I was bad. But I have excuses. Some mood music, I think:
I've been mean about vintage/charity before, and stand by what I said. When Hollywood and New Look borrow an older style, their replica with modern materials and slick lines will be superior to the drab drapes people actually wore. 50s dresses are a bit like Jack's London I keep talking about, the London of the mind with gaslights and sewers. It sort of existed. But the replica is based on the myth, not the reality. And replica 50s dresses and films are based on those perfect housewife pictures, the idealised mythic women from the past, not as they actually were. So I am bemused where those people who just pop into Oxfam and find intense bargains actually go, because looking at the vintage shops in Camden, I'm amazed how drab and nasty it all is. I suppose you need an eye for possibilities and experimentation, an eye that I, wearing my 6th generation plain-white-clingy-long-sleeved-top, just don't have. Calypso seems to have a talent for it, so it is possible. My thrift shop talents lie in other directions, being able to scan a booksection in under a minute for the "W" word.
So I was amazed to find a genine 50s dress in Camden which was very much of its era, while being nice enough to wear in ours. It's just lovely. It's a dream dress, in the same way my green prom dress was a dream dress. I'm still amazed that I managed to find something so in line with my ideal. But while the green thing appealed to my inner elf, there's a part of me which would prefer to sit by the jukebox in puppy love with Elvis and the Beach Boys. It's pink and silky (probably not real sink), fits perfectly, has a petticoat underneath, and bows up the back.
Then to top off, I brought the surviving oranges from the mulled wine we made last week, and made what we agreed was a brilliant smoothie.
Provisionally, we've called it a Bloody Tequila Hurricane, because it bears no resemblance to either a Hurricane or Bloody Mary, and contains no Tequila. Although after having a look at it, I'm starting to feel Gallifreyan Sunset might be apt, if pretentiously sci-fi.
After that, we were both exausted (Blade Runner, midnight shopinpg, remember?), so after seeing Calypso's own most recent guilty-thrift-shop-purchase, a truly excellent leather jacket which made her look like a member of a futuristic squad of crack-assassins, I went home to bed...to blog...
I've been mean about vintage/charity before, and stand by what I said. When Hollywood and New Look borrow an older style, their replica with modern materials and slick lines will be superior to the drab drapes people actually wore. 50s dresses are a bit like Jack's London I keep talking about, the London of the mind with gaslights and sewers. It sort of existed. But the replica is based on the myth, not the reality. And replica 50s dresses and films are based on those perfect housewife pictures, the idealised mythic women from the past, not as they actually were. So I am bemused where those people who just pop into Oxfam and find intense bargains actually go, because looking at the vintage shops in Camden, I'm amazed how drab and nasty it all is. I suppose you need an eye for possibilities and experimentation, an eye that I, wearing my 6th generation plain-white-clingy-long-sleeved-top, just don't have. Calypso seems to have a talent for it, so it is possible. My thrift shop talents lie in other directions, being able to scan a booksection in under a minute for the "W" word.
So I was amazed to find a genine 50s dress in Camden which was very much of its era, while being nice enough to wear in ours. It's just lovely. It's a dream dress, in the same way my green prom dress was a dream dress. I'm still amazed that I managed to find something so in line with my ideal. But while the green thing appealed to my inner elf, there's a part of me which would prefer to sit by the jukebox in puppy love with Elvis and the Beach Boys. It's pink and silky (probably not real sink), fits perfectly, has a petticoat underneath, and bows up the back.I actually went looking for this dress before. In new year, I looked everywhere in Guernsey for some little 50s style dress. I discovered I couldn't wear black, to start with - it just doesn't work. Whether it doesn't suit my complexion, or it offends my self-image as a colourful, happy dresser, I couldn't say. And there was nothing suitable.
And this all stems from a perfect dress I decided I could live without, and have regretted not buying ever since. It's just like Parting of the Ways, right? Never make the same mistake twice!
It's all the fault of Vapilla and her Sibling Unit, with whom I went to Camden, for getting me to Camden in the first place. Then giving me a positive second opinion. It was the bows which convinced Sibling Unit it was perfect.
Now bear with me. I still have Christmas cash (I am, admittingly, still trying to work out exactly how much, who from, and who to thank, but I know I am owed a treat.) For a dress, £45 is very respectable, particularly a vintage one. You'd pay more in Monsoon. Considering you always pay about a third more in Camden than seems reasonable, its one of the rare occasions I've felt like I'm paying exactly what an item is worth.
Especially because it's just so perfect. The fit could not be better if it had been made for me. It's just kitchy enough to look cute, while remaining a touch cool and ironic - against the odds, I look like a self-posessed princess, not a Christmas fairy. In addition, it's so universal. You could wear it straight, for fancy dress or theme evenings, and stylistically you could get away with it for 60s or 70s as well at a push. Yet it's just modern enough, I think, that with careful accesorising you could get away with it at a serious event. As much as I hate saying this, just like Katy Perry *wince*. And Calypso suggested a third option, to send it in the other direction and combine it with stripey tights and combat boots for a punky look, and I think that's going to work too.
I even like the fact its second hand. Some other girl loved this dress, and I find that irresistable. Even if fantasy fiction could give you fifty reasons how this scenario could go wrong.
The only problem is my hair. If you think about Grease, say, all the heroines have short puffy hair. Sandy's is shoulder length. Some of the characters have scraped back long ponytails, but my hair's neither long nor straight enough for that. I've already tried a bun, which doesn't look too too bad, but anyone who feels like sending me inspirational photos.
It will be worth it, I promise :) I've already turned down three parties since being at uni through not having a suitable dress. And it's not that I'm worried about being judged either, I'd turn up in scrubs if I thought I could get away with it. It's that the dressing up and getting excited is the best bit of any party. As soon as you arrive, well, the music's bad and too loud, the room is smoky, it's hard to talk, there's no one you want to talk too, it's late, you're a long way from home, everyone else is getting steadily more inebriated and steadily less fun as I'm the only one sober, and god, couldn't we just have stayed in, made pizza and stuck on Dirty Dancing or something? I hate parties. Hollywood has ensured that they, like romance, will always be a disappointment, due to the high standards set by fiction. Having a sub-par dress, then, spoils the "dressing up and excitement", and makes the entire enterprise pointless. Because if you've got a great dress, then every time you'll be sure that this will be the one, and you'll kiss Gender-non-specific-Royal Charming at midnight or whatever - right up until the point you step through the door, and what do you know, it's just another claustrophobic room.
On the way home, Calypso invited me for veggie-friendly, protien rich food. I'm sure she'll have a more culinarily pleasing description on her blog in a few days which I can quote; until then, it was a massive naan with sour yoghurt, lentils-in-green-stuff and quorn-in-red-stuff. I contributed homous and carrot sticks, and it was all very very yummy. Even though lentils take about a day to prepare, apparently.
Then to top off, I brought the surviving oranges from the mulled wine we made last week, and made what we agreed was a brilliant smoothie.
Provisionally, we've called it a Bloody Tequila Hurricane, because it bears no resemblance to either a Hurricane or Bloody Mary, and contains no Tequila. Although after having a look at it, I'm starting to feel Gallifreyan Sunset might be apt, if pretentiously sci-fi.
Have a go:
Get a blender. Add 2 oranges, 300ml of canned-apricots-in-apple-juice (soak real apricots in apple juice overnight if you can't find it ready made), then blend. Add between 1cm and 3cm of red grape juice to that. Blend again. Then throw in 7 or so ice cubes, and blend it to a cold slush. Dribble some grape juice over the finished smoothie, to create red streaks and patterns. Drink.
Perhaps, if you really were going to go with a Gallifreyan theme, your challenge would be to make the seal of Rassilon on the top of the drink...?
After that, we were both exausted (Blade Runner, midnight shopinpg, remember?), so after seeing Calypso's own most recent guilty-thrift-shop-purchase, a truly excellent leather jacket which made her look like a member of a futuristic squad of crack-assassins, I went home to bed...to blog...
Re: the dress, I suppose the cincher is the aftermath. I get really bad shopper's guilt, even for things I obviously deserve or have wanted for a long time. I even get it when shelling out for fruit juice, when I know I could be drinking water. Probably a result of being really, really mean. I find it very easy to persuade myself to come back later for things, on the principle that if I'm still thinking about it a day later it was worth getting. Which is why you'll here so many shopping anecdotes from me that end with said item not being there when I return to get it.
So it's an impressive item for which I still do not feel even the remotest of remorse. This is me now, and I'm still beaming:
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