Carrying on with showing you the bits from my Bestway Initial Transfer catalogue, here are the pages featuring monogrammed sportswear – so not only could you have monogrammed unders, but you can wear monogrammed tennis dresses over them!
The first page features monogrammed blouses and blazers for women, a ‘smart’ day ensemble, a monogrammed mens shirt, and (best of all!) a swimsuit!
Oh wait, I stand corrected. The day ensemble is not just ‘smart’, but ‘exceedingly smart’! Don’t you love the tricorn-esque hat?
And here is the write-up for the ensemble and the swimsuit:
I think I might need to add a swimsuit in navy stockinette with red trim to my swimsuit collection – and add a rosette covered hat! Check out her lace-up beach boots too!
I also need the pointed-bottom blouse. I could see that on the catwalk today – and in my own wardrobe! I also adore the cloche worn with the classic cardigan blazer. It’s such a perfect illustration of the late teens and early ’20s cloche – still with a distinct brim.
The blazer is ‘just right for tennis’, and the ‘jumper blouse’ is embroidered in tangerine silk. Be still my heart!
I’m trying to figure out what fabric ‘taffetas’ was that it made a suitable tennis shirt for a man. Perhaps a rayon taffeta, which would be a lot softer and less crisp? More research must be done!
The next page features more blouses, a tennis dress, an overall for housework, and a men’s blazer:
Here is a close up of the overall:
I find the ‘overall’ dress one of the more fascinating garments featured in the catalogue. It’s clearly the precursor/older sister to the 1930s hooverette frocks. This version is made of grass-green ‘government silk’, which is another term I’m going to have to add to my terminology research list. I strongly suspect it is either a rayon, or a silk blend, and the name is because it was officially promoted during the silk shortages of WWI. I actually love how the overall dress looks, and want one for myself. Probably without the monogram, and DEFINITELY without that cap!
There is also a very chic tennis dress:
On the other page, a suave man in a blazer and a striped silk scarf, and (since this is the ’20s), a cigarette.
But the best piece of all is a simple silk blouse.
Why is it the best? Not the fabulous hat or the fabulous parasol, but the embroidery, which is topped with ‘a lucky black cat’.
Sadly, I’ve heard anecdotaly that the globalisation of media is eroding the the British tradition of lucky black cats, and replacing it with the more American & European ‘unlucky’ black cat superstition – which isn’t great for black cats. In my opinion, all cats are lucky, and I’d be delighted to have a blouse with one embroidered on it!
Some of you may have wondered why there was no Rate the Dress when you got up this morning. I’m just really tired, and overworked. There is a lot going on this time of year: Windy Lindy, student marking, and me trying to do everything all at once! So RTD just wasn’t a priority.
Which is why there is now a rate the dress, but no tally-up of last week’s selection (hehe, THAT is going to be fun). I’m going to go hang out the laundry and do a bit of gardening to relax, and then I’ll get back to it.
At least picking the rating choice was easy. This has been in my file as the selection for the week before Halloween for almost a year now. How could it not be? It’s a fancy dress that has enormous beetles and insects all over it!
Fancy dress, circa 1907
So what do you think? If you saw someone dressed as this at a costume party circa 1907, would you think ‘That is SO AWESOME!” (or whatever the ca. 1900 equivalent of “SO AWESOME” is – I welcome your suggestions on that point). Or would you think “Creepy and horrible”? Or “Random and messy?”
What’s the verdict on the buggy flower frock?
Rate the Dress on a Scale of 1 to 10
*And if anyone has a link to the original source for this image, that would be much appreciated! I’ve seen it pop up on pinterest, but never with a link back to an original page.
When I was a child I was given Tom Tierney’s ‘Ballet Stars of the Romantic Era‘ paper doll book. Though I enjoyed the occasional girls ballet book, I wasn’t ballet obsessed. This was mostly because ballet was simply such an abstract concept for me – in Hawaii little girls learn hula, not ballet. I read about ballet, but the scenes they were described were as remote and exotic as Heidi’s Alps.
Although I couldn’t grasp the idea of a modern person being a ballerina, I loved the paper dolls. The beautiful costumes (of course) and the stories of the ballerina’s lives (affairs with mad kings and all) appealed to me.
Marie Taglioni as Flora in Didelot’s Zéphire et Flore. London, 1831, Lithograph by Chalon and Lane. Victoria and Albert Museum, Sergeyev Collection
Later on, when I finally saw ballets at the San Francisco Ballet and the Royal New Zealand Ballet, I was hugely disappointed by the costumes. They were beautiful and striking, but in my mind I’d always imagined the soft, floating swish of romantic-era skirts of silk tulle. The stiff nylon platters of the modern ballerina just didn’t live up to my expectations. If I was going to design a ballet outfit, it would look like something Taglioni, Grisi, or Essler would wear.
Carlotta Grisi in the tite role of Adam’s Giselle, Paris, 1841, lithograph by an unknown artist
Somewhere in a scrapbook I have a picture of Selma Blair in the dress she wore to the 2003 Met Costume Gala. She said of the dress something to the effect that she never got to be a ballerina as a little girl, so the dress was her ballerina moment.
For some reason that quote has always stuck with me (although I’d forgotten all the details of the dress except that it was vaguely ballerina-y), and I’ve thought, ‘yes, every girl should have a ballerina moment’.
The closest I’ve ever come to a ballerina moment was the outfit I wore to the Fairies & Dinosaurs party, but it wasn’t quite the vision I had.
This year I’m becoming aware, as the wrinkles don’t quite go away and I get too many grey hairs to honestly claim that they are all sports, that my time to have a ballerina moment is going to run out. I should do it now!
This year I have the perfect excuse – the Windy Lindy ball theme is ‘Enchantment Under the Sea’ (a la Back to the Future), and a Romantic era ballet costume is close enough to a ’50s prom dress, right?
I also have the perfect fabric: 5 yards of vintage silk organza in pink with three-dimensional organza ribbon roses that my Grandmother brought back from a trip to Japan in the late ’50s.
The clock is definitely ticking on me in that much pink organza too!
So, inspiration for a romantic-era ballerina, meeting 1950s full-skirted romanticism:
Marie Taglioni dancing the title role in La Sylphide, 1832
I love the simple fitted bodices, pointed waists, and the soft, swooshing fullness of the skirts.
Lucile Grahn, Carlotta Grisi, and Fanny Cerrito surround Marie Taglioni in Jules Perrot’s Pas de Quatre, Lithograph by T. H. Maguire from a drawing by A. E. Chalon, London, 1845
I went looking for 50’s dress with the same elements, and assembled a pinterest inspiration board.
Then I went browsing in my pattern stash, and unearthed my Grandmother’s copy of Butterick 6485 from the early 1950s.
It’s got a fitted bodice, pointed waist, a full circle skirt with gathers (circles for that extra swish, and to maximise my fabric) and is perfect!
When I opened it up, I discovered that my Grandmother had definitely made it, and even created two new pieces to add a peplum.
For a moment I was back with her, mixing and matching pattern pieces and drafting new ones to create the ideal gown.
As I looked at the longer view, and the peplum pieces, I suddenly realised that not only did I know what her gown would have looked like, I own it!
This is me, aged 20, in one of the three items of my grandmother’s finished sewing that I own:
It’s the pattern, with some alterations!
And, as further proof that the dress was meant to be, my toile fit perfectly straight off the pattern! (or, at least it does with the correct bra under it).
Now, to be brave and cut into that organza…