All in the Golden Afternoon

When you buy me my new shoes, I'll probably buy these tights to go with them. But that's just one of multiple styling options.

Nothing works better than a little top-of-mind awareness, kittens!

Seeing the light

I am seething with disappointment (left) to find that my lookalike character, Rachel Menken (left), has yet to reappear on the second season of Mad Men. Not that I have cable television that would enable me to delve into the complicated plot lines (read: fashions) of Matthew Weiner's creation. But, still, it disappoints.

I've decided to exercise my frustration with Betty Draper-like domesticity: time to redecorate. The 2nd bedroom in my apartment has long been a catch-all for textiles, accessories, mismatched decor and crafts. A very unusable space. I have reimagined it as an office, inspired by the set designs of "Pillow Talk," "Desk Set," and, transitively, "Mad Men."

Of course, this means there is now a large and displaced kitchen table (craft table) in my living room, waiting for some prince with trusty truck to haul it away. To the dump. It's trash. But the 2nd bedroom/office is really taking off.

The final push of inspiration came from this lamp:

Mid-Century lamp from Grandma, featuring
burlap-textured shade, gilded plastic base and 3 lighting settings

It's a small thing. I know. But it's so perfectly suited to "the look." My favorite feature is the base, which lights up with a second twist of the switch. But you know, "good lighting is an essential part of decorating your home," according to the Better Homes & Gardens Decorating Book (1961). Dear Better Homes & Gardens, can you please help me place my desk lamp to 1. protect my eyes and 2. enhance my decorating scheme? And, yes, dear BH&G, I am right handed.

"I give myself to good advice, but I very seldom follow it."

Did you ever imagine that Mary Costa, the voice of Disney's Princess Aurora, would be so beautiful?

Today marks the DVD release of "Sleeping Beauty" and gives me an excuse to entertain the relationship between Disney princesses and fashion.

Here, for example, I'm certain that Mary is about to say "Why, yes, I see how the lines of the bodice reflect Eyvind Earle's stylized art direction, but, Marc darling, what kind of shoes is Aurora wearing?" And Marc Davis would say: "THESE."

I realize that in These Uncertain Times, it is somewhat reckless to spend $159.95 (free shipping!) on a pair of 4-inch whimsies. Don't fret: I haven't tumbled down the footwear rabbithole, yet.

But. Look at them. They suit over half-a-dozen Disney heroines: The Blue Fairy, Cinderella, Wendy Moira Angela Darling, Aurora, Alice, Belle, Princess Giselle. Despite their cartoon costume styling, I would definitely take these lovelies off their pink satin pillow more frequently than just Halloween. Yes, I daydream of these darling slippers when I scrub the palace floors.

Christmas is 77 days away. I wear a size 8.5. You fill in the gaps. Don't make me get my fairy godmother.

"I'd like to kiss ya, but I just washed my hair."

In a six decade film career, incurring ten Oscar nominations (even rumored to have nick-named the statuette herself), that quote from the forgettable 1932 film "Cabin in the Cotton" was Bette Davis's favorite line from any of her many films. It doesn't matter too much, except that I think it's adorable and shows Ms. Davis's playful sense of humor.

What really matters here is my affection for the United States Postal Service. Unlike many, and I know there are many because I can hear them grouse in the queue, I don't necessarily hate waiting at the post office. I expect to be detained there. And the post office staff and I get along famously - my slightly under-prepared bulk mailings always squeak by without criticism.

While Bob, Marci, Paula and the rest of the locals have absolutely nothing to do with the USPS postage stamp Legends of Hollywood series, the newly unveiled Bette Davis stamp contributes wholly to my magnanimous approbation for the postal service.

I have endured four years of sub-dazzling USPS Legends of Hollywood offerings. 2006 featured a handsome Henry Fonda stamp followed by a delightful 2007 James Stewart stamp. (Fonda and Stewart were great pals and teased at rivalry: it was only right to bookend them). While I love those two, white guys in suits don't make for compelling stamps. 2004 featured the ultimate Legends let-down: John Wayne. John Wayne, good or bad, is way more emblematic than the parameters of the Legends of Hollywood series allows. Give him a commemorative stamp or something, but don't mix emblems with my icons. I think this chronology indicates that 2005 was Judy Garland, whom I love nearly as much as I'm entranced by her offspring. But I thought the featured image of Judy portrayed an unflattering angle and an unflattering haircut from her otherwise impeccable turn in the 1954 film "A Star is Born."

In terms of classic film actresses, I love Ginger, Norma, Irene, Claudette and the rest (except Joan Crawford, for obvious reasons), but Bette reigns supreme in my hierarchy of Hollywood royalty. So when my mom saw Bette's postage stamp at Post Office this morning, she knew it called for a special delivery to her especially eccentric daughter (what a good Mommie, not at all like that wretched Joan Crawford).

I mean, scroll up a wee: Look at that stamp! Her gently smug expression seems to indicate that, yes, she loves Hank and Jimmy too, but it's time to get back on track with some real stars. And she brought out the diamonds, the sumptuous velvet/fur coat and gunmetal satin gloves (the other hand out of frame, waving a ciggy, I'm certain) for the occasion.

Until postage rates are raised, my correspondence-as-usual will be sealed with bold glamour and all hate mail will bear an extra-special "Go to hell," courtesy of Ms. Davis.

In the words of the esteemed Madonna, "Bette Davis, we love you."

What a lucky girl!

There comes a time in every girl’s life when her favorite $7.00 skirt from Ross falls into disrepair, destined to become gossamer dust cloths.

The sequins fade.

The lining rips.

And riiiiiippps.

Then there’s nothing left of the skirt you loved, perhaps too robustly. And you wonder what you will wear this time next year when a floaty, slightly 50s-inspired summer skirt would be the perfect garment.

And you keep wondering... Until you find a never-worn version of the EXACT SAME SKIRT for .50 cents at the local Catholic church rummage sale!

That clinking clanking sound

I’ve been listening to the soundtrack to the 1972 television concert “Liza with a Z." So I was thrilled to find this little coin purse (cost: 25 cents) that so clearly echoes the lyrics to one of Cabaret’s most memorable songs.

Okay, it’s a coincidence, but still cute.


It needed a little care, and perhaps still could use a leather conditioner, but was a nice find after a treasure hunting dry spell. I’ve had the worst luck since the Uniontown raid. Intended to be a coin purse, it might find a more perfect use as a mini clutch. After testing, I discovered that it perfectly fits my cell phone, ID, debit card and a tube of Bert’s Bees balm.

Kander and Ebb are right: money makes the world go around. But in the case of this post, that amount was a mere 25 cents.

Hoo cares

I may…or may not...collect…owl figurines. But, there are some salient guidelines that direct the scope of my collection to prevent the acquisition of things like this:

Thanks MOM.

She knows better than to do something like this. She’s used much better judgement in the past: a retro winking owl salt shaker, a glittery downy snow owl for Christmas décor. What’s worse is this music box plays an unidentifiable melody. I was going to Goodwill it until I logged on to cuteoverload and saw these two:

Awww!

I am big - it's the pictures that got small.

I watched "Sunset Boulevard" on Thursday. I just kept thinking "...I probably shouldn't be identifying with Norma Desmond like this..."

Oh well. Eccentric, obsessive, gold lame-wearing, William Holden-adoring, homebodies unite.

Playing by the Rules

I have some rules. Treasures can be found at most any location: yard sale, consignment store, thrift shop, basement. Once I was at work and a man came to the door with a big box, “I heard there was a young woman here who likes costume jewelry?” he offered. Indeed. That's how I received Mrs. McGarvey's collection of costume jewelry.

But, you cannot “find” treasures at antique stores or collectables shows. Vendors have already cut to the chase: It is their job to hunt for marketable goods and arrange them with folksy allure. I’m not saying that you can’t buy something delightful, wonderful, unanticipated at an antique store (I did today!), but it is not a discovery.

See left, modeled by Myrtle: Not a discovery: kicky 1960s mini-dress from Uniontown antique store. While not officially a treasure, at a solid $5, it was a steal (pair with thin-knit black turtleneck, opaque tights, Mary Tyler Moore flats, knock ‘em dead).

I got a carload of stuff today. I went to the Uniontown community-wide yard sale with super-scavenger Sueann and her most tolerant fiancé. Although there were some ancillary yard sales in the Uniontown community, the focus of the day was concentrated at the park. Unfortunately, this day was grossly mis-marketed: the park was swimming with antique vendors. Depression glass gleamed; collectable toys dotted tables of linens and pottery. The scene was devastatingly seductive. What a sham.These were full-on dealers: high prices and high expectations that we’d fall all over their wares. Sueann soon discovered that the vendors were averse to bartering and even the local antique shops had more reasonable prices. But, at a slightly bearable $3.00, I got these:
Kind of gaudy. Kind of dated. Totally Christian Dior. Entirely loveable.

As the photo indicates, these sunglasses are green plastic with a purple swirl pattern and gilded accents on the sides. At $3.00, I wondered if they were from Christian Dior’s 1980s bargain line. I checked ebay and found these Vintage Christian Dior Brown Clear Sunglasses, with a Buy It Now option of $99.99.

While not a twin to my pair, they possess similar styling: plastic, oversized, same “CD” logo on the side. But is their $99.99 price tag an unqualified guess from Richmun, our seller? No. It appears that Richmun has successfully sold 5,400 pairs of vintage sunglasses and I infer has a reasonable sense of market values.

These sunglasses were purchased at a vendor. But does the low price tag versus market value qualify them as a “discovery?” You know, I love my rules, but even I’m not too staunch to see antique vendors with a new set of eyes. Especially when they’re framed by Dior.

Estate Sales: Exposed!

Take a look at my profile. I am “relentless at estate sales.”

What does that mean? Well, once I had a spat with a mature woman as we both grabbed for an acorn-shaped fur hat. Triumphant, every once in a while I take it out of my closet and imagine wearing it while making a snowman with Ryan O’Neal. But what about something different? Last weekend, I had an experience that, while psychologically damaging, qualifies my attraction to estate sales…

I was in Salem, Oregon, visiting my best friend Sarah, who attends Willamette University. We have style; we love vintage.

After a Saturday successfully spent at a quirky vintage shop and bonding with kittens at Salem Friends of Felines, we were driving home. We turned on a picturesque street, bordered by the “not as sketchy” quadrant of Salem’s Bush Park. On the corner, a little yellow yard sign announced a distraction: Estate Sale. We followed.

Down the street. Around the park. There. A little house, some tents in the drive way, estate services professionals taking money and accessing “best offers.” The tables in the driveway presented a spread of telling goods: Black and white photographs, costume jewelry, newspapers, bold floral linens. My eyes were darting, blood pumping, fingers twitching. This house had belonged to old people.

We took the side entrance, from the carport into the house, ready to rifle through the lifetime accumulation of strangers. Sarah went ahead of me, up the stairs, to the right. Following, my eyes scanned for treasures: gold brocade club chair, blush-colored serving dishes. A man to my left absentmindedly fondled tchotchkes in a curio. My eyes continued tracking the scene: from the chairs to the wall hangings, to tchotchke guy.

When my eyes reassessed tchotchke guy, I discovered that his ardor for Estate Sales was far more literal than mine. Pants unbuttoned, he was exposed!

My Estate Sale goal index was reset. I prepared to bolt.

Sarah moved forward and away from the entrance, continuing to the back of the house. I went left, up a small flight of stairs. So violated. Like the vapid heroine of a horror film, I chastised myself for going upstairs, delving deeper into the house, further entrapping myself with the tchotchke fondler.

I backed down the stairs and proceeded through the circuit-style floor plan of the house, through a bedroom that smelled like baby powder and featured a stripped Tempur-Pedic adjustable bed, and into a well lit kitchen with a yellow Formica table. Where was he? Where was Sarah? Had she seen it too?! No, no. Surely we’d have left immediately. We should go. This is disturbing. Oooh? Is that a rack of vintage?

In a matter of moments, I was reunited with Sarah who was holding a brown suede coat with fur collar, suitable for any fashion plate, from Catherine Deneuve to Ruth Gordon. The discovery of this coat and subsequent discoveries restructured my experience of the Estate Sale. I don’t know where he went, but I never saw the fondler again. Emboldened by the suede coat, I went to the racks of clothes on the patio, hunting for vintage.

In addition to an intimate view of a stranger, I gleaned much from this sale: the suede coat (Sarah already has a matching one), plaid coatdress, blue knit dress, green velvet dress, black wool dress, green suede gloves. Surprisingly, the gloves were my most expensive purchase: $6, compared with $2 for each dress or coat. They all feature some wrinkles, some dirt, some minor need for repair, but are solidly constructed.


My new fall wardrobe. Wool, velvet, knit, fur: Autumn's timeless textures. Sure, a little shabby, but they'll clean up nicely.
Like this entry, my blog will be about yard sales, second hand shops, consignment, vintage. …I like the history of it all. Maybe she wore that wool dress to an awards luncheon. Maybe that table lamp was an engagement present. Maybe that ceramic cat was just fondled by an exposed stranger.

This content kitty is actually from the thrift shop at Salem Friends of Felines.
She shows no signs of abuse.