Shanghai Silk

I am a total sucker for anything embroidered. It draws my hand irresistibly like a magpie to shiny things. (I also love shiny things.) This vintage 1960s, exquisitely decorated silk blouse, one of two I own, was embroidered by hand in Shanghai.

The real heyday for such embroidered garments were the 1950s and 60s, when the label ‘Made in China’ did not have the connotations it does today. The labels on both my blouses are written in English as well as Chinese, indicating that they were made for the tourist market. Perhaps they were unwanted souvenirs, for neither look worn.

Embroidery and most other needlework arts are believed to have originated in the Orient and Middle East. Paintings and pictures on sculpture illustrating embroidery with silk thread, precious stones and pearls indicate that Chinese thread embroidery dates back to 3500 BC – no wonder this example is so fine: they’ve been practising a long time! Elaborate embroidery on garments, household goods and religious artefacts has been a mark of wealth and status in many cultures since.

Just look at this detail!While the Industrial Revolution brought machines that replaced hands, and made embroidery more accessible for the masses, freehand embroidery has never died out, and its fineness cannot be contested when it is laid side-by-side with a cheap, mass-produced item. One can only marvel at the skill and patience needed for such fine needlework.

I am lucky enough to own a short-sleeved silk blouse embroidered in a similar style, as well as two other plainer Chinese silk blouses. All of them were found in the same Salvos store on separate occasions. I always wonder: Who gets rid of these beautiful things?

Vintage lovers will also be familiar with the beaded and sequined knits of the same era, and detailed beaded evening bags, most of which declare Hong Kong as the origin – look out for more on these in coming days.

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I am also wearing a modern silk skirt by Carolyn Taylor, and belt by Alannah Hill.

Photos: March 2018

Grin and Bear It

Melbourne has really turned on the cold weather for us on this first day of winter. There is nothing to do but to rug up and turn up the collar. Winter also is the perfect season to indulge in lots of accessories: hats! Scarves! Gloves! Legwarmers and armwarmers, stoles and tippets! Balaclavas!

But even Melbourne winters are not usually cold enough to warrant wearing vintage fur; this one might turn out to be an exception.

In the summer, I found this tall fur cap in an op shop and was so tickled by it I decided to buy it. I am guessing it is vintage 1960s, since that era was fond of exaggeratedly outsize hats. As soon as I saw it and tried it on, I was reminded of those Queen’s Guards protecting Buckingham Palace, although of course their hats are black.

These military hats are called bearskins, traditionally worn by grenadiers. While the original grenadiers of Europe’s armies of the 17th century wore cloth caps trimmed in fur, by the second half of the 18th century, they were donning high fur hats with cloth tops. The main purpose was to make them appear taller and more intimidating on the battlefield, and impressive on the parade ground. Today these hats are made from the fur of the Canadian black bear, and if well cared for, can last for decades.

My hat is made from rabbit fur – an introduced pest in this country, so I don’t feel guilty. I may not wear this eccentric hat often, but it is certainly a collectible piece of fashion history. It may even keep me warm this winter.

Photo: March 2017

Stocking Stuff

Recently I found a stack of 1960s vintage stockings in a thrift store, which was a fun and thrilling find that had more to do with the packaging than the actual contents. This is partly because I am a graphic designer, and mostly because I can’t be bothered with donning garters on a regular basis, especially as I am always dressing in a hurry. In my early 20s I often did wear stockings, and cursed when I had failed to button garters properly. There is nothing like the horror and mortification of a stocking coming down at the most inopportune moment due to failed garters!

Vintage Stockings

There is a set of three pairs of nylon stockings by Bouquet, in a beige skin tone, size 8½; one packet had already been opened and the contents examined – whether by the original owner or someone else I don’t know, but they haven’t been worn.

The wonderful second package – illustrated with a poodle! – contains Kolotex Clings stockings, in the colour ‘Flame’, size 8½–9. If the poodle on the box is not enough to delight you, the interior packaging is priceless. It includes instructions for how to put pantyhose on (I would add to them: file your nails, or else wear cotton gloves when pulling on fine hosiery), and also a promotional pamphlet disguised as a fashion quiz, the cover design of which is in an early psychedelic style. This pamphlet is full of everything you wanted to know about Trikolon, a 2-way nylon: ‘so fine a spider couldn’t spin it’.

While Kolotex was already producing full pantyhose at this point, the owner of these clearly had not yet made the shift – or perhaps they had in fact, which is why the contents of these packages remained unworn relics.

Click for larger version

A Bit of History

Nylon was introduced in 1939 by chemical company DuPont, but WWII interrupted the manufacture of stockings, leading to global shortages and a black market that did not abate until the end of the war. Even after production was reinstated, DuPont could not keep up with the immediate demand, and that lead to nylon riots in America!

Pantyhose were introduced in 1959 and quickly became popular, eventually superseding stockings in sales, especially with the Sixties craze for minidresses. It was not until 1987 that sales declined – though only a little – with the newly invented stay-up stockings. These are my favourite: there is no bother of pulling them up and down whenever one goes to the bathroom, and there is no tiresome fiddling with garters.

The copy in the Kolotex fashion quiz is quite entertaining; click through to the gallery to see all twelve pages.

Photos: March 2017

Easter Parade

This Easter Sunday evening I have a veritable parade of vintage 1940s hats to show off. (Is that the collective noun for hats? If not, it should be! … I just checked Answers.com and it informed me that it is either a millinery of hats or a fascination of hats. The former is boring, and the latter very cute; I still like parade however.)

Again, all of these hats are recent acquisitions, bought in op shops (thrift stores) over the past spring and summer for quite piddling sums – not as piddling as my straw hats, but almost, which I consider quite a feat here in Australia. Genuine vintage hats are not easy to come by, and those available in boutiques or fairs are often $80+, with 20s–30s hats very much more. These four hats ranged between $10–20.

First up is a black braided wool felt beret. It features a circular ribbing effect created by the braid that has been stitched together to form the hat foundation. It is quite stiff, and definitely needs the attached satin band to keep it on the head (fitting around the head, on top of the hair); this is finished with a satin bow at the back, just above the nape. It has a quite jaunty look! There is only the remnants of a label inside, unfortunately.

There are myriad styles of 1940s hats. While some have definite names (berets, fedoras, cartwheels etc), others do not have distinctive appellations. This high-crowned red velvet hat is somewhat reminiscent of a turban, or perhaps it has some antecedents in historical military hats. It could be described as a toque, which is simply a hat without a brim. It has a smooth curve to the back, and two little red bows above the ears. The colour is certainly fantastically vivid, and the fabric plush. The label states it is a Phyl Clarkson Exclusive Model, from Rondel’s of London, New York, Sydney.

This pink wool felt hat is a platter with a twist (literally): it is gathered up at the back with a little bow as though the brim has been twisted, creating the effect of flower petals. It is a glorious shade of deep rose, and the label says Newhaus, Herta Maria Melbourne.

I am not sure quite how to describe the last hat, a navy wool Parisian model, by Georgette. It has a bow of matching wool piping and is trimmed with an ostrich feather where the brim has been turned up. Worn at a tilt it puts me in mind of nineteenth century riding hats – women often wore feminine versions of men’s hats such as bicorns, tricorns and toppers. This hat has only one side turned up however. Perusing various resources on 40s hats has not been of much assistance either – even contemporary fashion journals unhelpfully described some hats simply as ‘hats’. (Vintage Dancer has a great article, but even they stop at twenty types.)

Hats were one item that were not rationed during the war years, so milliners were really able to go to town with materials, trims and styling – only their imaginations were the limit; there are some really extraordinary shapes out there. I feel lucky enough to own just a few crazy 40s hats. I am looking forward to winter to wear these at last!

Photos: August 2016

When Ruffles Go Bad

Today at lunchtime I went for a walk ostensibly to get some fresh air, enjoy the sunshine and look for lost things, but inevitably my feet lead me to an op shop (thrift store).

I had a little browse and picked up a couple of nice things to mull over, and then pounced on a little 1950s beige ruffled hat that was so hideous I had to try it on. As my friend said when I sent her a photo, it looked like early Dame Edna.

Isn’t it awful? I don’t understand it. Some vintage hats are peculiar and inexplicable, but whimsy gives them charm. This one I just don’t know. Who thought that a bonnet of ruffles framing the head would be a good idea? It’s a bit like a mobcap on steroids. About the best I could say of it was that it fit very well, and it was well made, with a sturdy lining. At $15 it was too expensive to even buy for a laugh.

I ended up buying a wonderful violet straw hat with a huge brim that is flexible enough to turn up in any direction, and also a broken vintage umbrella which I am going to cannibalise for spare parts (I have another vintage umbrella that is missing a steel tip that goes on the end of a spoke.)

So that was a successful op shop trip in the end: a new hat, spare parts and a laugh.

Photos: Today