakfast in the restaurant car … dressing in cashmere

* Issue date unknown.

Poses With Posies

This is my sister Star and me way back in the Seventies. We are in the Melbourne Botanic Gardens on a family outing. Dad was always accompanied by his camera on these excursions and enjoyed taking photos of us standing in front of the local flora. (And fauna when it was available.)

I have to admit I was a bit of a tomboy when I was young: I enjoyed climbing trees and rooves (garages, houses – whatever I could access) and tearing around barefoot. Why walk when you can run? However, that hairstyle was NOT of my choosing. One of my aunts did that to me. I very much disliked the fact that I looked like a boy – ludicrously dressed in a green frock in this instance.

I AM highly amused, though,
by the way I am posing here…

I AM highly amused, though, by the way I am posing here, imitating a fashion model and displaying the sprigged pattern of my dress! I must have felt it deserved particular attention.

I am also enjoying Star’s combination of floral print skirt with photographic print tee. You could totally wear that now with nonchalant cool.

Below, a page out of summers past:

The gum’s all yellowed, and the prints are charmingly stuck down with no care for straight lines, but the sunshiny happiness of my childhood rises as I flip the pages of the family album.

Ladybird, Ladybird

The second to last time I had cupping done, the first thing I thought (after the initial shock of how purple the bruises were passed) was that I looked like a ladybug. How kind of my massage therapist to place the cups symmetrically on either side of my spine!

On Tuesday I paid him another visit. When he asked me if I wanted to have cupping done, I replied, “Sure, if you think I need it.” Yes, I did. I added suggestively, “Last time you did it they were soo pretty, all symmetrical down my back. I looked like a ladybird.” I didn’t need to say any more.

And like last time, when I got home, I had a shock at the sight of my bare back. I must be chock-full of toxins! (Which I can’t at all understand, clean-living as I am.)

But this time I was ready to photograph the results. Later he and I chuckled over the spots, and discussed the artistic merits of creating cupping pictures on his patients’ unsuspecting backs – sort of like balloon art, only classier. “I can photograph them for you,” I told him, “and I’m sure there’ll be some art gallery owner somewhere who’d be totally into it.”

I am fully expecting a smiley face next time.

More pics in the Out-takes & Extras gallery.

Snow White Meets Prince Charmless

“Who are you?” Snow White asked as she coughed up remnants of poisoned apple.

“The Prince.”

“Oh! Prince Charming?”

“I don’t know any Prince Charming. I’m Prince Charmless.”

“I can see that,” Snow White’s lip curled delicately as she looked him up and down. His garments were unstylish to say the least.
She eyed the plaid shirt with suspicion, “Are you sure you’re not a woodsman?”

Snow White’s lip curled delicately as she looked him up and down.

“Does this look like an axe?” Prince Charmless brandished his sword, and Snow White pretended to cower.

The meaning of her derisive glance was not lost on the Prince. “That’s gratitude for you!” he exclaimed indignantly. “Who was
it that accepted a poisoned apple from a very unattractive old lady, eh?”

Crossing her arms defiantly on her bosom, Snow White lifted her nose in the air and looked away. Such pretension ought to be depressed immediately.

“Do you want to be rescued, or not?”

“Hmph!”

Taking that as an affirmative, Prince Charmless unceremoniously lifted her into his arms, trampling on the rose bushes blooming all over Snow White’s glass coffin as he did so.

“There’s nothing wrong with my legs,” Snow White remarked waspishly.

“Tsk-tsk! … You are so not
a princess, either.”

“Tsk-tsk!” Prince Charmless reproved her ungracious manners.
“You are so not a princess, either.” With that pithy observation, Prince Charmless whisked her off to his hotted-up yellow
Torana SLX.

Snow White wasn’t about to let him have the last word. “The first thing we are going to do when we get to the palace is find you
a stylist.”

The Torana burst into six-cylindered life, and off they drove into the sunset, arguing all the way.

Check out the All Dressed-Up gallery for still versions of the slideshow above, and one more in the Outtakes & Extras gallery. Also coming up in the next week or two is a “Making Of” post, so come back for more!

*Eeek! If you are viewing this page and see only a blank white square at the top, you may be using Internet Explorer. Please try viewing through Firefox or Safari. So sorry; currently seeking technical advice to remedy this problem…