Sheer’s a Lady

One of my favourite fabrics is silk chiffon – I am unfailingly drawn to it when I see it hanging from a rack. It has such a beautiful texture and drape, and flutters so prettily in the wind. And of course it allows the skin to gleam through alluringly. Sheer can be sweet, or it can be sexy, but how does a Lady do sheer? Here is a crash course in pictures.

Sheer can be sweet, or it can be sexy, but how does a Lady do sheer?

The secret is undergarments with the appropriate amount of coverage, naturally, and judicious layering. One can add layer upon layer of pretty nothings, a bit like a layer cake … or pass the parcel, which can be particularly entertaining when undressing for someone else. Dance of the Seven Veils anyone?

Now, we are long past the days of Carrie and her visible bras. It’s not only passé, but it’s too obvious and tacky. Especially don’t try it at the office. In fact, depending on how conservative your office is, with the correct amount of coverage beneath a sheer shirt, for example, you can even carry it off there. A fitted camisole is good so as not to ruin the line and throw off the illusory effect of the sheer top, and it’s best to match the camisole to the overall tone of the shirt. Skin tone under light hues or patterned fabric, or another matching colour that complements the pattern, and black under black or other dark colours.

I adored the fabric of this cute little star-printed black chiffon tiered dress, but the tiny slip provided with it was appalling. It is far too short and looks utterly ridiculous under such a long dress. The vintage slip with its longer length looks much more the thing. It could even be a trifle longer.

By the way, both blouse and dress looked far more intriguing with buttons done up all the way – I’m already revealing quite a bit of flesh so leaving the buttons undone as I might with their opaque counterparts just looks too much. Also, the delicate nature of the chiffon made the collars flop in an unattractive way. I’d answer done up or down on a case by case basis though.

Click through to Fashionising for their comprehensive report on sheer for Spring 2013, and their pretty (and pretty daring) picks from the runway. 

Two Tales of Ridiculous Lingerie

Underwear as Outerwear

Underwear is not outerwear. That’s why it’s called underwear. Once upon a time it even used to be called unmentionables. Also undergarments, underclothing and underlinen. Note the repetitive use of the word ‘under’. And in case you are still not sure: there were underdrawers, underpants, undershirts, undershorts, underskirts, undervests and underwire bras … sorry that last one doesn’t belong in that list. But it’s pretty comprehensive, you’ll have to admit. So how on earth did lingerie graduate to outerwear?

Seen on the Marc Jacobs runwayA couple years ago I came across a Marc Jacobs runway image that I found so ridiculous I laughed and laughed and book-marked it for future reference. A satin bra worn over a knit. There is something appealing about the soft pretty colours, the contrasting textures, but how many women would actually get about like this in the ordinary day to day (unless they were burlesque performers by profession)? Of course Marc Jacobs was not the first perpetrator of this amusing fashion – we’ve seen underwear as outerwear in many manifestations on the runway over the years, but I can’t think of one time I’ve seen it on the street.

Armed and Dangerous

Meanwhile, it was always an ambition of mine to own some vintage 1940s lingerie, and I was excited to purchase an ice blue satin rayon bra on eBay. It was exactly my band and cup size, so presumably it would fit. I won it at auction for $5, so at that price it hardly mattered if it did not. To my chagrin though, I found that it was a precursor to the famous 1950s bullet bras, and when I put it on there was this strange empty pointy tip in each cup, which I found impossible to fill by natural means (and no, tissues didn’t work). Ironically, it fits better over the knit tank!

 there is a silver lining to every empty cup …

A dud purchase, I decided after I stopped laughing. But there is a silver lining to every empty cup (or something like that), for there was a story here. I finally had a bra to wear over a knit top in homage to Marc Jacobs’ deconstructed unmentionables.

I donned the garments and immediately felt silly. But then I added a pair of taffeta shorts, and my pompom headband. Somehow the pompom becomes the cherry on top and takes this outfit out of the unfortunate unmentionables into silly-but-cute costume … although I have an ominous feeling I look a bit like an ice cream.

From ‘Seduction, a celebration of sensual style’, by Caroline Cox (Mitchell Beazley, 2006)The bullet or cone bra was invented in the 1940s as a full-support bra ‘with cups in the shape of a paraboloid with its axis perpendicular to the breast. The bullet bra usually features concentric circles or spirals of decorative stitching centred on the nipples.’ [Wikipedia]

Bullet bras did not become popular until the 1950s however, when pin ups known as ‘sweater girls’ rose to the fore, such as Jayne Mansfield and Lana Turner (but not Marilyn Monroe, she never wore any underwear of any sort at all because she liked to feel ‘unhampered’) – supposedly men found them attractive. But I put it to you: is this the stupidest bra design ever (see right)?

Allow me to present my case with the following pictorial examples:

Now really, that just looks painful, right? Imagine hugging a woman with those WMDs on her torso. They bring new meaning to the expression ‘dangerous curves’. And besides, who even wants a paraboloid anywhere near their chest?

I can’t decide if I’d rather wear my bra on the outside or not, but if someone was holding a gun to my head and I simply had to choose, I would totally dodge that bullet bra.

Parure Brilliance

‘Parure’ is not a term that one hears often these days anywhere, except perhaps whispered dulcetly in suitably hushed and reverential tones into the ear of some duchess clandestinely visiting exclusive purveyors of very expensive jewellery. Even when the word ‘parure’ was bandied about by the lips of the vulgar masses, it was only in reference to the fantastic adornments bedecking royalty and aristocrats.

In common parlance, a parure is a set of matching jewellery. The word comes from old French pareure, from parer to prepare, or adorn, and was first used in the eighteenth century. The craftsmen under the Sun King, Louis XIV, were credited with the first parure creations; diamonds, often paired with silver, were popular then. Members of court would vie with one another to create the most elaborate and astonishing sets, and to increase their status. Napoleon, for all his fledgling socialism, adored adorning his wives with brilliants (an old-fashioned word for diamonds, and a style of gem-cutting today). At least he shared his wealth with both his wives.

Napoleon’s sister Princess Pauline Borghese wears a parure of engraved gems with the diamonds of the belt and bandeau arranged in Greek key design. (Detail of a portrait by Robert Lefèvre.)Of course, a parure is more than merely a set of matching jewels, and the most fantastic sets were reserved for royalty and the wealthy. A parure was considered an essential part of a society woman’s wardrobe, and would define her status and political power. A set could include an extraordinary quantity of items, such as a necklace, comb, tiara, diadem (more like a crown, and bigger and better than a tiara), bandeau (a narrow band worn around the hair to hold it in position), a pair of bracelets, pins, rings, drop earrings or cluster stud earrings, a brooch, and a belt clasp that might be worn over a fine dress. Only.

Opaline paste jewellery set in silver, including girandole earrings, necklace and buttons, probably French, c. 1760. The ‘opals’ are made by laying a pink foil behind milky blue glass.A French parure of gold, cornelian and seed pearls, comprising a comb, necklace, pair of bracelets, earrings, two pins and two rings. In its completeness it is a rare survival from the years of the First Empire.And even more interestingly, a parure was more than the sum of its parts: some necklaces could be disassembled into smaller items such as bracelets, pendants, and hair ornaments or brooches with clever components and locking systems. A bit like a posh mix ‘n’ match.

… a parure was more than the sum of its parts: some necklaces could be disassembled into smaller items …

The mind boggles at the vision conjured up, and the only jewels I have seen in modern times to rival such a litany are the parures made for brides in the gold souqs of Dubai, which are unutterably jaw-dropping – and probably literally knee-buckling from sheer weightiness.

A fantasy of pearls, turquoise and gold I photographed in the gold souqs of Dubai in 2008.My very humble vintage rhinestone parure consists of 1940s necklace, earrings, tiara and bracelet, and a 1950s ring. All were collected at different times; the necklace and earrings I bought as a set when I was in my teens, from a store called The Jazz Garter (what an evocative name!) in Sydney. They were probably my very first real vintage purchases – as opposed to charity shop garments. Even back then I had brilliant taste. 

~

Jewellery images from Jewelry – From Antiquity to the Present by Clare Phillips (Thames & Hudson, 1996), and additional information courtesy of Wikipedia.

Texture Tactics

As evidenced by the pages on this Journal, I have very eclectic taste in fashion, and while I would never wear an outfit like the above day-to-day (it’s far too costume-y), what I do like about it is the contrasting textures. As visually appealing as they are though, the real experience is tactile.

Even when colour is minimal, interest can be created with a judicious mix of fabrics and textures. Here herringbone tweed contrasts with various types of lace: butter-soft leather gloves with lace cutwork (amazing!), a Battenberg lace parasol, and crocheted lace inserts in the cotton dress. A blue satin sash adds colour and a sensuous shine against the tweed.

Tactile fabrics are of course always more appealing when they are made from natural fibres. They drape beautifully (think of a genuine silk compared with a cheap polyester fabric), and they also breathe better, keeping you warm in winter and cool in summer. Invest in them and your sense of style will benefit too.

Whatever Happened to the Spencer?

Once upon a time, in the Regency period, the spencer was a woman’s short jacket worn over the long empire-line gowns of the era. Day dresses, particularly for younger women, were usually made from white muslin or other light colours, and the spencer added some colour – as well as warmth – to the ensemble. They often featured puffed shoulders as well as decorative trim in the form of braid or tassels, or intricate detailing in the fabric such as pleats, gathers or ruffles.

Hat from Naples split on the sides. Spencer in velvet with bursts in satin. Dress has flounces.A cream spencer gorgeously edged in black and trimmed with tasselsMy herringbone patterned spencer is by Catalan designer Celia Vela, and is part of a suit. It is an unusual hybrid, featuring an Oriental neckline and closure (those little buttons are a right pain to fasten and undo), but it has puffed and gathered sleeves rather than puffed shoulders in the Regency manner. It was those sleeves that sold me when I saw it in a boutique in Sitges, Spain.

A modern day equivalent to the spencer would be the Spanish bolero, which is most often buttonless and worn open. This more formal and tailored jacket should not be confused with a shrug, or short cardigan, which is typically knitted.

But today there still exists a spencer, in the form of a warm knitted undergarment – that may or may not be matched with that very elegant piece of lingerie, the longjohn. The woollen spencer allows one to wear skimpy clothing in the depths of winter, and is thus a very useful garment to have in one’s arsenal.

For all its brevity my little woollen tank spencer has its own charms, does it not? I did own, once upon a time, a matching long sleeved spencer – the perfect length of the three-quarter sleeves kept it safely out of sight when worn under tops – but it has long-since gone to the Great Tailor in the Sky. I had black and white versions with both long and no sleeves in fact, but only this black tank survives.

Strangely, these versions of the spencer are difficult to find today, which is a pity, for they would prove extremely useful to those pretty young things who insist on gallivanting about on freezing Saturday nights in inappropriately flimsy garments.