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LouieMore than just a pretty dress
September 2nd 2007 09:07
There is a hidden pleasure in the vintage item. Obviously, they compel for the beautiful designs, that they are probably one of a kind, and are loaded with anecdotes dating to when your mother was your age. My favourite part about old clothes is the incredible fabrics and patterns, as well as the perfect stitchwork - the only time well cared for vintage items ever falter is due to the rotting thread. My grandmother's old clothes amaze me, but I spend most of my time ooing and aahing at the seams, the hems, the way a zip, button, hook eye, dart, pleat or other has been cococted and remains, pristine.
Clearly, this is what I loathe about clothes today. While mass consumption may make clothing more available, and allow you to have a wardrobe expanding at a size and rate similar to that of the universe, it has also caused a decay in the quality of clothes. And most annoyingly, I rarely find something that fits perfectly, everywhere.
No longer can the item be altered in-store, to suit your shape and size. The decline in the aestheticism of clothing just bugs me - what will our grandchildren admire? I wrinkle my nose whenever I see clothes made out of the semi lycra material that was once solely used in my ballet leotards. Worse still, the stitching is dying in the store.
My mother bought a 1950s gown, very Grace Kelly, for my cousin's recent 'formal' dress code wedding. It wasn't an actual size, but was made to fit the original owner exactly (who had massive bosoms). A seamstress solved the sizing dilemma for my mother, and it made me very aware and exceedingly appreciative of the sewing skill.
I have only ever sewn myself one dress; the pattern was simple, and I still burst into tears about four times. When I find out someone can sew, I am in awe of what I believe is a super-power. There is certainly something magical about haute-couture shows, beyond the fantastical pieces (and often strictly theoretical); Alexander McQueen is my hero.
However, my Filipino seamstress is also a demi-goddess in my eyes. She hems my jeans so my sass&bides look like they came from an unknown petites section; she gets excited when I bring in old clothes for alterations because the 'beautiful fabrics are needing more love'; she does the everyday haute-couture, makes my clothes fit my waist and my hips, and makes me want to be my nanna, or at least a girl in the mid twentieth century, too.
**Photo not to be reproduced without permission.
Cream on Crown (Surry Hills) - a treasure chest of well-made gems. Image from refinery29.com
Clearly, this is what I loathe about clothes today. While mass consumption may make clothing more available, and allow you to have a wardrobe expanding at a size and rate similar to that of the universe, it has also caused a decay in the quality of clothes. And most annoyingly, I rarely find something that fits perfectly, everywhere.
No longer can the item be altered in-store, to suit your shape and size. The decline in the aestheticism of clothing just bugs me - what will our grandchildren admire? I wrinkle my nose whenever I see clothes made out of the semi lycra material that was once solely used in my ballet leotards. Worse still, the stitching is dying in the store.
My mother's 1950s duchess satin gown**
I have only ever sewn myself one dress; the pattern was simple, and I still burst into tears about four times. When I find out someone can sew, I am in awe of what I believe is a super-power. There is certainly something magical about haute-couture shows, beyond the fantastical pieces (and often strictly theoretical); Alexander McQueen is my hero.
Alexander McQueen, S/S 2007 magic. Image from brigante.se
However, my Filipino seamstress is also a demi-goddess in my eyes. She hems my jeans so my sass&bides look like they came from an unknown petites section; she gets excited when I bring in old clothes for alterations because the 'beautiful fabrics are needing more love'; she does the everyday haute-couture, makes my clothes fit my waist and my hips, and makes me want to be my nanna, or at least a girl in the mid twentieth century, too.
**Photo not to be reproduced without permission.
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