This is an old photo — I have longish hair! — but I wanted to show you that I own this dress, which used to belong to my mother. It’s roomy and comfy and good for when I’m feeling self-conscious about my body, with perfect little buttons at the sleeves. I asked my mom if she could provide me with any pictures of herself in this dress and it turns out that she got a lot of use out of it; she wore it everywhere, including on her honeymoon and on her wedding day.
That’s my dad on the very right, and my mom in The Dress. She also showed me a bunch of other photos of her in her youth, many of which I will be sharing on this blog.
I had not even heard of a diadem before, but here is the one that I will be using in the wedding; it is from the 20s and from the Lower Garden District in New Orleans. If I ever had children (ahem), it would end up as an heirloom, for sure. According to Joe, the owner of Retro Active, diadems of this nature are fairly rare — this one still has all of its stones. I’m so afraid of breaking it or of something coming loose!
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This last one is amazing — from 1897-98, a diadem in the shape of a mermaid! I love how she is holding a giant stone in her tiny hands.
In my quest to find things about diadems from the Internet I came across the following article from the Society pages of the New York Times, March 20, 1921 (I have estimated much of the meaning and left some ellipses, as the scan of the page was crinkled and hard to read):
“There was an interesting display of jewel headdresses in the parterre Monday night at the opera, with b…deaux in the majority. Mrs. Ol… Gould Jennings, who was the guest of Mr. and Mrs. Henry White, wore one of the most stunning diamond diadems seen…. season at the opera, a striking r… to the black lace gown she wore, entirely void of ornaments or flowers. The diadem was worn low on the forehead, and its peak so high as to be almost crownlike. The band of diamonds narrowed out at the sides, entirely encircled the head. And the beauty of the diadem was the sparkle of the lights produced by the jewels not the usual vivid sparkle but a scintillating glow.”
(all images from VISIONAIRE)
If you can get past the hypnotic animated video of a tall, skinny model in a black latex jumpsuit writhing around as she dons and doffs a variety of polo shirts, you might discover that the bookzine Visionaire 54 has come out with issue 54 SPORT, a publication that combines art, print, and — wait for it — the wearable. The Lacoste polo shirts come three to a book, forming one “set,” and are printed with work by artists such as Nick Knight, Peter Lindbergh, Karl Lagerfeld, Pedro Almodóvar, David Byrne, Michael Stipe, and Richard Phillips. Or you could get the entire set for all of the artist shirts and books; both the single set and the entire set come at major ducats ($675 and $1475).
I do, however, love the idea of a collaborative project involving a book and something wearable. Another bauble to rattle around in my tin-can skull.
One final note: I added a few extra thoughts to the “Mishmash” post a few posts back. They were brief enough such that I didn’t feel they warranted their own post. Also, I have done away with the “regular schedule” of posting; I’m posting at my own rhythm at this point, and hope that you will follow me as I do so. Thank you so much for reading and I do appreciate your visits to my humble little corner of the web.
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The last time I had such a visceral reaction to something in a magazine was when I caught a whiff of my gardenia perfume from Estee Lauder’s perfume sample out of another back issue of UK Vogue. Here I turned the page and — HELLO! THIS is the hair I’ve been aching for. The last five years or so have been spent moaning and groaning over my inability to handle a single fingerwave; lately, the pin curls I fell back on for so long have been looking strange (is it the length? the kink? the technique?). Aggie, tell me your secrets, and don’t say “a million-dollar stylist.” I’m going to be experimenting with my damp dark locks and some bobby pins to see if I can do an approximation.
I’ve been asked how I do my current ‘do. I’ve got short, thick hair that is naturally straight; however, I’ve also got a perm, which I think helps. My technique is to pin curl after a shower (using mousse), sleep in the pin curls, and then tease section by section with a fine-tooth comb, bobby-pinning up each part such that it puffs up and out. I’m not sure if the pin curl part is necessary. It probably isn’t; I’m just used to doing it at this point.
Eight days to go before I fly halfway across the country to Ann Arbor. My things are rapidly disappearing into boxes, leaving a scant amount of clothes to assemble outfits with. I’ve been calling my new landlord, figuring out when to pick up my keys, changing the utilities to be in my name, setting up online accounts, budgeting, surfing Craigslist, etc.
All of this is to say that I’m in a transitory period right now, so forgive me if I’m a little slow in posting. I have already set up for Internet to be installed the day after I move into my new apartment, so the transition should be fairly seamless, but Chris and I will be responsible for furnishing my completely unfurnished apartment and trying to get me settled into a new city, plus we’ll be saying good-bye to one another, in a way.
After reading about Totokaelo from Susie B., I decided I’d give it a go. Totokaelo is a La Garconne/Creatures of Comfort-esque site with a fashion community built-in; the catch is that joining the community involves a brief application process. (Nervewracking if, like me, you are both drawn to and repelled by in-crowds.) I won’t be buying anything from them in the near future, as the impending changes in my life leave no room for things like A.P.C. cardigans and Opening Ceremony boots, but I do love to window-shop.
The above picture is an illustration of how I’ve been wearing my hair lately. It’s short, but still tease-able. I’ve been teasing my hair for years, but I used to tease it all the way out, so that I had a giant puffball all the way around my head. It wasn’t flattering with my round face. One of my ex-roommates in college asked me why I did it and I said, defensively, “I just like it.” (She also said I dressed like a librarian.) I went around with a lion’s mane for years! My ATM card is a reminder of this.
If you’re not reading Threadbared yet, you really should be. Two new-ish posts in particular come to mind: one addressing the prevalence of young Asian women in the fashion blogosphere, and another addressing a recent Beth Ditto fashion spread in NYLON. (At this point I would be saying to you, “Hella s’maction!”; s’maction meaning ’smarts in action.’)
I spent some valuable brain time trying to figure out how to turn Chanel’s two-toned legwear into a DIY project. Perhaps I can tackle this once I hit Ann Arbor.
Does anyone else want a tin ceiling? Is it just me?
“The most conspicuous occupation of the American woman of to-day, dressing herself aside, is self-discussion. It is a disquieting phenomenon. Chronic self-discussion argues chronic ferment of mind, and ferment of mind is a serious handicap to both happiness and efficiency.”
- The Business of Being a Woman, Ida M. Tarbell (1921)
Cornell has an archive of interesting documents, entitled HEARTH (Home Economics Archive: Research, Tradition, History) regarding various aspects of society and home economics published between 1850 and 1950. An entire section is devoted to fashion and related topics, including 1924’s “Dress and Look Slender,” which has the amazing opening sentence, “If there is any one thing in the world that is not wanted it is too much fat on a woman.” (I am glad that there was nothing else going on in 1924 that needed to be eliminated from society.) An article from 1925, “How to Tell the Fashions from the Follies,” states:
“Very few people who look into mirrors see themselves at all — let alone as others see them. If they did, how could barrel-like figures trick themselves out in tight, horizontal-striped coverings? How could round, fleshly faces surmount their circles with little knobs of turbaned hats? How could scrawny old shoulders and arms thrust their angles into the light of clear day? What are all these addlepates thinking of?”
Sound familiar? The language has been toned down, but I still feel like an addlepate any time I pick up most women’s magazines. (My friend Anna wrote a great send-up of the new Self here.)
I used to wish for a twin sister — any kind of sister, really. My mom promised me that it meant a lifetime of bickering and a childhood of hair-pulling, but I knew that it really meant sharing shoes and pulling dresses out of one another’s closets and whispering secrets under the covers at night. (I’d like to add that I love my brother, but he doesn’t have any dresses for me to borrow. Or at least, we’d wear different sizes.) So it’s been great for me to have a future sister-in-law who has quirky style and loves vintage shopping as much as I do.
A little background: I’ve known Dominique since she was a bitty thirteen-year-old. Now she’s twenty, a kick-ass zookeeper, and does things like catch escapee alligators (f’reals!) and hand-raise baby otters at home. It’s a job that involves a lot of dirt and manual labor and grossness, but believe me when I say that she’s also the most glamorous zookeeper I’ve ever met. She recently showed me this vintage blue Cinderella-esque dress she bought recently and I told her that I just had to do a little photo shoot of her in the backyard. Look at that tiny waist!
Apparently Chris and I are only capable of posing while dressed up if we do it prom-style. (He’s got on a heavily embroidered white tie and vintage wooden cufflinks; I’m wearing a yellow linen dress from Retro Active with a crocheted neck and peplum belt. The tapestry bag, which was a cool ten bucks, is from Estate Sale, where Anja always has amazing stuff for good prices.)
Our excursion with Don and Emily to Commander’s Palace was by far the fanciest dining experience I’ve ever had. Don (Chris’s best friend since high school) and his fiancée Emily had originally planned to be in New Orleans for a week’s worth of overlap with us, but ended up only being in town for a night, so they asked us whether we’d like to try out a classy New Orleans dinner, and would we prefer traditional or contemporary? Since the “contemporary” list included the supposedly tasty but cheesy-sounding Emeril’s, and because I’ve never been to a traditional, old-fashioned New Orleans fancy restaurant, we picked traditional. Commander’s Palace was it.
It was a hot and muggy night, as usual, which made me think of bugs. Earlier in the day Chris and I had seen a dead cockroach next to an empty whiskey bottle, which seemed like a significant portent of doom/alcoholism/debauchery, but there were no cockroaches around the restaurant, and as we entered and went up the stairs to our table we were greeted by approximately seven to ten different waitstaff, including one man whose job it was to put our napkins in our laps. I began to worry that we were in over our heads.
But the dinner went smoothly, and it was tasty. I had some great redfish and mashed potatoes in a pepper sauce, as well as some kind of hibiscus girly martini that wasn’t too sweet. Most of the fun was in the experience – a loose, goofy chat in opulent surroundings – and Emily and I giggled in the restroom at how amazing the polka-dotted walls were. They were padded! Afterwards we went to a wine bar and chatted some more. By the end of the night I was feeling a little socially anxious, and sad that Don and Emily live so far.
This is Don, looking at the wine list. I think he outclassed us all by wearing a bow tie and seersucker-ish suit, which was from… Target! I didn’t even know Target sold suits, but I was impressed.
After we parted ways, Chris and I stayed up watching A Woman of Distinction (1950) on Turner Classic Movies. The clothes were only mildly interesting, although I did love everyone’s hair. Mostly I was interested in the depiction of Rosalind Russell as a strong female role (dean of a school) who almost gets fired for having an illegitimate child (scandal!) and the conclusion that a woman’s happiness lies not in studies and books but in finding a man.
Right now Chris is asleep. I’m glad we got to have this night on a big trip right before we effectively part ways for two years. We’ll see one another, for sure, and going off on my own (with studies and books) will be an adventure, but I’m savoring the things we’re doing these days; I’m damn lucky, and I know it.
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A visit to New Orleans always means, for me, a visit to my favorite vintage store: Retro Active on Magazine Street. It’s tiny and crammed with the best little treasures; being in there reminds me of a consumer’s version of going to the Louvre a few years ago, when I just felt overwhelmed by all the goodness on display. This time I went with two goals in mind: to find a 30s day dress (our fancy-schmancy dinner at Commander’s Palace is tonight) and to find an appropriate headpiece to match my wedding dress. I spent a long time looking around and came away with the most spectacular 20s diadem for the wedding — generously paid for by my future parents-in-law — it resembles a cross between a tiara and a headband, to be worn across the forehead. I did take a photograph of myself in it, but I’m not sure whether or not to post it yet; nor will I be posting a picture of the dress I eventually bought, although I will post pictures after the dinner. Joe Weise, the owner, was sweet enough to fix the busted zipper on the dress for me. It’s mustard and linen and not from the 30s, but I am very pleased with it and have also vowed to take a break from shopping after this trip is over.
Joe and I behind the counter. He is sweet and funny and so knowledgeable about everything that he carries. Last time I came he showed me a bunch of 30s wedding dresses and I nearly died.
Probably as close to street fashion photography as I’ll ever get: this is Hallie, who was also shopping and was kind enough to go grab Chris for me while I was trying on dresses and needed help with the zippers. She lives in New York and is starting work in the publishing industry. Chris pointed out that I should have given her a business card, but I left them all at home. I loved Hallie’s glasses and we gabbed a little about fiction writing and white linen dresses.
(Retro Active, 5414 Magazine Street, New Orleans)
Today I went with my future in-laws across the lake to visit Chris’s grandma and his aunt and uncle. These photos are the result of my first FFW photo shoot with Chris as photographer; I think he did a good job, don’t you? I romped in the tall grass, watched a dog named Gumbo get real close to an alligator who lives in Chris’s aunt and uncle’s front yard pond, called to chickens, and drank iced tea with chicken and dumplings (while saving room for homemade blackberry sauce with dumplings and cream). All day I heard all kinds of great stories, including one about some hooligans Mr. Jim knew as a kid named Big Punk and Little Punk (and Toby).
That’s Gumbo. As you can see, I am also wearing Effie’s dress.
I also went to an outlet store called UAL with Chris’s sister and mom, where I combed the couture racks and found things like the most gorgeous little tea-length flowered Dolce & Gabbana dress for $860, marked down from $5000, and a Lanvin satin jacket with a million buttons and a cummerbund made of wool (also freakishly expensive). I didn’t buy anything, but I had never before seen an outlet store that sold Rodarte and Chloe, let alone one in Mandeville, Louisiana. Dominique, who has smaller feet than I do, bought a pair of $40 glittery red Miu Miu flats and I mourned over my boat feet.
