Off Topic on Contemporary British Design

Spare me a rant . . .

HOW is it possible that the nation that produced brilliant design like this:

is also proudly fronting this:

Of course there is a long tradition of lame Olympic mascots to live up to but these unfortunate spawn of Cyclops and Teletubby are monstrous in every way.

(image of mascots from The New York Times, Julian Finney/Getty Images)

Janice Dickinson: Portrait of the Spitfire as a Young Model, and More from the late '70s

So much to say about style in 1978, as depicted in British Vogue's October issue. I won't even get into the articles and reviews (ok, a little: Grease: "a feeble story line and too few raw edges." Leo Sayer: "was discovered by The Who's Roger Daltry [what?!!] The World According to Garp: "some kind of handbook for the liberated woman")

Anyway, enough cultural history. Check out Janice Dickinson, above, who acted as de facto house model for the magazine during this period.

Janice re-plumed like a phoenix in the noughties. Compare and contrast to a styling trend that was best left behind--pinning a brooch to the much-neglected inguinal region of the lower torso. Honest to god, the headline over the lightning bolt reads: "Draw Men's Eyes To Your Most Beautiful Feature." Scorchio!


Less interestingly, there's the fashion. Which, judging by the square meterage of tweed and other heavy woolen fabric, in several layers, you would imagine that the late seventies London experienced temperatures more typical of Siberia. Even Giorgio Armani, the prince of minimalism, left little of his model uncovered with this coat, hat, and thickly applied inner-lid eyeliner. Jaeger too ensured that the dodgy heating of postwar Blighty (a period that lasted pretty much until the early '90s) was well met with layer upon layer of wool and cord, right down to the tightly knotted tie.


I don't covet these sweltering styles in the slightest, but the shoes were another story. Have a look at these boots from Maud Frizon, whose brilliant designs are, if in good nick, still brilliantly wearable today.



More late '70s tomorrow.

Let's Do the Time Warp: 1970s British Vogue

My favorite local antique dealer, Jackie of Flask Walk, had quite a treasure on offer this weekend: a cache of vintage British Vogues from the mid- to late 1970s, all in mint condition. Impossible to resist, not least because a teenaged Janice Dickinson, "the original supermodel", was pouting on one of the covers. More of her later this week.

Today, a couple of observations. Lord was this a more innocent age, in media-being-the-message terms. In these pages we see little to no airbrushing; photography that was shockingly unsophisticated in lighting, pose, and even focus; black and white as a default over color (even in editorial shoots); makeup (especialy lip gloss) applied with a trowel; and so much more.

In counterpoint, on the plus side, the ad copy generally attempted to engage and address its readers as intelligent human beings, à la Mad Men.

Here, for fun, are some random pages I liked, click to enlarge, if you dare . . . we'll look more specifically at the fashions later this week.

To start, a reminder of how I spent countless hours of youth: baking in the sun in a vain attempt to get golden brown, instead of peely red. If only I'd used Ambre Solaire! Or gone topless. Either way, this particular scenario looks pretty damn great at the moment, damn the wrinkly consequences.

Next, this advertisement, which in no way addresses the readers as intelligent and does in fact just the opposite, with its aviatrix in front of her ditched plane, unscratched, with nothing more on her mind than applying another blast of Ted Lapidus perfume, presumably to mask the scent of scorched crankshaft . . . with Ted himself posed like a golden brown genie in the sidebar, one big WTF, the whole thing.

A nice example of unsophisticated advertising, from the Bobos brand, which somehow escaped becoming one of the decade's classics . . . No, seriously. Never mind how bad the clothes are, and how sloppily styled, look at the background. Could they not have moved two feet to the left to avoid the jackhammered pavement, and the nasty canvas covering the chairs? If this exemplified Anna Wintour's proving ground no wonder she's such a stickler.

And last but not least this gent, appearing in the Men's Vogue section . . . oy vey that moustache. Welcome back Kotter, didn't remember you as such a sharp dressed man.

Femmes Gone Fatales

Perhaps you too have a wholly imaginary life, in which swanning around in a gown such as this is a completely reasonable and moreover fairly compulsory activity. To complete the picture there'd be a pitcher of iced martinis; an art deco penthouse with a starlit terrace; a suave Indiana Jones type who cleaned up nicely -- all of which seem the ideal complements to a negligée as immaculately of its period as this one.

Silk satin: check. Bias cut: check. Lace detail: check. Racy lines: check. Back when it was made in the 1930s it was meant to be worn only briefly, on the cusp of night, but if you've got an amazing figure and the right foundation garments you could make it work for earlier evening as well. The gown is within reach if you are a clever bidder. And if you're a clever winner the scenario will match as well . . .

Why I Love Ebey, Part 9

OMG, the spelling. Having done time as a copyeditor, I take a word geek's twisted (and very sad) pleasure in the booboos that make their way into the titles and sales descriptions. Even with Google a few keystrokes away, even with scans showing the actual labels properly spelled, even with eBay's logarithms working full tilt to right the wrongs of the actual or occasional dyslexics manning the keyboards on the vendors' side of the showroom, you still get your Dries Von Notens, Calvin Kliens, Ferragammos, and more, items that typically go down for far below market value, because buyers who keyword correctly could not possibly find them.

Shoe legend "Roger Vivien" is understandable, for, on the insole of the shoe, the scripty "r" of the surname could easily be misread as an "n". A similar misread on the seller's part got me a gorgeous silk Krizia dress for very little money at all, because the vendor didn't recognize the brand and thought the decorative K was simply that, decoration. The dress was sold as Rizia, I was the only bidder that bothered to show up. (Tip: keyword "vintage," "silk," and "made in Italy" and you won't need the designers' names at all).

If you're the sort that likes fishing around for bargains, try casting around with some badly spelled names. But do be sure that they're spelled right on the label, because if it's wrong there, it's a whole other story.

Pure Prairie League: Vintage Gunne Sax Dresses

There was a spell in the 1970s when prairie style ruled, not just in the central time zone where it originated, but from sea to shining sea. The vibe was more Stevie Nicks than Louisa May Alcott, with tiered ruffled skirts, Frye boots, and high-necked, lacy Victorian collars constituting the definitive dress-up look before disco hustled in with its Qiana and abbreviated cling.

Prairie was the very last incarnation of hippie chic styling, and the label that defined it was Gunne Sax by Jessica McClintock. The name refers to the gunny (burlap/hessian) sack border that trimmed some of the earlier models, of which many of the most collectable (and commensurately expensive) are the "black label" dresses produced solely in 1969.

Gunne Sax is still producing formal dresses, but the ones to seek out for vintage authenticity are those older ones featuring calico fabrics, velvet trims, and above all abundant lace . . . fabrics that were unlikely to have dressed the original prairie princesses, but for Amie and the rest of her 70s sisters, were heartland absolute.

(Gunne Sax dress above on Etsy here)

Getting to Know Provençal Prints

Among the many wonderful products that typify the sun-soaked Provence region of southern France are the printed cotton fabrics that are used to make household linens and clothing -- textiles adored by Parisians seeking to add a touch of summery, folksy charm to their otherwise ultrasophisticated modes de vie.

I dare not argue with Parisians on matters of style and neither should you--provençal prints are wonderful to wear when the days turn warm and the sun shines bright. There's a brilliant history of these distinctive fabrics here. While fine vintage examples are somewhat infrequent due to their regional origins, garments from Les Olivades and Souleiado are the best known of the genre. Or, if you're seeking online, simply type in "provencal print" and you may turn up something as cute as this skirt from Etsy . . .

By the way, souleiado translates from the craggy Provençal dialect to mean "rays of the sun breaking through the clouds after the rain." Isn't that beautiful? You can practically smell the lavender . . .

(top photo from Erinpk on Flickr, many thanks!)