A Paean to Pink

By now it must be fairly patent that I have a sneaking fondness for pink … It didn’t used to always be so. I reviled it for a long period during the wishy-washy pastel 80s before I had my pink epiphany in my mid-twenties when I whimsically tried on a candy-pink blouse in a store and discovered how it suited my complexion. So much so that even the shop assistant exclaimed in mutual astonishment with me! That was quite funny.

I’ve since discovered that any super-bright colour suits me. Back then, I used to reach for muted tertiary colours, but now my fingers invariably snatch at any vivid hue. So somehow I have managed to amass a collection of vintage pink hats, and this little quartet is by no means all of them – these are just the ones with veils! (These photos were actually taken exactly four years ago, on August 24, 2012; I’m not quite sure why they have languished in the archives so long – although I do observe now that the veils have an unbecoming flattening effect on my bangs.)

There is a whipped-up confection of pink satin, a 60s hat that I purchased on eBay, from the UK. All the others came from America, and were bought on Etsy. The velvet bandeau with its feather bird is from the 50s, and the whimsical flock of flamingos is also 50s or possibly 60s. I do love birds, so naturally I was attracted to these headpieces.

The marvellous chenille pom-pom veil sweeps up into a bow at the back, and I think that may actually be a relic of the 40s. It is a little more fragile than the others, and the black net feels like it is made from a different fibre. It is dotted delightfully with rows of pink, blue and white chenille pom-poms.

The marvellous chenille pom-pom veil sweeps up into a bow at the back …

The enormous pearl baubles dangling from my ears are 60s clip-ons, and I was quite chuffed to see January Jones wearing the exact same pair in an episode of Mad Men, the one when they went to Rome. The off-white silk blouse is an old favourite, bought new from Australian store Veronika Maine.

So here they are – finally unveiled!

Photos: August 2012

You’re Mad on Dances

CELEBRATING THE ROARING TWENTIES IN A SPECIAL SERIES

I’m not going to give you a big history lesson on the Charleston dance except to say it is the most famous dance associated with the 1920s. It was named after the harbour city of Charleston in South Carolina, and was first composed in 1923 for a Broadway show titled Runnin’ Wild. The peak years for the Charleston’s popularity were 1926–1927.

Wikipedia describes it thus: ‘At first, the step started off with a simple twisting of the feet, to rhythm in a lazy sort of way. When the dance hit Harlem, a new version was added. It became a fast kicking step, kicking the feet, both forward and backward and later done with a tap. Further changes were undoubtedly made before the dance was put on stage.’

Josephine Baker perfoming the CharlestonThe dress I am wearing, being quite short and skimpy on the bodice, is vaguely inspired by flapper dresses with its drop waist and gored skirt. It is grey silk chiffon, by Australian high street store Sportsgirl. I purchased it on eBay and was rather disappointed by its brevity once the package arrived and I saw it in person (and on my person!). I thought it was fine for a homage to the dance though, and had fun kicking my patent navy heels to an album of original Charleston recordings, including an amusing George Gershwin song performed by Fred and Adele Astaire:

FRED:
I've seen for days that you've got
The ways that must be checked
In you I never can detect
The slightest signs of intellect
You’re mad on dances, think of the chances you neglect
You never seem inclined to use your mind
And it's quite plain to see
That I'm the brains of the family …

[Read the full lyrics here, and watch a period video of the dance below.]

Photo: March 2014

Surface Decoration

CELEBRATING THE ROARING TWENTIES IN A SPECIAL SERIES

Many years ago, I remember seeing a vintage 1920s embroidered silk piano shawl belonging to a fashion editor I once worked with. It was a celestial shade of Wedgwood blue, with cream coloured embroidery, and I fell in love with it. It had belonged to her mother, and quite naturally, she wasn’t parting with it.

I determined to find my own, except there was one problem in fulfilling this mission: these enormous shawls are rarely to be seen in Australia. About five years ago I looked at some in an antique textile shop in Barcelona; I remember a gorgeous black and white one priced at several hundred euros – beyond my price range. Later, I expanded my search to Etsy.

… in the 1920s piano shawls were adopted for decoration of the top surface of the fashionable flapper.

Piano shawls or scarves literally are embroidered pieces of fabric that were used to decorate and protect the top surface of a grand piano. They were quite popular during the Victorian era when pianos in the parlour were fashionable, and in the 1920s piano shawls were adopted for decoration of the top surface of the fashionable flapper. They were worn in the evening simply as shawls, or were tailored to create jackets or kimono-style coats. The hand-tied fringing they are commonly edged with form a distinctive and seductive decoration, swaying with every movement of the wearer.

A few years ago I watched an original 1920s film – I can’t remember the title, but it was about two sisters with a strong sibling rivalry when it came to men – in which a young flapper dons a piano shawl for an evening wrap in disgruntlement after her elder sister steals her brand spanking new lamé coat. The younger sister threw the shawl around her like a cloak, so that the fringing trailed behind her, brushing the floor. The coat was beautiful, but I didn’t consider the shawl a poor substitute as did its wearer!

I eventually found a shawl that I liked on Etsy – not in the coveted Wedgwood blue, but in lustrous navy and white (it won narrowly over a similar shawl of black and white that was a little smaller); I particularly love the birds fluttering amongst the embroidered floral vines. While they come in many different colour combinations, I preferred the minimal simplicity of just two. Here I am wearing mine folded diagonally in half, as the fringing trails dangerously on the floor like a train if it is not folded. I have worn it out as an evening wrap too, to the theatre, and the crépe de chine is not only very warm, but I feel incredibly glamorous embraced within its folds.

I was lucky to find a beautiful piano shawl in such perfect condition at the extreme lower end of the price scale. There are many readily available on Etsy and other online stores, with prices ranging from a few hundred to several thousand dollars. If you do wish to buy one, do be patient and shop around as there are bargains to be found, and also be careful to check the condition as much as you are able, as these are antique textiles and you can expect to find shattering, tears, holes and stains in fabrics that have been heavily used or stored incorrectly. A reputable seller will be upfront about such issues.

Photos: March 2014

Model wearing a shawl of crëpe de chine hand-painted by Russian artists, 1924; ph. Edward Steichen. ‘Edward Steichen In High Fashion the Condé Nast Years 1923–1937’ by William A. Ewing and Todd Brandow, FEP Editions LLC, 2008

The Exotic History of the Pae Jama

Celebrating the Roaring Twenties in a Special Series

Louche and loose, languid and long, classic wide-legged trousers and lounge pyjamas are closely associated with the relaxed style of the Roaring Twenties, but they did not suddenly just appear out of nowhere, or even – as one of the first women to popularise them for beachwear – out of Coco Chanel’s inventive and pragmatic mind.

Their origins lie in the mysterious and exotic lands in the near east of Europe: India, Iran, Pakistan and Bangladesh, where both men and women wore traditional loose trousers tied at the waist, usually with a belted tunic that extended to the knees. Pyjamas referred only to the trousers, and were tight fitting through the whole leg, or full and loose to the knee, and tighter at the calves and ankles. The word is Hindi, and comes from pae jama, meaning leg clothing. Similar iterations also appeared in the Middle and Far East.

Pyjamas were worn by Europeans sojourning in these countries, and were brought back home as exotic loungewear. By the 1920s, when Coco Chanel began cavorting on the beach in them, they had adopted the streamlined and loose cut of the Art Deco era, with straight legs and drop-waists.

Louche and loose, languid and long, classic wide-legged trousers and lounge pyjamas are closely associated with the relaxed style of the Roaring Twenties …

Louise Brooks, 1920sIna Claire, 1925; photograph by Edward Steichen (original link broken)Thalia Barbarova, 1925 (original link broken)Pyjamas were considered a fashionable alternative to the teagown – particularly when relaxing at home – and were made from luxurious and printed fabrics; Paul Poiret was an early proponent of these, launching as early as 1911 for both day and evening wear. On the beach their early appearances were quite scandalous and, adopted at first only by the adventurous. By the end of the Twenties, however, they were comme il faut for the average woman.

In fact pajamas were considered elegant beachwear throughout the 1930s, when they began to be cut wider so that they took on the appearance of a skirt. In the 1960s they made another big comeback as palazzo pajamas, and, an enduring style, they still continue to be worn today.

Fashion notes

In my late teens or early twenties, I had my own version of lounge pyjamas made. I purchased a pattern for actual pyjamas and two different fabrics: a paintbrushy floral pattern in autumnal hues of gold, browns and coral on a cream base for the top, and a beautiful goldenrod for the trousers. My sister made them for me, and I wore them everywhere for years (sadly I didn’t keep them), styling them with long pearls, flat Mary-Janes and a classic Louise Brooks bob (my style icon at the time).

In these pictures I am actually wearing modern day pale pink crepe ‘kite’ trousers and a cream silk sleeveless blouse; the pearl beads are vintage 80s.

Photos: March 2014

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Read more about 1920s pyjama style at Swing Fashionista and Retro Rover (there are some inspiring images there too). There is also a great article at Fashion History: Love to Know that delves deeper into the historical antecedents of the familiar Westernised pyjama.

Beach pyjamas, 1930s UK; from Swing FashionistaBeach pajamas, 1930s UK; from Retro Rover

Flat-Out

Saucers, platters, pancakes – these were all names for the same style of flat, wide-brimmed hat that was popular in the 1950s for winter and summer wear. I own many such examples, and here are two of them: one in sumptuous blue velvet, and the other in a wavy-brimmed green wool.

I always prefer Fifties hats with either short hair, or hair in an updo – the proportions always seem to look better, which is hardly surprising as they were originally designed to be worn with the popular hairstyles of the era. I am wearing these with long hair rolled into a bun, and with a Fifties velvet coat.

I feel too prim and ladylike in them!

Although these hats are part of my collection, they are not ones I generally wear – in fact I don’t think I’ve ever worn either of them out of the house. Why? Because I feel too prim and ladylike in them! It is a pity, since they are quite pretty after all. This seems mad considering some of the other far more insane things I have worn in my time. Perhaps I should consider this a style challenge?

Photo: August 2012