From Suffragettes to Fashionistas

What is the everlasting appeal of the 19^th century style boot? Tight around the lower foot with a myriad of buttons or lacing, they cover up that part of the female form that was back then considered particularly erotic: the ankle. In effect, these boots actually enhanced and drew attention to this scandalous portion of the anatomy.

Boots – apart from the equestrian boot – only formed daily wear for the nonworking woman in the 1830s; but by the 1850s, mass production made them affordable to all. They became a symbol of emancipation, and at the turn of the 20^th century, suffragettes were marching through the streets in them.

Of course boots for us are now simply a question of individual preference and come in every imaginable style and colour. In my 20s I decided that a pair of knee-high, black leather lace-ups were an imperative addition to a modern wardrobe. Mine are so modern that they actually do up with a zip at the side, but my eldest sister Blossom remembers hers in the 70s actually laced up. You couldn’t leave anywhere in a hurry.

…I do find them [Victorian style ankle boots] delightfully quaint, like something out of a storybook.

I’m not a man, and don’t think of Victorian style ankle boots as particularly erotic, but I do find them delightfully quaint, like something out of a storybook. The two-tone pair in the picture above is by Swear London. The uppers are made from a distressed denim, with the caps from striped red and white canvas.

There are purely decorative denim buttons on the outside of the ankle. I remember seeing them in the window of a boutique in groovy Greville St, and falling in love with them one winter before I finally succumbed, and bought them (on sale!) in the spring.

Caps, incidentally, were originally used to make flimsy, earliest version of boots more practical for outdoor wear; the boots were referred to as being ‘galoshed’.  

Check out the antique examples below, from Shoes: A celebration of Pumps, Sandals, Slippers & More by Linda O’Keefe. Another great resource: All About Shoes, from the Bata Shoe Museum in Canada.

(Left) Cutouts playfully expose colourful stockings; (right) more functional walking boots for colder weather.

(Left) Tight lacing had the opposite effect from that which was intended; (right) pearl and silver buttons fasten lime-green kid.

(Left) Ornate boots worn by opera goers; (right) summer walking boots of silk fabric and metallic thread.

Petrol Blue

For a long time I have had a secret obsession with the term ‘petrol’ as applied to a certain shade of blue. I always thought it sounded a little affected – you know how pretentious those colour-forecasters are.

However the notion was strangely attractive to me. Petrol is not universally thought of as something pretty (particularly as it has been the catalyst for war in latter years). Something unattractive describes an object that is beautiful: like the ugliness that is prized for its sheer disparity and courage in the face of a world that is obsessed with youth and beauty.

A pair of David Lawrence peeptoes out of my own wardrobe… and could my bedspread be described as petrol too? (Cllick on image for larger version.)I have a leather coat that I always described to myself as petrol blue, without really knowing if it was. There is some controversy about the word’s spelling: the OED defines it as a shade of greenish or greyish blue. Apart from discovering here that the appellation was first coined in the 1940s by the British Colour Council, Wiktionary has this to say:

Many people erroneously believe that this is a misspelling of ‘petrel’ blue, and that the term refers to the sea bird. However, the OED gives only this spelling. The term may originally have pertained to petrol-derived compounds such as paraffin, which is often coloured blue.

Most likely the word ‘petrol’, which describes a colour of bluish green, is derived etymologically from the word ‘petroleum’ (crude oil). Petroleum varies greatly in colour, some are colourless, many of them are of nice bluish green colour.

Certainly my coat falls under this description. Consulting that oracle Google, I find a few more things petrol-coloured blue, below.

(Clockwise from left) A swatch of petrol blue; 1965 Jaguar Mk2 from greatescapecars.co.uk; glass vases from copenhagenfurniture.net; three strap pumps by Vivienne Westwood; Spectrum staggered drawers from dwell.co.uk; fresh water pearl studs with petrol blue ‘button’ drop from hamiltonandinches.com; a living room with touches of petrol blue from channel4.com; extra fine merino wool from thelittleknittingcompany.co.uk.N.B. I thought it rather apt to place myself against a backdrop of the Middle-Eastern desert. I took this photo after a wild 4-wheel drive across the dunes in Dubai in December 2008.

Naughty but nice

Someone – one of my darling big sisters no doubt – bought me a poster of the original Flower Fairy alphabet* when I was very young. I Blu-Tacked it to my wall above my bed and daydreamed over the delightful illustrations.

My only complaint was that I was not at all pleased with the humble flower that represented the first initial of my name; I would much rather have had the glamorous ‘Queen of the Meadow’ – even back then I harboured grandiose illusions about my place in life! However, I could not think of an actual first name starting with Q that I would have liked.

I remember these as some of my favourites – and Queen of the Meadow was at the top of my list.When I did this shoot, however, fairies were far from my mind. It was the belling of the skirt that suddenly made me think of them.

I’ve always liked this particular vintage skirt (sometimes worn as dress, with or without a pink velvet ribbon tied at waist), and I always love pleats in general. The Obüs black shirt also has pleats on the elbow. The boots were the naughty addition to the outfit – the horizontal strips a nice counterpoint to the vertical pleats.

And so my Dragonfly Fairy was born. A little bit naughty, a little bit nice.

*Incidentally, as a nice segue from my last post, the paintings date from the 1930s–1950s by Cicely Mary Barker; originals can be purchased here.

1930s Prints

When I first bought this Cloud Beach label wrap dress I was thinking of the 1930s. Not at all because of the shape or cut, but rather the geometric print. The sturdy cotton fabric made me imagine hot Australian summers of years long past in the Depression era. The dress was made for a hard-working country girl, and she’d be wearing a scarf over her hair, to protect it from the heat and dust of the bush.

But then I found this vintage hat last week: ‘A Calvert Model’ by Frank S. Tisdale. I love the curled brim, and the moth-eaten organza ribbon simply adds some verisimilitude to my bucolic fantasy.

So here they are together, set against the backdrop of the Murray River in Albury, NSW.

Below are some fabric samples (original and reproduction) as well as vintage sewing patterns of the 1930s – quaint in themselves.

(Left) Fabric samples from fabrics.net; (centre) pattern from hookedonvintage.com; (right, top and bottom) reproduction fabrics from sugar-shack.ca.

The Wooden Bag

I do like this wooden bag. I did the moment I saw it: from the slender lengths of honey-coloured wood that beg to be touched, to its endearing, rickety construction. There is something friendly about it.

Its rigid, minimal shape immediately made me think of architecture: lofty city buildings (hence the Manhattan background); and it stands tall like a sculpture. It is no delicate bag either, measuring 30cm high.

I have not swung it yet through the city streets however, for fear of losing its contents. What I really need is a couple of clear pvc cases to keep smaller items safe. I like the idea of the contents being visible though: a rustic version of all those clear designer bags that came into fashion as in-flight baggage a few years ago. I wonder if this one would get through quarantine – never mind security?