Anatomy of a Masterpiece IV: Balenciaga Pinned Down

I have the arch-insider fashion site The Fashion Spot to thank twice over today. Not only did their forum lend a definitive ID of the suit at left; it also provided a link to one of the suit's immediate descendants--a more figure-friendly variation that Neiman Marcus brought over to introduce Balenciaga to the wider American world. More about that in a bit.

The original, left, was photographed for Vogue in 1950, by Irving Penn. It is informally called 'the wishbone suit' due to the pattern of its buttons, which emphasizes its hourglass form. The model, Colette, herself had prominent hipbones and for this reason was said to be Balenciaga's favorite armature for his sculptural forms.

The suit appeared in Vogue again, this time photographed by Richard Avedon on what may have been his first assignment for the magazine, after he was talent-spotted by editor Carmel Snow. Here the model is Dovima. Snow's confidence was well placed--how beautifully the lines of the suit play against the weary net curtain behind. These fashions by Balenciaga and Dior and Chanel must have glided through the war-riven Paris streets like exotic fish through a wrecked ship.



One final image, from the Texas Fashion Collection at the North Texas University Fashion Archives (via surgirl at photobucket via The Fashion Spot)--the wishbone suit in a new incarnation: in moire satin, with a wider skirt, bearing a Neiman Marcus label in addition to that of Balenciaga.

The department store was visionary in its pursuit of Paris couture in the 1950s, mounting a regular French Fashion Exhibition and contracting with the Parisian houses to send models over for elite clients. This fascinating history is meticulously detailed in Myra Walker's Balenciaga and His Legacy.

(I'm convinced that this gorgeous book brings as much pleasure as any garment possibly could: if you love fashion, get your hands on a copy as soon as possible.)

(Model with dog by Richard Avedon, for Vogue, November 1950 © 1950 The Richard Avedon Foundation)

Nice Girls Don't Dangle

My husband brought home the first series of Mad Men on dvd last night, which made me very happy, for, as anyone who is even vaguely attuned to fashion knows, this show is visual rapture.

One thing (of many) that made an impression from that first episode: the polish of the women in dress and deportment. Of course this is televised fiction, and period trends will be heightened for the screen, but the late fifties/early sixties truly did see women with carefully curled hair, immaculate manicures, run-free stockings, freshly blotted lipstick, pressed blouses, girdled hips, and well-shined shoes as a matter of course. It helped that wardrobes were far more limited back in those days: with only five blouses and three dresses to maintain, it mattered far more that they were always in good nick.

Little details counted loads. Any deviation from the code of proper dress could mark a woman as a slattern. Here is Edith Head, famed Hollywood costumer, in her book How to Dress for Success:

"As far as shoulder straps are concerned, the sleeveless dress has made it a must that you sew little ribbon 'anchors' in every dress so your slip and bra straps never show. There's nothing in the world that makes a woman look sloppier faster than a dangling shoulder strap, unless it's dirty fingernails."

Whew. I happened to find a Worth dress on eBay a few weeks ago from this very era. Its interior is bustling with hand-stitched details, among them these little ribbon stays that Head dictates.

Looking at them, I reckon they would take about fifteen minutes of sewing time for a minimally-abled seamstress to tack in, with a press snap and thin ribbon. Could you spare fifteen minutes with a needle to eliminate 5-50 instances of self-conscious yanking and tucking under? Our more disciplined sisters, back in the '50s, knew that effortless public poise demanded quite a lot of behind-the-scenes work. [note to self: manicure nails]