The repair was the work of a moment, and simply required a pair of jewellery pliers to open and close the jump ring. It was only afterwards that I saw the beads had entangled themselves into a knot. It looked a bit like a Celtic knot, I thought – a love knot perhaps?

A quick Google and I discovered a love knot is a more complicated affair (much like a love triangle). Celtic knots are intricately interwoven braids, and are perceived to be endless, symbolising eternity – hence the connection to lovers.

Celtic love knot ring from Beyond The Rockz on Etsy (sold)Celtic knot ceramic tile

Originally, interwoven patterns appeared in Roman handcrafts and mosaics, and knotted patterns appeared in the third and fourth centuries AD. The art form spread to the Byzantine, Coptic, Islamic and Celtic cultures, but it was the Celts who truly made the style their own. Knots, spirals, braid, step and key patterns took on rich symbolism, representing the seven creations: man, mammal, plant, insect, bird, fish and reptile.

Now here’s an appealing application: gladiator sandals interwoven with Celtic knots cleverly combine the two cultures from which knot patterns originated From North Italy it was a short hop to Southern Gaul. By the seventh century the braided patterns spread to all of Europe – and Ireland, where the broken and reconnected plaits formed the genuine Celtic knot style. Today it is predominantly associated with the Irish, Welsh and Scottish territories.

Not the kind of knot in my necklace however – that was a silly error. Much like some love affairs, on reflection.

Here’s what the necklace is meant to look like.

Big shoulders from Bosnia-Herzegovina's Maya Sar. BIG.

In a word: Shoulders. Big ones.

The most jaw-dropping examples belonged to Bosnia and Herzogovina’s Maya Sar (top): she looked like an angel who’d had her wings clipped. My niece excitedly texted me and declared I could totally carry that dress off. Hmm, thanks sweetie … I think. I can just imagine wearing that on a date – and scaring the poor gentleman off forever.

Military epaulets from Denmark

Feathered epaulets from Azerbaijan

Military stripes in LED from AustriaBut there were also multiple styles of epaulets on offer, in the shape of Denmark’s military fringed pair, Azerbaijan’s feathered take, and Austria’s LED stripes. Then there was Albania’s futuristic shoulder-framing taffeta, and its polar opposite in Macedonia’s fierce shoulder pads. Georgia gave us girls in abbreviated armour – and Ireland, actual knights in Lurex armour. (These gave me great joy the first time they entered my horizon.)

Inspirations of Luc Besson's cult sci-fi flick ‘The Fifth Element’ for Albania?Macedonia’s shoulder pads – fierce in the office – were tame by comparison with other offeringsGeorgia’s girls wear mini armour …… while Ireland gives us maxi knights

Moldovan circuit board graphic prints on dressesMany of these costumes incorporated a sci-fi element too. Moldova, where big shoulders were not in evidence, seemed to take inspiration from circuit boards in the graphic patterns on the girls’ dresses. Bulgaria’s costume was the original Star Trek all the way. And what could be more futuristic than the Italian Nina Zilli’s silver mono-shouldered minidress?

Bulgaria offers futuristic bondage for rehearsal … … and full-on Star Trek regalia for the big nightA blue hair piece accessorises Italy’s silver dress for rehearsalLet’s see that close up … definitely not of this worldBut Italy’s Nina Zilli wisely chooses to forego the blue wig in favour of a retro beehive on the night; more mainstream appeal and altogether sexier. I love how she’s matched her earpiece to her shoes – that’s attention to detail.

And Now, The Conclusion

But what is the sum total here? Big shoulders. Sci-fi. This equals the Eighties. One name in particular instantly sprang to mind: Thierry Mugler, the undisputed king of all that’s strange and wonderful in sci-fi inspired fashion. And if you crave the limelight, or wannabe a star, look no further. Just ask Beyoncé, or Lady Gaga, who is the label’s current muse.

Star that’s what you are / Cause you’re big in Azerbaijan …

Sci-fi looks from Thierry Mugler Autumn/Winter 2012For a great story on vintage Mugler peruse Mitch Mania’s profile on the designer, complete with archival images from the 80s and 90s.

Click on images for source.

What sums up a Seventies look, so in this autumn/winter? In this case, I was inspired by a 1973 photo of my sister Blossom and her husband, lounging amongst the autumn leaves.

Just do the math: a headscarf + hoop earrings + big sunglasses + polo neck + chunky cardigan + wide-legged denim + giant tote = 1970s.

I didn’t have to spend a cent to create the right vibe though: I managed to cull a number of items from my regular wardrobe. In fact, all the garments I am wearing are modern, and the beauty of this is they are made of natural fibres: silk, wool, cotton. So many garments of that era that one finds in thrift shops are polyester – not the most comfortable of fibres to wear next to one’s skin.

The tote bag however, may be original Seventies, and it is actually real crocodile skin. I won it at auction on eBay for only AU$40 or so, which I think is an awesome bargain.

For some more inspiration check out this dreamy Australian Vogue fashion editorial The New Skirted You, also dating from 1973. Or click through for marie-claire’s modern interpretations.

Dresses of that vintage aren’t easy to come by, especially relatively inexpensive, well-fitting ones. I would periodically trawl online vintage boutiques without much luck. Then this past March in Rosebud, a little Victorian seaside town, I visited a vintage store called Broadway Bazaar.

Hanging high on a wall, I espied what was surely a 1930s black lace dress. I asked to have it taken down, and tried it on. There were a few damaged areas where the lace netting was torn, and I discussed with my sister Blossom how best to repair them.

But then we discovered another catch. Several catches actually. The salesgirls on duty that day did not know the price, and the owner of that particular stall was not in, and couldn’t be reached. We agreed they would hold the dress for me, since I was on the Peninsula for the weekend, and they would let me know the outcome as soon as possible. The salesgirl bundled up the fragile dress and placed it on the floor behind the counter, which nearly drew forth a horrified burst of protest from me. (That’s my dress you’re manhandling there!) I barely managed to contain my emotions and tottered away.

The salesgirl bundled up the fragile dress and placed it on the floor behind the counter …

My three sisters and I continued to browse the store, and before we left I learned that the owner had returned the call. But she couldn’t name her price, and wasn’t sure she wanted to sell the dress. “But … but …” I wanted to stammer, “why on earth had she hung the dress up in full tempting view of potential buyers?!” The salesgirl perceived my speechless astonishment and prevaricated.

Some time later she returned and informed me that the owner had been talked into selling the dress, for she’d had it on display (fading in the sunlight) for several months and she should grab this opportunity. She had named her price, and had been further convinced she should slash it in half (the price, that is – the dress was already in tatters). “Done!” I declared, and rescued it from the floor.

Lace netting is torn along the neckline, and in several areas around the hipsIt transpired that we had to return to the bazaar the next day to make an additional rescue: my black onyx bangle had been left behind. Chatting to the salesgirl – a different one this time – we chanced to discover she was the prior owner of my new acquisition. She told me she had been so torn over the decision to sell it because she had hoped to lose enough weight to fit into it one day. (It fits me now, I wanted to reassure her it was going to a good home, but I didn’t want to rub salt in the wound.)

Blossom and I hurried away, before she could wrest it back from me – not that I was carrying it with me this time, but she could have chased us down to the car and rampaged through my luggage to find it. Who knows with these deranged and desperate vintage dealers.

A rare find, a black lace dress – especially of 1930s vintage – is an icon amongst black dresses …

And now, how to explain how after all I’ve said against black, here I am showing off yet another black garment? It is partly nostalgia for that long-ago lace dress I once owned, but it is special in itself – despite its flaws. A rare find, a black lace dress – especially of 1930s vintage – is an icon amongst black dresses, even if it is a Long Black Dress rather than a Little one.

It is, I think, made entirely from silk, and with such lovely details: pintucked panels between the lace sections, blouson sleeves, and a gorgeous mermaid hem that swirls when I twirl. It’s made for dancing, even if at present I feel like Morticia’s little sister dressed in cobwebs. But one day I shall take it to the ball. 

I spent a wonderful hour or so browsing in the shop Art Montfalcon, and eventually came away with a bundle of ceramic jewellery: a necklace and earring set, as well as two rings (oh, and a cool resin necklace that was supposed to be a gift, and which I, erm, ended up gifting to myself [hangs head in shame]).

The rings I only wear occasionally as they are fragile, but I adore the necklace and earrings and often show them the town. Thin, delicate disks, fashioned like buttons with holes through which the cord is threaded, are painted like textile swatches with different patterns. The colours – mint, chocolate and persimmon – are so pretty. They are Spanish souvenirs I will always treasure.

Really a Portuguese widow, stalking the treacherous cobbled streets of the Alfama district in Lisbon

The original ‘Italian widow’ is of course Queen Victoria, famous for her long grief over the death of her beloved Albert. However, strict social rules regarding mourning dress had been established long before Victoria ascended the throne.

Mourning ensemble, 1870

The Rules

Victorian jet mourning broochA widow was expected to mourn her husband for up to four years, which required her to lead a quiet, sober life as well as don the black apparel that showed respect for the decedent. To put off her blacks earlier was to court scandal and, if she was still young and attractive, risk a tarnished reputation as a loose woman.

During the first year of ‘full mourning’ her costume was black and constructed from matt fabric such as crêpe. Decorative trim too was simple, but especially non-reflective – hence the popularity of jet (gemstones cut from fossilised carbon) in the Victorian age*. Even her accessories were black, from shoes and parasols to fans and handkerchiefs. Frivolous hats were strictly forbidden; in their place simple black bonnets and heavy veils were worn.

Mourning bonnet, 1870s (usually worn with veil attached)

Mourning fan, 1887–89

Mourning dress, 1850s

Mourning coat, 1907Mourning dress, 1880

Mourning cape, 1895–1900

Mourning parasol, 1895–1900After a year had passed, a widow entered ‘half mourning’, and grey and lavender could be introduced into her wardrobe, and the widow could now sedately re-enter society, which had been proscribed to her during full mourning.

Unsurprisingly, a complete wardrobe makeover was costly, particularly for the lower classes, and overdying existing garments was a practical way to reduce the expense.

The rather picturesque term ‘widow’s weeds’ comes from the Old English word ‘waed’, which means ‘garment’ …

The rather picturesque term ‘widow’s weeds’ comes from the Old English word ‘waed’, which means ‘garment’, and it is easy to imagine what a somber vision these ladies must have presented on the streets of London, enveloped as they were in acres of fabric. The weight alone must have bowed their shoulders if grief did not!

Fashion Notes

I have often remarked that I rarely wear all black, and one of the main reasons is that I feel far too somber and funereal in it. The last time I wore this ensemble (many years ago now, with different skirt and shoes and sans veil – basically only the crocheted lace top and silhouette is the same!) a co-worker exclaimed that I looked like an Italian widow. I rather like this little outfit however – perhaps because it is so thematic, rather than everyday wear that happens to be black.

~

Gwyneth Paltrow in Possession (2002) *There is an interesting scene in the film Possession, (adapted from A.S. Byatt’s book of the same name), starring Gwyneth Paltrow, in which her character visits an antiques store in Whitby, England, to trace the origins of a jet brooch. (Incidentally, I really like Paltrow’s costumes in this film.)

Historical costume images from The Metropolitan Museum of Art, except for jet brooch. Click on images for further details on individual pieces. 

Serial #:

It was a very warm summer day, and I was going out for a birthday lunch with a friend. We were going to Como House & Garden, a historic mansion that has been protected by the National Trust since 1959. The house was built in 1847, and is a mix of Australian Regency and Italianate architecture, and is famous for its pretty gardens that have been restored to their original glory. So of course I had to dress in honour of the surroundings, as well as the occasion.

I wore a 1950s satin dress in a lovely Wedgwood blue. The fabric is a minimal kind of brocade, with moon shapes woven from blue and silver metallic threads. And because I love to wear slightly wrong colours together, I added a belt made from vintage fabrics: olive green silk velvet ribbon and a rose fashioned from silk chiffon. The wool felt rose hair tie carries through the rose motif, and was a souvenir from Vietnam. I am even wearing tiny oxidised copper rose earrings.

The vanilla snakeskin bag is also vintage, as is the blue rhinestone ring. My shoes are the only ‘new’ accessory: patent leather chopines from Wittner.

I had a lovely afternoon with my friend, and it was a beautiful, sunny day to wander around the gardens, posing by the tinkling fountains and under enormous 150-year-old trees. Oh, how the other half drifted through the days, once upon a time!

Items:

Dress: vintage 1950s
Belt: vintage
Earrings: Portobello Lane
Hair tie: Vietnamese souvenir
Ring: vintage
Bag: vintage
Shoes: Zoe Wittner

When prints come back in a big way, fashion magazines love to tell us to be brave and mix them up, but, they caution, keep them in the same colour family. This is usually a good rule of thumb to mix and match by, but I like to style on a case-by-case basis, depending on my mood in the morning.

I love the subtle clash between patterns, unified by brown and cream.

I normally don’t like brown at all (see previous post), but I made an exception in the case of this bold brown and cream chevron print. I call it my Viennetta ice cream print dress. It’s so over-the-top that one hot day I decided to go one better, tying my hair back and wrapping it in a silk geometric print scarf. The little squares change from cream on a solid brown background to a cream background, with just one corner of the squares highlighted in brown (you can glimpse that section at the back of my neck). I love the subtle clash between patterns, unified by brown and cream.

In a twist on mix-and-clash, I matched these garments based on a circle motif, rather than a print. A favourite mauve silk blouse features a geometric print of circles made up from lines (I adore the pleated puff sleeves). The olive organza scarf is appliquéd with circles attached with tiny sequins, and this beloved wooden necklace is made up of interlocking circles.

With a world of interesting prints out there why stop at one?

Do click on the pics to make them BIG

But let’s break it down a little further. The opening look (above) – what’s not to love? Great hat, fabulous swallow print scarf, super cool boots, and didn’t Hermès design some watches like that a few years ago? It is a little difficult to tell what the dress really looks like, and the bag is a trifle boxy for my tastes, but all in all, very soignée.

Moving on to the second page … The colour palette is appealing, except I quite dislike wearing chocolate (eating, yes; wearing, not so much). Especially in snug leather (bottom left). Can you imagine how much you would sweat in that tight-fitting top? But I LOVE those enormous bangles by Elke (great label, btw) – only $95 each, I think I’ll buy one in every colour. And I really do like the navy heels with white – what do you call that kind of trim? Shoelace? The braid is threaded through eyelets.

Oh, and have I mentioned before that I really don’t like loathe chain-strapped bags (although I must confess I do own a very cool vintage version)? You know, if someone gave me a classic Chanel 212 chain-strapped bag I would instantly bestow it upon a deserving pal. It’s one of my most-hated bag styles in all fashion history, what with the chain and the quilting. Ergh.

I shall dismiss page three almost wholly, except for the delicious tomato red hue and most of the jewellery. The brown dress is quite appealing… if only it wasn’t … brown. The gold bag and ballet slippers just look cheap.

Ok, onto the last page (the two large photos are my favourite looks). Love the enormous round sunglasses, adore the knit, and covet the jeans. The shoes are passable except for the gold toes (but if someone was holding a gun to my head, I would wear them) … Oooo! The bangles. Love!

That just leaves the bag. It is Vile. Who perpetrated this abomination? B Store. Never heard of ’em. Best to leave it this way, methinks, if this is a sample of their design philosophy.

This look would only set you back $1599. $2089 if you actually liked that hideous and repellent bag.

And now, the conclusion

The 70s vibe is very cool, and elegant – although I suspect there is just a sniff of unapproachable goddess here. The main drawback (aside from the fact I don’t have yards of leg at my disposal) is all the bare flesh: it looks great, but you would freeze gadding about like this in a Melbourne winter! I’m talking iceblocks. Blue skin even. What I want to know is this: are beige pantyhose coming back, because black opaques just won’t cut it for this look?

Ph: Adam Flipp/Reload Agency for marie claire Australia, May 2012

All that’s missing is a lollypop

That’s walking. Walking can be difficult at times, and accidents happen, so they’re forgivable. But what about standing still, huh? Do you need talent for that? Again, celebrities have mastered the art of presenting their best angle when they pose for the paparazzi.
Observe:

Eeeek! Unfortunately, celebs have been standing like this for years – click and jump to a story filed in 2009!Some girls just cannot seem to resist standing pigeon-toed. This looks nauseatingly cute on an adult woman, on a par with twirling one’s hair and coyly batting one’s eyelashes. Is she trying to look all demure and dolly-like because this is what catches a man? Ugh! It makes me want to barf. When I see this in fashion editorials I want to slap the photographer (probably a man) directing the shoot. It’s offensive and insulting to the grown women reading the magazine.

Perhaps they are shy, you say. Perhaps they are not used to the spotlight and don’t know what to do with their enormous feet and hands. If that’s the case they need a coach. It is an utterly inelegant look. In fact, severe cases of actual pigeon toe are considered a form of clubfoot. Lord Byron had a clubfoot and he never had any luck with the ladies, did he? was considered the sex god of the Regency period. Hmm, ok, we’ll leave that example alone. You’ll still have to agree, it’s not a very attractive disfigurement. 

The effortlessly elegant AudreyJust ask yourself this: how would Audrey stand?*

For a complete lesson in poise and posture, click here.

*Audrey had a ballerina’s grace (she did study ballet after all), and ballet is in some cases actually recommended for children as a remedy for mild cases of pigeon-toe.