The Bohemian History of the Polka Dot

Where do polka dots come from, and why do they have such a quirky name? As strange as it seems, the pattern is named for the dance of the same name.

In the mid nineteenth century, with the advent of machinery in textile factories, the spotted repeat pattern had come into fashion. Prior to this – in medieval times for example – dotted fabrics had not been worn, for without machinery it is difficult to create a spotted pattern with evenly spaced dots, and random spots were associated with disease.

Polka dotted smock top over black skirt by Balenciaga, ph Gordon Parks, LIFE magazine March 1951In the 1840s–60s, dancing the energetic polka was a craze that swept Europe. The dance is of Bohemian origin, associated with Poland and Czechoslovakia.  Manufacturers – being as sly then as they are today – wishing to cash in on this craze, named a plethora of unrelated products after the polka. There was even a polka pudding, a boozy confection of orange-water flavoured cream, drizzled with sherry polka sauce!

Two fashions collided, and thus the polka dot fabric was christened.

Godey’s Lady’s Book dubbed the dotty pattern the ‘polka dot’. The pattern was popular with both men and women. Soon there were polka curtains, gauze, jackets, hats, neckties, shoes and vests.

Mary-Jane Russell wearing Christian Dior, ph Louise Dahl-WolfeWhile the craze for naming everything under the sun after the polka eventually wore off, the name as it applied to the pattern did not. The polka dot pattern has gone in and out of fashion, and it can now be considered a classic, especially when rendered in black and white. A while back when I was researching artists’ smocks, I came across a 1951 photograph of a Balenciaga outfit featuring a polka-dotted smock top. It struck me as extremely similar to a vintage top I own, so here is my little homage both to Balenciaga and the polka dot.

Read more detailed histories of the polka dot pattern here and here, or view a slideshow featuring fashions from 1865–2010.

Marilyn Monroe in a polka dot swimsuit, 1951

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. 

Print and Patchwork

Celebrating the Roaring Twenties in a Special Series

Backdrop: Electric Prisms, Sonia Delaunay, 1913; tank top: CueSonia Delaunay at workSonia Delaunay, born in modern-day Ukraine (1185–1979), was a Jewish-French artist of the Art Deco period. She was famous for her colourful geometric textile designs, although her work extended to painting and stage set design too.

It was in 1911 that Delaunay’s distinctive style was born – along with the arrival of her son Charles. She spontaneously created a quilt for his crib, and said of it:

“About 1911 I had the idea of making for my son, who had just been born, a blanket composed of bits of fabric like those I had seen in the houses of Russian peasants. When it was finished, the arrangement of the pieces of material seemed to me to evoke cubist conceptions and we then tried to apply the same process to other objects and paintings." [Wikipedia]

Geometric swimsuit designsShe and her husband Robert were inspired by the wild colours used by the Fauvists, and by Cubism too. Experimenting with colour and design in a style they called simultanéisme, the Delaunays explored the way in which colours and shapes interacted and affected one another, employing a theory similar to Pointilism, in which the eye mixes closely-placed dots of primary colours.

Dress, 1913Delaunay met Sergei Diaghilev in 1917 and went on to design costumes for his production of Cleopatra and Aida. On their return to Paris from Madrid, she began to make clothes privately, and in 1923 her textile business was founded. Commissioned by a manufacturer from Lyon, Delaunay created 50 fabric designs in her distinctive style, using geometrical shapes and vivid colours. Soon after she began to work for herself and simultané became her registered trademark.

Although my tank top is not boldly coloured, it put me in mind of Sonia Delaunay’s geometric designs from the first – the pattern was the main reason I purchased it. Along with one of Mariano Fortuny’s pieces, a real Delaunay garment (or even replicas of either) would be a dream to own. 

Scroll past the pictures below and read a profile on the artist, from Elle magazine (issue number unknown) – click image for a larger version.

PochoirTwo models in summer beachwear, 1927Winter fashionElectric Prisms, Sonia Delaunay, 1914Click on image for larger version

Summer Straw

Celebrating the Roaring Twenties in a Special Series

The Vintage Hat Series: 20s style via 40s/50s straw toqueSkullcaps, a variation of the cloche, were also popular hats in the 1920s. As indicated by their name, they are small, closely following the shape of the head. They were a particularly popular style adopted for eveningwear, and by brides, who worn them with long ribbon-trimmed veils.

Cloches were worn all year round, and ‘were made from felt, straw, or fabric, and could be draped or swathed with silks, tulle, lace, or netting’ … and often featured ‘pleating, beading, embroidery, or appliqué, and glorious trimmings of ribbon rosettes, silk flowers and feathers.’ [Susie Hopkins, The Century of Hats, Chartwell Books, 1999.]

The vintage hat I am wearing is made entirely from straw, intricately woven and trimmed in a galloon fashion with straw braid. Purchased on Etsy, the seller listed it as vintage 40s or 50s, although the style easily suggests the 1920s, particularly when worn with a bob. (I am not a fan of this type of hat worn with long hair, as made popular by Prada with their turbans a couple of years ago. It smacks of hippiedom to me.) It is a very light hat, perfect for summer. 

Cherry Picking

Last year I stumbled across a fantastical image by fashion illustrator Helen Dryden, featuring a lady wearing a cherry hat and surrounded by butterflies. It was a serendipitous discovery, for I had recently purchased a delicious little burnt orange straw hat trimmed with cherries on eBay from Tarnished Past.

Cover illustration by Helen Dryden, British Vogue, July 1914I decided to make a picture in homage to Dryden, for I had also bought a cherry print vintage dress on Etsy (I had gone on a bit of a cherry rampage). Both hat and dress are 1940s, and the cherries on the hat are made of celluloid. They make a lovely clicking sound when I move my head, and although the glaze is cracked and they feel terribly fragile yet heavy, I adore the hat. The onyx bauble earrings match quite nicely. I couldn’t match all the colours exactly however. The red paper umbrella is one I purchased from Chinatown last Chinese New Year for a couple of dollars.

It was difficult trying to match the pose of the woman in the illustration, contorting my body without being able to look through the viewfinder. It was almost impossible to hold the umbrella at that angle, nor could I manage to defy gravity and tip the hat on end – and my neck certainly is not quite that long! It goes to show that sometimes illustration can do a little more than photography.