The Vintage Gauntlet

In light of the fact that I have in the past spoken scathingly against sinnamay hats, I thought it only fair to show that even I can slip up occasionally. But there were extenuating circumstances: I was indulging a little obsession with fedoras, and it was sales time. These were the only reasons I was able to purchase this straw hat with its sinnamay brim without stabbing myself in the eye afterwards with a hatpin.

I also thought the colours were quite pretty: an indeterminate blue floating somewhere between French and robin’s egg, and cream. So while it was a wrench (emotionally speaking), I bought the hat. I am only able to forgive myself because at least it is a rather strong, masculine shape and doesn’t inspire me to rip it off my head and stamp on it in hat rage. (I have mentioned I loathe sinnamay, haven’t I?)

Actually, I believe the purchase of this hat was a sop, because I was lusting after a Philip Treacy wool-felt fedora, also blue – baby blue to be precise. Unfortunately there were two things wrong with it: it was far too big in size and price.

The vintage gloves, on the other hand, were a very determined purchase. I had to go through a lot to get them. Hankering after these robin’s egg blue gloves for quite some time, I purchased them at last from Etsy, shortly before I departed for foreign climes last May. The seller did not ship to Australia, so I had to organise delivery with a forward-shipping company. There was a hitch though. While overseas I received an email that the package had been returned undelivered for reasons unknown, and I had to pay for shipping all over again. I was quite willing to go the extra mile because gloves like that don’t grow on trees these days.

Hats and gloves though are literally remnants of a more elegant past, when they were part of the de rigueur arsenal of the woman of style. They’ve since been flung away by the majority, but I am happy to pick up the vintage gauntlet. I wonder if I would have passed muster and been allowed in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot?

Smooth as Glass

Enamelling has been around since the ancient Egyptians, who applied enamel to pottery and stone objects. Everyone was into it actually: the ancient Greeks, Celts, Georgians, Chinese, Romans. I particularly like Chinese-style cloisonné.

Cloisonné is the creation of compartments (cloisons in French), made by laying down thin strips of silver or gold wire onto a base, and thereby creating a pattern or design. It was the Byzantines who first used enamel in imitation of cloisonné inlays of precious stones. These cloisons are filled with powdered glass, which is fired, melts, flows and hardens to a smooth, vitreous coating.

This slick, glassy application of colour is so appealing, especially because the colour is so flat and opaque. Different shades of glass can be blended of course, in an ombré effect, but I much prefer the sleek and graphic look of plain colours.

The enamel necklace and matching earrings I am wearing are vintage 1950s, and so tactile. I love the closely interlocking flowers with their duck-egg blue petals (a pale robin’s egg blue x French blue), and centres made from lemon-tinted pearls.

And to go with the 1950s theme, I’ve bathed these photos in a warm yellow glow in homage to Blumenfeld, one of my favourite photographers of that era. I couldn’t decide if I preferred the grainy effect (top), or the faded version (below). It’s a bit like looking at the world through amber-tinted glasses (where can I get some of those?).

Seventies Addition

What sums up a Seventies look, so in this autumn/winter? In this case, I was inspired by a 1973 photo of my sister Blossom and her husband, lounging amongst the autumn leaves.

Just do the math: a headscarf + hoop earrings + big sunglasses + polo neck + chunky cardigan + wide-legged denim + giant tote = 1970s.

I didn’t have to spend a cent to create the right vibe though: I managed to cull a number of items from my regular wardrobe. In fact, all the garments I am wearing are modern, and the beauty of this is they are made of natural fibres: silk, wool, cotton. So many garments of that era that one finds in thrift shops are polyester – not the most comfortable of fibres to wear next to one’s skin.

The tote bag however, may be original Seventies, and it is actually real crocodile skin. I won it at auction on eBay for only AU$40 or so, which I think is an awesome bargain.

For some more inspiration check out this dreamy Australian Vogue fashion editorial The New Skirted You, also dating from 1973. Or click through for marie-claire’s modern interpretations.

Widow’s Weeds

Really a Portuguese widow, stalking the treacherous cobbled streets of the Alfama district in LisbonBlack is, and has been for a long time, the colour of mourning in much of the western world, so it is interesting that the picture of a black-garbed, mourning widow is popularly associated with the Italians. Perhaps this is because in some parts of Italy it is customary for a grieving widow to never put off her blacks. In fact, this is also common in areas of Russia, Czechoslovakia, Greece, Portugal, Spain and Mexico.

The original ‘Italian widow’ is of course Queen Victoria, famous for her long grief over the death of her beloved Albert. However, strict social rules regarding mourning dress had been established long before Victoria ascended the throne.

Mourning ensemble, 1870

The Rules

Victorian jet mourning broochA widow was expected to mourn her husband for up to four years, which required her to lead a quiet, sober life as well as don the black apparel that showed respect for the decedent. To put off her blacks earlier was to court scandal and, if she was still young and attractive, risk a tarnished reputation as a loose woman.

During the first year of ‘full mourning’ her costume was black and constructed from matt fabric such as crêpe. Decorative trim too was simple, but especially non-reflective – hence the popularity of jet (gemstones cut from fossilised carbon) in the Victorian age*. Even her accessories were black, from shoes and parasols to fans and handkerchiefs. Frivolous hats were strictly forbidden; in their place simple black bonnets and heavy veils were worn.

Mourning bonnet, 1870s (usually worn with veil attached)

Mourning fan, 1887–89

Mourning dress, 1850s

Mourning coat, 1907Mourning dress, 1880

Mourning cape, 1895–1900

Mourning parasol, 1895–1900After a year had passed, a widow entered ‘half mourning’, and grey and lavender could be introduced into her wardrobe, and the widow could now sedately re-enter society, which had been proscribed to her during full mourning.

Unsurprisingly, a complete wardrobe makeover was costly, particularly for the lower classes, and overdying existing garments was a practical way to reduce the expense.

The rather picturesque term ‘widow’s weeds’ comes from the Old English word ‘waed’, which means ‘garment’ …

The rather picturesque term ‘widow’s weeds’ comes from the Old English word ‘waed’, which means ‘garment’, and it is easy to imagine what a somber vision these ladies must have presented on the streets of London, enveloped as they were in acres of fabric. The weight alone must have bowed their shoulders if grief did not!

Fashion Notes

I have often remarked that I rarely wear all black, and one of the main reasons is that I feel far too somber and funereal in it. The last time I wore this ensemble (many years ago now, with different skirt and shoes and sans veil – basically only the crocheted lace top and silhouette is the same!) a co-worker exclaimed that I looked like an Italian widow. I rather like this little outfit however – perhaps because it is so thematic, rather than everyday wear that happens to be black.

~

Gwyneth Paltrow in Possession (2002) *There is an interesting scene in the film Possession, (adapted from A.S. Byatt’s book of the same name), starring Gwyneth Paltrow, in which her character visits an antiques store in Whitby, England, to trace the origins of a jet brooch. (Incidentally, I really like Paltrow’s costumes in this film.)

Historical costume images from The Metropolitan Museum of Art, except for jet brooch. Click on images for further details on individual pieces. 

Click-Clack

Late 30s Early 40s German Art Deco necklace: honey and black faceted lucite drop bib necklace; $153 from RoadsLessTravelled2 on EtsyAfter extolling my cousin’s chunky necklace yesterday, I went on a little Etsy hunt for some of its antecedents: Art Deco necklaces made from Bakelite.

Bakelite is an early plastic that is made from sythetic components. (I won’t bore you with the scientific explanation – you can go look up Wikipedia too.) It was used in radio and telephone casings, as well as far more interesting and appealing jewellery, children’s toys, kitchenware, and more.

Visit Gaslight & Shadows Antiques for a short history of BakeliteIt is still used today in fact, in the production of inexpensive board games in China, India and Hong Kong. Billiard balls, dominoes and pieces for chess, checkers and backgammon are also still made from Bakelite, for ‘its look durability, fine polish, weight and sound’. Who knew? I have always liked the clack billiard balls make when they strike one another – it’s as satisfying a sound as that lovely click a lipstick makes when you close the case (which is also an important component of lipstick packaging design I believe). 

And if you’re in Britain, don’t miss the Bakelite Museum. 

Honey Bakelite and gold metal choker necklace; $127 from Linda Starr on Etsy
Bakelite Art Deco necklace on celluloid chain with apple juice and amber beads; $145 from BrightEyesTreasures on Etsy