Vogue envy. It's like a disease.
Oh, invisible blog friends. Save me from myself. I have fallen in love with Vogue.
It’s not the actual clothes I want - I’d have to sell the house and possibly throw in Steve to afford a wardrobe like that of many women in Vogue (a custom-made Chanel suit, for example, is US$100,000). It's just the idea of personal style, of having the right clothes for the right occasion, for every occasion. Seeing as I'm far from having the right thing for every occasion, it makes me want to shop. And sew.
I’ve been trying lately to figure out why I’ve become so obsessed with clothes - particularly vintage - in the last year or so. The conclusion I’ve come to is fourfold. Firstly, hardly anything manufactured locally and currently looks any good on me. I need gorgeous straight lines, tailoring, fitted bodices and flowing skirts, ladylike detailing and beautiful colours. When’s the last time you saw anything like that in NZ stores?! If I wanted to look glum, schlumpy and like an androgynous sack of potatoes (with leggings), I’d be wearing Karen Walker, Miss Crabb, Cybele, or... well, any New Zealand designer except Trelise Cooper. But then I'd look like an explosion in a dress factory. So the only alternative is vintage because dang it, they knew about tailoring 50 years ago.
Secondly, people stare at me. All the time. I know it’s because I’m so tall and wear heels and I know that nothing I do is going to stop the staring. But I do feel far better about them staring if I feel good about what I’m wearing. There’s no point slumping and being ashamed of my height, I can’t ever hide it so I may as well exploit it.
Thirdly, I spent my entire teenage years and half my twenties in jeans, T-shirts and flats, because that’s all I thought looked good on me. It’s time to redress the imbalance. Pun intended.
Fourthly, I am on a budget so budget that it’s non-existent. My best bets therefore are op shops and making things myself.
Every time I open Vogue, I am confronted with exactly the kinds of clothes I want to wear. Graceful, muted, beautiful dresses, with classic tailoring. Not sexy, but full of possibility. This is the core of why I love clothes. Possibility. Clothes allow you to be the person you want to be. I’m especially excited about this concept because it’s highly likely I’ll be moving to England next year. I’ll have to leave everything but the essential clothes behind. What and how will I choose those things? I have decided that I’m only going to take clothes that make me feel beautiful - that make me feel most fully alive and myself. That means either leaving behind or getting rid of a lot of stuff.
Let me tell you about my favourite clothes at the moment - some of which I’ll be taking to England, some of which I won’t.
My great-grandmother’s quilted black opera swing coat, made in Paris and absolutely exquisite. Too ornate for work, but that hasn’t stopped me wearing it anyway.
A pair of very high black patent open-toe wedge sandals, bought in Paris by a friend’s mother-in-law. They didn’t fit and she couldn’t find someone whose feet were big enough… but hallelujah! now they’re mine. (A nice little twist is that this woman was the vice-principal at my school and we were all terrified of her. Now I’m wearing her shoes.)
A baby-blue knee-length sweater dress made of lambswool and angora with a cowl neck and matching skinny belt. It is about 40 years old and still had the tags on it when I bought it… for $8 at the Salvation Army. It was made by the NZ knitwear company who eventually launched the very successful and expensive Sabatini brand.
What I’m wearing today - a French-blue knee-length dress made of crinkled fabric. It’s not pleated, but it looks like hundreds of little needle pleats. It’s got a round collar, sleeves to just above the elbow and a skirt that drops in a petal at the front and flows beautifully. It was far too tight and the sleeves were too short, so I ripped out the shoulder pads, chopped the sleeves and cut out the lining (a crime against vintage but I don’t care) and now it’s perfect. Every time I wear this dress people at work comment, and best of all, it’s probably 50 years old and I got it for $36 at an op shop.
A cream set I put together to wear with jeans: a butter-cream-colour camisole of my mother-in-law’s that’s probably a decade old, a thin cream silk fitted blouse ($40) through which the camisole shows, a long homemade pearl and crystal necklace with two silver swallows in it and a vintage cream cardigan ($20) that’s open at the front but has a little belt to tie it at the waist. I was wearing all this with jeans and boots a few weeks ago and was in Dominion Rd about to enter the Salvation Army when a man came up to me. He was around 50, and I thought probably a little crazy. I was waiting for him to ask me for money when he stammered “I don’t… mean to be personal… but I just had to tell you what a very statuesque young woman you are.” Then he smiled and walked away. That made me feel just fantastic, and it never happened all the years I just wore jeans and t-shirts.
A gorgeous 1930s diamante dress clip that I bought for $12 at an op-shop in Onehunga last week. I flicked out all the diamantes and super-glued them back in.
A cream silk vintage jacket that I bought in a Taupo op shop for $3. I very nervously wore it in a photo shoot a few weeks ago, and really regretted it afterwards. I thought it looked dowdy and dull. But it doesn’t, it looks beautiful and classic. Yay for $3 clothes!
In short, my favourite things are old, classic, cheap or free, and irreplaceable. Not too much to ask, huh?! And while I may dream of vintage Dior and Chanel, Bottega Veneta and Mainbocher, I am realistic enough to know that I will never own any of those labels, nor would I spend the money on them if I had it. (Especially as a dress by Mainbocher wouldn’t even fit over one of my arms, let alone my body.) I can dream though, and luckily, I can sew.
It’s not the actual clothes I want - I’d have to sell the house and possibly throw in Steve to afford a wardrobe like that of many women in Vogue (a custom-made Chanel suit, for example, is US$100,000). It's just the idea of personal style, of having the right clothes for the right occasion, for every occasion. Seeing as I'm far from having the right thing for every occasion, it makes me want to shop. And sew.
I’ve been trying lately to figure out why I’ve become so obsessed with clothes - particularly vintage - in the last year or so. The conclusion I’ve come to is fourfold. Firstly, hardly anything manufactured locally and currently looks any good on me. I need gorgeous straight lines, tailoring, fitted bodices and flowing skirts, ladylike detailing and beautiful colours. When’s the last time you saw anything like that in NZ stores?! If I wanted to look glum, schlumpy and like an androgynous sack of potatoes (with leggings), I’d be wearing Karen Walker, Miss Crabb, Cybele, or... well, any New Zealand designer except Trelise Cooper. But then I'd look like an explosion in a dress factory. So the only alternative is vintage because dang it, they knew about tailoring 50 years ago.
Secondly, people stare at me. All the time. I know it’s because I’m so tall and wear heels and I know that nothing I do is going to stop the staring. But I do feel far better about them staring if I feel good about what I’m wearing. There’s no point slumping and being ashamed of my height, I can’t ever hide it so I may as well exploit it.
Thirdly, I spent my entire teenage years and half my twenties in jeans, T-shirts and flats, because that’s all I thought looked good on me. It’s time to redress the imbalance. Pun intended.
Fourthly, I am on a budget so budget that it’s non-existent. My best bets therefore are op shops and making things myself.
Every time I open Vogue, I am confronted with exactly the kinds of clothes I want to wear. Graceful, muted, beautiful dresses, with classic tailoring. Not sexy, but full of possibility. This is the core of why I love clothes. Possibility. Clothes allow you to be the person you want to be. I’m especially excited about this concept because it’s highly likely I’ll be moving to England next year. I’ll have to leave everything but the essential clothes behind. What and how will I choose those things? I have decided that I’m only going to take clothes that make me feel beautiful - that make me feel most fully alive and myself. That means either leaving behind or getting rid of a lot of stuff.
Let me tell you about my favourite clothes at the moment - some of which I’ll be taking to England, some of which I won’t.
My great-grandmother’s quilted black opera swing coat, made in Paris and absolutely exquisite. Too ornate for work, but that hasn’t stopped me wearing it anyway.
A pair of very high black patent open-toe wedge sandals, bought in Paris by a friend’s mother-in-law. They didn’t fit and she couldn’t find someone whose feet were big enough… but hallelujah! now they’re mine. (A nice little twist is that this woman was the vice-principal at my school and we were all terrified of her. Now I’m wearing her shoes.)
A baby-blue knee-length sweater dress made of lambswool and angora with a cowl neck and matching skinny belt. It is about 40 years old and still had the tags on it when I bought it… for $8 at the Salvation Army. It was made by the NZ knitwear company who eventually launched the very successful and expensive Sabatini brand.
What I’m wearing today - a French-blue knee-length dress made of crinkled fabric. It’s not pleated, but it looks like hundreds of little needle pleats. It’s got a round collar, sleeves to just above the elbow and a skirt that drops in a petal at the front and flows beautifully. It was far too tight and the sleeves were too short, so I ripped out the shoulder pads, chopped the sleeves and cut out the lining (a crime against vintage but I don’t care) and now it’s perfect. Every time I wear this dress people at work comment, and best of all, it’s probably 50 years old and I got it for $36 at an op shop.
A cream set I put together to wear with jeans: a butter-cream-colour camisole of my mother-in-law’s that’s probably a decade old, a thin cream silk fitted blouse ($40) through which the camisole shows, a long homemade pearl and crystal necklace with two silver swallows in it and a vintage cream cardigan ($20) that’s open at the front but has a little belt to tie it at the waist. I was wearing all this with jeans and boots a few weeks ago and was in Dominion Rd about to enter the Salvation Army when a man came up to me. He was around 50, and I thought probably a little crazy. I was waiting for him to ask me for money when he stammered “I don’t… mean to be personal… but I just had to tell you what a very statuesque young woman you are.” Then he smiled and walked away. That made me feel just fantastic, and it never happened all the years I just wore jeans and t-shirts.
A gorgeous 1930s diamante dress clip that I bought for $12 at an op-shop in Onehunga last week. I flicked out all the diamantes and super-glued them back in.
A cream silk vintage jacket that I bought in a Taupo op shop for $3. I very nervously wore it in a photo shoot a few weeks ago, and really regretted it afterwards. I thought it looked dowdy and dull. But it doesn’t, it looks beautiful and classic. Yay for $3 clothes!
In short, my favourite things are old, classic, cheap or free, and irreplaceable. Not too much to ask, huh?! And while I may dream of vintage Dior and Chanel, Bottega Veneta and Mainbocher, I am realistic enough to know that I will never own any of those labels, nor would I spend the money on them if I had it. (Especially as a dress by Mainbocher wouldn’t even fit over one of my arms, let alone my body.) I can dream though, and luckily, I can sew.