Ossie Clark
Lanvin Castillo
Balmain
Lucille
Unsigned. From the collection of Wallis Simpson
Maggy Rouff
Rudi Gernreich
Giorgio Sant’Angelo
Ossie Clark
Costume from the Ballet Russes
Yves Saint Laurent
Oh dearest readers. I have been laid up in agony for most of the weekend courtesy of a pulled/trapped something-or-other in my shoulder/arm. It’s been a bit hellish at times, two nights in a row I was only able to get four hours sleep and I’m still waking up every two or so hours in almost unbearable pain. Hot water bottles and codeine are my friends right now.
It started out so beautifully though. For M’s birthday, we went to a beautiful hotel in the Sussex countryside. In fact, the same location as last year. I’m hoping it will become an annual tradition because the hotel, grounds and restaurant are completely and utterly divine. Even *I* managed breakfast on both days. And I never do breakfast in hotels.
M is now in possession of a menswear Biba nightshirt/kaftan (I keep saying it makes him look very John Paul Getty. I wish I looked like Talitha.) and a draught-excluder, made by mine own fair hands, *proud of self*, amongst other things. We celebrated by doing quite a lot of walking in the crisp, misty February air, drinking some champagne and, later, a scrum-diddly-umptious beanfeast. With no beans involved. And with a Michelin star.
My hair wasn’t really behaving, as per, and I’m in a bit of a shy mood photographically right now. But here are my YSL shoes (having long-overdue outing), seamed stockings and the hem of my Bus Stop dress.
And here is a [deliberately] blurry photo of the top of the dress. It’s black satin, ridiculously puffed sleeves and an integral choker, which is perfect for a jewellery dunce like me. I always forget to either bring anything or to put it on before leaving, so I’m rather fond of things which prevent me from even needing it.
On the way back, we found a splendiferously old-school charity shop where I picked up some decorated coupes for myself (£1 each). It’s rare enough to find coupes which aren’t Babycham-branded, but decorated non-Babycham coupes have got to be worth picking up!
And I have decided to become the anti-platitude by buying two books largely for the incredibly illustrated covers.
It has caused me to ponder if judging a book by its cover is really such a bad thing? After all, the point of a cover is to give an impression of the insides, otherwise it’s not doing its job, surely? Musings about appearance and clothes ensue, and I find myself going round in circles. Far more interesting, for me, than London Fashion Week anyway…
I wanted these Chelsea Cobbler boots to fit me so badly. But my spindly calves put paid to that desire, so they’ve just gone up on the website. Then, flicking through a 1970 copy of Nova (as you do), I spy them on the rarely-spotted designer Georgina Linhart. Geek heaven + spindly calves = Geek Hell. Or something…..sigh. Please will somebody very lovely buy them from me?
Annacat
Bus Stop by Lee Bender
Bermona
Biba
Terry De Havilland
Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche
John Stephen
John Bates for Jean Varon
Lowy and Mund
Unsigned (poss. Mary Quant)
Shorts have been with us for some time now – “hot pants” making even starlets front page news – but the big question was whether they were here to stay, or were just a gimmick. Increasing sales seem to show that they are really catching on, and now the big stores are stocking them. For those with the youth and legs to enjoy them, we bring the very latest designs.
Outfit by Antony for Stirling Cooper. All menswear by YSL.
Shorts and top by Bus Stop. Shirt by Toto from Crowthers
Outfit by Diana Crawshaw for Mr Freedom
Top and scarf by Ossie Clark from Quorum. Shorts by Clobber
Outfit on left by Diorling at Christian Dior. Outfit on right by Sheilagh Blagden at Stirling Cooper
Outfit on left by Ritva. Outfit on right by Paul Reeves for Universal Witness.
Blouse by YSL. From Vogue, June 1971. Photo by Peter Knapp
The most I will do in public, usually, is a bit of a powder buffing and perhaps lipstick. Anything else, I would feel far too self-conscious. I wouldn’t dream of leaving the house without the make-up I needed to be wearing, unless I knew I could nip into the ladies somewhere en route. And that brings me back to this woman. Because she kept glaring at me. As though I shouldn’t be looking at her piling the slap on. Seriously? If you’re going to apply your maquillage on a crowded train, then you can’t expect everyone to demurely look away to protect your modesty.
She managed it, though, and I came very close to giving her a round of applause. Except she was still glaring at me and she looked a bit like Catherine Tate, which scared me as well. Ah well. Well done, random train make-up lady. Hope you enjoyed your weekend in Dublin!
By way of a little tribute, here are two of my favourite pairs of shoes….both by YSL.
Firstly the [faux I think] snakeskin peeptoes I wore to the Sex and the City film, coincidentally on the night he passed away.
Secondly, the black patent peeptoes with red platform soles and heels. Which I wore with my black and red striped Biba dress to the Scissor Sisters gig last summer.
What baffles me is the inverse ratio between the rarity of Foale and Tuffin, and the prices they command. I think Marion Foale and Sally Tuffin were arguably a greater talent than Mary Quant. And they certainly knew when to call it quits and draw back gracefully from the fashion world (they both ‘retired’ in 1973 to spend more time with their families). Licensing? They wouldn’t have dreamed of it. Yes, MQ, I’m looking at you in your waterproof poncho – don’t think I can’t see you! 😉
Their early work was vibrant, youthful, fun and always exquisitely tailored. They originated trouser suits for women
(yet another creative theft by Yves Saint Laurent ensured they rarely get credited for this – more rantings on him some other time…), used the ‘op art’ trend in a quirky way (rather like my other passion, John Bates) and helped build the Carnaby Street image – the driving force behind the emergence of Britain as a world leader in fashion.
They moved easily into the softer look of the late 60s and early 70s, continuing to favour Liberty prints and did all sorts of lovely frilled and flared things. In retrospect, their decision to quit in 1973 seems really rather intelligent. The mid-late 70s saw the crash and burn phenomenon of so many designers, Ossie Clark and Barbara Hulanicki at Biba being the most notable casualties. So they got out at the right time.
Their work is fairly rare. Goodness only knows why, you can hardly miss the label! They were a popular fixture in Vogue and a big part of the Youthquake British Invasion of the USA in 1965.
Two Foales from my private collection. 1963 and 1965 respectively.
However, in recent months (after loudly bemoaning the non-existence of ANY F&T pieces in my personal collection) I seem to have accumulated a nice little collection of their work. I still sit here, look at the frocks and think; “How the HECK did I manage that?”. I have my limits as to how much I will pay for pieces for my collection, it’s just that the prices have been shockingly low for
what they are. Even the recent Kerry Taylor auctions sale for Sothebys sold two Foale and Tuffin frocks (early 70s) for the opening bid of £100. I recall one of the major US auction houses sold two Foales not that long ago for a similar price.
So, while I can’t complain on a personal level that the prices aren’t really reflecting the rarity and beauty of their work – it does seem utterly wrong. Mary Quant’s work is fairly cheap these days – especially considering her cultural importance. But F&T didn’t license their names to death. So in reality, they should be making a whole lot more.
Just a little rant. I feel much the same way about Gerald McCann. I guess I’ll just have to keep collecting these labels rather than selling them! *sigh*
Liz Eggleston 