A fairytale 1970s frock

For the most part, I make my own clothes.  For the most part, I don’t wear original vintage clothes.  For the most part, I don’t like synthetic fibres.  And for the most part, I’m not particularly interested in post 1960s fashions.

But, most of all, I’m a creature of contradictions and am not adverse to breaking all my rules.

Meet my original vintage, very 1970s, totally synthetic, covered it enormous orange flowers, and yet somehow still gorgeous and me and wonderful to wear, ‘Fairytale’ dress:

1970s fairytale frock

Isn’t it fabulous?    Can’t you just imagine a 1970’s fairytale book featuring Rapunzel wearing this exact frock?  Possibly a feminist re-write of fairytales where Rapunzel rescues herself. (Hands up: Who else’s favourite children’s book was The Paper Bag Princess?)

1970s fairytale frock thedreamstress.com

I found the dress at an op-shop for $6, and though all my normal impulses said “Are you crazy?”  I had to buy it.  And it’s fantastic!  It’s the very best expression of ’70s fashion: incredibly flattering, incredibly comfortable, and made from some incredibly variety of dead dino that feels like you are wearing spun air and floats around you like a cloud of butterflies.

1970s fairytale frock thedreamstress.com

While you are admiring the dress, can we take a moment to talk about how awesome my husband is?  When I put this on and said “Hey, let’s go for a drive and a photoshoot’ he didn’t say (as you would expect) “What on earth are you wearing and NO, there is no way I will ever be seen in public with you in that.”

Possibly he’s just so used to the weird stuff I want photographed that this seems positively normal to him.

1970s fairytale frock thedreamstress.com

Also, while I bounced around the Sir Truby King house and gardens and skipped and frolicked and gamboled (Honestly.  All of those.  Sometimes at the same time.) he just waited patiently for me to stand still long enough to actually get a photo instead of telling me how weird I am.

1970s fairytale frock thedreamstress.com

If this is a fairytale, he’s definitely the hero – even if all he needs to do is wield the camera while I use the Frying Pan of Doom (hands up, who else get’s that reference?  Hint, it’s NOT Disney) to rescue myself!

1970s fairytale frock thedreamstress.com

Now I just need a real-life event that I can get away with wearing this dress to…

1970s fairytale frock thedreamstress.com

And also, a photoshoot where I actually wield the Frying Pan of Doom.  I wonder if the Wellington Airport would kick me out if I showed up in this dress with a cast iron frying pan and started posing next to Smaug?

Karen’s Gift: A velvet 1920s confection by Mrs Martina Downing

I really wanted to post something today, but wasn’t sure what.  When in doubt, what could be better than costume deliciousness?

Two months ago (has it been two months already!) I shared with you the first piece of Karen’s gift.

If anything, I love this piece even more, though it’s hard to pick between two such glorious items!

Velvet dress by Miss Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

This velvet dress dates from the mid 20s, and bears a label with the name Mrs Marina Downing, 22 East Sixty-Fifth St, New York.  Presumably Mrs Downing was the dressmaker.

Velvet dress by Miss Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

The dress is primarily in petrol blue silk velvet (be still my heart!) with flashes of cerise pink silk satin around the neck and in the hip trim.

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

How fabulous!

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

There is simple metallic embroidery around the neck, down the left side, and around the hem.  It’s just another touch of detail and handiwork on the frock, and lends a nice shock of coarseness and permanency to a garment that could otherwise look too sweet and delicate.  It’s like an amuse bouche for the dress.

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

The dropped waist is highlighted with a wide beaded band with little ribbonwork pansies

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

There is also another bunch of ribbon flowers sewn to the skirt, but the workmanship is very inferior, and the placement quite random, so I suspect it was a later addition to hide a spot or hole (which you can possibly see in the twist of the stem)

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

The asymmetry of the dress is further highlighted with rows of piping down the proper left side, with the same subtle metallic embroidery that highlights the neckline and the layers of hem.

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

The dress fastening is hidden under the left-side piping.  You unhook the shoulder:

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

And open up the side, revealing the lining of ivory silk tissue and silk crepe de chine, and the support layers of silk net:

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

A wide band of silk petersham (with the dressmakers label) fastens around the hips, supporting the weight of the skirt.  It’s covered by the lining, fastening with domes (snaps).

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

Then the hip swag wraps over it all, and fastens with more domes, further disguising the closure from the outside.

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

It’s a classic example of the subtle, hidden closures that were used high-end clothes in the first quarter of the 20th century, before zip fastenings became common.

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

The whole dress just makes my heart happy, both from an aesthetic viewpoint, and from a dressmaker and historian viewpoint.  Such exquisite workmanship!  So many well-thought out details!  And those colours!

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

Velvet dress by Mrs Martina Downing, mid 1920s thedreamstress.com

The Ngaio blouse has a day off from crime and drama

My first photoshoot with the Ngaio blouse was all very dramatic and formal – pencil skirt, stockings, heels, finding black and white backdrops in the CBD, and me giving the camera my best ‘come hither’ eyes and ‘don’t even think about coming hither’ chin lift.

When we got home, I put on jeans, and curled up on the couch to do the last of my semester’s marking.  After a few hours of that, I popped out into the yard to enjoy the sun and give my eyes and brain a rest, and Mr D got another sew of photos of the blouse: relaxed, casual, hanging out with Felicity.

The Ngaio blouse thedreamstress.com

(and yes, the house needs painting,  It’s on our to-do list to sort this summer.  Colour suggestions?)

The Ngaio blouse thedreamstress.com

I think I like the blouse even better worn this way!

The Ngaio blouse thedreamstress.com

Certainly Felicity does. ;-)

The Ngaio blouse thedreamstress.com

The Ngaio blouse thedreamstress.com

The Ngaio blouse thedreamstress.com

The Ngaio blouse thedreamstress.com

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Leimomi Oakes is the Dreamstress, a textile historian, seamstress, designer, speaker and museum professional. Leimomi is available for educational and entertaining presentations, textile and fashion advice, special commissions and events. Click to learn more

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