A Tale of Two Dresses

About a year ago I fell in love with this dove-grey jersey dress from Zara in Dubai. It was on sale and not in my size, so of course I bought it.

As always, I was drawn to the asymmetrical cut and pleated details. It was too big, and I didn’t care; it was comfortable. I first wore it that holiday in Oman over jeans, for modesty in that Middle-Eastern country. It took me around Muscat, to the museums and galleries, the Old Fort and the souq; to the beach. It became imbued with happy memories and joie de vivre.

I returned home to the heat of summer and had to wait for cooler weather to wear it again. Some time after that it languished in the washing basket, waiting for a hand-washing Saturday.

It became imbued with happy memories and joie de vivre.

Imagine my distress when I pulled it forth and discovered it
eaten alive by moths! There are a dozen tiny holes or more, chomped in various parts of the dress’s anatomy. I washed it carefully nonetheless, but I could not wear it. Nor could I bear to throw it away.

Many months later, I thought I would try to have the dress copied (I ought to have taken it on holiday again, this time to the Vietnamese tailors), so I set about finding jersey fabric online, and asking for a price from my tailor. They quoted me three or four hundred dollars at a minimum! Regretfully, I put the dress away in my wardrobe.

One evening, not so long ago, I was walking home down Chapel Street and passed the window of a new boutique, Sadie. Before my gob-smacked eyes there was my Zara dress! Alike in every detail but one: instead of dove-grey, this incarnation was assembled from beige marle. This difference I cast aside as a mere bagatelle.
I wanted that dress.

I returned as soon as could be; reverently lifted the garment from its rail (a small size this time), and whisked it away to a changing room.

It truly was the same dress.

Of course I bought it, and now they hang side by side in my closet. It makes me happy.

Virtuous shopping

This morning, killing time between a doctor’s appointment and brunch at Dino’s Deli in Windsor, I entered the hallowed halls of the Salvo’s, Prahran.

It was like entering Aladdin’s Cave.

I later found out (during the ten minutes it took the salesgirl to ring up my copious purchases) that the new manager had redesigned the layout of the store, with one front window specialising in good quality vintage, and the opposite corner featuring a rack of vintage smalls. She had even brought in some of her own items, collected over the years.

I purchased all of these garments bathed in the warm, virtuous glow that I was helping the needy.

As for me, I had barely time to mutter ‘Good morning’, I was so busy snatching up an armload of vintage printed dresses and tops to try on. I then turned to survey the other corner and immediately saw the crowning glory: a seafoam green, chiffon 50s party dress hanging high on a mannequin. When I went to ask the salesgirl if she could lift it down for me, I caught sight of the above mary-janes on the counter. (I’ll have those too, thanks.)

I guiltily entered the changing room bearing the sign ‘NO MORE THAN 4 ITEMS’, loaded down with about 20 dresses and a basket of shoes and lingerie. At least it was early, with few shoppers about.

My haul:

1. Aforementioned chiffon dress. One man, some kind of show producer, offered to fight me for it, until he heard I practice martial arts, upon which he backed hastily away.
2. Taupe linen 50s Sunday-afternoon-stroll dress. Camellia print in black and olive; cute bow belt.
3. 70s graphic print shift dress. Collar and short sleeves, block print in navy, maroon and fuchsia.
4. Sleeveless shift dress #1 in teal with white lace print, belt missing. All rayon.
5. Sleeveless shift dress #2 printed with Japanese style floral pattern, in blues and gold on white.
6. Open-weave cotton shirt, ¾ sleeves, paisley print in various shades of blue.
7. Short sleeved shirt with Marimekko style print, greens and olives on white open-weave cotton.
8. Pale rose vintage full slip with copious quantities of lace on bodice and hem.
9. Tangerine vintage full slip (tag from Myer still attached!), with pleated chiffon flounces.
10. Half-slip in white, with tiers of heart-shaped lace and ribbons.
11. Two pairs tap pants, one black, the other cobalt blue with white lace trim.
12. Two delicious pairs of shoes (pictured).
13. One pair cream coloured, opera-length lambskin gloves that … er, fit like a glove!
14. One rayon print scarf, featuring watercolour illustrations of national monuments of England, arranged in alphabetical order. (From A, Arundel Castle, Sussex – to Y, York Minster and Bootham Bar.)
15. Last, but not least, the bedspread (also pictured above).

There were three or four dresses that sadly did not fit, or suit; I discover my vintage size is SW or SSW – Small Woman or Small(?) Small Woman, but I have no complaint.

Shopping guilt? What shopping guilt? I purchased all of these garments bathed in the warm, virtuous glow that I was helping the needy.

Cinderella’s dressmaker

Once upon a time, many days ago (actually, two weeks) a very thoughtful friend rang me and read out loud the words on a flyer posted near his studio (and I paraphrase): VINTAGE GARAGE SALE! ANTIQUES! RARITIES! LOVELY LOOT! TWO DAYS ONLY!

I was so excited when I wrote down the details I could hardly make out the words later, but I deciphered enough so that I and two friends made it down there on Saturday.

We discovered that the fashion designer Karen Merkel was holding the sale. You might think I would be instantly transported into a fantasy dress-up land, but I did not purchase any clothing.

However, I did pounce on a trove of sumptuous fabrics and embroidered trims that are inspiring enough to weave a fairy-tale with, and live happily ever after. All I need is some glass slippers.

If in doubt, throw it out

I look cute in this dress, I was told. Cute? Ugh. I needed no more criteria than that to decide it must be immediately culled from my wardrobe.

A little while ago I cleaned out my wardrobe – all those long-unworn items were ruthlessly tossed from their hangers.

I undertake this task periodically, and sometimes decision-making can be difficult: “But it’s really cute!” (devil on shoulder) … “But you haven’t worn it in three years!” (angel on other shoulder). In these thorny situations I dust off my old motto: If in doubt, throw it out.

This dress was an error right from its inception. I bought it on eBay after trawling through a search for items from Cue. I thought it was cute. Kinda 1920s. And I loved the putty colour combined with silvery-grey; the fabric is a kind of dull metallic taffeta. I knew my size in Cue. No problem, I thought. I pipped several other bidders at the post.

I must have been suffering from F.B.B.F. (Fashion Bargain Brain Fever).

But I had overlooked something. The problem became evident when the dress arrived: out of laziness, I had neglected to check its length, and I found it to be extremely short. Disgrace would be inevitable if I merely bent over to pick up a dropped pen.

I thought about having it altered, but I didn’t want to throw good money after bad. Finally, the solution I arrived at was to wear a slip under it. I wasn’t happy with this stop-gap measure, but my vintage petticoat features a scalloped hemline, and I decided to trust to ‘cuteness’ to carry it off.

Well, seemingly it worked. But I was … cute. No. Non, nein, nyet! What had I been thinking? I must have been suffering from F.B.B.F. (Fashion Bargain Brain Fever). It was a lost cause; it was time to throw in the towel and admit defeat.

Out of eBay it came; to eBay it must return.

Serendipity

I hate sensible shoes. They give me blisters. Really. If I wear flats for practical reasons, I end up with giant water blisters on the soles of my feet. But give me heels – the higher the better – and I am walking on air; tiptoeing through the tulips; on cloud nine… and all those other pretty clichés.

Baby-blue suede peep-toes were not really on my shopping list of essential items, it must be admitted, but who is going to walk past such pretty little things – especially at bargain-basement prices?

On a long trip back into the city from the country (far-off Narre Warren), I fell asleep on the train and missed my stop. I could have caught the next train out, but I decided to take a gander through DFO at Southern Cross Station. And lo and behold, what should I find but bargains galore? (Remember, a bargain is not a bargain unless you really need it… and unless they are very pretty shoes.)

(Remember, a bargain is not a bargain unless you really need it… and unless they are very pretty shoes.)

I did need new sunglasses, since I had played fast and loose with the Agnès B pair I purchased in Dubai and subsequently scratched by improper storage. And I am pleased to report that I found the perfect pair by Calvin Klein for the princely sum of $37 – but this story is not about sensible purchases. No. This tale is about those serendipitous purchases that delight your heart because they are gorgeous and inexpensive.

So it was when I walked into the David Lawrence factory outlet and saw the stacks of shoeboxes, I could hardly believe that these sweet baby-blues were reduced to $54… with a further reduction of 25%. I had to check with a salesgirl that I was indeed awake and not dreaming. This global recession is good for something!

And sometimes falling asleep on the train is not a bad thing.