A Closer Look at Mr. John

Am thinking today about hatmaker Mr. John, and how peculiar it is that this stellar designer from America's midcentury has fallen into near total obscurity. Perhaps if we all continued to wear hats as beautifully as Mad Men's Trudie Campbell does here his name would remain emblematic of all that was chic in the American style.

Himself a German with a background in medicine and art, John Pico Harberger came to the States in 1919 and set up shops in New York, Miami, and Palm Beach. Over his long, long career his most noteworthy achievements were designing the millinery for Scarlet O'Hara in Gone with the Wind, Marilyn Monroe in Some Like it Hot, and winning countless awards, including fashion's highest honor, the Coty American Fashion Critics Award. His clients included Greta Garbo, Jackie Kennedy Onassis, and the Duchess of Windsor.

As a dictator of style, he was a master of propaganda:

"A hat cannot actually give one golden curls if the hair is mouse-colored and stringy; it cannot lift a face, pay overdue bills, subtract ten years from one's age, or transform a plain soul into a reigning princess. But it can lend practically any woman a temporary out-of-herself feeling. For the right hat creates a desired mood, and that isn't fiction or fancy, but fact, fact, fact."

I suspect the man would be less than pleased to see his creations for sale on eBay, but so they are, and well undervalued they are too. Case in point: this ravishing feather toque, complete with a box that itself is so wonderfully evocative of its age and station.




I'd say a Mr. John revival is well overdue.

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]