Gypsy Mood

“You look like a gypsy!” That was what my mum would say to me years ago when I was attending art school and dressed very colourfully in piles of beads and Indian skirts and vintage clothes that I found in the op shops at lunch time around college.

The word ‘gypsy’ has such picturesque connotations: one thinks of nomadic folk living a bohemian, happy-go-lucky and simple life, thriving on the freedom of travelling wherever whim took them – in quaint little caravans drawn by sturdy horses of course. It’s a romantic notion, and undoubtedly they must endure the harsh realities of life just the same as the less adventurous of us.

I’m not nomadic (although I have travelled a little), but I still sometimes dress like a gypsy, when the mood strikes me.

Fashion Notes

In keeping with gypsy values, I am wearing quite a mish-mash of items, most of which is second hand. The most spectacular piece is the silk taffeta skirt of course, which I bought in an op shop last year for around $7. I wasn’t sure if it was silk at the time, and I doubt the staff member who priced it suspected it was silk; there are no labels in it. I just thought it was fabulous.

The organza blouse is by an Australian designer, Carla Zampatti, and is I think a highly amusing relic from the 80s. The silk shawl around my hips was a birthday gift from a friend, and the pink sequin scarf in my hair was another thrift store find. My jewellery is a mix of vintage (a white 40s bead necklace) and antique (Turkish coin earrings, the Afghan bead tassel); second hand from op shops; new retail, and souvenirs (the bangles, from Vietnam) and even a turquoise ring hand made by me.

Fashion Disaster!

The skirt is extremely well made, with every seam inside perfect, and over-locked, so I didn’t want to even snip a piece from inside to do a burn test and ascertain the fibre content. However, something disastrous happened right after this photoshoot. It was hanging in the bathroom and I inadvertently swiped some Lucas Papaw ointment – which has a petroleum jelly base – on it.

I inadvertently swiped some Lucas Papaw ointment on it.

First I tried spot cleaning the stain with dishwashing liquid (which can work on greasy stains if used immediately). Nothing doing. I left it for a few days while I pondered whether to take it to the dry cleaner. Finally, after doing some research I referred back to my laundering app (‘The Stain’ – highly recommended) on how to deal with oily stains. It doesn’t mention mineral-based oils, but I tried the method of sprinkling talc on the stain and lifting it onto paper towel with the application of heat (using an iron). Then I hand-washed it, immersing the entire skirt to avoid possibly leaving a water-stain (in for a penny, in for a pound).

Then something marvellous happened – aside from the stain lifting: once the skirt was dry, the fabric had softened considerably and I knew without a doubt that it was silk. I assume the previous owner had only ever dry-cleaned it, and that accounted for its starchy crispness. Some may prefer that finish for taffeta, but I think it is much nicer to wear now.

Photos: December 2016

When Ruffles Go Bad

Today at lunchtime I went for a walk ostensibly to get some fresh air, enjoy the sunshine and look for lost things, but inevitably my feet lead me to an op shop (thrift store).

I had a little browse and picked up a couple of nice things to mull over, and then pounced on a little 1950s beige ruffled hat that was so hideous I had to try it on. As my friend said when I sent her a photo, it looked like early Dame Edna.

Isn’t it awful? I don’t understand it. Some vintage hats are peculiar and inexplicable, but whimsy gives them charm. This one I just don’t know. Who thought that a bonnet of ruffles framing the head would be a good idea? It’s a bit like a mobcap on steroids. About the best I could say of it was that it fit very well, and it was well made, with a sturdy lining. At $15 it was too expensive to even buy for a laugh.

I ended up buying a wonderful violet straw hat with a huge brim that is flexible enough to turn up in any direction, and also a broken vintage umbrella which I am going to cannibalise for spare parts (I have another vintage umbrella that is missing a steel tip that goes on the end of a spoke.)

So that was a successful op shop trip in the end: a new hat, spare parts and a laugh.

Photos: Today

Ms Fix-It

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: glue is a great gift to budget fashionistas! Why give money to professional shoe and jewellery repairers when you can fix it at home yourself at little or no cost?

Case 1: A pair of plaited leather gladiator sandals

After only a few wears, the outer sole had became detached from the leather upper.

Granted, these sandals were very inexpensive ($22 on sale) purchases online, but still, one does not expect a pair of leather shoes to split in half so quickly. I was very cross. The sandals were punished and cast into the outer darkness (the back of my closet) while I contemplated their fate.

I refused to throw good money after bad by taking them to the shoe repairer, as the upper sole around the toes was also worn – the sandals are so soft and flexible the sole tended to fold back on itself as I walked, so the edges had become quite frayed. This was the first time I had experienced this phenomenon, and I wondered at first if I was dragging my feet – and then I observed (while pounding the pavement and stalking others’ feet) it happened to other women as well. It’s just poor shoe design or manufacture.

I wondered at first if I was dragging my feet …

I had been tempted to throw the sandals straight into the bin to teach them a lesson, but as this would further annoy no one but myself, I decided to attempt a roughshod repair so that at least I could get a few more wears out of them. I smeared on some Araldite (a two-part epoxy glue) between the layers, applied pressure for a few minutes, and that was enough to make them wearable again. Hurrah!

Case 2: A striped Indian brass bangle

The inlaid resin or plastic squares had lost their adherence to the brass base.

I could easily have thrown out this $5 bangle that I bought in an Indian boutique years ago, but I decided to attempt a repair. I love stripes, and it has a matching bangle in red and white, so I thought it was worth a shot. Possibly the original glue had become petrified with age, but it was a very easy fix. Good as new!

Case 3: Amazonite stone set in sterling silver

The stone broke in half and fell out of the setting.

This earring was a casualty of my evil ceramic tiles that are laid throughout my apartment. I had dropped it on the bathroom floor, and the green rectangular stone had actually snapped in half! This was a disastrous break, and not as simple a matter as for a jeweller to apply some solder and repair metal.

I decided I had nothing to lose by attempting to glue the stone back together, and then gluing it within the silver setting. Originally there would have been no glue – the jeweller would have manually set the stone by pressing the metal inwards to fit its shape. However, I painstakingly applied the same glue the stone, and then waited for that to set before I glued it into its frame. Then I removed all the glue from my fingers.

After curing, the joint is supposed to be impervious to boiling water …

The glue has held it all together successfully, even after, to my horror, it fell again on the bathroom floor just the other day!

Araldite, a synthetic resin, was first invented in 1945, in Switzerland. I use a version that comes in a double syringe, with the resin and hardener kept apart until equal parts of each are mixed together. After curing, the joint is supposed to be impervious to boiling water and all common organic solvents, although I have not tested this theory.

However, let us all raise a glass to the Swiss – first they give us chocolate, and now glue … what’s next?

Photos: March 2016

Recycled Plastic

Not all plastic in the world is evil. For example, these 60s-inspired hoops are quite charming. They are black with white edging and possess a nice lustre, shiny like lacquer.

On a whim, I picked them up a little while ago in an op shop, along with a pile of other costume jewellery, and they ended up being the item I bought. They were just so swingy, and big and bold and graphic – I love how the two hoops swing independently.

Some plastic recycles just as nicely as when it was bought new.

Photo: Last week

What I Actually Wore #129

Serial #: 0129
Date: 01/07/2013
Weather: 18°C / 64°F
Time Allowed: 10 minutes

This is a very cute outfit! While there are a lot of quirky items, the minimal colour palette of tan, gold, grey and white keeps it from looking too over-the-top, especially when you remember in the office I would have shed the coat, hat and bag. Nearly all of the items are still in my closet too. The socks wore out, and the skirt I gave away to a friend, and only now that I look at it fondly again do I wonder if I should have kept it.

Because the skirt is quite wild, I deliberately chose to wear a neutral grey jumper, and picked out the pompom bandeau to match the circle print on the skirt. I continued the circular theme with my silver bauble earrings and a pearl ring.

The vintage 70s suede and rabbit fur trimmed coat is a beloved favourite. I’ve told the story before, but years ago I learned from a random stranger on a tram that this particular coat was inspired by the 70s film Dr Zhivago. Apparently it was very expensive, and that stranger had it in red. She was so impressed to see that I had found one in such good condition, and urged me to take good care of it.

The truth was that the coat was in terrible condition when I bought it: the original lining was completely shredded, the fur trim was coming away from the suede panels, and some of the buttons were detaching; I paid only $40 for it.

I persuaded my oldest sister Blossom to remake the lining for me as a birthday present (she has been a seamstress since way back). That turned out to be a labour of pure sisterly love as it was a huge job. I managed to fix the buttons myself, and also the detaching trims (that occurred some time after the coat left my sister’s loving hands) by gluing scrap leather on the reverse to reinforce the weak seams. Fortunately my sister had left the bottom of the lining open, so I was able to access the inside easily.

Now I wear the coat only occasionally in order to preserve its life as long as possible – I just have to wait for the weather to cool down and autumn to finally begin!

Items:

Jumper: ink
Skirt: Anthropologie
Socks: Philippe Matignon
Hat: vintage 50s
Coat: Stephen Dattner, vintage 70s
Earrings: handmade
Ring: Autore
Tote: Elise Carrel
Boots: Roc

Photos: October 2013