Archive
- Behind the Screens 9
- Bright Young Things 16
- Colour Palette 64
- Dress Ups 60
- Fashionisms 25
- Fashionistamatics 107
- Foreign Exchange 13
- From the Pages of… 81
- G.U.I.L.T. 10
- Little Trifles 126
- Lost and Found 89
- Odd Socks 130
- Out of the Album 39
- Red Carpet 3
- Silver Screen Style 33
- Sit Like a Lady! 29
- Spin, Flip, Click 34
- Vintage Rescue 20
- Vintage Style 157
- Wardrobe 101 148
- What I Actually Wore 163
Vogue 1947
This is the cover of the oldest fashion magazine I own: British Vogue, January 1947. And what an eye-catching cover it is. Minimal and striking, that amazing silhouette says more on its own than the hundred coverlines today’s magazines would plaster all over it. The photograph is by Horst P. Horst; look here for more beautiful examples of his work.
What I love about old fashion magazines are the illustrations, used copiously in the editorial as well as the ads. Below are just a few pages. The black and white ads are the quaintest. Have a closer look by clicking on the images.
The Romance of Train Travel
I have always loved travelling by train. I remember the old ‘Red Rattlers’ that were still running in Melbourne in the 1970s – trains from a bedtime story with wooden interiors and high-backed seats. You could travel with the doors open and the wind whizzing through your hair.
Yesterday I returned to Melbourne from the country via train, a trip of about four hours. It was a more modern train, and I had my iPod plugged in, my iPhone to entertain me should I need it, and a Grazia magazine in my bag. Yet I found more romance in leaning back in my seat and staring out the window; daydreaming while the Fred Williams landscape swooped past.
I found more romance in … daydreaming while the Fred Williams landscape swooped past.
The ultimate train journey would have to be the Trans-Siberian Express from Vladivostock to Moscow, although I’m not sure I would be quite as glamorous as pictured in these photos by Norbet Schoerner, torn from British Vogue*. I certainly won’t be wearing tracksuits with a bumbag slung around my hips, but I doubt I’ll be retiring for the night in cashmere knickers and a Stephen Jones rabbit-ear hat, cute as it is!
Click on images for larger version.
* Issue date unknown.
Hats take off
‘Let hats take off. Some striking examples demonstrate the extreme hattiness of the moment. How it’s done? Tongue in chic. A surreal trick of judgment with wild surmise. Surprise? Classic distortion, upholstery, plat du jour perch above the stark silhouette of something sexy and understated.’
Recently I saw the Salvador Dali exhibition at the NGV International, which I enjoyed very much. Most of you will know that the Surrealists inspired fashion designers of the time, such as Elsa Schiaparelli, who collaborated with Dali on more than one occasion. Dali himself dabbled in the fashion world.
Inspired by the exhibition and my own love of hats, I bring you these images beautifully photographed by Paolo Roversi*.
*Note: I believe these are from Harpers & Queen, although it is possible they are from British Vogue (though by the use of font, I think not).
Clothes as sculpture
I have spent the last few days spring-cleaning my apartment (even if it is the depths of winter here in Melbourne). Recent drastic changes in my life have filled me with a burning desire to de-clutter my life, so I’ve ruthlessly been throwing out all sorts of things. It’s been very liberating. Included in the cleanout was a minute inspection of my wardrobe that resulted in a large donation to the Salvation Army.
Even more drastically, I’ve thrown out fashion magazines!
Even more drastically, I’ve thrown out fashion magazines! Only after, of course, I leafed through them and tore out the pages I wanted to keep. I have a vast library of tear-sheet books accumulated over the last twenty years – and I do look at those.
These pages come from various issues of Surface, dating from 2006–07. It caused me a pang to rip them up as they are beautifully designed magazines, but reflecting that I had rarely flicked through them since I first bought them, I set to with a will. (Does anyone who hoards magazines actually ever look at them?)
These designer profiles particularly caught my eye because their garments possess all things that I love: intricate folds and pleating, volume, asymmetry, texture. (You can see the whole of Maria Cornejo and Haider Ackermann's gorgeous current collections at Style.com, as well as past seasons, including the ones pictured above and below.)
…their garments possess all things that I love: intricate folds and pleating, volume, asymmetry, texture.
For years I have vacillated with two extreme looks: minimalism and a bohemian eccentricity. By the former I do not mean the extremes of the purist nineties style. My sort of minimalism involves a reduced colour palette (neutrals combined with shots of bright colour); one simple shape offset by another, more complex one; and the contrast of interesting textures or accessories. In short, anything that is sculptural.
It doesn’t mean all my vintage clothes have been tossed into the trashcan; I will merely be more selective, and only those that fit my criteria … will fit in my wardrobe.
Imperial Edict:
Designs on an Empire-line resurrect regal draperies, wrapping prestige in high-waisted shapes of softest chiffon.
When I was posting the images from the Jane Austen exhibition, I was already thinking I must also include the pages of this fashion shoot from FOLLOW me magazine. In testament again to how great a magazine it was, they are torn from the Dec/Jan 1988 issue, and have stuck in my memory all these years.
The hairstyling is of course extremely eighties, but the fashions are certainly inspired by the Regency period, especially the fourth image (above right), a dress by Stephen Galloway of silk chiffon over linen. I can’t quite see what the print is; it could be orange polka dots or hearts, but either option is charming enough for a young English lady of quality.
Click on images for larger versions.
FOLLOW me, Dec/Jan 1988. Photos: Martyn Thompson; background: Jayson Brunsdon.