Label Etiquette

Today I’d like to address the issue of labels. We all know what they are: irritating little tags that poke into the back of your neck and make you itch.

Sometimes they stick out of your collar and you know nothing of the matter until some kind soul approaches and tucks it in neatly for you. Depending upon their manner, you are thankful, sheepish, or utterly humiliated.

The important point here is that clothing labels are by nature supposed to be hidden. This means inside your clothes. Not visible to the public.

Sometimes clothing manufacturers attach temporary labels to the exterior of their garments. This is usually for some kind of informational or promotional purpose.

…clothing labels are by nature supposed to be hidden.

One such example are the labels the Paddington Coat Factory attach to their coats, proudly proclaiming the fabric content to be 80% wool, 20% cashmere – that 20% is a huge selling point! No doubt this is to avoid the alarming tendency of the hoi polloi to paw the coat about, trying to ascertain this very information.

But I digress. Once you have purchased the item; taken it home and lovingly unwrapped it; and tenderly hung it on a padded satin hanger, it is permissible – nay, let us say imperative – that you untack the label and throw it into the bin immediately.

Unlike the otherwise impeccably attired gentleman pictured above, arm lovingly nestling his amour, I see absolutely no reason to advertise a designer’s name on your sleeve. Unless of course you heart them very much.

The Colour Winter

When I was in high school, maybe grade 8, some of my friends, studying seasonal colour palettes, declared positively one lunch time that I was an Autumn. “How did you arrive at that decision?” I asked, lifting a brow. (Alright, that’s a bit of poetic licence.) Apparently it was the colour of my hair and eyes that decided them, but they didn’t take into account that I was dyeing my hair with henna shampoo, and it was not, in fact, red. 

I am sure over the intervening years I must have tried to once or twice decipher these mysterious codes, but at some point I worked out on my own which colours suited me. I used to prefer slightly dirty colours – until I figured out they actually look awful on me. In fact, they make me look sick and sallow. I always disliked pastels too; perhaps they reminded me too much of the early 80s. As for pink – waaay too girly for me.

Hot pink was another epiphany. Cobalt blue quickly followed on its heels…
I was disgusted: all these 80s
jewel tones!

Icy pinkAnd guess what? Yep, it’s bright colours that suit me best. I discovered that pure white looks brilliant on me. (I once read in a magazine of a bridal designer who declared that pure white suits hardly anyone, only girls with dark olive skin. I immediately decided she had no clue, and pitied her poor clients.)

Icy lavenderHot pink was another epiphany. Cobalt blue quickly followed on its heels, and emerald, and amethyst (there I am above, decked head-to-toe in it). I was disgusted: all these 80s jewel tones! So I rebelled, and limited my wardrobe to a colour palette that I actually liked: mostly white, grey, taupe, and a limited amount of black (because I’m from Melbourne and like to buck the trend).

I like to terrify innocent passers-by with fierce yellowsFor colour I added bright reds, oranges, and turquoise, and a bit of green and purple. I never wore them with black though – that also was too 80s – but with other neutral hues. Some time later I developed a new-found love of bright sunshine yellow – a colour which has often provoked both fear and admiration whenever I have worn it.

Icy blueWhen I started researching this story however, I learned that I am a ‘cool, clear, bright’ winter. All the colours I wore were actually in that colour palette, as well as all these icy pastels – which makes sense, since they are bright whites with a hint of colour. And there is a veritable carafe of reds, pinks and purples! That explains how more and more shades of pink had managed to creep into my wardrobe. That had always bemused me.

Some favourite colours: periwinkle, turquoise, tomato red, magenta, pink and raspberry. I usually combine these with neutral greys.

So if you’re curious to test this theory out yourself, click here to visit College Fashion for an easy diagnosis, based on hair and eye colour, or drop in to the Personality Café for another take (although I think some of their eye colours are a bit simplistic – I have never seen anyone with natural violet eyes, for instance, and though I am certainly a ‘clear winter’, my eye colour [hazel] is not listed). The Chic Fashionista’s not bad either, and has a troubleshooting page too. Mail Online has a story that breaks it down simply. And here’s a good one for men. Any one of these will help you.

Anything that makes your skin
glow and your eyes sparkle most likely suits you.

You don’t need to buy a colour palette swatch book either: just go through your own wardrobe (or a boutique) and hold different items to your face. Anything that makes your skin glow and your eyes sparkle most likely suits you. They’re also probably the items you were wearing when you received lots of compliments. Remember, if there are colours you really love that you find aren’t your best, you can always wear them away from your face: in skirts or trousers.

And if, like me, you always deeply appreciated reading through your older sister’s or mum’s Avon catalogue when you were a kid because the colour names were so hilarious, click here for a multitude of colours, some with very perplexing names (grullo, anyone?).

Happy colouring this Easter!

Sew Necessary

Put your hand up if you like mending. Anyone? Anyone at all? … I thought not. Neither do I.

It is one of those pesky little chores that I put off for as long as possible. It’s not that I don’t know how to sew on a missing button – it’s more the fact this little chore always seems to consume an inordinate amount of time, what with hauling out the sewing box; threading needles; hunting for the missing button that I had put in a very safe place… so safe I can’t find it again.

However tedious it is though, it must be done. There is nothing more slovenly than gadding about in disreputable garments. Which means said garments are pulled off the hanger only to be immediately returned to them, unworn, when I realise I have not re-attached that belt loop, or replaced that button.

There is nothing more slovenly than gadding about in disreputable garments.

So, sew. My sewing box is actually a vintage tin, which I find more aesthetically appealing that one of those sewing boxes upholstered in tapestry fabric available from haberdashers. I have sorted out its contents into clear plastic bags so I can locate the required notion with minimum fuss. I also have a mini sewing kit for my bag – coincidentally a vintage-style tin that has become battered through the years.

Once upon a time I even knew how to operate a sewing machine. Back in high school I studied textiles in grade 7. None of our projects were particularly ambitious, but I still have one of the items I made from scraps scrounged from my older sister Blossom: a pencil case with the word ‘love’ spelled out on it.

One day I shall actually take that sewing machine mum bought me a couple of years ago out of storage and learn how to use it.

A Family Tree of Fibres

I am on a fashion budget. What a sad state of affairs. Fortunately I am a brilliant op-shopper, a superb eBay spotter-and-clicker, and bargain-hunter extraordinaire, so you can’t tell. However, I still firmly believe in quality.

One of the main things I will look for in my bargains is fabric content. Natural fibres of course feel more luxurious, but more importantly they breathe. They keep you warm or cool according to the season, and you won’t sweat under them like you do with synthetics.

Natural fibres of course feel more luxurious, but more importantly they breathe.

By accident, I learned quite a few years ago that Rayon is a natural fibre. Well, actually, it is technically a semi-synthetic fabric, as it is manufactured from regenerated cellulose fibre; ie, wood pulp. That’s good enough for me!

It is very versatile, able to imitate the feel and texture of silk, wool, cotton and linen, and always feels lovely and cool in the hand when you do the Crush Test. In Europe it is known as Viscose; Rayon is its American name. It was invented donkey’s years ago – commercial production began in 1891 – which is why you’ll find many vintage clothes are made from rayon.

Moving right along about 100 years, (106 to be exact) we land on Lyocell (left). I have come across this fibre only recently, but I have discovered it has also been marketed under the trademarked name of Tencel. Who remembers Tencel jeans in the mid to late Eighties? They were all the rage for a while then Levis eclipsed them again. But, importantly, Lyocell is also made from wood pulp cellulose!

At least there is little byproduct from the manufacturing process, so it is relatively eco-friendly, unlike Rayon.

Then, as we move along the family tree (pardon the pun), we arrive at Modal, which is essentially a variety of Rayon, and is made from the wood pulp of beech trees – as opposed to your basic garden variety, I presume. It is often mixed with spandex fibres, and makes a smooth, soft fabric that is resistant to shrinkage and fading, like its cousin Lyocell.

I have discovered, to my sorrow, that moths adore chewing on Lyocell much more than Viscose; it must be higher on their list of delicacies. So keep those cedar balls handy!

Spring Posies

As the days brighten and become warmer, many of us will be shedding our dull winter cocoons and slipping into something a little more in keeping with the season’s spirit. Spring clothes and floral prints are synonymous with one another, but sprigs of delicate flowers aren’t for everyone.

Which prints does the ungirly girl wear? Brighter colours, harder edges. A small selection, above, were inadvertently hanging together in my walk-in-robe, as they had just come out of winter storage: a vintage 80s batwing silk top, embroidered all over with gold and silver sequins, and roses that remind me of the Mills & Boon logo (I look like a mirror-ball when I wear this out); a geometric chevron print in the bright blue of a new spring sky; large sprigs of flowers toughened by their navy silhouettes, and bands of black at the neck and hem of the dress.

So throw off your coat and out you go into the spring sunshine! And don’t forget to stop and smell the roses on the way.