My First Vintage

My twin sister and I are the youngest of five girls. And we are the daughters of a most stylish mom. When I was little, our house was dream for any girl who liked to pass hours playing dress-up. There were always cast-offs to be found and coordinated with belts and beads. “Mary Poppins,” “Caddie Woodlawn,” and “Lucretia Ann on the Oregon Trail” were style inspiration.

Years later, it’s interesting to discover where dress-up ended and my vintage ways began. This is a story of my first vintage. Like so many auspicious accounts, it starts at a Saturday morning yard sale. I was in the fifth grade. The sale was hosted out of town on a secluded organic farm and my mom wasn’t optimistic that she’d find anything to her liking (“I think they’re hippies” she observed when we pulled up).

My mom wasn’t wrong, but amid the macramé and half-burnt candles, I seized upon something exquisite. All in a matching pea green hue: pumps, gloves and a beret. After some insisting ($5 is steep on yard sale Saturday), they were mine. Once home, I cleared a bedroom shelf to display them.

When I assembled these pieces for their group photo today, I noticed something new. For all these years, I thought the pumps, gloves and beret were a matched set. They aren’t! Decades ago, one perfect woman cobbled together a set of accessories so perfectly paired that they’d pass as mates. What thoughtfulness. I’m proud to be the steward of such an elegant trio.

These days, my first vintage has a lot of company. But I consider these an emblem of the moment I first knew I could (and should!) express myself creatively. I would have loved to meet the woman who shared my favorite shade of green and who probably felt self-conscious about her size 8.5 feet. I want to tell her that in 2013, we all have size 8.5 feet.

Kept Woman Wednesday: Bell, Book, and Candle (1958)

For 25 years, I thought the movie "Bell, Book, and Candle" (1958) was about an Oregon trail-era schoolmarm. Indeed, it is about a lonely single women and a house cat, but our heroine is a witch. A manipulative, leotard-wearing witch whose intentions falter from flirtation to true love.

For reasons literary and archetypal, I'm always eager to assess a witch story. In "Bell, Book, and Candle," sorcery is the primary distinction, but Kim Novak's character Gil is surrounded by additional metaphors of "otherness."

Jazz!
In 1957, "Funny Face" illustrated to the movie going masses that jazz clubs were at the heart of la vie beatnik. And free-thinking beatniks are surely analogous to the ominous portent of a witch.

Art!
To an outsider, the world of art is a faceted one, with its own vocabulary and pieces collected or disseminated with enchanted focus. So, of course Gil is a proprietress of a gallery - the exclusivity, specific vernacular and idol worship is much like the realm of a witch.

Pants!
Technically it's a catsuit, but Gil spends a lot of time wearing pants. And, in the 1950s what is a stronger symbol of power and self-reliance than menswear? A witch is a powerful woman; powerful women wear pants...

Regardless of a woman's ability to conjure, clearly any association can draw outsider status. It should be welcomed. Along with those feminine wiles, wicked ways and the classic: "women's intuition." As Aunt Jet Owens says in Practical Magic, "There's a little witch in all of us."

(See Life magazine for more of the enchanted Kim Novak.)

Oscar Night: The Way You Look Tonight

In an unexpected medley of (at times rakish) charm and talent, all the entertainers in tonight's Academy Awards opening number were delightful.*

While I am usually very protective of all things Ginger Rogers, I wholly appreciate Charlize Theron('s stylist) channeling Hollywood's loveliest dancer and comedienne.

The CT's dancing to "The Way You Look Tonight"

Fred and Ginger in a performance of "They Can't Take That Away From Me" in The Barleys of Broadway (1949)

* Postscript: So, in the light of day, it's come to my attention that maybe some failed to enjoy the Oscars telecast? Tiresome.

Hostess Pajamas: Enchantedly Eccentric

1. Gone with the Wind
2. Tom Tierney's Grace Kelly paper dolls
3. Lucretia Ann on the Oregon Trail (see page 15)

The above are my first indelible interactions with fashion. Gowns of satin, brocade and velvet weren't just costumes or tailor-made treasures, they were like department store windows framing my future wardrobe. It was only a matter of time before turgid, tortured adolescence was past and my suspended sartorial intentions would premiere! I've combated, surmounted, and yet still surrender to a lot of insecurities. But none of them have ever extinguished my ardor for outlandish, irresistible fashions. 

The Oscars were tonight, and it reminded me of another first moment of fashion inspiration. This look has held pull position in every "Oscar's Worst Fashion" list for the past twenty years. In 1993, Whoopi Goldberg wore this:

A much more becoming ensemble when not assaulted by flash bulbs.

And I loved it. And I was seven.

Why does this appeal to a seven year old? Loud? Costumey? Ugh, no! It appealed to me because it was so obviously an homage to the most delightful, glamorous women to give definition to either word:

Judy Holliday as Billie Dawn:

Judy Holliday in Born Yesterday (1950)

Mary Tyler Moore as Laura Petrie:

Laura Petrie in season two, episode 2 of the Dick Van Dyke Show, "The Two Faces of Rob"

Ida Lupino as Barbara Jean Trenton:

Ida Lupino in season one, episode four of the Twilight Zone, "The Sixteen Millimeter Shrine." It's impossible to tell, but she's wearing pineapple print hostess pajamas, and they are perfection.

Barbie:

Barbie's "Dinner at Eight" outfit. I require this in a to-scale size four, please.

Lucy:

If you wear hostess pajamas, men like William Holden will line up to kiss you. From "LA at Last."

So, I'll never understand why Whoopi's Oscar ensemble is so enduringly despised. What has Oscar night become, if not the most glamorous parade of pretties? No look could be more eccentrically glamorous.  So, long live technicolor brocade hostess pajamas! May the dissenters languish from their deficit of fun and good humor!

My initial act of fashion defiance happened long ago. Entranced by silver screen elegance and opulence, I made a pact with my future self -- don any design that suited my particular sense of loveliness. Any era, any hue, any pattern: wear it! I have been very successfully and happily dedicated to that agreement.

Sometime early next week, a package will arrive at my door. And I'll tear and rip and scissor it opened to reveal something beautiful, inspired by Lucy, Laura, Ida, Judy, Barbie and the overt glamour of my favorite Oscars evening wear.