Spot the Difference

Vintage cheetah print wool fedora by Laura Ashley; vintage leopard print earringsAnimal prints, while they are an acknowledged classic print in the fashion lexicon, have never been something I have gravitated towards. In part it is because my minimalist leanings find the patterns too visually overwhelming and ‘messy’, but it is also because to me they smack of an old-fashioned as opposed to vintage style.

As British Vogue put it in their 100th anniversary June 2016 issue (below), a scent of trophy wife developed in the 1960s, when wealthy and famous women like Sophia Loren and Ursula Andress adopted the signature print.

British Vogue, June 2016

I don’t mind a touch of animal print in accessories, such as hats and shoes – it’s only when a wall of animal print approaches me that I flinch.

It is the great cats that provide inspiration for the most classic of animal prints: leopard and cheetah print are the two most popular in clothing and accessories. They look very similar to one another, so how does one discern between the two?

Cheetah

The cheetah’s coat is yellow-orange or golden, and the oval or circular spots are dark brown or black. This is the pattern used in both of my hats, although the background colours are quite different. The fedora is by Laura Ashley, and the vintage beret of unknown provenance; I suspect both are from the 80s.

Cheetah-inspired print vintage wool beret; the pattern is actually a bit of a hybrid, with some areas that feature shapes that almost form the distinctive rosettes found on a leopard's coat

Leopard

The pattern on the leopard’s coat is more complex, consisting of black or brown spots that cluster together closely, in a pattern that is called a rosette. The fur in the centre of the rosette is usually a deeper colour than the tawny background fur. The rosette pattern provides excellent camouflage for the leopard.

The vintage earrings I am wearing in the first photo show a leopard print, as do the modern heeled sandals by Guess. The shoes are printed pony hair, as in fact are the earrings (although they may be faux).

Leopard print pony-hair and patent leather heels by GuessVery occasionally one sees other animal prints come into fashion – tiger, zebra, giraffe – but their appearance is usually trend driven and fleeting. Too bold and brash, they simply don’t possess the same vintage pedigree; they are the vulgar cousins of the sleeker cheetah and leopard. But the latter are still a bit wild, not for the entirely tamed woman. As Christian Dior put it, “Leopard print requires a kind of femininity which is a little bit sophisticated. If you are fair and sweet, don’t wear it.” Well, there are plenty of blondes who have chosen to wear it, but I’d hazard a guess none of them are sweet.

How to wear animal print

Because animal print is just so bold and statement-making, I prefer it worn against solid block colours, and my choice would be any of the neutrals: black, white, grey, camel. Practically speaking, denim is also a neutral – see Kate Moss in the tearsheet above. Or, if you are a maximalist, and more is more is more, you could pair it with matching boots (see Ursula Andress) or tights and heels like Lola Todd, who I suspect may be wearing genuine fur, which makes it rather bad taste to match it to a live leopard pet! Don’t do that.

Photos: August 2016

Plaid: A Blanket Term

Plaid or tartan, what is the difference? Nowt indeed! Tis but semantics: plaid is the American term for the traditional Scottish fabric, but, funnily enough, in Scotland a plaide is an accessory to the kilt – a piece of tartan fabric slung over the shoulder – or a plain blanket.

Tartan is a multi-coloured pattern of criss-crossing horizontal and vertical lines. The different coloured pre-dyed threads – originally wool, but now encompassing many other fibres – are woven at both warp and weft at right angles to each other, which creates diagonal lines where they overlap. Here they appear to blend and create additional colours. The repeated pattern of squares and lines are called a ‘sett’.

Tartans should not be confused with gingham (a simple check pattern usually in white and one colour), or houndstooth (a tweed pattern of broken checks; learn more here), as they commonly are. And a windowpane check is just a check.

(Left) Soldiers from a Highland regiment, c. 1744: the private on the left is wearing a belted plaide; (right) a man wearing tartan, c. 1875Today we are familiar with the notion that tartan patterns are associated with particular clans, but before the nineteenth century, this was not so. The distinctive patterns were associated with geographic regions, and the colours with the natural dyes available in that district. Chemical dyes were non-existent, and transport of different dyes from other regions was prohibitively expensive.

The word ‘tartan’ is most likely derived from the French word tartarin, meaning ‘Tartar cloth’, which sounds dubious to me as the Tatars were a Turkic-speaking people living in Asia and Europe. Seemingly more plausible is the theory that the word has its origins in the Scottish Gaelic tarsainn, meaning ‘across’.

Black Watch tartan, worn by a couple with a very cute story (click through to read)!I prefer the more generic description ‘plaid’ as it has little apparent association with an ethnic tradition (since I have not an iota of Scots blood in me). The traditional Scottish plaide, meaning ‘blanket’, first referred to any rectangular garment worn on the shoulder, which was often a plain weave, and sometimes a tartan. (And here the origin of the classic plaid blanket for the bed!)

The ubiquitous Burberry plaid, designed in the 1920s.I must confess I do love plaid, and have managed to amass quite a collection of different plaid garments (and blankets). I prefer the simpler colour combinations, with red and white being a particular favourite. Some of the most famous tartans are Royal Stewart, Black Watch, and of course the ubiquitous Burberry check, which was created in the 1920s. My favourite red and white appears as Clan Menzies. (You can scroll through a long list here.)

Tartan upon tartan! The Royal Stewart is the mainly red plaid on the topmost layer. (Image from Pinterest.) My vintage 70s wool jacket is made up of navy and yellow on a cream background, and is a fashion tartan. When I decided one autumn that I needed to acquire a wool plaid jacket, I luckily came upon this one within a week or two. I do love it, but at thigh length it doesn’t cut the mustard for this cold snap Melbourne is currently suffering through. I do however have a very warm, heavy wool skirt in cream and navy large plaid pattern, which, considering the etymological origin of the word blanket, I very aptly dubbed my ‘blanket skirt’!

Photo: July 2015

From Fusty to Funky

I am not hugely into fur – faux, fox or fur real – and am not an advocate of purchasing new fur, particularly of endangered species, but I do own a few vintage pieces that I have picked up over the years from op shops (thrift stores). A more recent find was this plush blonde mink 1950s short cape that was so quaint and such a pretty colour that I couldn’t resist taking it home with me.

But I was a bit flummoxed as to how to wear it without looking like I was in costume, or a dusty and fusty time-traveller from the Fifties. I decided the only way I felt comfortable in it was to update it with modern pieces, dressing it down with jeans and a simple white crepe top.

An extra dash of irreverence was added by way of a navy wool Jasper Conran cap (with a fur pom-pom, incidentally, also bought second-hand) and a costume necklace that spells out ‘love’ in gold script.

Tangentially, I lost this hat last week in an op shop but was miraculously able to retrieve it the next day before it was accidentally sold. I was so sad at its loss, as over the last couple of winters it has become one of my favourite casual caps to wear, always adding a fun touch to an outfit and toning down any formality. As an elderly lady commented to me recently, it’s just so jaunty.

I haven’t yet worn this mink out, but in the cold weather I may have to add a warmer layer and perhaps some gloves as well.

Photo: July 2016

How to Beret

Last weekend a friend brought up the subject of berets, and what was the right way of wearing them. “Right way?” I exclaimed. “There isn’t one right way – there’s lots of ways of wearing them!” I was wearing one right at that moment, angled on one side. It also depends on the style of beret, I told her.

The beret still bears today a strong whiff of bohemians and beatniks, intellectuals and pipe-smoking filmmakers.

I own quite a lot of different berets made from winter weight wools, and lighter summer versions of cotton and rayon. Apart from the classic little wool beret we are all familiar with (I prefer felted wool to knits or crochet, which is too bohemian for me and smacks of Sienna Miller and her ilk), there are the huge platter versions from the 1940s, and inflated types from the 50s and 60s.

History

The beret has a very long history – similar hats were worn since the Bronze Age across Northern Europe and even as far south as Italy and Crete where they were worn by the Romans. Scottish types feature a pompom on top. It has been adopted as a military hat, as sportswear, and more latterly as a fashion item. The beret still bears today a strong whiff of bohemians and beatniks, intellectuals and pipe-smoking filmmakers.

A French Icon

A beret worn with a striped tee has become the stereotypical depiction of a Frenchman – this image actually originated with the ‘Onion Johnnies’. They were Breton farmers and labourers on bicycles who sold pink onions door to door in Great Britain in the first half of the twentieth century. Onion Johnnies were dressed in a striped shirt and wore black berets, and their bikes were hung with the distinctive onions. Their golden age was the Roaring Twenties, but their numbers declined sharply by the 1950s. There has however been a small resurgence in the last couple of decades with the renewed interest in small-scale agriculture.

Basic Directions

The basic wool beret is unisex and very versatile, and can be worn several different ways. Try it angled on the top and slightly to one side of the head, or quite low on one side, á la Faye Dunaway in the iconic 70s film Bonnie and Clyde (try to look sultry when you do this). Really, it can be worn pushed to any angle you please. Bangs can be framed by the circular shape, or tucked inside.

An arty look that also keeps you warmer in winter can be achieved by pulling the beret down low so it’s just touching your brows  – bonus points for accentuating the familiar little stalk on top. (A note on the ‘stalk’: supposedly its antecedent is the last bit of yarn of a knitted beret that was drawn through the top to bind off the last stitches, and left to dangle jauntily.)

The more unusual huge 40s ones can be worn perched at the back, or tilted to one side. Some berets, like my sumptuous cobalt velvet sailor style, may feature bows or ribbons of some kind. The same can be said of the big pouffy ones – my striped version is made from sturdy gabardine, the folds of which can be arranged how I please. This is surely one of the most dramatic ones I own. Whatever style you choose to adopt, and however you wear it, you really can’t go wrong with a beret!

Photos: April 2016

Ms Fix-It

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: glue is a great gift to budget fashionistas! Why give money to professional shoe and jewellery repairers when you can fix it at home yourself at little or no cost?

Case 1: A pair of plaited leather gladiator sandals

After only a few wears, the outer sole had became detached from the leather upper.

Granted, these sandals were very inexpensive ($22 on sale) purchases online, but still, one does not expect a pair of leather shoes to split in half so quickly. I was very cross. The sandals were punished and cast into the outer darkness (the back of my closet) while I contemplated their fate.

I refused to throw good money after bad by taking them to the shoe repairer, as the upper sole around the toes was also worn – the sandals are so soft and flexible the sole tended to fold back on itself as I walked, so the edges had become quite frayed. This was the first time I had experienced this phenomenon, and I wondered at first if I was dragging my feet – and then I observed (while pounding the pavement and stalking others’ feet) it happened to other women as well. It’s just poor shoe design or manufacture.

I wondered at first if I was dragging my feet …

I had been tempted to throw the sandals straight into the bin to teach them a lesson, but as this would further annoy no one but myself, I decided to attempt a roughshod repair so that at least I could get a few more wears out of them. I smeared on some Araldite (a two-part epoxy glue) between the layers, applied pressure for a few minutes, and that was enough to make them wearable again. Hurrah!

Case 2: A striped Indian brass bangle

The inlaid resin or plastic squares had lost their adherence to the brass base.

I could easily have thrown out this $5 bangle that I bought in an Indian boutique years ago, but I decided to attempt a repair. I love stripes, and it has a matching bangle in red and white, so I thought it was worth a shot. Possibly the original glue had become petrified with age, but it was a very easy fix. Good as new!

Case 3: Amazonite stone set in sterling silver

The stone broke in half and fell out of the setting.

This earring was a casualty of my evil ceramic tiles that are laid throughout my apartment. I had dropped it on the bathroom floor, and the green rectangular stone had actually snapped in half! This was a disastrous break, and not as simple a matter as for a jeweller to apply some solder and repair metal.

I decided I had nothing to lose by attempting to glue the stone back together, and then gluing it within the silver setting. Originally there would have been no glue – the jeweller would have manually set the stone by pressing the metal inwards to fit its shape. However, I painstakingly applied the same glue the stone, and then waited for that to set before I glued it into its frame. Then I removed all the glue from my fingers.

After curing, the joint is supposed to be impervious to boiling water …

The glue has held it all together successfully, even after, to my horror, it fell again on the bathroom floor just the other day!

Araldite, a synthetic resin, was first invented in 1945, in Switzerland. I use a version that comes in a double syringe, with the resin and hardener kept apart until equal parts of each are mixed together. After curing, the joint is supposed to be impervious to boiling water and all common organic solvents, although I have not tested this theory.

However, let us all raise a glass to the Swiss – first they give us chocolate, and now glue … what’s next?

Photos: March 2016