Pattern Matching with Grace Kelly

Just learned of the Victoria & Albert Museum's plans for a show on Grace Kelly's wardrobe next April (nice Daily Mail article on it here). CAN NOT WAIT, but in the meantime was most intrigued by the tidbit that the dress Kelly wore to meet Rainier for the first time was not couture, but in fact whipped up from a McCall's Easy Sew pattern.

It wasn't difficult to find Michou Simon's photos (via Paris Match) of their first encounter (and doesn't Rainier look pleased as punch), but digging out the pattern itself yielded only half-satisfactory results. The one below, with its dropped bodice, seems the best match, absent the long sleeves.



Will the exhibition reveal whether or not McCalls 3151 is indeed the model? Time will tell. But it was fun digging around the internet archives (especially So Vintage Patterns and the Vintage Patterns Pool at Flickr) to find the best match.

Photoshoppe

The ethics of photoshopping has become a flashpoint in the fashion and general press over the past few years, attributable largely to the overzealous use of the technology not only to eliminate human imperfection in featured stars and models, but the follow-on impulse to improve upon eons-old parameters like leg length, cleavage depth, hair sheen, etc. with the ease of a click on a mouse.

The ubiquity of image improvement made Elle France's decision to feature a series of un-shopped, makeup-free models on its covers a revolutionary (in this world) event.

In reading the articles and commentary, one might think that the issue is new. But of course it’s not—the current mode of manipulation is nefarious only to the extent to which it belies the old idea that “the camera never lies”. No longer reliable is the adage that the camera adds ten pounds to the appearance of the subject, when today a skillful Photoshop manipulator can knock off twenty between sips of a coffee.

It would be so interesting to know whether, in times past, body-conscious observers decried the obvious manipulations by Sargent of Madame X’s waist (surely she’s cinched, but was she truly, as this famous painting depicts, nearly bisected?).

On a more humble level, consider the sketches on dressmaking patterns from the fifties and sixties (from the fascinating site So Vintage Patterns). Endless legs and waspish waists, courtesy of an anonymous pen. Did the girls and young women considering the styles feel daunted by the models, or inspired?

Personally, I’d like to see image wizardry left in the hands of of the photographer, lighting designer, stylist and model—the computer’s relentless ability to alter makes soulless machines of its output.

But it also must be said that I’ve got some gripes with nature’s own design program, as demonstrated on Monica Belucci au naturale (above). Most of us could be retouched till the cows come home and still never look this good.

(photo of Monica Belucci for Elle by Peter Lindbergh)

Using Versus Keeping

I love handbags, but with reservations. The current trend of satchels big enough to suit itinerant peddlers escapes me, as does the recent fancy with padlocks, heavy chains, lariats, and anything else weighty or dangly enough to cause bodily harm if you bend the wrong way. Nope, at the moment I'm besotted with old-fashioned frame bags like our grandmothers carried in the 50s and 60s; geometric, neat, pretty enough to attract attention but not so showy as to overwhelm the rest of your look.

Case in point:

How I love this bag. Found on eBay for under $20, labeled "made in Italy for Franklin Simon", a great old Manhattan department store.

I was initially drawn to the scan because of the absolute perfection of the bag's proportions--the bag looks monolithic, but it's only about a handspan tall--enhanced by the deep, almost patent-y gloss of its black leather. There's something about the ratios of lines and curves that is hypnotic.

Here, in a McCall's pattern from the 1950s, is how it might have been worn back then . . .

But it wasn't. It came to me completely unused. Not a smudge, not a scratch, not a mark on its lovely suede interior. What I suspect happened is that she bought the bag, and then, possibly hypnotized by its perfection and not wanting to mar it, put it away, to be used "for a special occasion."

How many of us do exactly this thing with our best pieces? It's understandable, but nuts. Do you have gorgeous things that may find their way into somebody else's hands, unused? Don't let it happen to you!