Every girl, if only once in her life, gets the opportunity to eat out at one of London’s smart restaurants. so when the time comes you may as well make the most of it. The main thing is not to feel intimidated by your surroundings. but to be very cool and nonchalant. as if you do it all the time. (No slumping down in your seat or staring around the room with your mouth open.) If you just don’t understand the menu. ask your escort or the waiter. don’t just point to something and hope for the best. Make sure your hair is clean and shiny. and please don’t have it set and lacquered (very uncool). Wear some-thing soft and romantic in crêpe or voile, that moves well when you walk. or a halter-neck dress with a low back to make the most of the remains of your summer tan. Make sure your dress length isn’t mini (it might be the only one in the room. and then they’ll all know you’re from out of town). Don’t spoil the effect of your midi with the wrong accessories—wear a pair of new Granny shoes with the higher heel and bar strap for added authentic ‘Forties’ glamour.
Ignoring the title (which I have, as always, left for posterity) this editorial is pretty damn perfect. On the cusp of what we more clearly think of as ‘Seventies’, just before platforms and the extremes of Glam, but turning its back very determinedly on the ‘Swinging Sixties’ and looking further back with nostalgic eyes. It’s also a delicious, possibly unique, snapshot of the most fashionable restaurants in London at the time.
There is a licence to touch all the clothes on these pages. There is not a single trad, scratchy, thornproof tweed among any of the frankly tactile silks, angoras and flannels of autumn. Jerseys and pearls and sensible shoes were once the uniform of the WI. Now, (well) kept ladies whose fingers smell of “Cabochard” rather than cabbage, are pressing their flannel bags, having their pearls restrung and are wearing them with shirts so unbuttoned they could catch pneumonia – and heels high enough to rise above the muddiest farmyard. They are taking to pleated kilts, and cashmere sweaters so tight they’d enliven the dullest game of backgammon. Dinner dresses are back in style, and I do mean back down as far as you can go. Properly and provocatively dressed, a weekend in the country might be more fun than you think.
Hair arranged for all pictures by Carl of Molton Brown.
We’ve tried to capture the golden richness and mellow nuances of a well-preserved old oil painting, and create our October face with the new Moody Hues make-up from Revlon’s Natural Wonder collection. Face tone should be warm and tinged with a hint of tan, and we used foundation colour ‘Bisque Beige’, 66p., dusted over very lightly with translucent pressed powder in the ‘Medium’ shade, £1.02. We rouged the cheeks with Cheek Shine in ‘Red’, £1-32. Pursuing the same rustic-toned theme we chose ‘Soulful Plum’ mascara and lashed it on both top and bottom lids, 85p. Eyes are a muted melange of ‘Tortoiseshell’ Eyeshadow Stick, 66p., and the same shade in Lid Lights, the powder version, fading to complementary ‘Minty Green’ powder shadow just under the brows, £1.10 each. We dabbed over the eyelids with ‘Brown Shine’ cream blusher for extra gloss and softness, £1.32. Lips are outlined in ‘Bracken Brown’, 62p.
Model is Ingmari Lamy.
Make-up was applied by visagiste Jean Duval of Revlon, Paris.
The beautiful décolleté dress with huge winged sleeves is in black with a yellow, red and blue feather print, from Quorum, £24.
‘Forties-style hair was dressed by Tina of the Jean-Louis Davide Salon in Paris.
Photographed in the apartment of Karl Lagerfeld, the designer, by Francois Lamy.
Think of a tile floor, and needlepoint it: tapestry rug in twelve squares, joined as you like, repeated as you like. Designed by Kaffe Fassett for Beatrice Bellini of Women’s Home Industries’ Tapestry Shop, 85 Pimlico Rd; each square with enough Coats Tapestry wool, £12, complete border with sufficient wool, £75. Dark brown cotton caftan, £6.60 at Medina Arts. Photograph taken at the house of Mr and Mrs William Ellsworth-Jones. Just published, the new “Vogue Guide to Needlepoint Tapestry” (Collins in association with Conde Nast, £1.75)
Lurid Lurex, sexy satin and slinky leopard skin make the wildest look of all. Not to be confined to parties, dance halls or even billiard rooms—this is what you wear anywhere and everywhere.
Just one of the most deliciously styled and shot editorials. As so often happens with Terry de Havilland, his shoes are credited to Leicester Shoes in this editorial but they’re definitely his as they also feature in Vogue in 1972.
Just because we spend around one-third of our lives asleep there’s no reason to design a bedroom principally for this purpose — after all, you can’t see, feel or appreciate your decorating skill while you’re dead to the world. I under-stand people do still use their bedrooms to love in — all the propaganda promoting white sand beaches, railway carriages or kitchen tables as suitable venues can’t entirely finish the bedroom as an erotic play area; at times it’s too cold for the beach, the trains are on strike and the kitchen table is littered with Meccano.
So this is a room to love in —whether you care to sleep in it as well is your own affair. The alternative methods of post-coital entertainment are well catered for — the stereo and tape deck are built in, as is a projector for blue movies or slide-shows. Food and drink can be stored within handy grabbing distance of the orgy-size velvet-upholstered bed which incorporates the practical features of an oriental divan — ie it’s low, large, firm and on two levels.
Lighting is from below — two ordinary recessed ceiling lights are recessed into the floor instead to give a flattering and romantic effect. How you’re supposed to read those book-cases full of erotic literature in the resulting gloom is not explained but perhaps that’s what the candles are for. If you ever need pure daylight the window is hidden behind that black-and-white chevroned blind. I can only think of two changes I personally would make to this perfect love environment — and they would be a lock on the door and the absence of the telephone.