More Ways to Tie a Scarf, by Vera

Here's one I just love: an innovative scarf design in a striking Op print, plus detailed instructions on how to tie it.

The scarf is from Vera. Vera Neumann was a highly esteemed and collectable print specialist, whose signature motif was her name in cursive with a little ladybug nearby. (A great history here, thank you FuzzyLizzy Vintage!) Scarves are the vintagewear most easily found today by this designer, but she also licensed her fabric to garment manufacturers--I have a wonderful white maxi in polyester jersey strewn with a garden of her flowers.

But back to the scarf. Below are the instructions on how to tie it--don't you love the labels ("First Lady" !!). Click on the image to read it more clearly . . . .


I'm on the road today, but when I get home will try to replicate the styles with one of my more traditional squares; I'm sure with a bit of finagling it will come out just fine.

Don't Read This Entry

No, I don't mean it. But here's the thing. For those of us in the northern hemisphere, it's one of the last days of summer, and I intend to spend as little time riding my screen as possible.

Even if you're at work, in school, or are occupied full time in caring for others, can you get twenty minutes to get outdoors, and find some examples of nature's beauty to inspire your love of fashion?

There are some great florals out there, the real kind. The edges of a cloud against a sky might give you new ideas for wearing white frills against a color field. The iridescence of a rain puddle, or a pigeon's neck, is a masterclass in tone and texture.

The point is, I'm going to appreciate the world in three dimensions today, as much as I can. I'll be back next Monday with more of the usual.

Necklace is More, Autumn 09

Harper's Bazaar informs us that statement necklaces are again big news for Fall. This is great for vintage lovers, because a mere few dollars/pounds says open sesame to the Aladdin's Cave worth of vintage neckgear out there online, at antiques fairs, and even at tag sales/car boot sales. [If you're new to the blog, we're bilingual here. American and Brit -- Canadians have to fend for themselves].

Anyway, I think the vintage necklace below is a jawdropper, in looks and theme. The retro depiction of the exotic east is certainly a talking point--and if that's not a qualification for a statement necklace, I'm not sure what is.



(necklace top by Oscar de la Renta Autumn 09, image from harpersbazaar.com)

Fashion Pedigree: Emanuel Ungaro

Have just learned that Emanuel Ungaro, a designer I long presumed to be a native Italian, was in fact born in Aix-en-Provence in the south of France. Coming from this sun-drenched, lavender-scented, open-skied region of Europe, he found common cause with the Basque Cristóbal Balenciaga, with whom he apprenticed. Despite their provincial upbringings, the two went on to dominate the salons of Paris.

I believe it's possible to see in the early Ungaro traces of his master's sense of pattern and form. Take this suit, from the Parallèle line, which is far superior to the subsequent Ter and Emanuel diffusion labels that came later on.

The tailoring is exquisite, and I'm particularly taken with the bow detail on the back of the jacket. It's saucy, but in the most elegant possible way. Keep an eye out for early Ungaro if you also love brilliant tailoring. Many secondhand sellers don't know who taught him. Let's try to keep that amongst ourselves.

Done and Dustered--A Quick Look at Duster Coats

Just like Darwin's finches, garments evolve and adapt as a class to new environments. A nice example is the duster coat. Originally this was a shin-length, unwaisted, lightweight coat that was worn while riding to protect the clothes underneath from dust (the Driza-Bone company of Australia still makes very handsome oilskin duster coats, but I reckon very few do any actual time on the back of a horse). With the advent of the automobile, the duster coat carried on its protective role, though now in the open seat of a roadster.

When cars became sedans and road grime was no longer an issue for passengers, the duster coat underwent a peculiar yet perfectly apt transformation from the great outdoors into the dust-bunny strewn interior. The 1940s, 50s and 60s saw its heyday as a front-buttoning, light cotton cover-up a domestic goddess would throw on as she set about her household duties.

The term duster is now used interchangeably with housecoats and housedresses, especially when they appear as vintage collectables. I think the entire category is vastly undervalued -- many of these pieces are absolute treasures, especially those that for whatever reason saw little active duty as a functional cover-up.

I'm no expert on these particular garments (if you are, please write in!). But general buying tips do occur and seem worth passing along:

1) Go for a great print, like the jam jar special at top.

2) There are a great many examples for sale at extremely reasonable prices. For that reason try to be patient and find one that's mint.

3) The simplicity of the cut of these garments means you can accessorize to the hilt--ideally with more modern pieces so as to avoid a Lucy Ricardo-style costume effect.

4) Consider wearing a great duster like the one at left over a sheath dress, or atop muted-color leggings, or unbuttoned over jeans and a tee . . .

Happy hunting!

If Lockets Could Kill

My favorite part of a James Bond movie--apart from the adrenaline-jolt of the opening sequence--is the visit to Q's lab. An instrument of discrete destruction disguised as an accessory? Fantastic. I'm particularly taken with the pocket-sized gadgets like a handsome killer pen, or rapelling unit hidden in a sleek watch.

So you can imagine my amazement to discover that, on eBay (and presumably elsewhere in the web's vast secondhand sector) is an entire vault's worth of jewelry that, if not exactly licensed to kill, and in no way illegal, nonetheless compels interest in and no little dread about the lady who choses to wear it.

I'm talking about poison rings, which, when pressed at the right point, unlatch to reveal a hidden compartment, which in the bad old days was intended to hold a dose large enough to do permanent damage to the unfortunate victim. There are many recently-made models out there, typically with Goth or satanic stylings, yadda yadda, which are intended purely for show.

Far more intruiging, I think, are the old versions (like the beauty at left). The Victorians apparently made quite a few of them.

Now in fairness, I don't believe those 19th century ladies were all sporting lethal jewelry with the intention to knock off their starch-collared husbands. These rings could as easily act as a holder of keepsakes as holders of arsenic.

Still, pretty cool, in a shuddery kind of way. There aren't many items of dress I could possibly wear in common with Lucrezia Borgia. If I were ever so inclined, I now know which keywords to enter.

How to Refresh a Vintage Tweed Coat

Am still in raptures from the glorious scenes in Coco Before Chanel, which I saw last night. A steely yet immensely sympathetic performance by Audrey Tatou, one of the ultimate rags to riches storylines, but most of all, the clothes.

I deliberately don't use the word fashion, because the garments worn in the film worked: as costume to be sure, but utterly believable as pieces you could ride, stoop to hem, and dance in--and be divested of--without a seam blasting apart. In other words, clothes not so precious that you can't live in them.

This was especially true with the equestrian tweeds so prominent in the film. How gorgeous they were. And how lucky for us today that the equivalent is fairly easy to find in vintage and secondhand shops, because for some reason, a great tweed isn't valued to the same degree that cashmere or silk or even recycled fleece with an A&F logo might be.

If you find a cracking tweed coat at a good price, consider taking it to another level. This late 50s British greatcoat cost next to nothing in one of my local charity shops, in part because the lining was a faded and torn. So I had my tailor replace it with a salmon pink satin, and I'm very happy with the result.





Changing a lining is a fairly big project: a more minor transformation could be as simple as changing the buttons.

Go out there and find a gorgeous tweed. It will keep you warm. It will last forever. Coco would approve.