It’s not all eggs

Easter is not all about eggs. It is not even all about chocolate. Surprise! That’s not a chocolate I’m holding in my hand, but the fruit of the American sycamore, a tree widespread across the cooler southern states of the Australian continent.

You might be celebrating Easter, or you might have celebrated Passover – or maybe you are just eating lots of chocolate while you enjoy a break from your workaday world.

But traditionally it is a time to celebrate new life; a time of reflection – and yes, a time of Easter egg hunts in the bottom of the garden.

Unfortunately for myself, I am spending much of the time working and instead I contemplate something else I found in the garden. This golden truffle is chock-full of dormant life, did you know? If I were to break into this, I’d have a handful of fluffy little seeds, each holding the promise of an enormous life.

These seeds can lie dormant for years before suddenly bursting into life – all that is required are the right conditions: a period of cold followed by warmth. I find that beautiful – what a metaphor for hope! Whichever hemisphere you are in, spring is coming, sooner or later.

Now, I’m sure I saw some Ferrero Rochers lurking in my pantry…

The Colour Winter

When I was in high school, maybe grade 8, some of my friends, studying seasonal colour palettes, declared positively one lunch time that I was an Autumn. “How did you arrive at that decision?” I asked, lifting a brow. (Alright, that’s a bit of poetic licence.) Apparently it was the colour of my hair and eyes that decided them, but they didn’t take into account that I was dyeing my hair with henna shampoo, and it was not, in fact, red. 

I am sure over the intervening years I must have tried to once or twice decipher these mysterious codes, but at some point I worked out on my own which colours suited me. I used to prefer slightly dirty colours – until I figured out they actually look awful on me. In fact, they make me look sick and sallow. I always disliked pastels too; perhaps they reminded me too much of the early 80s. As for pink – waaay too girly for me.

Hot pink was another epiphany. Cobalt blue quickly followed on its heels…
I was disgusted: all these 80s
jewel tones!

Icy pinkAnd guess what? Yep, it’s bright colours that suit me best. I discovered that pure white looks brilliant on me. (I once read in a magazine of a bridal designer who declared that pure white suits hardly anyone, only girls with dark olive skin. I immediately decided she had no clue, and pitied her poor clients.)

Icy lavenderHot pink was another epiphany. Cobalt blue quickly followed on its heels, and emerald, and amethyst (there I am above, decked head-to-toe in it). I was disgusted: all these 80s jewel tones! So I rebelled, and limited my wardrobe to a colour palette that I actually liked: mostly white, grey, taupe, and a limited amount of black (because I’m from Melbourne and like to buck the trend).

I like to terrify innocent passers-by with fierce yellowsFor colour I added bright reds, oranges, and turquoise, and a bit of green and purple. I never wore them with black though – that also was too 80s – but with other neutral hues. Some time later I developed a new-found love of bright sunshine yellow – a colour which has often provoked both fear and admiration whenever I have worn it.

Icy blueWhen I started researching this story however, I learned that I am a ‘cool, clear, bright’ winter. All the colours I wore were actually in that colour palette, as well as all these icy pastels – which makes sense, since they are bright whites with a hint of colour. And there is a veritable carafe of reds, pinks and purples! That explains how more and more shades of pink had managed to creep into my wardrobe. That had always bemused me.

Some favourite colours: periwinkle, turquoise, tomato red, magenta, pink and raspberry. I usually combine these with neutral greys.

So if you’re curious to test this theory out yourself, click here to visit College Fashion for an easy diagnosis, based on hair and eye colour, or drop in to the Personality Café for another take (although I think some of their eye colours are a bit simplistic – I have never seen anyone with natural violet eyes, for instance, and though I am certainly a ‘clear winter’, my eye colour [hazel] is not listed). The Chic Fashionista’s not bad either, and has a troubleshooting page too. Mail Online has a story that breaks it down simply. And here’s a good one for men. Any one of these will help you.

Anything that makes your skin
glow and your eyes sparkle most likely suits you.

You don’t need to buy a colour palette swatch book either: just go through your own wardrobe (or a boutique) and hold different items to your face. Anything that makes your skin glow and your eyes sparkle most likely suits you. They’re also probably the items you were wearing when you received lots of compliments. Remember, if there are colours you really love that you find aren’t your best, you can always wear them away from your face: in skirts or trousers.

And if, like me, you always deeply appreciated reading through your older sister’s or mum’s Avon catalogue when you were a kid because the colour names were so hilarious, click here for a multitude of colours, some with very perplexing names (grullo, anyone?).

Happy colouring this Easter!

What I actually wore #0032

Serial #: 0032
Date: 17/10/2009
Weather: forecast 17°, cold, drizzly, windy … miserable
Time Allowed: 15 minutes

It was a freezing cold day: the skies were gray and threatened imminent rain. So much for the ‘Spring’ Racing Carnival.

As is often the case, my outfit starts with one item, and I build around it. The most important fashion item during the racing season is the hat, of course. My original outfit – now scotched because of the cold weather – had revolved around a black velvet and white feather vintage hat that I had bought especially for the occasion. With the change of plan, it was my gold foil rah-rah skirt that became the focal point.

I refused to be one of those scantily-clad floozies who are covered with more gooseflesh than cloth…

Fortunately, I own so many hats already that it was almost a matter of negligent choice to find one to match the skirt. Certainly I would not be wearing the tiresomely ubiquitous fascinator. I found a light-coloured sinnamay fedora hat that sported a leopard print and bow around the crown. So much fun to wear a fedora at a jaunty angle!

The skirt is eye-catching, to say the least, so I toned it down for day with a charcoal polo-neck that also provided warmth. I refused to be one of those scantily-clad floozies who are covered with more gooseflesh than cloth, and can’t properly enjoy the outing because they are too busy warding off the chill. So on went the black opaque stockings too.

To lighten up all that grey I don a shell waterfall necklace that never fails to excite comment. Each teardrop catches the light and reflects a golden glow on my face more flattering than any light-reflecting makeup.

As for my shoes, I tower high in them, and I know that by the end of the day my feet will be sore and tired, but I can’t be too sensible! I head out the door: champagne and frolics await.

Items:

Jumper: Saba
Skirt: Bub-lee Imports, vintage
Hat: Jendi
Bag: vintage 70s
Shoes: Zoe Wittner
Necklace: from Portobello Lane
Earrings: from Gazelle

Boomearrings

I have an adventurous pair of classic silver hoops many years old. They are a kind of guest in my home, as on rare occasions they suddenly go AWOL, only to turn up again when least expected.

The first time I discovered – whilst travelling by train – that like Jack Sparrow, I was adorned with a single earring. The left had taken off. Sadly I removed its mate and put it away in my purse. I was sure I would never see the other again.

…like Jack Sparrow, I was adorned with a single earring.

Some time later, my then-boyfriend while lolling on a giant floor pillow, complained of a metallic object sticking into him. He felt about and withdrew the missing hoop! I was overjoyed, and kept a watchful eye on them after that. Five or six years passed quite peacefully.

Their last dereliction from duty took place a month or two ago, and it was some time before I noticed their absence. The fault was entirely my own. After taking them off in the changing room of my sports club, instead of dropping them into the bottom of my handbag, I put them in a ‘safe place’. Unfortunately, I completely forgot the location of said ‘safe place’.

Days passed before I remembered to retrieve them. The first of several ‘thorough’ searches took place. No joy. I became a little obsessed and ‘searched thoroughly’ for them at random times, still to no avail.

I gave them up for lost.

Weeks drifted by. Summer turned to autumn. I wore a raincoat* for the first time in months. I put my hand in the pocket, and pulled out – not a rabbit, but a hoop earring! I was crestfallen: only one hoop earring and a somewhat desiccated tissue. Ugh. I knew I would never see the missing hoop again, and allowed a moment of sadness to wash over me. It could have fallen out any time, anywhere I told myself. It would take a miracle, I sighed…

I knew I would never see the missing hoop again, and allowed a moment of sadness to wash over me.

That evening, when I returned home and inserted my key into the lock, I absently noted that my keyring seemed to have duplicated itself. I looked closer. What was this? My earring! It must have become entangled with my keys when I thrust them into the coat pocket that morning.

In awe, I carefully placed it with its twin. Yes, they’re scarred, beat up and bent out of shape, but their whimsical history doubles their value in my eyes. Now I’m too scared to take them out of the house – that would really be pressing my luck, boomearrings or not.

*NB. I had already searched the pockets of this coat twice before.

From India With Love

Brightly coloured like the plumage of exotic birds; bejewelled, bemirrored and twinkling in the sun; silken pleats and draperies fluttering in a wayward breeze: the saree is arguably the epitome of Indian fashion – if not culture. I am privileged to watch my friend Anamika robe herself in one, and bedeck herself in gold jewellery.

A saree (not ‘sari’ as is commonly spelled in the West) is an heirloom. Traditionally they are made from silk georgette, satin, lace and cotton-silk blends. The most expensive sarees that are heavy with embroidery and favoured by Bollywood stars can cost up to $5000; a high quality version for a mere earthbound mortal will set her back at least $500 or more (how long is a piece of silk?).

Made from bright coloured pure silk with real gold or silver worked into them, the most embellished is a kanjeevaram: like a Chanel bag it is handed down from mother to daughter and treasured. Made in South India, and up to 9m in length, it is 4–5m longer than the usual saree; it is its sheer weight that usually excludes it from all but the most special occasions.

…like a Chanel bag it [a saree] is handed down from mother to daughter and treasured.

The donning of a saree is not confined to class: any young woman may wear one, beginning around 18 years; traditionally it is a coming-of-age dress. The saree can drape on either shoulder, and a well-fitting bodice and petticoat are worn underneath (and one would never parade in front of men clothed only in these). It is not easy to wrap however. Anamika recalls the first time she wore a saree to a school function when she was 14 years old. It had come undone, and finding it impossible on her own, she gathered up the pleats and ran to her teacher for help!

It is the pleating of the fabric that is the most difficult, Anamika says: the pleats must be the same size; the hem look even, and hang straight. “It’s still difficult,” Anamika chuckles. “Sarees started as a simple drape, and who knows how they got so complicated!” 

Pleating the saree.

When marrying, a young Indian bride would require a bare minimum of 21 sarees in her trousseau, or to be really sumptuous, 101; a few of these could be heirlooms. Whatever the final number, it must end in the auspicious number one. Anamika’s own wedding reception saree was made from stiff silk, and she required the assistance of two people to put it on. “It looks like a draped blanket,” her mother said to her when she tried to wrap it by herself, Anamika remembers.

Anamika only brought three with her to Australia, leaving the others in India with her parents; she, however, never owned more than 20. Nowadays, Anamika prefers a modern twist on a saree, made from lighter fabrics with minimal embroidery. This makes them easier to carry (wear) she says. The few she has kept in her favourite silk georgette drape nicely and are slimming.

On her visits home, Anamika likes to take advantage of the multitude of tailors to design her own sarees with a simple, Western twist, such as the spaghetti straps on this pale rose pink salwaar-kameez. Her sister designed the blue paisley motif on the black. These sets are hand-embroidered and can take 2–3 weeks to complete – or up to six weeks depending on the embroidery.

Today Indian designers like Satya Paul are taking the traditional saree and redesigning it for modern women who, like Anamika, flit from East to West. So new traditions are born.

Many thanks to Anamika for consenting to model and be interviewed for SNAP.