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Rate the Dress: Princess worthy summer whites?

Last week I showed you a very brief (from a historical perspective) 1920s Jean Patou dress with heavy beading and a bit of an Egyptian twist.  You generally agreed that the mannequin wasn’t doing the dress many favours, but after that your opinions diverged: some of you thought it would have been so much better in bolder colours, some of you though that the restrained colour scheme was all that kept it from being garish; some of you though the dark beads were off, some thought it was exactly what the dress needed.  Most of you thought that it was complete perfection, and the dress came in at 8.9 out of 10, just a hairs breath away from making a perfect 9.

UPDATE: a historical costumer involved in the exhibition of this dress at the Palais Galleria informs me that it has NO provenance Madame Elisabeth.

I’m leaving the blog post mostly as it was, so as not to sweep the mistake under the rug and cause confusion.  I’ll remove any reference to Madame Elisabeth in the photo comments, to help prevent the misinformation from spreading via pinterest, etc.  If you see any further photos with the attribution to Elisabeth, please help to correct the record.

This week, let’s move from silk to cotton, and from beading to embroidery, for a dress that sounds much simpler, but has an even more illustrious pedigree.

Caraco and petticoat, said to have been worn by Madame Élisabeth (1764-1794), ca. 1789, Cotton, embroidered with grape vines, Palais Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

Caraco and petticoat, ca. 1789, Cotton, embroidered with grape vines, Palais Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

This ensemble is an excellent example of the transitional styles of the 1780s and 90s, as fashions moved from the structured bodices and more elaborate fabrics of the Rococo, to the softer silhouettes and lighter fabrics of the turn-of-the-century.

Caraco and petticoat, said to have been worn by Madame Élisabeth (1764-1794), ca. 1789, Cotton, embroidered with grape vines, Palais Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

Caraco and petticoat, ca. 1789, Cotton, embroidered with grape vines, Palais Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

The very fitted caraco bodice, with its boned front lacing, harkens back to older fashions.

Caraco and petticoat, said to have been worn by Madame Élisabeth (1764-1794), ca. 1789, Cotton, embroidered with grape vines, Palais Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

Caraco and petticoat, ca. 1789, Cotton, embroidered with grape vines, Palais Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

The embroidered details on the bodice evoke zone front bodices, and the pockets on men’s waistcoats.

Caraco and petticoat, said to have been worn by Madame Élisabeth (1764-1794), ca. 1789, Cotton, embroidered with grape vines, Palais Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

Caraco and petticoat, ca. 1789, Cotton, embroidered with grape vines, Palais Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

The ruffled pierrot tail of the jacket, with its elaborate embroidery and delicate edge finishes, emphasises the fashionable pronounced rear of the silhouette.

The ensemble was displayed in an exhibition on Madame Élisabeth at Versailles, along with a matching fichu, softening the severe neckline of the dress.

Caraco and petticoat, said to have been worn by Madame Élisabeth (1764-1794), ca. 1789, Cotton, embroidered with grape vines, Palais Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

Caraco and petticoat, ca. 1789, Cotton, embroidered with grape vines, Palais Galliera, Musee de la Mode de la Ville de Paris

What do you think?  Princess worthy?

Rate the Dress on a Scale of 1 to 10

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Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

Come into my garden, Maude

My garden is significantly less attractive than the garden of Tennyson’s poem, but this blog post will also be significantly less weird, bloody, and tragic, so that should help balance things a bit!

My parents are farmers, and my mother has the most spectacularly green thumbs, which sadly I mostly did not inherit.  But I do like  gardening, and I’ve really been enjoying turning the brown, weedy wasteland of a garden that we inherited when we bought the house into something green and growing.

Mr D and I have some differences of opinion about how much garden there should be as he prefers LAWN (and pretty much nothing else).  So I haven’t made much headway in my quest to turn the entire front lawn into raised garden boxes (oh, the dream!) but I have been allowed to clear out the three weed-filled garden boxes we inherited, and I have turned them into three mini gardens.

The gardens have struggled a bit this year: the weather turned abruptly from quite cold and wet to HOT and dry, so my first batch of lettuce rotted in the wet, and the second went directly to seed in the heat, and the poor kale was devastated by an outbreak of brassica moths brought on by the hot weather.

Despite all this, I have succeeded in growing a very attractive radish:

Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

And a rather spectacular crop of an attractive, vining, flowering non-quite-a-weed in the cracks of the garden  boxes (this is purposeful).

Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

And a really gorgeous set of alyssum in the cracks of the next one over.

Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

I love alyssum.  It’s so unassuming, but when I bend over the boxes to weed them I’m surrounded by the most delicious fragrance, and every once in a while you get a waft of it as you sit in the backyard.

Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

My goal with my vegetables is to grow basic seasoning herbs and alliums (parsley, rosemary, coriander, spring onions and chives), and lettuce, kale, and mizuna, so that I have the foundation to a salad (lettuce, kale & mizuna), the filling for a soup (kale) or the green veg for a stir fry (mizuna) at any given point.

Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

Oh, and basil.  I am obsessed with basil.  It won’t grow all year round in Wellington, but for as many months of the year as it will, I grow pots and pots and pots of it.

Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

I put great handfuls of it in salads and soups and stir fries and curries and ratatouille all summer long.

Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

The only problem with filling my garden beds with vegetables is it means I have no-where to plant my spring bulbs!  I definitely need to work on convincing Mr D that my front garden aspirations are the way forward!

Come into my garden thedreamstress.com

Henrietta Maria in black

I have made lots of versions of the Henrietta Maria: linen dresses that I put on every day in the high heat of February, crepe tops that are my go-to pairing with jeans, and pretty chiffon frocks for looking summer dressy.  But this particular version may be my favourite.

It’s the Henrietta Maria dress in black wool-viscose crepe, with a bit of extra length to the hem, and slightly bigger tucks in the sleeve hems, so that I can push the hems up over my elbows and they will stay.

The Henrietta Maria dress by scrooppatterns.com

I actually finished it in December, at the start of the ‘get Henrietta Maria perfectly pattern-ready’ marathon, and it’s done its fair share of wardrobe duties since then.

I’ve worn it with a narrow black or brown leather belt to business meetings, and with black satin sashes to anniversary dinners with Mr D.  It glams up for cocktail parties with a sparkly gold belt (shown above), and lends an air of artsy sophistication for public speaking with a velvet sash.

The Henrietta Maria dress by scrooppatterns.com

It’s the perfect little black dress for days when I  want to feel  elegant and attractive but don’t want to have to worry about wearing fussy undergarments or whether my stomach is showing.  So, basically, it’s the best dress ever.

The Henrietta Maria dress by scrooppatterns.com

Despite the amount of wear it’s had, I’ve never managed to photograph this version.  To show it off, Emily of EverSoScrumptious and I headed to the Roxy Cinema – Wellington’s Art Deco-meets-modern-glam-with-a-quirky-twist theatre.  What better place to showcase a Scroop dress?

The Henrietta Maria dress by scrooppatterns.com

A glass of celebrator ginger beer made taking photos  just that bit more glam and fun – and at the end of it I wasn’t even in a hurry to get changed back into something more comfortable – because I already was.  Hurrah!

The Henrietta Maria dress by scrooppatterns.com

Thanks Emily, and thanks to the Roxy for kindly allowing us to take photos.

And, of course, if you want to make your own version you can get the pattern at Scroop Patterns!