Here’s a delightful (but a delightful pain-in-the-arse to scan) photoshoot with my favourite dance troupe, Pan’s People, from Petticoat Magazine (May 1969). I suppose trousers for women were still something of a novelty in 1969, but there’s no excuse for usage of the word ‘pants’ for trousers in a British magazine.
She wears top and trousers by Rosalind Yehuda (shoes by Sacha). He wears suit and shirt by Blades (shoes by Chelsea Cobbler).
Well we all need help with that. Sadly, this just means in terms of temperature. Although it is very much on my wavelength about such things. I just don’t see the need to instantly strip off as soon as there is a hint of sunlight.
Still wearing a moderate weight vintage coat, I was being blown along the seafront last weekend and frowning at people walking along in shorts. Do they just have a different inner thermostat to me? Or did they, as I suspect, look out of the window, see the sunshine and feel a steely determination to wear as few clothes as possible and get down to the beach? Chillblains or no chillblains…
Even when it genuinely is rather balmy, I still don’t see any great need to strip off…I like clothes too much.
Anyway, enough of my rambling and on with this superb spread from The Observer Magazine, 3 August 1969. Not only do I love the clothes (both his and hers), but I love the settings and overall feel of the photos by Clive Arrowsmith.
Hot days in sticky cities can be miserable. But there’s no need to take to a beach dress or wear your tie draped round your nabel. Keep morale up, temperature down with cover-up clothes in lightweight fabrics styled simply in cool, clear colours.
Dress by Foale and Tuffin. He wears Cerruti.
She wears Marrian McDonnell (shoes by Shoosissima). He wears suit by Cecil Gee, shirt and tie by Turnbull and Asser.
She wears ensemble by Foale and Tuffin (shoes by Biba). He wears suit by Fex Brothers, tie and shirt by Turnbull and Asser.
She wears dress by Lee Cecil for Jetsetters (shoes by Sacha). Silk scarf by Tony de Celis (the man in these pictures). He wears Gordon Deighton at Trend.
She wears Ossie Clark (boots by Chelsea Cobbler). He wears top and trousers from Feathers.
…a delicious Doctor. Albeit one channelling Ringo. Stop that this instant!!
Oh I love this dress. I hope it’s vintage, but deep down I suspect not. She’s really been looking stunning at promotional events lately, and I really envy that hair colour. I like to think it would suit me [being just as pale – possibly paler – and with ginger running in my family] but I suspect it would not. Boohiss.
En route back from the dentist [oh yeah, I have to have yet another wisdom tooth removed. Score will now be Removed Wisdom Teeth: 5, Remaining Wisdom Teeth: 1. Am toothsome freak.], I actually ventured into the shops. It felt weird. I felt a bit shaky. I started to hate people again. I really don’t hate people at all, I’m always happy to be chatting to someone new and I’m always polite to anyone I meet. But I hate people when they shop.
I think I’m just spoilt now. I’m pretty much entirely vintage orientated (around 95% if you will) except for a handful of modern things for which I run in, squeak, pick up, buy and run out again. I cannot deal with changing rooms; I haven’t bought new jeans in a good couple of years for this reason. If the queue for the till is more than four people I put things down and run out again. In fact, I did that with two pairs of sunglasses today. I know my measurements off by heart, so why on earth should I have to take three different sizes in each piece I’m interested in into the changing rooms because shops can’t get a grip on sizing?
My heart sinks when I see a rail full of the same thing. Or things clubbed together to create this season’s ‘look’. Where’s the fun in that? The sudden vogue for stripes makes me (Queen of Stripes) want to bung mine in a box until they’ve all gone away. [I’m alarmed by the sudden belly top phenomenon. Can it really be over 15 years since I craved such things myself? Cheap nylon ra-ra skirts and belly tops make me want to take a pair of scissors to the rails of the high street. And they’d look much better for it.]
See? Spoilt. Utterly.
I expect the thrill of the unknown, of the great discovery just around the corner. I’m also spoilt in that, when I am expected to enter proper shops with friends, I can at least window shop in comfort in Westwood or wherever. The prices might make my eyes water, but there’s all sorts of varied, well made pieces which make my heart skip a beat and aren’t made from 100% polyester. The staff are bonkers and lovely, and want to smooch your backside just to make a sale (makes a change from surly teenagers in Topshop, non?). And you can be sure I’ll be heading straight home to check out ‘ending soonest’ eBay auctions for Westwood; it takes the edge off the tears of poverty. Boohoo.
Today I was really quite shocked. Have things got worse on the high street, or have I just been away too long? Sizing issues are definitely getting worse (and I can tell purely from looking at them, nothing was going to induce me into a changing room…), prices are pretty ridiculous for quality no better than Primark. Who I loathe, but at least their prices are honest in relation to the quality.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who browses websites, like Topshop.com, thinks ‘ooh, that’s kinda nice’ then goes in store and cannot restrain an involuntary and very audible ‘bleurghhhhhh’ when they actually pick it off the rail. See above. £50 for a viscose Ossie copy? Viscose used to be nice. Some of my favouritest Jeff Banks pieces have been viscose. It felt like a walking fire hazard. And no amount of Sure would rescue you from sweating like a bitch in it. What’s wrong with these people??
The worst thing of all, though, is the fabric. Even when you might possibly find something in a natural fibre, more often than not, it’s been lined in polyester. Or the nastiest stretch nylon. Errrr…..why? Why not just line in cheap cotton? At least then you can just wash and iron to your heart’s content and your skin will be able to breathe. A couple of frocks I contemplated buying, with the intention of hacking out the aforementioned ny-lining. Then I caught myself and slapped my own wrist. £25 for something I’m going to have to alter to make it wearable? Kill me now. I should be mooching around vintage shops for something which looks the same and won’t make me boil in the bag.
That said, it’s not all bad. Topshop offered up a black bodysuit which will go nicely with a whole host of gorgeous vintage skirts I already own (and surely some I have yet to acquire) and I’ve fallen in love with a pair of shoes in M&S. They’re wildly impractical (Wedges? Shiny? Colour block? They won’t go with anything, my feet will sweat and I’ll probably fall over! I must be brave and resist temptation to buy the safer blue version. I might as well buy these gorgeous blue buckled heels.) but I love them. And they look much better on a foot than these photos make them look, I can assure you.
I had to physically remove myself from the temptation and be going back when I’ve thought about it good and proper. Because, frankly, my heart really wants to buy these Terry De Havillands from TinTrunk’s Etsy shop:
No, I’m not being rude, it’s the actual title of the article which accompanied this amazing photo by the endlessly fabulous James Wedge (19 Magazine, March 1974). I love his photos. I love his hats (remind me to photograph mine some day…). I love his look.
It’s quite like his hand-tinted photo which has always been one of my favourite images in the Marnie Fogg Boutique book. Amazing!
Have decided, after watching the first episode again and enjoying the second episode first time around on Saturday, that I am thoroughly loving the new Doctor. But then I am clearly quite fickle in my geek love, for I was quite mad for Tennant and my second childhood crush was Peter Davison. I think I’m just extremely ‘ok’ with the whole regeneration concept. It certainly never bothered me as a kid. Much like reincarnation; it carries on with a different face and personality, but ultimately it is the same soul/character.
Matt Smith is beautiful in a bizarre kind of way: cheekbones to die for, almost invisibly fair eyebrows and that hair. Oh! the hair. I must admit to being rather biased in that direction because my favourite man has pretty much got the same hair. Rowrrrrrrrrr.
I’m also very taken with his style. Young geeky guy does old fogey with great charm and panache. Bow ties? Haven’t been a huge fan up until now, I prefer a nice cravat or kipper, but Dr Eleven is working it very well. Tweed jackets? Braces? Sighhhhh…..
Ultimately though; pinstripes, tweed jackets, bow ties or cricket whites; something tells me that nothing will ever top the Pertwee-era.
p.s I feel like I need a copy of this. Anyone else?
I love this shoot from Vogue, July 1972 by David Hamilton (not diddy DJ David Hamilton, I am assured) who seems to have specialised in these dreamy, misty, blurry photos which capture the spirit of a perfect, hazy English summer’s day…
I love pinafores and mock pinafores. Something harking back to my childhood, no doubt. I went through a very bizarre phase (I was rather prone to them, I must confess….) where I couldn’t bear to wear skirts or trousers. I was convinced they would fall down, they never felt secure or tight enough, even shoved up under my armpits. So I lived in dresses and, mainly for school, pinafores.
Empress of Eyeliner. Mistress of Mascara. Etc etc.
Generally utterly inspirational to a liquid-liner-crazy lady like myself.
Oh Lee Bender. How I do adore thee and thine tendency towards the novelty print….
Stunning dress from Bus Stop in a divine, and unusual, seashell print navy cotton. With wide kimono sleeves, tied waist, plunging neckline (there is a hook and eye, but personally I think it ruins the line….and, well, I like it a bit sluttier. So there!) and high collar. Yum yum yum.
Available over at Vintage-a-Peel
Liz Eggleston 
