The Hat’s Out of the Bag!

This hat is most likely a reproduction, custom-made for a theatre

A shopping time limit and baggage allowance together are not two conditions conducive to tranquil vintage shopping. So when a friend and I were browsing in the Zoo Emporium in Sydney, I did not expect to buy anything.

Not until, however, I looked up at a looming mannequin and saw a 1920s style fan hat that literally made me catch my breath in awe. “Look!” I gasped. My friend’s eyes nearly popped out.

Our amazement was due to the sheer size of this theatrical extravaganza of ostrich feathers. It must have been a metre wide. “Try it on!” my friend urged. I paraded around, testing its balance, supposing it would be too expensive anyway. Upon enquiry, we heard everything in the store was half price, and the hat was $33. Our jaws dropped. Even $66 would be cheap.

“You must buy it!” my friend declared firmly. Assuredly, but what on earth would they say at check-in at the airport? She pooh-poohed my concerns. Easy for her. A plastic bag big enough to fit the hat was found. Conveniently, it was transparent, enabling the airline staff to see the harmless contents.

A more modest version of a fan hat from a 1914 fashion plate by George Barbier, for ‘Journal des Dames et des Modes’

Later that day …

Waiting in line at check-in, I hoped that I would get the male steward. They’re nearly always a little more easy-going than the gimlet-eyed women. Unfortunately, I was waved to another counter manned by a woman. And that’s when the trouble began.

My carry-on baggage clocked in at an acceptable 10.4kg, but the stewardess eyed my handbag and hat in disapproval. I had three items. Her lip curled. “Can you fit the hat in the bag?” No, I explained, I couldn’t possibly do that because the hat was vintage, fragile, and it would get squashed. Adding my handbag to my baggage still made the latter too heavy for the overhead lockers.

“I’ll have it under the seat in front of me,” I pointed out – but no: I would still be carrying three items. The woman asked the male steward his opinion. He shrugged. I had the distinct impression he thought his colleague was making an unnecessary fuss.

Helpfully, the stewardess suggested I remove clothing from my bag and put it on, so that the carry-on would be light enough to fit my handbag. I looked at her like the nincompoop she was. It was practically still summer – what did she think I had in my bag? A fur coat? I didn’t have enough clothes in there to put on to make a difference.

I needed to lose weight fast, or I would obliged to pay an extra $70 to check my baggage – which would defeat the purpose of buying a cheap flight. It seemed we were at an impasse, but for a divine inspiration that struck me suddenly: “What if I wear the hat?” I asked.

Did such an enormous hat actually count as a hat, or a piece of furniture?

The woman stared at me. I could see the cogs ticking over. Did such an enormous hat actually count as a hat, or a piece of furniture? She referred to the steward again. “It is a hat,” he shrugged. “People can wear hats.”

At last she was satisfied and warned me that I would have to wear the hat through security, and on board the plane. “Okay,” I replied meekly, suppressing my triumph.

Approaching security, I paused. Was I really going to put on the hat now? I rather suspected that the mere sight of it on my head would be enough to have security tackle me to the floor and slap handcuffs on me. I decided I would not wear the hat, and I sailed through with flying colours. No-one was at all interested in me or my belongings.

I did suffer a slight check when I saw the same steward from check-in scanning our boarding passes, and rather sheepishly tried to obscure my hat behind my body. He grinned and waved me through. I was going home!

The Black Onyx Bangle That Went Astray

Although I don’t go in for black clothes much, I do have a black bangle that I adore. A few weeks ago while holidaying with my sisters in Sorrento (Victoria, not Italy, alas), we spent a delightful hour or so browsing in Rosebud’s Vintage Bazaar. I took an armload of garments into the changing room to try on, chief among them a divine black lace 1930s dress. (Yes black, in spite of the fact I opened this story talking about my indifference to black, but 1930s black lace is quite another matter. However, that’s a tale for another time.)

The buttoned cuffs on the blouson sleeves of this dress were quite narrow, and the fabric delicate, so I had to remove the bangle to withdraw my hand from the sleeve (I was too lazy to undo all the buttons). I put it down on a side table in the large dressing room. There was much deliberation and discussion of my proposed purchase of the dress with my talented seamstress sister Blossom, because it needed quite a bit of repair work; and hemming and hawing on the part of the owner who was reluctant to name a price because she didn’t really want to sell it because she hoped to one day fit into it. (But I fit into it now!) Finally I flounced out (with the dress).

It wasn’t until the next afternoon when I was packing my bags prior to our departure for Melbourne that I suddenly thought,

WHERE IS MY BLACK BANGLE?

I could not remember the last time I saw it. Frantically I scrabbled through my bags, searching all the pockets, the bathroom, the closet, my coat pocket, the bag, the tallboy drawers, my handbag … before I had to face the gruesome fact: my bangle was nowhere to be found.

Did I mention that I really love this bangle? It was a souvenir from a holiday in Vietnam four years ago. I wore it nearly every day, even though it drove me bonkers, clattering on my desk whenever I used my keyboard. It was so nice and shiny and glossy and perfectly symmetrical and smooth. I loved this bangle. Some cogitation dredged up the memory of removing it from my wrist in the bazaar. How could I have been so stupid as to LEAVE IT BEHIND IN A CHANGING ROOM of a VINTAGE STORE with no inventory of its stock?

… I had to face the gruesome fact: my bangle was nowhere to be found.

Correct hand position for prayers of fashionLuckily I had kept their business card, and fortuitously we would be passing through Rosebud on our way home. There was no answer to my phonecall the first time, but I left a slightly panicked message on the machine. When I rang back later I spoke to a woman who said she would try to contact the girls who’d been working the previous day to find out if they knew anything. I lamented to my sisters that I had already successfully smashed two onyx rings, and Lily suggested perhaps that I was not meant to own any onyx jewellery. I instantly eschewed this infamous notion.

Many anxious, nail-biting moments later we arrived in Rosebud, and whilst Lily callously elected to go for a stroll along the beach, Blossom and I walked to the bazaar. During that long walk, I prayed that my bangle would be found, like the lost sheep.

… I prayed that my bangle would be found, like the lost sheep.

I raced to the changing room, and threw myself to my knees (not to pray this time, but to search the floor under the sundry furnishings in the changing room). All I found for my trouble was dustballs.

Disconsolately, I made my way back to the front desk, where I could see Blossom talking to a salesperson. The woman had her hand in the air. 

JOY TO THE WORLD! She was waving my black bangle, and tearfully I claimed it, pressing kisses … No, I exaggerate. (But only slightly.) It was dear, dear Blossom in fact, who had rifled through a box of junk by the register and found it. I was so happy to have my bangle return to the fold. And this tragedy all came about through my laziness to undo buttons. Let that be a lesson to me.

But all’s well that end’s well, eh?

Tatiana Takes A Trip

At Grandma’s in Surrey Hills :: Watts // Big Up // No flash

I hadn’t been to Sydney for years, particularly with leisure time to go vintage shopping. I had a friend who knew her way about Surrey Hills, but I had a stroke of luck at the airport the morning I left: I purchased the latest issue of Grazia for a pleasant hour’s plane reading material. Serendipitously there was a story on vintage shopping in it. Perfect!

Already familiar with the Melbourne boutiques listed, I was looking forward to checking out some of these legendary names: The Vintage Clothing Shop (very expensive I decided, at least compared with online vintage shopping, as well as with Melbourne prices), Zoo Emporium, Grandma Takes A Trip …

A Beguiling Trip :: Watts // Big Up // No flash

A Visit to the Zoo :: Watts // Big Up // No flash

The prices at the latter pair, as well as a few others I visited in the area, were much more reasonable, and on a par with shops at home. Zoo Emporium had a basement store that had slashed prices storewide by 50% – gotta love that. And at Grandma Takes A Trip I fell in love with an utterly frivolous white and black polka-dotted, ruched 80s party dress. But I already own a black and white polka-dotted tiered 80s party dress, and I really didn’t need to own its polar opposite. I dared not even try it on for fear I would be tempted. (It reminded me of Audrey Hepburn’s race dress in My Fair Lady – enough temptation.) My friend bought a gorgeous pair of impeccable vintage navy leather heels – 60s I think. Lucky, she with her tiny vintage-sized feet.

But I did not come away empty-handed: I scored an enormous hat at Zoo Emporium that I could foresee was going to cause me considerable trouble at the airport … but that’s a tale for another day.

Australian Grazia magazine, (first week of) March 2012 issue. Click image for larger version.

Pinked and Punctured

There was a sad dearth of flat summer shoes in my wardrobe (there still is of winter ones). But right at the end of the season I managed to snaffle up a few bargains.

I rather like these wholesome looking tan sandals from Wittner: they are a bit like a summer version of brogues, all pinked, punctured and trimmed with leather braid.

They were very comfortable when I first tried them on in the store, but they didn’t have my size. I then nearly bought them online (and would have had to pay an extra $15 for postage), but decided to wait and go back to the warehouse store on the following weekend. And there I found the size I needed! Bargain bonus.

A cobbler … once told me rub new leather with a bar of pure soap – that would soften it up.

Unfortunately, they rather pinked and punctured the backs of my heels on their first outing, so they need a little wearing in. A cobbler (what a lovely old-fashioned description) once told me to rub new leather with a bar of pure soap – that would soften it up. I’d forgotten that handy little trick.

The Cat’s Pyjamas

I thought this was such a cute little novelty necklace when I bought it from the chainstore (no pun intended) Hello Gorgeous. It was also cheap: $10, so I thought no harm done if I don’t wear it much.

On the first day I wore it (to the office), Amelia-Jane complimented me. “It’s the cat’s miaow*!” she said. Well, she didn’t really say that exactly, but I’m sure that’s what she meant. I looked down lovingly and then shrieked with dismay, for I saw that one of the dear little pink pompoms was gone!

I lamented and cursed alternately, even though I knew it would be easy to repair. I know it was only $10 and you get what you pay for, but it’s the principle of thing. I was indignant!

On my way home I remembered to keep my eye out for it, in case it had fallen off on my walk to work. It was bright pink, I reasoned, so it should be easy to spot. I didn’t hold out much hope though. Then to my astonishment I saw it on the stairs going up to the Shrine of Melbourne!

It was a fashion miracle, and that’s the cat’s pompoms indeed.

~

* The cat’s miaow, the cat’s pyjamas and the cat’s whiskers are all delightful slang phrases originating in the 1920s, meaning something highly sought after.

I love this snippet from Wikipedia:
“A report in the New York Times of a publicity stunt by an unknown woman in 1922, in which she paraded along 5th Avenue clad in yellow silk pajamas and accompanied by four cats similarly dressed, may indicate the phrase was already current by that date, as ‘the cat’s miaow’ certainly was.”