Patently Irresistible

I do like patent leather. It’s so pretty and shiny and delicious looking. Looking at an array of patent leathergoods I feel like a kid standing before an ice cream counter, mouth slavering over all the scrumptious flavours. The only trouble is deciding which one. It’s hard to believe at first it came only in licorice. 

Patent leather is a type of lacquered fine-grained leather that has a high gloss. Sometimes it’s smooth, sometimes it has a delightful crackle finish. Waterproof and easy to clean, patent leather needs only to be wiped with a damp cloth to restore its lustre.

The process was first invented in the late eighteenth century in Belgium, and was afterwards taken to the United States by the inventor Seth Boyden of New Jersey. He improved upon the process, applying the linseed oil base as a lacquer coating. Commercial production began in 1819. Ironically, Boyden never got round to patenting his process.

Ironically, Boyden never got round to patenting his process.

Originally patent leather came in black only because lampblack was mixed into the lacquer, and the glossy leather was advocated for formal dress, particularly for men’s shoes. It didn’t take long for women to claim this wonderful material for their own though. 

Today patent leather is plastic coated. The simplified, cheaper method has made mass production possible – and of course today, happily, it comes in every colour of the rainbow.

My two favourite colours are here rendered in patent leather. The first is a red handbag, bought on eBay from the UK (as noted in a recent post, red patent leather handbags seem so hard to come by), and the second, a pair of Tiffany blue strappy heels – heaven on a platform! I haven’t quite decided, but I think they are my favourite summer shoes. I also own large and small patent black handbags, and numerous pairs of shoes in hot pink, cobalt, black, red, teal … One day I would love to own a 60s style pea coat or short trench in black crackle patent leather. Patently I cannot resist this tactile leather! 

Lace and Line

Remember poor old Anne Hathaway at the Oscars this year? Her necklace was so wrong for her gown, and she looked like she was being strangled. It is very hard to choose one’s accessories of course, especially when one has a stylist whispering wicked nothings in one’s ear. But fear not, SNAP is here to right fashion wrongs.

A neckline serves to frame one’s face, and there are of course more or less flattering necklines for every figure. In turn, a necklace should enhance a neckline, and draw the eye, and lace and line should certainly not engage in battle.

A case in point: this giant bauble necklace – a statement piece if there ever was one – while complemented by the polka dot vintage 50s blouse, is engulfed by the collar and vee-neckline. It and I need air to breathe.

… lace and line should certainly not engage in battle.

Swap the blouse for a striped kimono top with a slashed neckline and suddenly everything is okay. There is enough skin to frame the necklace and I no longer look like I am being choked. And the baubles look just as cute with a different type of graphic pattern. (The right necklace for the blouse, incidentally, would be something like a delicate and short chain that did not fall below the apex of the vee.)

Right, now go forth and decorate thyself!

Devoré du Jour

What is it about the French language that so prettifies commonplace notions? Devoré fabric refers to velvets that have been dissolved to create transparent patterns. In French, this literally means ‘devoured’. More prosaically, in English this fabric is sometimes referred to as ‘burnout’, which conjures up some rather horrid images.

The process was first created in Europe in the 1920s, and requires velvet that has a blend of cellulose fibre – viscose, cotton, rayon – and a protein-based fibre such as silk. A chemical gel is applied in the desired pattern to the fabric, and the cellulose is dissolved away to leave behind the silk, which appears as a semi-transparent gauze, and thereby creating the pattern.

Devoré was popular during the 1920s unsurprisingly, as it was then invented, and the dresses of the time were so much more inventive with the use of this innovative fabric than the ubiquitous scarves and fringed kimonos of today. 

A 1920s devoré evening frock

Dress Like an Egyptian

Nothing says summer like cool blue and white stripes. Linen knit from flax, by Zara.When I was a teenager I remember being warned against linen fabric: “It’ll crease terribly,” doomsayers were fond of declaring. Linen suffered from a bad reputation in the fashion world, but it had a renaissance in the 1990s, when about 70% of linen production contributed to textile apparel. This was a huge leap from the 1970s when only 5% was used by the garment industry.

Jaw-dropping: a field of growing flaxFlax flowerLinen, a fibre made from the flax plant, has been used for millennia. The ancient Egyptians wrapped their mummies with it; in the days of Homer warriors used linen to make a type of body armour called a ‘linothorax’, while in the Middle Ages it was used for shields, bowstrings and gambeson (a type of jacket worn as armour). From pool cues and bread couches (a kind of mould to hold dough), to canvases and dollar bills, linen has many and varied uses.

Garments made from linen are expensive however, and this is due to the labour-intensive manufacturing process. The crops must be nursed along, being more difficult to grow, and more expensive to produce than cotton. Flax thread is difficult to weave without breaking threads because it is non-elastic. Those random slubs, or knots visible in some fabrics are actually flaws, associated with low quality – fine linen fibres will be very consistent. The rewards of perseverance are there: fabric is cool and smooth to the touch, lint-free and unlikely to pill, and it softens the more often it is washed.

Flax fibre looks at first glance like sheep’s woolAs for the dreaded wrinkling: this is due to linen’s poor elasticity – it does not spring back readily and formal garments must be ironed often. Happily it is a hardy fabric, and is the only one that is actually stronger when it is wet, although constant creasing or folding in the same places will weaken those threads. Interestingly linen fabric can absorb and lose water rapidly, and can gain up to 20% moisture without feeling damp, which is why it is perfect for hot weather. It was the Egyptians’ favourite fabric, and they wore only white in the desert heat.

Linen weave is a plain, almost coarse weave with large holesAlthough I overcame that early fear instilled by some nameless adult, today I particularly love linen knit fabrics: the somewhat loose (almost holey) weave makes up such light, airy garments. I own two tees by Zara made from flax linen (the term ‘linen’ can also be applied to garments made from other fibres such as cotton or hemp when the textile features a linen-style weave) and they have held up beautifully over two summers and are so comfortable to wear. In a hot climate, you just can’t do better than to dress like an Egyptian.

Click on any of the images and jump through to learn much more about the history of flax and the manufacturing processes of linen.

Botanical drawing of the flax plant

Underwater Treasure

Beautiful, red coral, a living sculpture that has captivated both men and women since antiquity – from the warriors of Gaul who ornamented their weapons and helmets, to Roman children who wore branches hung around their necks to keep them from harm – has been harvested almost to extinction. Coral was especially popular in the Victorian age, but nowhere more so than in the Far East, travelling from the source in the Mediterranean Sea – the Italians were specialists in working it up into jewellery components.

Portrait of a Girl, Domenico Ghirlandaio c1485Paulina, first wife of Sir Codrington Edmund Carrington; Thomas Lawrence, c1806Prized for the skeletal branches and its rich reddish pink hue, coral can be polished from the naturally matte branches to a glassy shine. Due to its relative softness, it is usually carved or used to make beads. Today coral beads are made of non-precious sponge coral, with branches made from bamboo coral. Both are dyed red.

Rare coral Bacchante cameo necklace, circa 1860Pair of Italian hand carved vintage coral cameos set in 14k gold bezel and wire. The profiles depict the goddess Hera, wearing a tiara, and the goddess Ceres wearing ears of wheat on her head.

My two vintage necklaces are Berber, made from coral-like beads. They probably aren’t precious, given that the rest of the beads are composed merely of brass – I bargained hard for them in Fez though. I also saw the most incredible antique Berber necklace in Essaouira, a coastal town in Morocco, that dropped more than two feet (seriously!) and was composed of branch coral. The antique seller’s asking price? Over £1000. 

My red ring is carved jade from Vietnam; the blue ring on my middle finger is lapis lazuli and sterling silver that I made myself; and the second glass and sterling silver ring is a copy of a 1920s Rhoda Wager piece.

To see more breathtaking antique coral jewellery, check out this Pinterest page.

This picture was inspired by a wonderful under-the-sea 1933 Vogue by the illustrator Benito (below). For censorship reasons the fish in the foreground was positioned to prevent a birthday suit malfunction.