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

The Pony Still Prances

I loathe mending clothes with every fibre of my being. If I can fob it off onto a) a tailor or b) my seamstress sister Blossom, I do. When I am forced to by serious wardrobe malfunctions (ie, clothes falling off one such as happened to me at a recent wedding when a button tore on a fragile 60s dress, forcing me to keep my coat on in the church even though I was about to expire from heat exhaustion) I will sew on a button, or mend a torn seam.

Likewise, ironing is something I leave for months at a time. Preferably when an entire season’s worth of clothing has accumulated in the ironing basket or I have run out of clothes – whichever comes first. Luckily I own a lot of clothes. It is not as torturous a chore as mending, and I can just about muster the energy if I can watch a DVD at the same time. (As long as I have seen the film or episode before, and it’s not in a foreign language – otherwise it’s far too interesting.)

But laundering. I am fanatical about proper laundering. I even have a laundry section on this website (see tag cloud, right).

Let’s first digress and look at some romantic pictures of laundering:

Women Washing Clothes by a Stream, Daniel Ridgway KnightThis woman takes her washing very seriously – as she should, c. 1900–1930It is important to look cute while handwashing, c. 1940s

Clothes will last much longer if they are treated kindly. I remember once a friend told me she just chucked everything into the machine. I was aghast. I had to be picked up from the floor and resuscitated. She was, in fact, one of my inspirations to start this blog. I thought, if there is one young woman who doesn’t know how to properly launder cashmere, there might be hundreds out there. It was my duty to impart my wisdom.

… if there is one young woman who doesn’t know how to properly launder cashmere, there might be hundreds out there.

Today I am going to discuss sequins. There are two sorts of sequins: new ones, and vintage ones.

Take the vintage ones to the dry cleaner. That is all.

If you need convincing, read this cautionary tale: I once owned a delightful short-sleeved, soft black cashmere vintage cardigan that was trimmed in pearl beads. I handwashed it gently in cool water … and watched in horror as the pearl coating floated off the beads, leaving dull plastic behind. The cardigan subsequently went back to the charity shop. It was a lesson to me. Learn from it.

For new shiny garments that you particularly like, obviously check the washing instructions on your garment. Even if it says dry clean only, it may be handwashed gently (at your own risk, but I take such risks all the time and I have not come to grief thus far) and laid flat to dry on a towel or clothes airer. For more detailed instructions click here (although I would not use warm water if the garment is silk). Very delicate evening wear I would take to a dry cleaner.

For new shiny garments that are minimally sequinned and you bought from a charity shop for $4 and don’t particularly care if they live or die, stick them in a lingerie bag and wash with your normal clothes on a gentle cycle. They should be fine; mine was. The pony still prances.

Now if only I could find it in the depths of the ironing basket so I could wear it again …

And my most favourite image of all … Hang onto your clothes like grim death in case they try to escape the washboard. Don’t try this at home! Ph George Marks, c. 1930s

You Can Leave Your Hat On

The Vintage Hat Series: Victorian miniature velvet top hat, sequin trimmed

The top hat, also known as a beaver hat, high hat, silk hat, cylinder hat, chimney pot hat or stove pipe hat, and sometimes simply as a ‘topper’, is predominantly a man’s hat. It first appeared atop men’s heads around the end of the eighteenth century and continued to be worn until the middle of the twentieth. Today it is worn chiefly by magicians, bridegrooms, and doormen.

But way back in the nineteenth century, in Victorian times, a London milliner pooh-poohed this blatant sexism and created this saucy little miniature topper. Decorated with sequin trim, it’s patently an evening hat and is best worn on a rakish tilt. It must have been rather racy back then, perhaps something only an actress or demimondaine might have worn.

A Victorian illustration of hat-tippingWhile tipped hats look becoming on a woman, back then ladies generally didn’t tip their hats to passers-by. This gesture of respect belonged almost exclusively to the male domain, and was a non-verbal greeting between friends or acquaintances, made during encounters on the sidewalk, or at social functions, or as a respectful acknowledgement when meeting a lady. One possible explanation of why women did not tip their hats could be that their hats, being far more elaborate, were often anchored firmly to their hairdos with hatpins.

The style of hat-tip could also indicate differences in social class: the subordinate was obliged to make a more elaborate gesture, such as entirely removing his hat while the superior merely touched his – assuming an appropriate lordly and lofty manner.

The origins of hat tipping are thought to be the same as the military salute and hark back to medieval times when knights wore visors. They would raise them to show friendliness. (Unfriendly ones raised their lances.)

Today’s version of the hat tip is the nod, and is restricted only to those who have a head on top. 

Read more about men’s hat etiquette here. 

Fashion Notes

I purchased this Victorian hat online from the UK. I haven’t been able to find any references to indicate how common this kind of hat was in that era. However, women then certainly wore full-size top hats either when horseback riding, in vaudeville, or as a fashion statement. 

Marlene Dietrich wears a top hat in the film Morocco, 1930

Head Over Heels

Fashion is a wonderful thing. Not everyone works in a creative field in everyday life, but personal adornment is a form of self-expression that anyone may indulge in and take flight in realms of fancy. There is certainly a place for basic or merely functional clothing, but those plain white tees and straight grey business suits don’t usually make your heart go pitter-pat (unless they’re designed by Roland Mouret).

Sometimes when shopping you might spy some item and instantly fall in love. (You know you’re in love because suddenly you realise life would hold no meaning unless said dress/shoe/bag was in it.) Usually such garments are utterly frivolous and unnecessary because you already own three – but this latest discovery happens to be just exactly the thing you’ve always been looking for but didn’t know it.

At this juncture you might pause for a moment of prudent reflection. Ignore this impulse. This is no reason to pull back. It is always better to give in immediately rather than regret it forever.

Last Christmas my entire department went as an Alice in Wonderland collective for the office costume party – I dressed up as the Queen of Hearts. I knew straight away what I would wear: five things I had purchased after following my heart. Here are their stories …

The Skirt

This dusky pink pinstriped silk skirt is an original piece from the 1920s. It has black velvet hearts and trim around the hems of the two tiers, and it is also sewn with bells all around. It’s the latter that make me suspect the skirt was a costume for a theatre group. Some of them are missing, which is probably a good thing as I’d jingle even more as I moved about in it.

I love the sense of history that comes along with the rust spots in the cream cotton underskirt …

As soon as I stumbled upon this skirt on Etsy I fell in love. It is not in perfect condition, but I couldn’t care in the slightest – I love the sense of history that comes along with the rust spots in the cream cotton underskirt. For the party, I borrowed a vintage petticoat from the theatre’s costume department (see previous story) to fluff out the full skirts on the day. The belled shape is lovely and story-bookish, but the skirt still looks beautiful without the added fullness.

The Coat

Probably the most expensive – and oldest – item of clothing I have ever purchased, this museum-worthy silk velvet striped coat is from the 1850s. Its many delightful points include the chenille fringing, the divine, tasselled hood (that is sadly just a bit too short for my head), frog closures at the front, and sleeve cuffs that are cut at an angle, with a slit at the back (to fit over a fur muff?). There is even a pocket on the inside that fits my iPhone exactly.

This coat was so gorgeous it made me swoon. How could it not? I positively adore coats; it was striped, red and white no less, and it was velvet. With a hood. And chenille fringing. And all the rest. I guarded it zealously in my Etsy wishlist for well over a year. Fortunately it was so expensive I knew it wouldn’t sell any time soon, but one day – to my horror – it disappeared from sale. I knew then that I ought to have taken the plunge and purchased it. A day or two later it returned, and I immediately emailed the seller. According to the measurements and the seller’s estimate in modern sizes, I felt fairly certain it would fit me. We discussed insurance and postage, and at last I made it Mine. All mine.

This coat was so gorgeous it made me swoon. How could it not?

I ought really to store it in a proper archival box with acid-free tissue, but I content myself with a heavy canvas garment bag and storing it flat – heaven forfend I should suspend such a precious vintage piece from a hanger! A costume historian would slap me.

I have worn it just a few times in the year it has been my pleasure to gloat over it. It just fits me, although my neck is patently too long for the hood to sit comfortably on my head, and I certainly wouldn’t want to have shoulders any wider. Its original owner must have been much smaller than me, and at 166cm tall (not quite 5’7”) I am no giant.

It is actually a skating coat, and I would love to know what some young lady wore with it so long ago. I have done some research online and haven’t seen anything like it at all anywhere, although I have gleaned that women usually wore matching coats and skirts. I find it hard to imagine that anyone would really pair such a bold coat with a similarly-striped skirt – perhaps it was merely a plain red skirt, with little red kid skating boots.

The Shell

You’ve all heard that old saying, ‘You snooze, you lose’. Well, once upon a time I spotted a red sequinned 60s shell top on Etsy. It was beaded with a fish scale pattern. It sparkled and it shone. It beckoned me and promised me many delights. The owner wanted $20 for it. I am not sure why I hesitated. A day or two later, my little top was snaffled from beneath my nose. I wiped away a tear or two.

A very long time later along came another shiny red 60s shell top. This one had a harlequin pattern and sported little sequin tassels all around the hem. The owner wanted $40 for it. I clicked ‘add to cart’ immediately.

Vintage beaded wool shell tops like this were extremely common in the 60s, and many of them were imported from Hong Kong. They are now extremely expensive to purchase in Australia (unless one is lucky enough to strike gold in some country charity shop perhaps). A top like this in a vintage boutique here would go for anywhere between $90 and $300 – I’ve seen them in a wide range of prices.

The Tiara

When I picked up this vintage tiara in the Salvos I saw it needed a little TLC, but in spite of this I was immediately charmed. Although I already owned one rhinestone tiara, a 50s or 60s number, I could see this one was very different, and guessed that it was older, perhaps 1940s. Even so, I wasn’t sure whether to purchase it, but some quick research on Etsy discovered that vintage tiaras of this ilk are few and far between – and three or four times the price, even in America. I’d already learned a lesson or two about passing up serendipitous discoveries so I added it to my basket (this one was real, a plastic one from the store was hanging on my arm).

The Shoes

At a cost-per-wear ratio, these Mary-Janes that I bought two Christmases ago from Australian shoe store Wittner must be really cheap by now, I have worn them so many times. I couldn’t go past these either when I saw them in the store: they were red and glittery and even better than Dorothy’s ruby slippers (except they don’t take me home with a click of the heels unfortunately, so maybe they’re not quite as good after all).

… they don’t take me home with a click of the heels unfortunately …

The lovely thing is that infallibly, every time I wear them several people exclaim in delight upon the sight of them. I do love to give fashion pleasure to those around me. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Sometimes Fashion truly takes us to Wonderland. Don’t deny yourself the pleasure.

What I Actually Wore #0074

Serial #: 0074
Date: 24/07/2012
Weather: 16°C, fine
Time Allowed: 8 minutes

Although I was only off to work as usual, I had a birthday dinner with a friend in the evening, so I felt it behooved me to wear something festive. As it was also winter and I would be gallivanting about the city in the evening, I needed to dress warmly. A new vintage beaded wool jumper fit the bill. It is beaded all over in red and white sequins, and little red pompoms dangle along the waist and cuffs. Red, white, pompoms, shiny! It was a case of love at first sight when I saw it on Etsy.

Now some people might feel this top would be a little much for their office – luckily I work at a theatre. I did dress it down with a camel suede skirt and cable knit tights, but everyone felt compelled to remark on how glittery I was. There were also two counts of Dorothy shoe comments and the magical powers thereof – I wish, especially when shivering late at night waiting for a tram home. A vintage velvet hat kept my head warm – but apparently that old chestnut that one loses most of one’s body heat through the top of the head is sheer bunkum. Not that I need an excuse to wear a hat!

Items:

Hat: A Pyreneés Model
Top: vintage 50s
Skirt: Chine Collection
Earrings: vintage
Ring: Roun
Watch: Kenneth Cole
Shoes: Zoe Wittner