The Perfect Shade of Blue

Some time ago I came across this Indian kameez (tunic, normally worn with trousers called shalwar) in a charity store, and was immediately attracted to it because it resembled Wedgwood jasperware in traditional blue. I adore lace – particularly guipure and Battenberg – and it is delicious in combination with this particular shade of blue. The kameez is in fact embroidered in white on blue. 

It was in 1759 that Joseph Wedgwood opened his own pottery business, but it was not until 1765 that his new earthenware style became popular throughout Europe, and was dubbed ‘Queen’s Ware’ with permission of Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, the British Queen consort. 

Wedgwood experimented with more than 3000 samples [to achieve this shade of blue] …

Jasperware was inspired by the Portland Vase, a Roman cameo glass vase that is dated between AD 1–25, in a time when the mythologies depicted in artifacts of the ancient world was inspiring artisans all over Europe. This particular shade of Portland blue was the first jasperware colour, and to achieve it Wedgwood experimented with more than 3000 samples. Somewhat of a perfectionist, Joseph Wedgwood.

His legacy of lovely dishware lives on centuries later and continues to inspire designers of all kinds. Scroll down for a few more examples and references. 

References

1930s shoes from Road Less Travelled 2
Broken pottery earrings from V Belle Jewelry
Wedgwood jug (out of stock) from Oxfam
Hazel Atlas glasses from Old Cape Cod Vintage
Embroidered trim from A C Afterglow
1950s cocktail dress from Maeven On Etsy
1950s gloves from Karen Elmquist Vintage
Wedding cake seen on Style Unveiled
Wedgwood bud vase from Lilpicker

The Christmas Effect

Dear Snappettes (and Snappers), I do apologise for my long absence these past weeks – I have been unable to drag myself away from my drawing board and have been shamefully neglecting you my dear readers. Thank you for coming back and being so patient! Now, read on …

My all-time favourite red shoes: suede t-bar peeptoes, a vintage tweed trilby, amazonite earrings and a chrysoprase ring

What will you be wearing this party season? Will you be getting into the spirit of things and donning lots of sparkles, or perhaps it will be an ugly Christmas sweater with matching reindeer earrings?

Red and green are the classic Christmas colours, inspired by spiky holly leaves and their red berries, but I would never recommend wearing them together – at any time of year. I originally wore this little seasonal collection of red and green last July (except I swapped the hat for one of plain green), accessorising a pair of black trousers and a multi-striped jumper in red, green, purple and turquoise – thereby cleverly negating The Christmas Effect.

But if you must wriggle into something particularly redolent of the season, may I suggest a touch of red with white, or green with white – just so long as you don’t resemble a peppermint candy cane (although this could be quite witty if done right). 

A white dress with just a touch of glittery Christmas red

A Colour Without Colour

I am in love with the prettiest shade of grey, and I call it Cloud. It is the palest shade just before white, the colour of the palest most luminescent clouds. There are really not all that many names for grey, unlike red or brown for example, and most of them are not at all complimentary: grizzly, mouse, grey-drab, Quaker, ash, greige, battleship, Payne’s grey, cadet? No thanks. That was why I had to make one up.

In fact, the name came to me when I opened up a package from the boutique Vintage Now. I had purchased a 70s shirred blouse (to replace a similar one in cream I had wantonly given away years ago) and as soon as I unfolded it, ‘cloud grey’ came to mind. Then the other weekend I found this silk blouse in a charity store in an almost identical shade. I was terribly thrilled. It is, incidentally, the exact same cut as an embroidered 40s blouse I own (down to the little gathers at the neckline and around the wrists), but it is modern, although the label has been snipped off.

Wikipedia rather poetically describes grey thus: Grey or gray is an intermediate colour between black and white, a neutral or achromatic colour, meaning literally a colour ‘without colour’. It is the colour of a cloud-covered sky, of ash and of lead. Other more complimentary analogies Roget’s Thesaurus lists are: silver, frost, oyster, pearlescent, pewter, steel, charcoal, dove-grey.

The Declaration of Love, by J F de Troy, 1731. The lovers are both wearing beautiful shades of grey. Image from ‘A History of Costume in the West’, by François Boucher (Thames & Hudson, 1987)The word ‘grey’ was first recorded in AD 700, from Middle English grai or grei, which comes from the older Anglo-Saxon graeg. The colour does not have a great reputation really, beginning with its association with peasants, monks and poverty in the Middle Ages. The hue is also associated with the military, the lower class of Parisian prostitutes (grisette), greying of hair (rarely popular), dull suits in favour with accountants and ad men, and the miserable grey days of endless winter. On the other hand, grey became a highly fashionable colour in the eighteenth century. Then it was favoured in women’s dresses and men’s coats and vests, particularly in silks and satins when the shade takes on the luminescence of silver.

And clouds always have a silver lining too. What could be lovelier?

Scroll down for more fashionable eighteenth century grey.

Countess Sophia Maria de Voss, by A Pesne, 1745. Her silver looks divine with scarlet. Image from ‘A History of Costume in the West’, by François Boucher (Thames & Hudson, 1987)Marie-Antoinette, by Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun, 1783Prinzessin Amalia von Preussen, by A. Pesne, c.1740s–50sStella Tennant models modern fashion inspired by the eighteenth century, by Tim Walker

Saving Brown

Dramatic full fat shape and sheen make this chocolate brown jacket exciting

Brown is dull

It’s no coincidence that shades of brown are often named after yummy things: chocolate, caramel, cinnamon, latte, coffee, walnut, chestnut, etc. It’s the fashion industry’s sneaky way of trying to make us buy into this boring hue.

Texas desert

Brown is everywhere

Possibly the commonest colour in nature apart from green, brown is seen in wood, soil, peat, animal fur, human hair, skin pigmentation and other plant life such as nuts, seeds and withered leaves. The earthy tone can be associated with autumn, humility (think of a monk’s dun-coloured habit), and, let’s face it … um, how shall I phrase it politely? I know you know what I’m talking about … yes, poo. One person’s caramel is another’s baby-poo brown. (Sorry, that’s gross. But memorable. Just don’t Google that term. And don’t say I didn’t warn you if you do!)

Brown is old

The word comes from Old English brún, named for any dusky or dark shade of colour. The first recorded use of the spelling change to ‘brown’ was in 1000, and the current meaning derived from Middle English in the fourteenth century.

Brown is practical

Some brown shades seem particularly suited to practical boots, shoes, and warm winter outerwear, possibly because historically people used animal skins to fashion these: the wool of sheep and goats, camelhair, cowhide and other leather, and furs. The camel coat for instance – whether camel by fibre or merely in colour – remains a true classic today.

Calf leather jacket and fox fur cap: vintage hides in rich hues are lit up with a 70s sky blue blouseKaviar Gauche camel coat, 2011Everything is brown in Peasantworld. They might be dancing, but are they truly having fun, dressed in brown? Peasants Dancing Outside an Inn, by David Teniers the Younger, (1610–1690)

Brown is staid

Perhaps it is because before the creation of inexpensive commercial dyes, coloured cloth was associated with the wealthy – the common people wore natural earthy shades in their everyday clothing. It is also a practical colour: it is less likely to show dirt or stains. Definitely not romantic.

Brown is not showy

Brown recedes into the background. The popular conception of the aforementioned monk is a rotund and balding little man scuttling about in a rough brown tunic – hardly an alluring figure. And after all, how often does one see a Hollywood starlet wearing a glamorous gown in brown, really? The only person I have ever heard claim a liking for brown is my friend Rapunzel, who has red hair. Supposedly brown suits redheads. Colour theorists clutching at straws, I say. 

Friar Tuck, one of Robin Hood’s band of merry men A vintage 50s mink and apricot satin halo bandeau are matched with a dusky pink blouseA warm golden brown contrasts strongly with soft pink

Brown is rescued!

Offset by other prettier hues however, brown can become more palatable. In particular, light shades of blue, pink, lilac, or mint look wonderful with brown. By this rule it should follow that yellow or orange would harmonise with brown too, yes? Here it becomes a matter of personal taste; such a colour palette is too earthy for me.

… remember SNAP’s little mantra on brown: perk it up, don’t tone it down

A vintage 50s russet feather toque heads into startling territory with the addition of a bold ostrich feather, and the blouse that shimmers between mauve and lilac is slightly and deliciously off a matching tone.

By the same token, brown is inoffensive with white, cream, or some shades of grey, though black works best with lighter shades like camel or beige, but to my mind it is too easy to match brown with other neutrals, and therefore it is uninteresting. It’s all about the contrasts: a strong hot or candy pink is fabulous with fawn or taupe, likewise with vivid turquoise or unshrinking violet. 

Just remember SNAP’s little mantra on brown: perk it up, don’t tone it down – and you won’t go wrong. 

Back to chocolate brown: a 50s wool toque trimmed with mink pompoms is paired with the brightest cobalt and violet 50s frock.

Ice Cream Greens

The Vintage Hat Series: 1950s straw toque and saucer hatsThe conventions in colour naming are amusing. Arbiters of fashion and interior design so often push colour names that are aesthetically appealing – and understandably so – but they are very often entirely imprecise. Plants and foodstuffs and other objects in nature are obvious sources of inspiration. Sometimes they are simply odd (puce, oxblood), and other times entirely misleading: lemon being one such example. We have been trained to expect a pale, pastel yellow hue when in fact the fruit of the lemon tree is a vivid and strong sunny yellow.

The Vintage Hat Series: 1950s straw toqueMint and pistachio are two such suspiciously named colours. A random search of images online reveals they may be perceived to be almost exactly the same, except that mint ranges from a cool watery hue to a warm pastel green, while pistachio sticks to the warmer shades of green. The popular notion of pistachio is close to accurate when compared with the inner kernel of the nut, but almost every rendition of mint is wildly inaccurate. For what do mint leaves actually look like? A very bright, strong leaf green! Perhaps ‘mint icecream’ would be a more apt description. The very watery cool hue popularly perceived as mint I would describe as celadon, although it too ranges between warm and cool tones.

The first recorded use of pistachio as a colour name was as far back as 1789, while mint appeared only in 1920. Probably it described a pale green, as pastel shades were hugely popular in the Twenties, and this is possibly where the popular notion of mint as a pale shade comes from.

The Vintage Hat Series: 1950s straw saucer hatTwo summer hats I bought last year are – except for shape and trim – amusingly alike. They are both made from pistachio coloured straw (although some might call them mint). One, a toque, is trimmed with rows of cream lace and a birdcage veil, and the other, a saucer hat is trimmed with light olive velvet ribbon and squashed satin roses. I like the contrasting green tones of the latter. It’s best worn at a slightly roguish – or dare I say it, saucy angle.