Trick or Treat!

Yo, Alexander -- nice hat!

Yes, Yes! to “Yes to the Dress”

I have a new clothes-related TV addiction, a program on TLC called “Say Yes to the Dress.” It’s a reality series about the sellers and shoppers at Kleinfeld Bridal, which advertises that it has the largest selection of wedding dresses in the world.

Of course, I’m mesmerized by all the dresses that parade across the screen in each episode, but I’m even more fascinated by the ritual of wedding dress sales. For example, almost every one of the featured brides-to-be asks for a dress that’s not too poufy, and almost every one of those brides has purchased essentially the same dress. It’s strapless, white, drop-waisted, and, oh yeah, POUFY.

One bride actually purchased this OTT gown. She brought it back to have the skirt substituted for something less poufy. It was still horrible. Sorry, Charlie!

The process of shopping at Kleinfeld is strictly controlled. Each bride makes an appointment with a consultant who picks the dresses that the bride will try on, unless she or her mother or her wedding planner can elbow their way through the phalanx of managers and consultants guarding the stockroom so they can browse themselves. The consultants are under considerable pressure to sell dresses so they can meet their monthly quota, and sometimes they have to make that sale within an hour-long appointment. Hell, it takes me longer than an hour to buy a run-of-the mill dress, and even then I make mistakes. Perhaps the consultants push the strapless/white/poufy numbers because they know young brides (or their check-writing mothers) can’t resist the whole princess thing. Whatever; it’s obviously a formula that works. I very amused, however, watching the brides try on dress after nearly indistinguishable dresses until they announce with glee that THIS white, strapless, drop-waist poufy number is The One.

I also find it remarkable that the most of the brides filmed (obviously a very small percentage of Kleinfeld customers) bring their Moms to the appointment but don’t bring photos of dresses they like, fabric or color swatches, or a digital or Polaroid camera so they can see how the dress photographs and just get a record of the dress for reference. Actually, considering that there have been several scenes involving brides claiming that the dress that arrived for fitting, some months after it was purchased, was not the dress they ordered, I’m surprised Kleinfeld doesn’t keep snapshots to cover its own ass. (Besides, as a fan of “Muriel’s Wedding,” I think it would also be cool for a bride to keep a Muriel-style scrapbook of the dresses she tried before finding The One.)

"I'm too sexy for my bride, too sexy for my bride, so sexy I'm tired. . ."

In one episode a bride was shown trying on an otherwise lovely dress that had a low v-front and was obviously intended for a woman no larger than a small-B cup. The bodice barely covered the front of the slightly larger bride, and she looked distinctly uncomfortable as the consultant was yanking it up to show how it could be tailored to prevent nuptial nipple slippage while Ronnie Rothstein, one of the co-owners of Kleinfeld, tried to talk her into buying the dress because it was sexy. Yes, I’m on record as a cranky old crone who sincerely wishes the rest of the women in the world would keep their naughty bits out of my face, but even so, isn’t a sexy wedding gown rather pointless? After all, the whole wedding schtick is designed to show that the bride has already snagged her man, and, at a minimum, she shouldn’t be trying to attract another man at the ceremony. That’s what the honeymoon is for . . .

As you can see, “Say Yes to the Dress” gives me a lot to think about, including what shopping for a wedding dress with my hypothetical daughter (hereinafter "Hypotheca") would be like. I’d probably embarrass her by schlepping photos, cameras, screenshots of my favorite movie wedding gowns, assorted foundation garments (for her) and shoes (for her) to the appointment. She would probably hate all of my ideas, preferences and selections. I might scar her for life (again!) by telling her that the strapless dress gives her underarm overhang or that the poufy dress makes her ass look big. The consultant would want to strangle me for taking too much time and making her late for her next appointment. It would be another character-building experience for daughter’s memoirs or mine, I’m sure.

The kind of a wedding dress only a cranky old Mom could love.

Just for the hell of it I’ve included this photo of a Victorian taffeta ballgown for sale at Vintage Textile because it’s my idea of what a perfect princess wedding dress should look like, i.e. elegant, not poufy. *Le sigh.* Hypotheca would probably hate it.

Lock up your daughters, Prom is coming!

I wrote the body of this post before I saw A Dress A Day’s October 15 post about this vintage pattern. Erin thinks the pattern would make up into a great prom dress, and she suggests yellow organza as the material for the full-skirted version. Ah, yellow organza is so young, so fresh, so innocent, oh so Sandra Dee in this Britney Spears world. Erin has great taste, but she obviously hasn’t been looking at what’s being sold as prom dresses right now . . .

Sometimes when I see a cute dress that’s too young for me I wish I had a daughter to buy it for, even though I’m well aware that mothers and daughters don’t often agree on what’s cute. Other times I’ll see a garment intended for a young woman that’s so atrocious I’m relieved I don’t have a daughter because I know that if I, the Mom, hate the item, she, the contrary teenaged daughter (with an unfortunate inherited tendency toward bad shopping judgment) would love it. The dress would then be the cause of one of those character-building disagreements between mother and daughter.

Take, for example, this purported prom dress. Right now it’s featured front and center in the junior department of the Reno Dillard’s. (Note that the woman modeling this dress appears to be about 35. It’s probably illegal to disseminate pictures of a girl under 17 years of age wearing the thing.)

In real life this schmatta is so tacky, so sleazy, so cheesy that I actually stopped mid-stride when I saw it, like Lot's wife turned to a pillar of salt by the horrible sight.

Among its other faults, the dress resuscitates everything bad in ‘80s fashion, i.e., ruffles, ruching, shine, a tail, and that damn bright royal blue. I hate that shade of blue; I’m sure it’s the color a person would see if she were gazing skyward when a gamma ray burst hit the Earth, just before her brain melted and she crumbled into dust. Oh, lordy, then there’s that slit. What the hell is the theme of this prom? Enchanted Nights at the Mustang Ranch?

To my surprise, Jessica McClintock put her name to this mess, er, dress. Aged crone that I am, I mostly remember Jessica McClintock as the designer of Gunne Sax’s neo-Amish outfits in the 1970s, like this one for sale at Blacklight Vintage Clothing.

From burhka to brothel in 30 years; that’s progress for ya!

The other prom dresses on sale weren’t much more presentable. Obviously the days when a gown had to pass a pre-prom inspection by Sister Charles Bronson are gone forever.

A post-midlife clothing crisis

Oy vey, in the past couple of months so many things have gotten between the Clothesaholic and her addiction! Work, family crises, Top Chef . . . But thank Dior, Top Chef is over, and Project Runway Season 4 approaches, so I can stop thinking about duck confit and start concentrating on important things like fabric choices and cut again. (By the way, watching cooking shows, and the eating they inspire, can seriously interfere with one’s ability to wasp-waisted vintage fashions, even with corseting!).

While I was away from blogspot I had one of those landmark birthdays that bring on existential crises. I am now too old to be in any desirable demographic. Only the AARP wants me, my health insurance premium took an astonishing leap, and, much more important, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR!!! I’m not yet ready to spend the rest of my life in elastic-waist polyester pants and oversized shirts from QVC.

If I can’t find shirtwaist dresses so I can play Donna Reed, maybe I’ll start playing the Megabucks slots regularly in the hope of winning enough money to dress exclusively in Chado Ralph Rucci, a maker of damn fine clothes appropriate for the woman of a certain age.

Actually, I hate the expression "age-appropriate". Clothing should be wearer-appropriate; after all, Renee Russo, age 53, can wear things that many many women a lot younger cannot. Yet there are things that, if worn by a, um, mature woman, simply look ridiculous.

Luckily, my clothing crisis is mostly academic. I work from my home so I can spend the day in disreputable jeans or even my jammies without offending anyone, assuming I don't answer the door when UPS calls. The cats seem happy to shed on anything. Those days when I’m forced to go out to play lawyer I have my collection of lady litigator suits. Every now and then, however, I’m invited to an event that’s doesn’t involve a judge and isn’t on Halloween, and I’ll need something else to wear.

For example, just last week I was invited to a wedding, which is about as good an excuse for this Clothesaholic to buy a new outfit as any. I'm excited because this promises to be an interesting gathering. The bride and her friends are all musicians, the groom is a Harley enthusiast. They met at a motorcycle rally. I’m sure that one or more of the guests will attend in his/her leathers and the dress code will be generally bohemian, in other words, it'll be a great opportunity for creative dressing. So I happily traveled to one of the local major department stores, where I’ve found things I like before, in high hopes of find the Dress That Will Change My Life, Fun Division, only to be disappointed immediately. The dresses were either very young – short, low-cut, short AND low-cut, baby-doll, mini-tent – or mother, nay, grandmother of the bride. I bought something anyway; a brightly-printed (purple! red! orange!) faux-Duro dress.

Due to my poor photography, and my size 2 dress form, these photos don't really begin to show the horror that is this dress. It has fluttery 3-quarter sleeves, a surplice bodice and an Empire waist shaped by a long silky sash that ties in the back in a bow. A child-like floppy kind of bow. When I tried the dress on in the store I thought it looked okay from the front and that I’d deal with the bow by keeping my back to the wall.

What the hell was I thinking?

The moment I paid for the dress that damn bow began to haunt me. I thought about it all the way home. I thought about if for the remainder of the afternoon. I hung the bright dress in my closet and noticed that it glowed like radioactive waste among my gray-pinstripe suits and LBDs. I tried the dress on the next morning, looked in the mirror, and saw a retired nursemaid dressed up like Heidi on acid. This garment might very well be The Dress That Will Change My Life, but not in any way I’d want. The dress is so being returned.

On a happier note, my existential crisis does not prevent me from admiring cute dress in the abstract. I saw some of these dresses by Nine West in real life, and dang, they’re cute. So, if you're a bright young thing, or Renee Russo, go check them out.

The Shirtdress, Part I

Saturday, when I went to answer the door wearing my usual Saturday house cleaning decrepit shorts and T-shirt, I had a kind of epiphany. To save myself from further embarrassment, and to spare my local tradesmen further aesthetic distress, I should adopt the household costume of the 1950's housewife, the print shirtwaist dress. My reasoning was that those dresses should be at least as comfortable as shorts, possibly cooler because they're loose, and, while concealing, should carry a certain ironic post-modern cachet.

So, delivery accepted, I logged onto ebay to see if I could find a few vintage shirtwaist dresses at bargain prices; however, for my search I typed in "shirtdress" instead of "shirtwaist dress". The results yielded vintage dresses from the 60s and 70s, and I was immediately distracted.

Check out this black and white beauty, for sale at Lux Eternal. Except for the sleeve style (i.e., it HAS sleeves) it doesn't look vintage at all, and the print simply fab. And I simply loved the cream lace dress below, but that's already been nabbed on a buy-it-now. Some lucky person really scored for $19.00.

Of course, even if they fit, I wouldn't consider doing housework in either of these dresses, and I'm willing to bet that the close-fitting cream dress isn't that comfortable to wear. But sometimes, it really IS better to look good than to feel good.

Clothes on Film – Tough Girl Chic

What did it say about me that my fashion idol in the 70’s was a neurotic hooker character in a movie about sex crimes? What does it say about me now that when I go to grab pictures of my fashion ideals off the web I often wind up on fetish sites?


Pictures of Jane Fonda, dressed in thigh-high boots for the role of call-girl Bree Daniels in “Klute” are posted all over boot fetish sites. Thirty-something years ago, when "Klute" was released and I was a mere pup, I loooooved those boots too, even though, blessed with speed-skater legs as I am, I had no hope of finding a pair that fit, even assuming I’d expose enough muscle-bound thigh to show them off.

I loved the rest of Bree’s (and for about five minutes, before she got on the plane to Hanoi, Jane Fonda’s) look, too. It’s just so “I’m tough, I’m kewl, I’m high-fashion, don’t f*ck with me without a contract and if we close the deal be prepared to be f*cked into the middle of next week, muthaf*cka, even though deep inside I’ve retained my child-like innocence” look. I tried to copy it where I could; I got a shag haircut, which was actually flattering on me, I bought suede lace-front boots, and over the years I’ve owned a series of button-front mid-calf skirts like the one Bree is wearing in the second photo. In fact, the last in the series was donated to charity only a few months ago, although at the time I bought it I’m sure I had forgotten my original inspiration.

I regret to say that even dressed like Bree the Irresistible I was totally ignored by the opposite sex. (Lesbians have always hit on me – it must be the muscles. Or the glasses. Or the damn shag. NTTAWWT, except that I’m straight and hate softball so such efforts came to naught.) No one ever thought I was tough, because indeed I am not, and I rarely had the energy to even think of f*cking someone into the middle of next week. One might conclude that this cinematic fashion icon was ill-chosen.

Yikes, that’s too much about me; this isn’t a confessional blog. About the movie: it’s real good -- moody, suspenseful, sexy, very well-acted. "Klute" was made before Jane came turned political, so her performance is free from that earnest save-the-world vibe much of her later work has. In fact, "Klute" and an earlier bit of fluff called "Cat Ballou" are the only two Jane Fonda films I enjoyed without reservation. The very ending of the movie is a bit of a disappointment, what with Bree leaving "the life" in New York for domestic bliss in some suburb, but the girl still left looking good!

Thanks to the magic of YouTube, you can watch a bit of Jane’s Oscar-winning performance here, in the somewhat strange form of a video of the movie playing on TV.

When I was surfing the web for more Bree Daniels photos I found that the Catwalk Queen chose Jane Fonda in "Klute" and "Barbarella" as a style icon too. That's reassuring.

Better than the Oscars

Monday night the Metropolitan Museum of Art held its annual Vogue-sponsored product-placement fund-raising orgy, otherwise known as the Costume Institute gala. I love this event because celebrities, models and socialites of every class and list, many escorted by designers, converge on the red carpet in their own interpretations of the very highest fashion. Anna Wintour, Bitch Goddess of Vogue, is the hostess, after all.

This event is just what I needed to get me out of the clothes-deprived slough of despond/black hole of employment litigation I’ve been struggling through lately.

This year the Gala was in celebration of the opening of the Costume Institute’s Poiret exhibit. Paul Poiret was a Belle Époque designer often credited with getting women out of their corsets. His clothing was often exotic, inspired by the Orientalism popular at the time. Poiret also lived extravagantly, designed for the Ballets Russe, invented the brassiere, made flesh-colored hose popular, went out of style after WWI, died in poverty and was mostly forgotten.

Very often the women attending the Gala pick up the theme of the exhibition in their dresses, like all the women who appeared dressed in the Union Jack at last year’s British fashion exhibition. This year, very few women attempted to dress in Poiret-inspired tunics or hobble-skirts, which is a shame, because if they had then there’d be an excuse for the general craziness, not to mention the tackiness, of many of the outfits this year. If I were the ghost of Paul Poiret, I’d feel dissed, but I’m not, so I’m thoroughly amused. There’s nothing like a bad outfit on a rich and beautiful woman to make me think that there’s justice in this world.

Exhibit Number 1: Kirsten Dunst in vintage Yves St. Laurent. I think the feather duster, or whatever (even the pictures are poorer this year) tied to her head is supposed to be a tribute to Poiret headbands, but basically, she just looks insane.

Scarlett Johansson in another breast-abusing dress by Stella McCartney. Given that Ms. Johansson’s poitrine is considered a national treasure by a large number of American men, some among them should really organize to protect her precious assets from designer mishandling. Gosh, I can see them now, the dedicated troupe of ScarJo’s Rack Rangers.

I also think that Scarlett ought to reconsider her friendship with Stella McCartney. No good friend would dress a shortish, curvy pal in a slightly-too-tight puff ball of a dress and then make her walk down the red carpet next to supermodel Amber Valletta who's wearing a long white column by that same "friend".

Miuccia Prada, in her own design. Sicilian widow from the waist up, Ballet Russes prima ballerina from the waist down. Love the shoes, hate the schizophrenia.

Charlotte Gainsbrough in Balenciaga. Balenciaga is the sponsor of the exhibition, so I hope that Charlotte got her dress for free. Lord only knows where her toeless platform ski boots came from.

Ellen Barkin in L’Ren Scott. The Fug Girls have already given her wrinkled satin waiter’s outfit the once-over, but what got me about his picture is her face. Ellen, just back away from the Botox, please!

Amanda Peet, Sally Singer and Stella Tennant in elasticized support hose. It’s a pity that such young, elegant women all suffer from varicose veins, isn’t it? (Translation: I hate the look of opaque tights with a light formal dress.)



Molly Sims in Armani Prive and Lauren Davis in Nina Ricci. If these dresses were made for the annual toilet-paper couture contest, I’d be really impressed. As it is, I’m left wonder why Ms. Davis would chose a dress that makes her look like she has wings sprouting from her behind.

Kelly Ripa in something-or-other. I hate it when women wear dresses the same color as their skin, especially when that color resembles nothing found in nature.

Of course, some women who attended the Gala looked just grand. As soon as I’ve found my happy place again, I’ll tell you about my favorites. FYI, Style.com has 155 photos from the red carpet.

Someone needs a nice cup of tea.

I browse the coverage of London Fashion Week more for teh crayzee than for the clothes because -- and hats off to them -- British designers are generally the least restrained and commercial. But this season I didn't just find teh crayzee, I found teh crayzee and the depressed. Good lord, there were just acres of dense, light-absorbing, soul-sucking black in styles I can only describe as prison matron fetish burhka.

And here's the thing -- If fashion reflects the zeitgeist, what do these designers know that we don't know? Did a memo circulate through their workshops stating "the End is Near and we ain't kidding?" Is the British economy taking a nose dive? Has Kate Moss' coke supply been cut off, or Pete Doherty's heroin been cut with too much baby laxative, thus impeding the flow of fabulousness to the New(est) Swinging London? Are the designers all morning the loss of Posh and Becks to L.A.? Are there no doctors in London writing prescriptions for Zoloft, Paxil, or Wellbutrin? What??

Of course, the London shows were not without their bright spots. Duro Olowu, who designed the dress that became the A-Dress-A-Day obsession, showed a colorful collection. The graduates of Central St. Martins also managed to put out some bright, if curiously covered up, garments. But meanwhile, I think a cheer-the-f*ck-up British fashion designer intervention is in order.


The designers, top to bottom, are Biba, Jens Laugesen, Burberry (who actually showed in Milan), Gareth Pugh and Nathan Jenden.

Agggh!

My hard drive fried right in the middle of fashion week and awards season! Curses on you, computer gods! Curses!

Oh. my. gawd. I would. like, totally wear this Marc Jacobs stuff.

Marc Jacobs is the designer who famously brought us high-fashion grunge in the early 90s and, last year, super-wide pleated and bloused Capri-length pants. In other words, he's always been a trend-setting designers whose actual designs I never found wearable (although I have, on occasion, been known to wear a plaid flannel shirt). So yesterday, as I browsed through the mostly dismal Fall 2007 New York Fashion Week collections, I stopped, stunned, amazed and delighted, at Jacobs' collection. Of course, he laid a trap for me -- the first look out was the orange -- ORANGE! -- coat. And it's not only orange, it's sleek and chic and would probably look good on almost anyone. And he showed more gorgeous coats, and sleek tailored pantsuits that could be worn without embarrassment by, say, a middle-aged professional woman, and chic and tidy skirt sets . . . you know, things that most adult woman might actually want to wear.

Of course, the collection is not without its WTF? moments, and most of the cocktail and evening wear heads straight for Cloe Sevigny country, but if mass-market retailers pick up the tailored day-wear trend, I'll be happy to leave evening wear to the fashionistas.

I couldn't help noticing as I browsed through the photos at Style.com that the models this year are as incredibly, painfully thin as they were in years past, in spite of the recent discussions about discouraging starvation among runway models. Meanwhile, the average weight of Americans is now 188.3 lbs (13.5 stone or 85.6 kg). So who, exactly, is selling what to whom? And why can't we, as a society, work toward a happy medium?

When movie stars get confused

Just in case you've been on a deserted island without access to wi-fi and gossip blogs for the past, gosh, year or so, Sienna Miller, British tabloid darling, is staring in a movie called "Factory Girl," in which she plays Edie Sedgwick, a 60s it girl and herself the star of some underground movies.

Sienna is taking her part very very very seriously, no doubt because she thinks that taking on the role of an anorexic drug-addict who died at 28 from a barbituate overdose is an express-ticket to Oscarland. And, evidently, being smart enough not to adopt Edie's lifestyle to get into the role (although not smart enough to totally dump Jude Law), Sienna has tried to get into the part by adopting what she thinks was Edie's style.

Now, Edie was in fact dubbed "the girl in black tights" by Life Magazine. However she always wore them with a mini or a tunic or something that at least reached her crotch even if the garment didn't entirely cover it. Sienna on the other hand, is going for the pure tights look, and she appeared at the recent New York Premiere of "Factory Girl" wearing a short sweater and what appears to be a pair of granny panties over a pair of tights.
Sienna is supposedly a style trend-setter. However, Girlfriend clearly needs to be reminded that she's not Edie Sedgwick, that she'll never be Edie Sedgwick, and that she shouldn't even WANT to be Edie Sedgwick, considering that Edie's life was short and sad, and people who might be tempted to follow Sienna's lead and go outside without pants or dress should be reminded of that too.

By the way, that's Sienna in the top picture, and Edie in the bottom two.

The no-SAG Awards

The Screen Actor's Guild Awards show is one of the classier affairs, more serious award season affairs, so its red carpet features fewer B-listers in "what the HELL is she wearing?" mode. This year, I'm pleased to say, the older (well, Helen Mirren) and relatively larger ladies really appeared looking great, giving me, as an older and relatively larger lady, hope. From top to bottom at left that's Helen Mirren, Sara Ramirez, America Ferrera and Jennifer Hudson. The possible exception was Chandra Wilson, who wore a white satin dress that wrinkled like crazy. Satin is way better in concept than in practice fabric, imo.

Most of the actresses wore relatively safe dresses, and those that didn't wound up on the worst-dressed lists. I liked Ellen Pompeo's rather 70s retro gown, but the voters in E! Online's poll didn't. Mary-Louise Parker got well and truly fugged. Actually, I think her pleated dress is pretty, but it's too young for the 43-year-old Parker. She should have changed dresses with the 26-year-old Rinko Kikuchi, who wore a black Chanel dress with a train. Toot toot!

Svetlana Metkina and Vanessa Williams redeemed themselves after their Golden Globes mistakes. Let that be a lesson to you ladies: leave the bondage straps and fright wigs at home.

And Rachel McAdams, poor dear, gets the prize for How Not to Do a Retro look. Really, dear, 50s-style stilettos with a 60s-style shift? Just say no.

"Tangerine, she is all they claim . . .

. . . With her eyes of night and lips as bright as flame . . .

Left, summer dress, available at Dandelion Vintage (scroll down) most unfortunately in a size I haven't worn since age 12. But isn't it a beauty? So light, so summery, so Dior, so . . . Tangerine!

Madame Butterfly

The Sprint 2007 Couture collections were shown last week, and Style.com, the official website of Vogue and W Magazines, was absolutely in raptures over the collection produced by John Galliano for Christian Dior. "What psychological process did it take to lift John Galliano to the extraordinary place of brilliance he reached—or rather, rediscovered—in his spring couture? "Everything about the Dior collection—inspired, he said, “by Pinkerton’s affair with Cio-Cio San, Madame Butterfly”—reconfirmed his unique talent to evoke beauty, sensitivity, narrative, and emotion in a fashion show. Kimonos, obis, and geisha makeup were Dior-ified, transformed into delicate translations of New Look peplum suits and full-skirted dance dresses." You can practically hear the editor hyperventilating as s/he types. I am glad that she managed to come down off her cloud long enough to mention Dior's "New Look," because the fabrics may be Japanese, but the shapes are pure vintage Dior. For example, the yellow and green ensemble is Spring 2007; the red gown
is from Fall/Winter 1957-1958, but they look like they could be from the same collection. And that's fine with me, at least these dresses look like something that's actually meant to be worn, unlike some of Galliano's recent couture collections, which are pure costume. And I luuuuuuurve vintage Dior. I probably would have hated wearing it, since it doesn't exactly feature comfortable and work friendly shapes. In fact, Coco Chanel once said upholsters them." But dang, it's "Dior doesn't dress women, he elegant.

Elegance in dress isn't valued, or even mentioned, much any more. I assume that's because all the style setters now are young substance abusing celebrities who wouldn't know elegance if it bit them on their oh-so-obviously bare butts. I wish some mature woman (and by mature I mean "35 or old enough to know the difference between a car and a gynecologist's office" would lead the charge to bring back grand style in dress. Of course, I'd still be working at home in my pajamas or jeans, but at least I'd have more pretty things to look at.

Purple and blue dresses from Christian Dior Spring 2007 Couture; black strapless gown Christian Dior Winter 1953; alas, I have no date for the full-skirted cocktail dress.