The Original Boyfriend Jacket

I’ve always wanted to own a classic varsity jacket, but they are not easy to come by in Australia. A couple of months ago however, I attended a Unique Vintage warehouse sale with a friend. Their ad stated that varsity jackets were amongst their huge collection of vintage items imported from America, and I was determined to snaffle one if I could.

We arrived half an hour after the sale had opened, and already the warehouse was crowded with bargain-hunters. I immediately dived into the scrum gathered around the precious – and very small – rack of varsity and baseball jackets.

I was quick enough that there was still a good selection, and I snatched up the one I liked the most: a navy wool jacket that buttoned with real buttons, not snaps. It was clearly a baseball jacket, rather than a varsity jacket, but I liked the shape and the felt logo emblazoned across the front. I’m really into navy at the moment too. It also looked like one of the oldest, the best quality and condition.

The Letter A, from James Worthy, Rowing Crew and Collections Catalog, c. 1920sVarsity or letterman jackets have of course been worn by students for a long time, and to be dating a guy who had one bestowed enormous cachet on a girl, especially if she got to wear it too when she was cold!

Cool girl from the 1940sSporting her boyfriend's jacket

Now, I know zip about baseball, and I couldn’t begin to guess how old this jacket could be. Some Googling uncovered the information that Brooklyn’s baseball team, the Dodgers, had moved to Los Angeles in 1958. Possibly the jacket predates that move, taking into account the fabric and detailing, and the design of the label, which reads Empire Sporting Goods, New York, Union-made. That company operated from 1925 to 2012.

A cute look from a Polish artistI’ve worn the jacket out a couple of times, and I can asseverate that it is extremely warm. Admittedly it is a little big for me, being an extra large, but I pretend I’ve borrowed it from my (non-existent) boyfriend. I joked to my sister that maybe one day a future boyfriend can borrow it from me and call it his girlfriend jacket!

Fashion Notes

I’m wearing the jacket with a Claude Maus striped wool jumper, Calvin Klein jeans and a Jasper Conran wool cap – all second-hand too.

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Photo: August 2016
NB The background is actually a vintage photo of the old Yankee Stadium, and was sourced from an article on its history at Stuff Nobody Cares About.

Coach 1941 brings back the varsity jacket for Fall 2016!

Solo Sole Fixer-Upper

Who needs a shoe repairer when with sundry art supplies lying about the house, one can do some home cobbling in a jiffy?

Here is a pair of patent leather heels by Aussie label Wittner that I have owned and loved for years. They feature darling little bows that look like farfalle pasta on the slingbacks. One day I brought them down from the high shelf on which they had been stored, and found that the insoles had completely separated from the outsoles. As well, the leather had lifted from the heels. Disaster!

It looked to me like all they needed was a bit of glue and a heavy-duty clamp. I took them to my regular shoe repairer, and he expressed astonishment at their state. “Did you leave them in a hot car?” he wondered. “No,” I answered innocently, omitting to tell him they had been stored on a high shelf near a skylight (heat rises, after all).

I was utterly bamboozled when he quoted me $60 for the repair

He made disparaging remarks about the shoe manufacturing industry, then I was utterly bamboozled when he quoted me $60 for the repair. Sixty dollars! For a bit of gluing! You’ve got to be joking, I thought, and declined availing myself of his services.

I took the slingbacks home and laid out some newspaper and applied glue suitable for leather with a palette knife, then clamped them with several bulldog clips. It took me probably ten minutes to complete the operation; I left them for 24 hours before I removed the clips. Et voila! Le shoes, zey are fixed! And when I wore them they even held together – and still do.

Photo: September 2014

“Get this Corset Off Me!”

In this day and age Western women take breathing easily for granted. But once upon a time it was not so easy. A century and a half ago women’s breathing and digestion was severely restricted by the regular wear of a corset; muscles were weakened, and more besides, depending upon how tightly the corset was laced. (Multiple petticoats must have been a pain too, not to mention straight shoes – lefts and rights were not invented until approximately the mid nineteenth-century.)

It is no wonder that in these circumstances the scandalous tea gown came to be invented.

What do you generally do when you come home? You make yourself comfortable. We kick off our shoes, remove our restrictive workwear (sometimes including even our bras) and don instead tracksuits, leggings, jeans or pyjamas and wear slippers or go barefoot. We throw ourselves onto our couches with a sigh of relief, and enjoy a tipple of our favourite beverage.

Edwardian lady wearing a tea gown. Image from 'Seduction' by Caroline Cox, Mitchell Beazley, 2006. (No image credit captioned.)Why should not the Edwardian lady have been the same? Picture her coming home and exclaiming to her maid as she rips the elaborate hat off her head, “Get this corset off me! Let me put up my feet and drink a cup of tea.” She lounges back in her boudoir with a sigh of blissful relief and stretches her legs and wriggles her toes, and takes big breaths in between ladylike sips of restorative Earl Grey.

“Get this corset off me! Let me put up my feet and drink a cup of tea.”

And what was she wearing while she relaxed? At first perhaps she was wearing merely a wrapper over her chemise and bloomers, which meant she was not dressed to receive company. But what if her best friend paid her an afternoon call? She couldn’t receive her in her underwear! (Imagine if you did that today.)

And then the tea gown was born.

Broderie anglaise 'boudoir dress' by the House of Doeuillet; illustrated by André Marty for 'La Gazette du bon ton', 1913. From 'The Fine Art of Fashion' by Julian Robinson, Bay Books (no publish date listed – late 1980s?)Woman's tea gown, Miss Bishop 1870s; Silk satin with supplementary weft patterning, linen machine-made lace, and silk plain weave trim.

What, exactly, is a tea gown?

Tea gowns were worn from the 1870s until the 1930s, and essentially are gowns that can be put on and taken off without the assistance of a maid. They are extremely feminine; long and loose without defined waists, cut on princess lines and made from luxurious fabrics. Sleeves were at first tight, but by the 20s and 30s were also relaxed, so that the whole effect was flowing and languid, and principally, informal.

a tea gown was considered a hybrid somewhere between a wrapper (or bathrobe) and an evening gown

Because a tea gown was considered a hybrid somewhere between a wrapper (or bathrobe) and an evening gown, early versions were designed to look like a robe worn over a dress. The under-dress was waisted with a sash, and the robe on top was loose and open, and it usually featured a train. The tea gown generally had a high neck, as daytime garments always did, distinguishing it from the décolleté evening gown.

Fabrics featured lace; floral embellishments as part of the Art Nouveau movement; medieval details, historical elements from the 17th and 18th centuries; and also exotic details from the Chinese, Japanese and Indian arts popular at the time.

This 1899 engraving shows the stark difference between a day dress and a tea gown.Elaborate tea gown from the House of Rouff, c. 1900. Woven silk damask embroidered with glass, metal thread and beads, and embroidered net and lace. V&A

Emily Post, in 1922, describes it thus:

‘Every one knows that a tea-gown is a hybrid between a wrapper and a ball dress. It has always a train and usually long flowing sleeves; is made of rather gorgeous materials and goes on easily, and its chief use is not for wear at the tea-table so much as for dinner alone with one’s family. It can, however, very properly be put on for tea, and if one is dining at home, kept on for dinner.’ – Emily Post, Etiquette in Society, in Business, in Politics, and at Home, 1922.

Why were tea gowns so scandalous?

Silk tea gown in a glorious saffron shade, by American designer Jessica Franklin Turner, c. 1929. Perhaps at first the tea gown was worn in real privacy, then in the company of intimate friends over tea, macaroons and a cosy chat. Then one day a close gentleman friend might have come calling in the afternoon, and what harm in having him come in for a cup of tea too?

The design of the tea gown must have slowly evolved during this process, becoming more elaborate as it escaped its tenure in the boudoir and entered the dining room, then other friends’ dining rooms, and eventually out into the world. But at first it was considered scandalous because to wear a tea gown, or glorified wrapper, was to be en deshabille – that is, undressed. And to receive gentlemen callers thus attired showed a woman had shockingly lax morals – even, perhaps, lovers.

to wear a tea gown, or glorified wrapper, was to be en deshabille – that is, undressed

Much was made of the scandalous nature of tea gowns because of the supposition that naturally one must be entertaining lovers simply because it was so easy to remove, and one was practically naked beneath it. Surely not every woman who wore one had a lover! I maintain that the far greater attraction was the freedom of movement and breathing it allowed. Why else would it have emigrated from the boudoir? For at the turn of the twentieth century, reformers were campaigning for women to rid themselves of the corset once and for all, and the tea gown was proclaimed as an ideal garment. Its superior comfort must have been obvious to any woman who wore one. Some of the previously widely-proclaimed ills of daily corset-wearing have been debunked today, but there are still genuine health concerns – read about them in this modern corsetry guide.

By the 1920s and 30s, tea gowns more resembled just another style of afternoon dress, but even then with global lifestyle changes after industrialisation, two World Wars and revolutions in the class system, it became an impractical garment: a relic of an era and way of life long-gone. Today such a gown would – ironically – be considered quite dressy, perhaps something we might wear formally to a garden party or a wedding, but in fact its liberating spirit lives on, albeit in less graceful forms.

Chiffon dress, its bodice is overlaid with paisley embroidery, and is cut away to reveal a black lace knee-length slip – very much reminiscent of tea gowns; Christian Lacroix, c 1992; from British Vogue.Tea dresses styled haute grunge, by Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel, c. 1992; from British Vogue

Fashion Notes

My modern silk dress is of course not an authentic tea gown, but its colours, floral print and flowing lines all brought to mind the tea or afternoon dresses of the 1930s that I love. Its simple cut and ‘short’ length (ie, lack of train) do however make it more wearable as a day dress, which does fit in with the ethos of a tea gown. The earrings are hand made by myself from jade and Indian beaded beads; the ceramic ring is a souvenir from Barcelona; and the supremely comfortable ballet flats are by Sambag. (Both dress and shoes were bought second hand from thrift stores.)

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To read about the evolution of tea gowns in greater detail, visit The Dreamstress, written by Leimomi Oakes, a textile and fashion historian.

Read more about the history and mythology of corset-wearing at Yesterday’s Thimble, by Lisha Vidler.

Photos: April 2016

Floral Pleasantries

A little while ago I wrote a story on the history of boho, or bohemian style. It’s not a look I naturally gravitate to and I actually found it challenging to style an outfit, so much so that I had to make two attempts! The modern interpretation involves a mish-mash of hippy garments or motifs of various ethnic groups, but most notably a fanciful take on the Eastern European gypsy of folklore.

One such garment espoused by fashion magazines whenever the boho look comes back into style is the ‘peasant blouse’. More often than not it is made from cheesecloth, or other gauzy, open-weave cotton, and can be embroidered or trimmed with lace or tiny bells. It is often styled off-the shoulder for that saucy, just-tumbled-in-the-hay look.

Croatian costume from Moslavina (click through for a slideshow of garments from different regions)I have a strong fondness for embroidery of all sorts, but especially for Croatian-Ukrainian styles as they make up my heritage. I wish I had conceived an interest in embroidery before my grandmother on my mother’s side (the Croatian half) had passed away, for it would have been wonderful to have been taught by her. Traditional Ukrainian garments have even made an appearance in the pages of Vogue magazine last year (see last photo).

Ukrainian costume (click through to read all about the symbols hidden within Ukrainian embroidery patterns)This cream embroidered blouse is another modern interpretation, and I like it not only for the decoration, but the pin tucking on the bodice, and the warm colours. I have worn it with floral cloisonné jewellery – a perfect match for this blouse.

Here is a picture of my great-grandmother in her traditional costume, and below that my aunt with two of her friends. (You can read the full story behind these here.) And at the bottom are some pictures of me out of the archives having some irreverent fun with tradition.

Photo: July 2016

My great-grandmother MaryMy aunt (centre) with two of her friendsI am wearing a modern tunic by Country Road (February, 2009) I am wearing a modern tunic by Country Road (February, 2009)Ukrainian folk costume had an influence on high fashion last year (click through to read the story in Vogue)

A Gift Camel

Hip-hip-hurrah! It’s the last day of winter! Officially, at least – I’m sure dear old Melbourne will throw us a few curve balls still. But we can sniff spring in the air – there have been a few practically balmy days already.

This camel wool coat has been my mainstay for most of this winter. It’s quite long, and very warm and cosy. It’s also a little big, so there’s plenty of room underneath for fat jumpers. (I hate feeling like a polar bear, stuffed into a too-small coat when one wears a heavy knit underneath.)

The Journey

Earlier in the year, a camel coat had been on my wishlist for a while, and I had been scouring the world for a new winter coat. I saw many lovely ones on Etsy – all kinds. I have a particular fondness for plaid and blanket-like fabric. However, the truth be told, I do not at all need yet another coat, so I balked at paying several hundred dollars plus another fifty on top for postage.

And then one day I came across this vintage coat in a thrift store for the beautiful sum of $30. Admittedly the coat was a size or two too large, with which, upon enquiry, another older lady shopping in the store reluctantly agreed. She also agreed that it was a lovely coat, and I decided to buy it. It was exactly the shade of honey camel I had had in mind. The only thing it lacked was a belt tie, but budget shoppers can’t look a gift camel in the mouth.

… budget shoppers can’t look a gift camel in the mouth.

Later, I showed my three sisters, and they all admired it. One of them, Blossom, has been a seamstress since her teens, and she advised me that I wouldn’t even need to move the buttons over too much. In the end, I was too lazy and too eager to make such alterations, and have worn it as is – oversize is still in right?

A Holy Grail Garment

Recently my sister Star texted me to say she had found a wool and cashmere Italian coat in an op shop; it was only $20, and very fine quality, but the only problem was that it was brown, and she didn’t think brown suited her. “What kind of brown?” I demanded. She sent me a photo of herself in a change room. It was my Holy Grail camel coat with a belt tie! (Except it was only knee-length.) “BUY IT. BUY IT IMMEDIATELY!” I commanded her in capital letters. She obeyed.

A camel winter coat is a classic item, and will never go out of style, and the colour is a neutral – it will go with anything. And if you fear, as my sister did, that the colour does not suit your complexion, wear another flattering colour near your face, and a strong red lip. You will always look great.

That is my final word on the matter … except: GOODBYE WINTER!

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Want to get a head start for next winter? Or maybe you live in the north, and WINTER IS COMING? For lots more inspiration, head here.

Photo: Yesterday